Chapter VIII: Part 8

I was not long in repairing to the house where I had left my friend. I found him suffering from fever--burning fever. In another day he was delirious; and in a week he had lost his arm; but the fever left him, and he began to recover. During the fortnight that followed, I made frequent visits; but a far more tender solicitude watched over him. Rafaela was by his couch; and the old man--her father--appeared to take a deep interest in his recovery. These, with the servants, were the only inmates of the house.

The treacherous enemy having broken the armistice, the burning of the Palace-castle of Chapultepec followed soon arter. Had we failed in the attempt, not one of us would ever have gone out from the valley of Mexico. But we took the castle, and our crippled forces entered the captured city of the Montezumas, and planted their banners upon the National Palace. I was not among those who marched in. Three days afterwards I was carried in upon a stretcher, with a bullet-hole through my thigh, that kept me within doors for a period of three months.

During my invalid hours, L--was my frequent visitor; he had completely recovered his health, but I noticed that a change had come over him, and his former gaiety was gone.

Fresh troops arrived in Mexico, and to make room, our regiment, hitherto occupying a garrison in the city, was ordered out to its old quarters at San Angel. This was welcome news for my friend, who would now be near the object of his thoughts. For my own part, although once more on my limbs, I did not desire to return to duty in that quarter; and on various pretexts, I was enabled to lengthen out my leave until the treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo.

Once only I visited Saint Angel. As I entered the house where L--lived, I found him seated in the open _patio_, under the shade of the orange trees. Rafaela was beside him, and his only hand was held in both of hers. There was no surprise on the part of either, though I was welcomed cordially by both--by her, as being the friend of the man she loved. Yes, she loved him.

"See," cried L--, rising, and referring to the situation in which I had found them. "All this, my dear H--, in spite of my misfortunes!" and he glanced significantly at his armless sleeve. "Who would not love her?"

The treaty of Guadalupe was at length concluded, and we had orders to prepare for the route homeward. The next day I received a visit from L--.

"Henry," said he, "I am in a dilemma."

"Well, Major," I replied, for L--as well as myself had gained a "step"--"what is it?"

"You know I am in love, and you know with whom. What am I to do with her?"

"Why, marry her, of course. What else?"

"I dare not."

"Dare not!"

"That is--not now."

"Why not? Resign your commission, and remain here. You know our regiment is to be disbanded; you cannot do better."

"Ah! my dear fellow, that is not the thing that hinders me."

"What then?"

"Should I marry her, and remain, our lives would not be safe one moment after the army had marched. Papers containing threats and ribald jests have, from time to time, been thrust under the door of her house--to the effect that, should she marry `el official Americano'--so they are worded--both she and her father will be murdered. You know the feeling that is abroad in regard to those who have shown us hospitality."

"Why not take her with you, then?"

"Her father, he would suffer."

"Take him too."

"That I proposed, but he will not consent. He fears the confiscation of his property, which is considerable. I would not care for that, though my own fortune, as you know, would be small enough to support us. But the old man will go on no terms, and Rafaela will not leave him."

The old man's fears in regard to the confiscation were not without good foundation. There was a party in Mexico, while we occupied the city, that had advocated "annexation"--that is, the annexing of the whole country to the United States. This party consisted chiefly of pure Spaniards, "ricos" of the republic, who wanted a government of stability and order. In the houses of these many of our officers visited, receiving those elegant hospitalities that were in general denied us by Mexicans of a more patriotic stamp. Our friends were termed "Ayankeeados," and were hated by the populace. But they were marked in still higher quarters. Several members of the government, then sitting at Queretaro--among others a noted minister--had written to their agents in the city to note down all those who, by word or act, might show kindness to the American army. Even those ladies who should present themselves at the theatre were to be among the number of the proscribed.

In addition to the Ayankeeados were many families--perhaps not otherwise predisposed to favour us--who by accident had admitted us within their circle--such accident as that which had opened the house and heart of Rafaela to my friend L--. These, too, were under "compromisa" with the rabble. My comrade's case was undoubtedly what he had termed it--a dilemma.

"You are not disposed to give her up, then?" said I, smiling at my anxious friend, as I put the interrogation.

"I know you are only jesting, Henry. You know me too well for that. No! Rather than give her up, I will stay and risk everything--even life."

"Come, Major," said I, "there will be no need for you to risk anything, if you will only follow my advice. It is simply this--come home with your regiment; stay a month or two at New Orleans, until the excitement consequent upon our evacuation cools down. Shave off your moustache, put on plain clothes; come back and marry Rafaela."

