The Rifle Rangers Part 27

"For our chances of a supper; a cold pasty, with a gla.s.s of claret.

What think you?"

"I do not feel hungry."

"But I do--as a hawk. I long once more to sound the Don's larder."

"Do you not long more to see--"

"Not to-night--no--that is until after supper. Everything in its own time and place; but a man with a hungry stomach has no stomach for anything but eating. I pledge you my word, Haller, I would rather at this moment see that grand old stewardess, Pepe, than the loveliest woman in Mexico, and that's `Mary of the Light'."

"Monstrous!"

"That is, until after I have supped. Then my feelings will doubtless take a turn."

"Ah! Clayey, you can never love!"

"Why so, Captain?"

"With you, love is a sentiment, not a pa.s.sion. You regard the fair blonde as you would a picture or a curious ornament."

"You mean to say, then, that my love is `all in my eye'?"

"Exactly so, in a literal sense. I do not think it has reached your heart, else you would not be thinking of your supper. Now, I could go for days without food--suffer any hards.h.i.+p; but, no--you cannot understand this."

"I confess not. I am too hungry."

"You could forget--nay, I should not be surprised if you have already forgotten--all but the fact that your mistress is a blonde, with bright golden hair. Is it not so?"

"I confess, Captain, that I should make but a poor portrait of her from memory."

"And, were I a painter, I could throw _her_ features upon the canvas as truly as if they were before me. I see her face outlined upon these broad leaves--her dark eyes burning in the flash of the cocuyo--her long black hair drooping from the feathery fringes of the palm--and her--"

"Stop! You are dreaming, Captain! Her eyes are not dark--her hair is not black."

"What! Her eyes not dark?--as ebony, or night!"

"Blue as a turquoise!"

"Black! What are you thinking of?"

"`Mary of the Light'."

"Oh, that is quite a different affair!" and my friend and I laughed heartily at our mutual misconceptions.

We rode on, again relapsing into silence. The stillness of the night was broken only by the heavy hoof bounding back from the hard turf, the jingling of spurs, or the ringing of the iron scabbard as it struck against the moving flanks of our horses.

We had crossed the sandy spur, with its chaparral of cactus and mezquite, and were entering a gorge of heavy timber, when the practised eye of Lincoln detected an object in the dark shadow of the woods, and communicated the fact to me.

"Halt!" cried I, in a low voice.

The party reined up at the order. A rustling was heard in the bushes ahead.

"_Quien viva_?" challenged Raoul, in the advance.

"_Un amigo_," (A friend), was the response.

I sprang forward to the side of Raoul and called out:

"_Acercate! acercate_!" (Come near!)

A figure moved out of the bushes, and approached.

"_Esta el Capitan_?" (Is it the captain?)

I recognised the guide given me by Don Cosme.

The Mexican approached, and handed me a small piece of paper. I rode into an opening, and held it up to the moonlight; but the writing was in pencil, and I could not make out a single letter.

"Try this, Clayley. Perhaps your eyes are better than mine."

"No," said Clayley, after examining the paper. "I can hardly see the writing upon it."

"_Esperate mi amo_!" (Wait, my master), said the guide, making me a sign. We remained motionless.

The Mexican took from his head his heavy _sombrero_, and stepped into a darker recess of the forest. After standing for a moment, hat in hand, a brilliant object shot out from the leaves of the _palma redonda_. It was the cocuyo--the great firefly of the tropics. With a low, humming sound it came glistening along at the height of seven or eight feet from the ground. The man sprang up, and with a sweep of his arm jerked it suddenly to the earth. Then, covering it with his hat, and inverting his hand, he caught the gleaming insect, and presented it to me with the e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n:

"_Ya_!" (Now!)

"_No muerde_," (It does not bite), added he, as he saw that I hesitated to touch the strange, beetle-shaped insect.

I took the cocuyo in my hand, the green, golden fire flas.h.i.+ng from its great round eyes. I held it up before the writing, but the faint glimmer was scarcely discernible upon the paper.

"Why, it would require a dozen of these to make sufficient light," I said to the guide.

"_No, Senor; uno basti--asi_;" (No, sir; one is enough--thus); and the Mexican, taking the cocuyo in his fingers, pressed it gently against the surface of the paper. It produced a brilliant light, radiating over a circle of several inches in diameter!

Every point in the writing was plainly visible.

"See, Clayley!" cried I, admiring this lamp of Nature's own making.

"Never trust the tales of travellers. I have heard that half a dozen of these insects in a gla.s.s vessel would enable you to read the smallest type. Is that true?" added I, repeating what I had said in Spanish.

"_No, Senor; ni cincuenta_," (No, sir; nor fifty), replied the Mexican.

"And yet with a single cocuyo you may. But we are forgetting--let us see what's here."

I bent my head to the paper, and read in Spanish:

"_I have made known your situation to the American commander_."