The Bandolero Part 5

Afterwards I had reason to believe in the wholesale despoliation. I was witness to more than one living ill.u.s.tration of it.

But, in truth, it is not so very different from what is daily, hourly, occurring among ourselves. It is dishonesty under a different garb and guise--a little bolder than that of our burglar--a little more picturesque than that practised by the fustian-clad garotter of our streets.

And let it be remembered, in favour of Mexican morality--that, for one daring bandolero upon the road, we have a hundred sneaking thieves of the attorney type--stock-jobbers--promoters of swindling speculations-- trade and skittle sharpers--to say nothing of our grand Government swindle of over-taxation--all of which are known only exceptionally in the land of Moctezuma.

In point of immorality--on one side stripping it of its picturesqueness, on the other of its abominable plebbishness--I very much doubt, whether the much-abused people of Mexico need fear comparison with the much-bepraised people of England.

For my part, I most decidedly prefer the robber of the _road_, to him of the _robe_; and I have had some experience of both.

This digression has been caused by my recalling an encounter with the former, that occurred to me in La Puebla--on that same night when I found myself forestalled.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

A RIVAL TRACKED TO HIS ROOF-TREE.

That I _was_ forestalled, there could be no mistake.

There was no ambiguity about the meaning of the phrase: "G.o.d be with you, dear Francis!" The coldest heart could not fail to interpret it-- coupled with the act to which it had been an accompaniment.

My heart was on fire. There was jealousy in it; and, more: there was anger.

I believed, or fancied, that I had cause. If ever woman had given me encouragement--by looks and smiles--that woman was Mercedes Villa-Senor.

All done to delude me--perhaps but to gratify the slightest whim of her woman's vanity? She had shown unmistakeable signs of having noted my glances of admiration. They were too earnest to have been misunderstood. Perhaps she may have been a little flattered by them?

But, whether or no, I was confident of having received encouragement.

Once, indeed, a flower had been dropped from the _balcon_. It had the air of an accident--with just enough design to make the act difficult of interpretation. With the wish father to the thought, I accepted it as a challenge; and, hastening along the pavement, I stooped, and picked the flower up.

What I then saw was surely an approving smile--one that seemed to say: "in return for your sword-knot." I thought so at the time; and fancied I could see the ta.s.sel, protruding from a plait in the bodice of the lady's dress--shown for an instant, and then adroitly concealed.

This sweet chapter of incidents occurred upon the occasion of my tenth stroll through the Calle del Obispo. It was the last time I had the chance of seeing Mercedes by twilight. After that came the irksome interval of seclusiveness,--now to be succeeded by a prolonged period of chagrin: for the dropping of the _billet-doux_, and the endearing speech, had put an end to my hopes--as effectually as if I had seen Mercedes enfolded in Francisco's arms.

Along with my chagrin I felt spite. I was under the impression that I had been _played with_.

Upon whom should I expend it? On the Senorita?

There was no chance. She had retired from the balcony. I might never see her again--there, or elsewhere? Who then? The man who had been before me in her affections?

Should I cross over the street--confront--pick a quarrel with him, and finish it at my sword's point? An individual whom I had never seen, and who, in all probability, had never set eyes upon me!

Absurd as it may appear--absolutely unjust as it would have been--this was actually my impulse!

It was succeeded by a gentler thought. Francisco's face was favourable to him. I saw it more distinctly, as he leant forward under the lamp to decipher the contents of the note. It was such a countenance as one could not take offence at, without good cause; and a moment's reflection convinced me that mine was not sufficient. He was not only innocent of the grief his rivalry had given me, but in all likelihood ignorant of my existence.

From that time forward he was likely to remain so.

Such was my reflection, as I turned to take my departure from the place.

There was no longer any reason for my remaining there. The cochero might now come and go, without danger of being accosted by me. His tardiness had lost him the chance of obtaining an _onza_; and the letter I had been hitherto holding in my hand went crumpled back into my pocket. Its warm words and soft sentiments--contrived with all the skill of which I was capable--should never be read by her for whom they had been indited!

So far as the offering of any further overtures on my part, I had done with the daughter of Don Eusebio Villa-Senor; though I knew I had not done with her in my heart, and that it would be long--long--before I should get quit of her there.

