The Guerilla Chief Part 8

"Neither more nor less, nor capitan."

"I heard you apply that unenviable appellation to him. But what can be his motive for attempting to take your life?"

"Only to get rid of me; and then Lola--my poor sister would be more easily--_carrai_! you know what I mean!"

I needed not a more ample explanation, though Calros proceeded to give it.

"Nor deconocio," said he, speaking in a low voice, so as not to be heard outside the tent, "I shall tell you all about it. You've seen my sister. Well, perhaps to you, whose countrywomen I have heard say are very fair-skinned, Lola may not appear much--"

I did not interrupt Calros to tell him _how much_.

"Here, among us Jarochos, though I, her brother, say it, Lolita is thought _muy linda_."

"She would be thought so anywhere, I should say."

"Well," proceeded the conscript, apparently pleased at my remark, "good looks in a girl are sometimes only a misfortune to her--more especially if she be poor, and that is just what Lola is."

"A misfortune! How?"

I put the question with a keener interest than the invalid suspected.

Had Lola been already the victim of a misfortune?

"You see, sir stranger," rejoined Calros, "among those who have set their eyes upon na Lola is this Ramon Rayas."

"An old school-fellow of yours, is he not?"

"True--such schooling as we had. That is long ago. Since then we have never seen him till lately. He left our village, and went to live in the great city of Puebla--a wicked place, though it be called the _City of the angels_. We didn't hear of him for a long time; and then we were told that he had taken to the _camino real_--had become, as I've said, a _salteador_."

"And now he is an officer in the Mexican army?"

"That's the strangest of all. But no. It's not so strange to us down here, who are well acquainted with Don Antonio. Ramon Rayas isn't the only _picaro_ in his employ. As I've told you, we'd seen nothing of Ramon since he was a boy at school. Then one day he reappeared among us with a commission to recruit--no, not that, but rather to take us young fellows by force, and make soldiers of us. I was compelled to go with the rest. We were formed into a _guerilla_, with Rayas as our captain.

It was at that time his eyes fell upon Lola."

"But did your sister accompany you in the campaign?"

"She did. There were many other women with us--the wives and sisters of my comrades. They came to work for us, and make us comfortable in camp.

It is our custom, nor Americano. 'Tis not so with you, I am told."

"No, we don't trouble ourselves with such company."

"Ah, nor capitan, it has indeed proved a trouble to me. It has required all to protect my poor little sister."

"Protect her! Against whom?"

"Our captain--Don Ramon. His importunities--cruelties I should call them--were of daily, hourly occurrence. They were growing worse, when--"

"You sent her out of his reach?"

"I did. I found a friend who offered me a home for her. My friend promised to keep her concealed, until this war should be over, and I could return home to protect her as a freeborn citizen of the republic."

"How came she to be here to-night?"

"Devotion," proudly replied the youth; "devotion, nor capitan. She heard from some fugitives that I was shot down and left on the field.

She came to find me--if dead to weep over my body--if living, to take care of me. Thanks to you, nor deconocio, she has found me alive."

After a short interval of silence, in which the invalid appeared to reflect, he resumed speech.

"_Madre de Dios_!" he said, "if Rayas had succeeded in killing me! But for you, nor, he must have succeeded. Lola was near at hand, calling my name. He would have heard her. She would have come up, and then the wolf and the lamb would have met in the middle of the chapparal. _Madre de Dios! Thanks that she is saved_!"

As the more than probable consequence of such a meeting became pictured in the imagination of the Jarocho, he raised himself, half erect, upon the camp-bedstead, and emphatically repeated the thanksgiving.

The words had scarcely pa.s.sed from his lips, when, for the third time, the mother of G.o.d was invoked.

On this occasion, however, a different cause had called forth the invocation--a cry heard outside the tent in the silvery intonation of a woman's voice.

It was easy to recognise the utterance of Dolores. On hearing it the invalid sprang clear out of the _catre_; and stood for some moments balancing himself upon the floor.

Yielding to his weakness, he fell back upon the couch, just as the girl rushed inside the tent--proclaiming by her presence that no harm had befallen her.

"What is it, _dear_ Lola?" cried her brother, almost word for word repeating my own interrogatory.

"He! Don Ramon! He is there--outside the tent!"

"If he will only stay till I come out, I promise you, fair Lola, you shall never more be troubled by his presence."

I drew my sword from its sheath, and was rus.h.i.+ng for the opening in the canvas.

"Nor, nor! _por amor Dios_! Go not alone! Don Ramon is wicked; but he is _brave_--he is dangerous!"

It was _Dolores_ who interrupted me with these strange speeches.

"Brave!" I said, turning to her with angry astonishment. "Brave! a villain such as he, brave!"

I spoke with a bitter emphasis. The thought had shot across my brain, that the scorn of which Calros spoke, might have been only a fraternal fancy!

"I hope he will have courage enough to wait my coming. We shall see!"

and with this valorous declaration, I emerged from the marquee, and ran over the ground in search of Don Ramon.

Half a score of my comrades, who had started from their couches on hearing the scream, were soon around me; but although we quartered the chapparal for a good stretch on every side of the encampment, we could find no trace of the robber.

Having doubled the number of the sentries, and taken other precautions against the return of this terrible intruder, I re-entered the tent which gave shelter to the Jarocho and his sister.

Restoring the invalid to such repose as was possible, I made preparations to leave them for the night. The girl was to sleep upon the floor of the marquee, under cover of a _serape_, which I had procured for her accommodation.

"Have no fear, _Linda Lola_!" I whispered, as reluctantly I bade good night. "He who would harm thee must first pa.s.s over my body. _I shall sleep outside--before the entrance of the tent. Adios! Posa V. buena noche! Hasta la manana_!"

"_Hasta la manana_!" was the reply--simply my own words repeated, and with an innocent unconcern, that should have nipped in the bud any unhallowed hopes.