The Rifle Rangers Part 42

"Cen.o.bio had got a large lot of cochineal from a crafty trader at Oaxaca. It was _cached_ about two leagues from the hacienda in the hills, and a vessel was to drop into the mouth of the Medellin to take it on board.

"A party of us were engaged to carry it across to the coast; and, as the cargo was very valuable, we were all of us armed to the teeth, with orders from the _patrone_ to defend it at all hazards. His men were just the fellows who would obey that order, coming, as it did, from Cen.o.bio.

"The Government somehow or other got wind of the affair, and slipped a strong detachment out of Vera Cruz in time to intercept us. We met them on the other side of this very hill, where a road strikes off towards Medellin."

"Well! and what followed?"

"Why, the battle lasted nearly an hour; and, after having lost half a score of their best men, the valiant lancers rode back to Vera Cruz quicker than they came out of it."

"And the smugglers?"

"Carried the goods safe on board. Three of them--poor fellows!--are lying not far off, and I came near sharing their luck. I have a lance-hole through my thigh, here, that pains me at this very moment."

My ear at this moment caught the sound of dogs barking hoa.r.s.ely below.

Horses of the cavalcade commenced neighing, answered by others from the adjacent fields, who recognised their old companions.

"It must be near night," I remarked to Raoul.

"I think, about sunset, Captain," rejoined he. "It _feels_ about that time."

I could not help smiling. There was something ludicrous in my comrade's remark about "feeling" the sunset.

The barking of the dogs now ceased, and we could hear voices ahead welcoming the guerilleros.

The hoofs of our mules struck upon a hard pavement, and the sounds echoed as if under an arched way.

Our animals were presently halted, and we were unpacked and flung rudely down upon rough stones, like so many bundles of merchandise.

We lay for some minutes listening to the strange voices around. The neighing of horses, the barking and growling of dogs, the lowing of cattle, the shouts of the arrieros unpacking their mules, the clanking of sabres along the stone pavement, the tinkling of spurs, the laughter of men, and the voices of women--all were in our ears at once.

Two men approached us, conversing.

"They are of the party that escaped us at La Virgen. Two of them are officers."

"_Chingaro_! I got this at La Virgen, and a full half-mile off. 'Twas some black jugglery in their bullets. I hope the _patrone_ will hang the Yankee savages."

"_Quien sabe_?" (Who knows?) replied the first speaker. "Pinzon has been taken this morning at Puenta Moreno, with several others. They had a fandango with the Yankee dragoons. You know what the old man thinks of Pinzon. He'd sooner part with his wife."

"You think he will exchange them, then?"

"It is not unlikely."

"And yet he wouldn't trouble much if you or I had been taken. No--no; he'd let us be hanged like dogs!"

"Well; that's always the way, you know."

"I begin to get tired of him. By the Virgin! Jose, I've half a mind to slip off and join the Padre."

"Jarauta?"

"Yes; he's by the Bridge, with a brave set of Jarochos--some of our old comrades upon the Rio Grande among them. They are living at free quarters along the road, and having gay times of it, I hear. If Jarauta had taken these Yankees yesterday, the zopilote would have made his dinner upon them to-day."

"That's true," rejoined the other; "but come--let us un-blind the devils and give them their beans. It may be the last they'll ever eat."

With this consoling remark, Jose commenced unbuckling our _tapojos_, and we once more looked upon the light. The brilliance at first dazzled us painfully, and it was some minutes before we could look steadily at the objects around us.

We had been thrown upon the pavement in the corner of the _patio_--a large court, surrounded by ma.s.sive walls and flat-roofed houses.

These buildings were low, single-storied, except the range in front, which contained the princ.i.p.al dwellings. The remaining three sides were occupied by stables, granaries, and quarters for the guerilleros and servants. A portale extended along the front range, and large vases, with shrubs and flowers, ornamented the bal.u.s.trade. The portale was screened from the sun by curtains of bright-coloured cloth. These were partially drawn, and objects of elegant furniture appeared within.

Near the centre of the patio was a large fountain, boiling up into a reservoir of hewn mason-work; and around this fountain were clumps of orange-trees, their leaves in some places dropping down into the water.

Various arms hung or leaned against the walls--guns, pistols, and sabres--and two small pieces of cannon, with their caissons and carriages, stood in a prominent position. In these we recognised our old acquaintances of La Virgen.

A long trough stretched across the patio, and out of this a double row of mules and mustangs were greedily eating maize. The saddle-tracks upon their steaming sides showed them to be the companions of our late wearisome journey.

Huge dogs lay basking upon the hot stones, growling at intervals as someone galloped in through the great doorway. Their broad jaws and tawny hides bespoke the Spanish bloodhound--the descendants of that race with which Cortez had harried the conquered Aztecs.

The guerilleros were seated or standing in groups around the fires, broiling jerked beef upon the points of their sabres. Some mended their saddles, or were wiping out an old carbine or a clumsy escopette. Some strutted around the yard, swinging their bright mangas, or trailing after them the picturesque serape. Women in rebozos and coloured skirts walked to and fro among the men.

The women carried jars filled with water. They knelt before smooth stones, and kneaded tortillas. They stirred chile and chocolate in earthen ollas. They cooked frijoles in flat pans; and amidst all these occupations they joked and laughed and chatted with the men.

Several men--officers, from their style of dress--came out of the portale, and, after delivering orders to the guerilleros on guard, returned to the house.

Packages of what appeared to be merchandise lay in one corner of the court. Around this were groups of arrieros, in their red leathern garments, securing their charge for the night, and laying out their _alparejas_ in long rows by the wall.

Over the opposite roofs--for our position was elevated--we could see the bright fields and forest, and far beyond, the Cofre de Perote and the undulating outlines of the Andes. Above all, the white-robed peak of Orizava rose up against the heavens like a pyramid of spotless snow.

The sun had gone down behind the mountains, but his rays still rested upon Orizava, bathing its cone with a yellow light, like a mantle of burnished gold. Clouds of red and white and purple hung like a glory upon his track, and, descending, rested upon the lower summits of the Cordillera. The peak of the "Burning Star" alone appeared above the clouds, towering in sublime and solitary grandeur.

There was a picturesque loveliness about the scene--an idea of sublimity--that caused me for the moment to forget where I was or that I was a captive. My dream was dispelled by the harsh voice of Jose, who at that moment came up with a couple of peons, carrying a large earthen dish that contained our supper.

This consisted of black beans, with half a dozen tortillas; but as we were all half-famished we did not offer any criticism on the quality of the viands. The dish was placed in our midst, and our arms were untied for the first time since our capture. There were neither knives, forks, nor spoons; but Raoul showed us the Mexican fas.h.i.+on of "eating our spoons", and, twisting up the tortillas, we scooped and swallowed "right ahead."

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN.

CHANE'S COURTs.h.i.+P.

The dish was emptied, as Clayley observed, in a "squirrel's jump."

"Be my sowl! it ates purty well, black as it is," said Chane, looking ruefully into the empty vessel. "It's got a worse complaint than the colour, didn't yez fetch us a thrifle more of it, my darlint boy?" he added, squinting up at Jose.

"_No entiende_," (Don't understand), said the Mexican, shaking his head.

"No in tin days!" cried Chane, mistaking the "_no entiende_" for a phrase of broken English, to which, indeed, its p.r.o.nunciation somewhat a.s.similates it. "Och! git out wid you! Bad luck to yer picther! In tin days it's Murtagh Chane that'll ayther be takin' his tay in purgathory or atin' betther than black banes in some other part of the world."

"_No entiende_," repeated the Mexican as before.