I turned to go back to my quarters--in secret to resign myself to my humiliation. I did not start instantly. Something whispered me to stay a little longer. Perhaps there might be a second act to the episode I had so unwillingly witnessed?

It could hardly be this that induced me to linger. It was evident she did not intend reappearing. Her visit to the balcon had the air of being made by stealth. I noted that once or twice she cast a quick glance over her shoulder--as if watchful eyes were behind her, and she had chosen a chance moment when they were averted.

The manoeuvre had been executed with more than ordinary caution. It was easy to see they were lovers _without leave_. Ah! too well could I comprehend the clandestine act!

Still standing concealed within the shadow of the portal, I watched Francisco deciphering, or rather devouring, the note. How I envied him those moments of bliss! The words traced upon the tiny sheet must be sweet to him, as the sight was bitter to me.

His face was directly under the lamplight. I could see it was one that woman might well love, and man be jealous of. No wonder he had won the heart of Don Eusebio's daughter!

He was not long in making himself acquainted with the contents of the epistle. Of course they caused him joy. I could trace it in the pleased expression that made itself manifest in every line of his countenance. Could I have seen my own, I might have looked upon a sad contrast!

The reading came to a close. He folded the note, and with care--as though intending it to be tenderly kept. It disappeared under his cloak; the cloak was drawn closer around him; a fond parting look cast up to the place from which he had received the sweet missive; and then, turning along the pavement, he pa.s.sed smilingly away.

I followed him.

I can scarce tell why I did so. My first steps were altogether mechanical--without thought or motive.

It might have been an instinct--a fascination--such as often attracts the victim to the very danger it should avoid.

Prudence--experience, had I consulted it--would both have said to me:

"Go the other way. Go, and forget her! Him too--all that has happened.

'Tis not yet too late. You are but upon the edge of the Scylla of pa.s.sion. You may still shun it. Retire, and save yourself from its Charybdis!"

Prudence and experience--what is either--what are both in the balance against beauty? What were they when weighed against the charms of that Mexican maiden?

Even the slight I had experienced could not turn the scale in their favour! It only maddened me to know more; and perhaps it was this that carried me along the pavement, on the footsteps of Francisco.

If not entertained at first, a design soon shaped itself--a sort of morbid motive. I became curious to ascertain the condition of the man who had supplanted me; or whom I had been myself endeavouring to supplant with such slight success.

He had the air of a gentleman, and the bearing of a true _militario_--a type I had more than once met with in the land of Anahuac--so long a prey to the rule of the sabre.

There was nothing particularly martial about his habiliments.

As he pa.s.sed lamp after lamp in his progress along the street, I could note their style and character. A pair of dark grey trousers without stripes; a cloak; a glazed hat--all after a fashion worn by the ordinary _commerciantes_ of the place. I fancied I could perceive a certain shabbiness about them--perhaps not so much that, as a threadbareness-- the evidence of long wear: for the materials were of a costly kind. The cloak was of best broadcloth--the fabric of Spain; while the hat was encircled by a bullion band, that, before getting tarnished by the touch of time, must have shone splendidly enough.

These observations were not made without motive. I drew from them a series of deductions. One, that could not be avoided: that my rival, instead of being rich, was in the opposite condition of life--perhaps penniless?

I was confirmed in this conjecture, as I saw him stop before the door of an humble one-storied dwelling, in a street of corresponding pretensions; thoroughly convinced of it as he lifted the latch with a readiness that betokened it to be his home, and, without speaking to any one, stepped inside.

The circ.u.mstances were conclusive; he was not one of the "ricos" of the place. It explained the clandestine correspondence, and the caution observed by her who flung down the _billet.i.ta_.

Instead of being solaced by the thought, it only increased my bitterness of spirit. I should have been better pleased to have seen my rival surrounded by splendour. A love unattracted by this must be indeed disinterested--without the possibility of being displaced. No chance to supplant the lover who is loved for himself. I did not harbour a hope.

A slight incident had given me the clue to a romantic tale. Mercedes Villa-Senor, daughter of one of the richest men in the place--inhabiting one of its grandest mansions--in secret correspondence with a man wearing a threadbare coat, having his home in one of the lowliest dwellings to be found in the City of the Angels!