The Guerilla Chief Part 39

I looked at Jose, then at the bill; then back at Jose again, putting on a knowing smile, to show him that I was up to his fun; but after carrying on this dumb show for some moments, I perceived that not a muscle of the Mexican's face betrayed the slightest motion. His features remained as rigid as the bronze statue of Carlos Quinto that stood in the capital; and, after scanning them fairly, I became satisfied there was no joke either "meant or intended."

Arriving at this conclusion, my first impulse was to make his "worship"

eat the bill, and then leap to my saddle, and show him "clean heels;"

but this, I saw on reflection, would be but a shabby reckoning on my part. True I had fared well; but it was vexatious to be thus "chizzled," and in such a scandalous manner. It could not be mended, however; and mentally promising never again to trust Mexican hospitality, I drew forth my purse, and reluctantly counted out the "_seis pesos_." Then both mentally and verbally sending Jose to a climate hotter than the tropics, I touched my mare's flank, and left the village in a gallop.

I was so "bitter mad" at the trick played upon me, that I did not draw bridle for a mile or more. After that, checking my fiery animal, I fell into an easy canter, and laughed till I was nearly hoa.r.s.e. I kept straight on for Guadalupe, expecting to overhaul my friends in the middle of their breakfast.

I had not the slightest intention of showing them the "_cuenta chiquit.i.ta_," or saying a word about it. No, no; I should have preferred paying it twice over.

With these reflections, occasionally making the woods ring with my laughter, I had reached to within five miles of San Cristobal, when, all at once, my mare uttered a loud neigh, and sprang into a by road. The reins had been thrown loosely upon her neck; and before I could collect them, she was fairly into the new track, and going at top speed! I dragged with all my might upon the bitt--which happened to be a "fool's fancy," lightly constructed--when, to my mortification, one of the rings gave way, and the rein came back with a jerk. I had now only one rein.

With this I could have brought her up on open ground, but we were running up a narrow lane, and on each side was a treble row of magueys, forming a most fearful-looking _chevaux-de-frise_!

Had I pulled the mare to either side, she would have certainly tripped up in the magueys, and impaled me on their bayonet-shaped spikes. I could do nothing better than keep my seat, and let her run it out. She would not be long about it, at the rate she was going, for she ran as if on a course, and staked ten to one against the field. At intervals she would throw up her head, and utter that strange wild neigh which I had noticed on first seeing her.

On we went through the tall aloes, the rows of plants looking like a green fringe as we shot past them. We came up to several _ranchos_.

The _leperos_ that lounged about the doors threw up their hats, and shouted "_Viva_!" The _ranchos_ fell behind. A large house--a _hacienda_--lay before. I could see beautiful women cl.u.s.tering into the windows as I approached Gilpin and Don Quixote came into my head.

"Good heavens!" thought I. "What will they think of my riding past in this ludicrous style?"

Riding past! I had scarcely given words to the thought, when my mare wheeled sharply to the left--almost flinging me out of my seat--and dashed right into the main gateway of the mansion! Three more springs, and she was in the _patio_, where, stopping like a shot, she threw up her head, uttered another neigh, and stood looking wildly round, with heaving, smoking flanks. The neigh had scarcely echoed when it was answered from within; and the next moment a half-grown colt came loping through a doorway, and ran up with all the demonstrations of a filial recognition.

I had not time to recover from my surprise when a lovely apparition flashed out of the _portale_, and came running across the _patio_. It was a girl--something between a girl, a woman, and, I might add, a G.o.ddess.

Without heeding or seeming to notice my presence, she rushed up and flung her arms around the neck of my Arab, which bent its head to receive the embrace. The girl then pressed her lips against the velvet-like muzzle of the animal, all the while muttering exclamations, as--

"_Ah! mia yegua buenita! Mora, Morita, digame de donde viene, Morita_?"

(Ah, my pretty little mare! pretty Mora, little Mora, tell me whence come you, little Mora!)

And the mare replied to all this by a low neighing, turning from one to the other of the two objects that caressed her, and seemingly at a loss to know to which she should give most of her attention.

I sat speechless, looking down at the strange scene--at the beautiful girl--at her shining black hair (a cloth-yard long), as it hung loosely over her white, nude shoulders--at her rounded snowy arms--at her dark flashing eyes--at her cheeks, mounted with the hue of health and beauty--at her small red lips, as, like crushed rosebuds, they were pressed against the smooth skin of the Arab.

"Oh, I am dreaming!" thought I. "I am still between old Jose's comfortable sheets. It's the Teneriffe has done it all, and the _cuenta chiquit.i.ta_ is only a joke after all. Ha, ha, ha! I have paid no bill to the worthy alcalde--hospitable old fellow! It's all a dream--all."