"It is terrible to think of parting with her. Oh!--"

"That may all be; I doubt it not; but what else can you do?"

"Nothing--nothing. You are right. It is certainly the best--the only plan. I will follow it." And L--left me.

I saw no more of him for three days, when the brigade to which he and I belonged, entered the city on its road homeward. He had detailed his plans to Rafaela, and had bid her, for a time, farewell.

The other three divisions had already marched. Ours was to form the rear-guard, and that night was to be our last in the city of Mexico. I had retired to bed at an early hour, to prepare for our march on the morrow. I was about falling asleep when a loud knock sounded at my door. I rose and opened it. It was L--. I started as the light showed me his face--it was ghastly. His lips were white, his teeth set, and dark rings appeared around his eyes. The eyes themselves glared in their sockets, lit up by some terrible emotion.

"Come!" cried he, in a hoarse and tremulous voice. "Come with me, Henry, I need you."

"What is it, my dear L--? A quarrel? A duel?"

"No! no! nothing of the sort. Come! come! come! I will show you a sight that will make a wolf of you. Haste! For God's sake, haste!"

I hurried on my clothes.

"Bring your arms!" cried L--; "you may require them."

I buckled on my sword and pistol-belt, and followed hastily into the street. We ran down the Calle Correo toward the Alameda. It was the road to the Convent of San Francisco, where our regiment had quartered for the night. As yet I knew not for what I was going. Could the enemy have attacked us? No--all was quiet. The people were in their beds. What could it be? L--had not, and would not, explain; but to my inquiries, continually cried, "Haste--come on!" We reached the convent, and, hastily passing the guard, made for the quarters occupied by my friend. As we entered the room--a large one--I saw five or six females, with about a dozen men, soldiers and officers. All were excited by some unusual occurrence. The females were Mexicans, and their heads were muffled in their rebozos. Some were weeping aloud, others talking in strains of lamentation. Among them I distinguished the face of my friend's betrothed.

"Dearest Rafaela!" cried L--, throwing his arms around her--"it is my friend. Here, Henry, look here! look at this!"

As he spoke, he raised the rebozo, and gently drew back her long black hair. I saw blood upon her cheeks and shoulders! I looked more closely. It flowed from her ears.

"Her ears! _O God! they have been cut off_!"

"Ay, ay," cried L--, hoarsely; and dropping the dark tresses, again threw his arms around the girl, and kissed away the tears that were rolling down her cheeks--while uttering expressions of endearment and consolation.

I turned to the other females; they were all similarly mutilated; some of them even worse, for their foreheads, where the U.S. had been freshly burned upon them, were red and swollen. Excepting Rafaela, they were all of the "poblana" class--the laundresses--the mistresses of the soldiers.

The surgeon was in attendance, and in a short time all was done that could be done for wounds like these.

"Come!" cried L--, addressing those around him, "we are wasting time, and that is precious; it is near midnight. The horses will be ready by this, and the rest will be waiting; come Henry, you will go? You will stand by us?"

"I will, but what do you intend?"

"Do not ask us, my friend, you will see presently."

"Think, my dear L--," said I, in a whisper; "do not act rashly."

"Rashly! there is no rashness about me--you know that. A cowardly act, like this, cannot be revenged too soon. Revenge! what am I talking of? It is not revenge, but justice. The men who could perpetrate this fiendish deed are not fit to live on the earth, and by Heavens! not one of them shall be alive by the morning. Ha, dastards! they thought we were gone; they will find their mistake. Mine be the responsibility,-- mine the revenge. Come, friends! come!" And so saying L--led the way, holding his betrothed by the hand. We all followed out of the room, and into the street.

On reaching the Alameda, a group of dark objects was seen among the trees. They were horses and horsemen; there were about thirty of the latter, and enough of the former to mount the party who were with L--. I saw from their size that the horses were of our own troops, with dragoon saddles. In the hurry L--had not thought of saddles for our female companions; but the oversight was of no consequence. Their habitual mode of riding was _a la Duchesse de Berri_, and in this way they mounted. Before summoning me, L--had organised his band--they were picked men. In the dim light I could see dragoon and infantry uniforms, men in plain clothes, followers of the army, gamblers, teamsters, Texans, desperadoes, ready for just such an adventure. Here and there I could distinguish the long-tailed frock--the undress of the officer. The band, in all, mustered more than forty men.

We rode quietly through the streets, and, issuing from the gate of Nino Perdido, took the road for San Angel. As we proceeded onward I gathered a more minute account of what had transpired at the village. As soon as our division had evacuated it, a mob of thirty or forty ruffians had proceeded to the houses of those whom they termed "Ayankeeados," and glutted their cowardly vengeance on their unfortunate victims. Some of these had been actually killed in attempting to resist; others had escaped to the Pedregal which runs close to the village; while a few-- Rafaela among the number--after submitting to a terrible atrocity, had fled to the city for protection.

