The Bandolero Part 32

I waited for no further explanation on the part of the Franciscan.

I fancied I now understood the _situation_, as well as he--perhaps better.

With the thought of Dolores in the keeping of common brigands, I should have been, if not content, certainly less tortured. It was a different thing to think of her in the keeping of _Torreano Carrasco_!

Vividly flashed before me the taunting in the Cathedral--the scenes in the "Street of the Sparrows."

"Make ready, men! Look to your rifles and revolvers! Sergeant! form in single file, for a march up the mountain-path!"

As he of the triple chevron hastened to execute the order, I turned towards Francisco Moreno.

With an indescribable emotion, I bent down over the wounded man.

At a glance I could see that he had been badly abused.

In addition to several stabs from sword or poignard, the bullet of an _escopette_ had traversed his left thigh--the purple spot appearing right over the femoral artery!

I had myself received just such a shot at the storming of Chapultepec-- creasing, but, fortunately, without cutting the vein; and I knew, that if this had been opened in the thigh of Francisco Moreno it was his life-blood I saw upon the floor.

Its quant.i.ty, and the deathlike paleness of his face, were points for a sad prognosis.

In a double sense the spectacle gave me pain. In the finely-chiselled features--more perfect in their pallor--I saw that which had deprived me of Dolores Villa-Senor. No wonder she loved him!

But he was going from this world, and my jealousy should go with him.

It went at once, hastened by thoughts of Carrasco; and my first friendship for Francisco Moreno was restored in all its strength.

I looked around the room. There was no furniture, except such as appeared to have been transported thither for the occasion. I stepped into a small chamber adjoining. In this I discovered a _catre_, or camp-bedstead of leather, stretched upon trestles. Some shawls, scarfs, and other articles of female apparel thrown over it, told of its intended occupancy. It was to have been the _bridal bed_!

I had the bridegroom placed upon it; to receive the embrace, not of Dolores, but Death!

After a cursory examination of his wounds, I conceived a more hopeful opinion of them. The haemorrhage had been profuse. Still the main artery did not appear to be touched.

He was feeble as a child; and stood in need of some restorative.

I could think only of that which, under circ.u.mstances strangely a.n.a.logous, had given support to myself--a draught of _Catalan_. My flask was full of _refino_--the best that could be obtained in the Capital.

I placed it between his lips; and poured down a portion of its contents.

The effect was such as I antic.i.p.ated--drawing from my own remembrance.

The spirit pa.s.sed immediately through his frame--filling his veins as with fresh blood.

He soon became conscious: he recognised me.

"Ah, senor!" said he, looking gratefully in my face, "It is you--you who are doing me this kindness! Oh! tell me, where is she--Dolores--my own Dolores--my bride--my wife? Ah--no--she was not yet that? But where-- where--"

"Do not disquiet yourself about her," I said, with a bitterness that even his sufferings could not hinder me from showing. "No doubt she can take care of herself."

"But where is she? O senor! tell me where!"

"Compose yourself, Don Francisco. The lady cannot yet be far off. I fancy I shall be able to overtake the scoundrels who have carried her away."

"They have carried her away? O G.o.d! carried away, by him--by him!"

"By whom?"

It was an idle interrogatory. I knew without asking. There was a voice still ringing in my ears--a voice I had distinguished through the din of the strife, and which even then I fancied having heard before. I now knew it was no fancy. The friar had convinced me of that.

"That wretch, Carrasco!" replied the wounded man; "I am sure it was he.

I recognised him despite the c.r.a.pe mask. Lola, Lola! you are lost! And still more _Mercedes! pobre Mercedes_!"

I did not press for an explanation of this speech, that sounded so ambiguously strange. I only said in reply:

"Senor Moreno, do not excite yourself. Leave the matter in my hands.

My duty compels me to use every effort in recovering these ladies, and punishing the vile caitiffs who have carried them off. Have no fear about my doing what I can. If fate wills it, _your_ Dolores shall be restored to you."

"Thanks, thanks, senor! I feel a.s.sured you will do what can be done.

If not for _Dolores, you should for the sake of her sister_."

"Her sister! What mean you by that speech, captain Moreno?"

"Ah, caballero! if you but knew how she loves you!"

"Loves _me_!"

"Ay. It was in the hope of seeing you, that she consented to a.s.sist in a stratagem, of which I need not tell you now. It was to end by our going on to the Capital; where, since the storming of Chapultepec, she knew you have been residing. She heard of your gallant behaviour in that sanguinary action, and of the dangerous wounds you received. You cannot guess how she grieved for you--despite her chagrin. _Pobre Mercedes_!"

"Mercedes--grieved--chagrin! You mystify me."

"Ah, senor--your conduct mystified her. Ay more: it half broke her heart."

"Francisco Moreno! for heaven's sake explain yourself! What does all this mean--about _Mercedes_? Pray tell me!"

"I can tell you little, but what should be known to yourself. _Pobre nina_! She had made me her _confidant_,--having long been mine in my correspondence with Lola. O, senor! you have been kind to me. You are doubly so now. But why have you behaved so to Mercedes? Though I may never rise from this couch, I cannot help telling you it was dishonourable,--ay _cruel_!"

"On what occasion, may I ask, has this cruelty occurred?"

"You are mocking me, _amigo_? You must remember it. She gave you an appointment in the Alameda; and though you came, and she saw you, you went away without waiting to speak to her. After that slight she never saw you again! To win a woman's heart, and thus trifle with it! Was it not cruel? I ask, was it not cruel?"

An overpowering surprise hindered me from making reply. There was something more to account for my remaining silent. Through the darkness long shrouding my soul, I discerned the dawning of day.

"You cannot have forgotten the occasion?" continued the wounded man, still speaking reproachfully, "I myself have reason to remember it: since it brought me a message from Lola--the sweetest ever received from my _querida_. It was a written promise to be mine; a vow registered _en papel_: that sooner than enter the convent she would consent--_huyar-- huyar_. You know what that means?"

Though I well understood the significance of the phrase, I was not in a state of mind to answer the interrogatory. I had one of my own to put-- to me of far more importance.

"You received your letter through the window of a carriage? Was it not the writer herself who delivered it?"

"_Por Dios_, no! The _billet.i.ta_ you speak of was from _Dolores_. She who gave it me was _Mercedes_!"