The Guerilla Chief Part 13

That she _had been loved_, there could be little doubt. As little, that her lovers were legion. Could it be doubted that of some one of them she had reciprocated the pa.s.sion? After the age of twelve the heart of a Jarocha rarely remains unimpressed. Lola appeared to be sixteen.

The disquietude of my thoughts admonished me that I too loved this Mexican maiden. The very pain of my suspicions told me I could not help loving her, _even if a.s.sured that they were true_!

My pa.s.sion, if impure, was also powerful. The imputation cast upon its object in the letter of the _alcohuete_, instead of stifling, served only to fan it to a fiercer flame; and under the impression that the slanderer might have spoken the truth, I only blamed myself for having behaved towards the beautiful Jarocha with a respect that might, after all, in her eyes have seemed superfluous.

I was not so wicked as to give way to these gross ideas for any continued length of time; and as my memory dwelt upon her fair face; on her eyes of angelic expression; on the modest gracefulness of demeanour that marked her every movement; above all, on the devoted fondness of which her brother was the object, I could not think that Lola Vergara was otherwise than what she seemed--an angel of innocence; and that her brutal asperser was exactly what _he_ seemed--a demon of the darkest dye.

Under the influence of these less degrading reflections, my spirits became calmer; and I could ponder with less bitterness upon the contents of that infamous epistle.

Infamy it revealed of the deepest character, on the part of both writer and recipient, but nothing to compromise the character of the Jarocha: for the insinuation of Rayas might have been made either to flatter the vanity, or soothe the impatience, of his patron; and in all likelihood one or the other--perhaps both--was its true purpose.

One fact, made evident by the communication, gave me disquietude of another kind. Whether the heart of Lola Vergara was still safe, certain it was that her _honour_ was in danger. The brutal ruffian who would have murdered her brother, his old school-mate, on the field of battle, was not likely to stick at trifles of any kind, as I knew neither would he who was to reward him for the procuration. The a.s.sa.s.sin in intent, if not in reality, was not likely to be deterred by an abduction.

I could not help feeling serious apprehension for the safety of the girl, having only her invalid brother, a mere youth, to protect her.

With the robber at large, and the patron still retaining a certain degree of power, the life of the brother was scarcely more secure than the chast.i.ty of the sister.

It was true that the arch-contriver, now a fugitive from the field, was likely for some time to have his hands full of other and very different work, than that of effecting the ruin of a peasant girl. But the subordinate would still be upon the spot; and even without the cheering presence of his employer, or the prospect of speedy reward, he might have views of his own, equally affecting the welfare of Lola Vergara.

I was so much disquieted by these apprehensions, that I had ordered my horse, with the design of galloping down the road, if possible overtaking the cortege which accompanied the invalid, and making known both to him and to his sister the scheme I had so unexpectedly discovered!

They had been gone some four or five hours; but, from the slow progress a stretcher must make, they would not likely have been more than as many miles beyond the bridge of El Plan. There could be no difficulty in overtaking them.

After all, what good could come of it? I might put them on their guard; but surely they had received warning already--sufficient to stimulate them to the utmost caution?

Moreover, the Jarocho would be in his own village, surrounded by his friends--I saw he had friends. What danger, then, either to himself or to his sister?

My apprehensions were unreasonable; and perhaps my horse had been saddled as much from another motive which I need not declare.

_She_ might comprehend it, and to my prejudice--perhaps deem me importunate? She must have known all that I could tell her--perhaps more! Ah! true. She might not thank me for my interference.

As I stood hesitating between these two conflicting emotions, I was admonished that the hour was nigh, at which we had been ordered to strike tents, and march to join the head-quarters of the American army, by this time established in the town of Jalapa.

My troopers were forming on the field, preparatory to taking the route; and this among other motives decided my course of action.

Just as the sun had reached his meridian height, the bugler sounded the "_forward_!" and riding at the head of my little troop, I bade adieu to Cerro Gordo, now sacred to the G.o.d of war, but in my mind to remain hallowed as the spot upon which I had wors.h.i.+pped a far more agreeable divinity.

Story 1, Chapter XV.

TWO OLD ACQUAINTANCES.

Up the road from Cerro Gordo we travelled upon the track of a routed army.

All had not made good their retreat, as was evidenced by many a sad spectacle that came under our eyes as we went onward.

Here lay the dead horse, sunblown to enormous dimensions, with one lag-- a hind one--stiffly projecting into the air.

Not far off might be seen the corpse of his quondam rider, in like manner swollen--bloated to the very tips of the fingers--so that the latter scarcely protruded from the palms, that more resembled boxing-gloves than the hands of a human being!

Though only thirty hours had elapsed from the time that life had left them, this curious transformation had become complete. It was owing to the tropical sun, which for the whole of the previous day had been fiercely glaring upon the bodies.

I noted, as we pa.s.sed, that our slain enemies had not been unheeded.

All appeared, since death, to have been visited, and attended to--not for the purpose of interment, but of plunder.