But at this point of my reflections, several other ladies made their appearance in the _portale_, and several gentlemen, too, and the great gateway was fast filling up with the _pelados_ who had hooted me as I pa.s.sed the _rancheria_. It was no dream, then; I had settled one account, and I was fast becoming sensible that I should shortly be called upon to settle another.

Fortunately the fog caused by old Jose's Maraschino had now cleared away, and I began to comprehend how the "camp was pitched." It was certain that my mare _had got home_. That was plain enough. It was equally certain that the old gentleman with the white moustache, and dark stern eyebrows, was Don Miguel Castro. These two points were as clear as daylight. It was very evident that I had got myself, or rather the mare had got me, into a most awkward predicament. How was I to get out of it? This was by no means clear.

Should I confess all, and throw myself on their mercy? It was a queer-looking gang by the gateway. They wouldn't wish better sport than to chuck me into a horse-pond, or string me up to the limb of a tree.

No, it would never do to confess. I must account for the broken bridle to save a broken head. I need hardly mention that these were only silent thoughts. But at that moment a plan of escape from my dilemma came into my mind.

By that time the gentlemen, headed by the old don, had descended into the _patio_ and approached the mare, upon whose back I still kept my seat. Hitherto they had exhibited indications of alarm. They supposed at first that a troop of Texan Rangers was at my heels. Becoming satisfied, in consequence of the reports of the _rancheros_, that I was alone, they now surrounded me with stern, inquiring looks. There was no time to be lost. I must not allow them to speculate on how the bridle came to be broken, or that they were indebted to the mare alone, for my visit. No, that would never do; so, throwing my legs over the croup, I landed upon the pavement with as much deliberation as if I had been dismounting at my own stable-door. a.s.suming all the _sang-froid_ I could muster, I walked up to the old gentleman in grey, and making him a polite bow, said interrogatively--

"Don Miguel Castro?"

"_Si senor_," replied he, in a hurried manner, and, as I fancied, somewhat angrily.

"This is your mare?"

"_Si senor_," in the same tone and manner.

"She was lately stolen from you?"

"_Si senor_," with the like emphasis.

"By a Texan Ranger?"

"_Por un ladron_," (by a robber), replied the Mexican, with an angry look, which I observed was copied by very dark countenances appearing all around me.

"He certainly was not an honest man," I answered, with a smile. "You have an agent in Mexico," continued I, "who has claimed this animal in your name?"

"_Si senor_."

"I had purchased her from the Texan, who deceived me as to her previous history."

"I know all that," was the prompt response.

"I told your agent--not knowing him--that I could not give her up until his claim was made good before the commander-in-chief, or until I could have the honour of an interview with yourself."

"_Bueno_!"

"I was pa.s.sing with a party of friends, and, leaving them, I entered the road leading to your residence, and, as you see, I am here. I should apologise for the _manner_ of my approach. The animal, overjoyed at heading towards her home, made a complete run away with me, and, as you may observe, has broken the bitt-ring."

There was the least little bit of a white lie in this, but I felt that my life was in extreme danger. The Texans had harried this neighbourhood not a month before--in fact, at the time the mare was stolen. Several men had been killed upon the occasion. The inhabitants were much exasperated in consequence, and would have thought little of making me the victim of retaliatory vengeance, by jerking me up to a tree. I think, therefore, I was rather justified in the slight colouring I gave to my narrative.

Don Miguel stood for some time as if puzzled at what I had said.

"You say, then, the mare is yours?" I resumed, breaking the silence.

"_Si senor, esta mia_," was the reply.

"Will you have the goodness to order one of your servants to remove the saddle and bridle?"

This was done as desired.

"May I request you to keep them in safety until I can have an opportunity to send for them?"

"Certainly, sir," replied the don, brightening up.

"And now, sir, may I ask you to certify that you have recovered your mare, since that will be necessary to enable me to recover my money?"

By this time the don and his party were quite overcome by my _rare generosity_! The stern looks disappeared; the _pelados_ were driven out of the _patio_; and in five minutes more I found myself stretching my limbs under the family table, and on the best of terms with the whole household, including the little G.o.ddess before mentioned, who proved to be the real owner of the Arab. It was lucky for me that I was not quartered in that vicinity, or she might have become the owner of something that I could less conveniently have parted with. As it was, I came out of the fire of her brilliant eyes almost unhurt, which I may attribute to the insensibility produced by a very choice article of old "Bordeos" that was exhumed from the vaults under Don Miguel's mansion.

I came off--I can hardly tell how. I remember clambering into a yellow carriage, and rolling along a level road. I remember meeting a party of mounted men, who said they had been sent out to look for me, and then I remember--

Two days afterwards I went to seek the Ranger, and learned, to my chagrin, that he was gone. His company had been ordered down the road, as the escort of a train to Vera Cruz, where they were to be disbanded and sent home. Had I lost my two hundred and fifty dollars? Not so.