Everything of value found upon the corpses had been stripped off; in the case of some, even to their vestments.

A few were stark naked--their swollen s.h.i.+ning skins displaying the gore-encircled _embouchure_ of sabre or shot-wound; and it was only those whose torn uniforms were saturated with black blood, who had been permitted to retain the rags that enveloped them--now stretched to such a tight fit, that it would have been an impossibility to have completed the process of stripping.

To the credit of the pursuing army be it told, that this ruthless spoliation was not the work of the American soldier. A part of it may have been performed by the stragglers of that army--in nine cases out of ten a European hireling--French, Irish, or German. Myself an Irishman, I can scarcely be charged with partiality in this statement. Alas! for the land of my nativity--whose moral sense has too long suffered from the baneful taint of monarchical tyranny! I but set forth the facts as I saw them.

It was no great consolation to know, that much of that spoilation had been done by Mexicans themselves--the patrolled prisoners, who had gone up the road before us.

The same deteriorating influence had been at work upon _their_ moral principles for a like period of time; and the intermittent glimpses they had got of a republic, had been too evanescent to have left behind much trace of its civilising power.

As we rode onward among the unburied dead, I was impressed by a singular circ.u.mstance. The corpse of no Mexican appeared to have suffered mutilation; while that of an American soldier, who had fallen by some stray shot, was stripped of its flesh--almost to the making a skeleton of it!

It was the work of wolves--we had no doubt about that. We several times saw the coyotes skulking under the edge of the chapparal, and at a greater distance the gaunt form of the large Mexican wolf. We saw great holes eaten in the hips of horses and mules; but not a scratch upon the corpse of a Mexican soldier!

"Why is it?" I asked of a singular personage who was riding immediately behind me, unattached to my troop, and whose experience over Texan and New Mexican battlefields I presumed would help me to an explanation.

"Why is it that the wolves have left _their_ bodies untouched?"

"Wagh!" exclaimed the individual thus interrogated, with an expression of scornful _disgust_ suddenly overspreading his features. "Wolves eat 'em! No--nor coyot's neyther. A coyot won't eat skunk; an' I reck'n thur karkidges aint less bitterer than the meat o' a skunk."

"You think there's something in their flesh that the wolves don't relish--something different from that of other people?"

"Think! I'm sartin sure o't. I've see'd 'em die whar we killed 'em-- when the Texans made their durned foolish expedishun northart to Santa Fe. I've seed 'em lyin' out in the open paraira, for hul weeks at a time, till they had got dry as punk--jest like them things they bring from somewhar way out t'other side of the world. Durn it, I dis-remember the name o' the place, an' the things themselves. You know what I'm trackin' up, Bill Garey? We seed 'em last time we wur at Sant Looey--in that ere queery place, whur they'd got Ingun things, an'

stuffed bufflers, an' the like."

"Mummeries?" replied the person thus appealed to, another unattached member of the corps of _rifle-rangers_. "Are that what you're arter, old Rube?"

"Preezackly, Bill Mum'ries; ay, the name war that--I reccolex it. They gits the critters out o' large stone buildin's, shaped same as the rockly islands we seed, when we were trappin' that lake out t'ords California."

"Pyramids!" exclaimed the old trapper's companion, in a tone indicative of a more enlightened mind. "Pyramids o' Eegip! That's where they get 'em--so the feller sayed, as showed 'em to us."

"Wal, wherever they gets 'em. I don't care a durn whur; but as I wur tellin' the capten, I've seed dead Mexikins as like them mum'ries as one buffler air to another. I've seed 'em lie out thur on the dry paraira, an' neer a coyot, nor a wolf, nor even a turkey-buzzart go near 'em, let alone eat o' thur meat. That's what I've seed, and so've you, Bill Garey."

"Ye're right, old hoss; I've seed what you says."

"Wagh! what, then?" interrogated the first speaker, "what do ye konklude from thet?"

"Wal," drawlingly responded his younger compeer; "I shed say by that thet thar meat warn't eatable, nohow."

"Ah! there you'd be right, Bill Garey. There ain't a critter on all the paraira as will stick a tooth into the meat o' a reg'lar Mexikin. Coyot won't touch it; painter won't go near it; or buzzart, that'll eat the durndest gurbage as ever wur throwed out o' a tent,--even to the flesh o' a Injun--won't dig its bill into the karkidge o' a yeller-belly.

I've seed it, an' I knows it."

"Well," I said, yielding to a belief in this curious theory--not propounded to me for the first time--"how do you account for this predilection, or rather _degout_, on the part of the predatory animals?"

"Digou!" replied the old trapper; "if ye mean by that 'ere a hanger agin 'em, 'taint nothin' o' the sort. It be the pure stink o' the anymal as keeps 'em off. How ked they be other'ise, eatin' nothin' but them red peppers, an' thur garlic, an' thur half-rotten jirk-meat? 'Taint a bit strange, I reckin, that neyther wolf nor buzzarts'll have anythin' to do wi' their karkidges. Is it, Billee?"