On hearing the details of these horrid scenes, I no longer felt a repugnance in accompanying my friend. I felt as he did, that men capable of such deeds were "not fit to live," and we were proceeding to execute a sentence that was just, though illegal. It was not our intention to punish all; we could not have accomplished this, had we so willed it. By the testimony of the girls, there were five or six who had been the promoters and ringleaders of the whole business. These were well known to one or other of the victims, as in most instances it had been some old grudge for which they had been singled out, as objects of this cowardly vengeance. In Rafaela's case it was a ruffian who had once aspired to her hand, and had been rejected. Jealousy had moved the fiend to this terrible revenge.

It is three leagues from Mexico to San Angel. The road runs through meadows and fields of magueys. Except the lone _pulqueria_, at the corner where a cross path leads to the hacienda of Narvarte, there is not a house before reaching the bridge of Coyoacan. Here there is a cluster of buildings--"fabricas"--which, during the stay of our army, had been occupied by a regiment. Before arriving at this point we saw no one; and here, only people who, waked from their sleep by the tread of our horses, had not the curiosity to follow us.

San Angel is a mile further up the hill. Before entering the village we divided into five parties, each to be guided by one of the girls. L--'s vengeance was especially directed towards the _ci-devant_ lover of his betrothed. She herself knowing his residence, was to be our guide.

Proceeding through narrow lanes, we arrived in a suburb of the village, and halted before a house of rather stylish appearance. We had dismounted outside the town, leaving our horses in charge of a guard. It was very dark, and we clustered around the door. One knocked--a voice was heard from within--Rafaela recognised it as that of the ruffian himself. The knock was repeated, and one of the party who spoke the language perfectly, called out:--

"Open the door! Open, Don Pedro!"

"Who is it?" asked the voice.

"Yo," (I) was the simple reply.

This is generally sufficient to open the door of a Mexican house, and Don Pedro was heard within, moving toward the "Saguan."

The next moment the great door swung back on its hinges, and the ruffian was dragged forth. He was a swarthy fierce-looking fellow--from what I could see in the dim light--and made a desperate resistance, but he was in the hands of men who soon overpowered and bound him. We did not delay a moment, but hurried back to the place where we had left our horses. As we passed through the streets, men and women were running from house to house, and we heard voices and shots in the distance. On reaching our rendezvous we found our comrades, all of whom had succeeded in making their capture.

There was no time to be lost; there might be troops in the village-- though we saw none--but whether or not, there were "leperos" enough to assail us. We did not give them time to muster. Mounting ourselves and our prisoners we rode off at a rapid pace, and were soon beyond the danger of pursuit.

Those who have passed through the gate Nino Perdido will remember that the road leading to San Angel runs, for nearly a mile, in a straight line, and that, for this distance, it is lined on both sides with a double row of large old trees. It is one of the drives (paseos) of Mexico. Where the trees end, the road bends slightly to the south. At this point a cross road strikes off to the pueblito of Piedad, and at the crossing there is a small house, or rather a temple, where the pious wayfarer kneels in his dusty devotions. This little temple, the residence of a hermitical monk, was uninhabited during our occupation of the valley, and, in the actions that resulted in the capture of the city, it had come in for more than its share of hard knocks. A battery had been thrown up beside it, and the counter-battery had bored the walls of the temple with round shot. I never passed this solitary building without admiring its situation. There was no house nearer it than the aforementioned "tinacal" of Narvarte, or the city itself. It stood in the midst of swampy meadows, bordered by broad plats of the green maguey, and this isolation, together with the huge old trees that shadowed and sang over it, gave the spot an air of romantic loneliness.

On arriving under the shadow of the trees, and in front of the lone temple, our party halted by order of their leader. Several of the troopers dismounted, and the prisoners were taken down from their horses. I saw men uncoiling ropes that had hung from their saddle-bows, and I shuddered to think of the use that was about to be made of them.

"Henry," said L--, riding up to me and speaking in a whisper, "they must not see this."--He pointed to the girls.--"Take them some distance ahead and wait for us; we will not be long about it, I promise."

Glad of the excuse to be absent from such a scene, I put spurs to my horse, and rode forward, followed by the females of the party. On reaching the circle near the middle of the paseo I halted.

It was quite dark, and we could see nothing of those we had left behind us. We could hear nothing--nothing but the wind moaning high up among the branches of the tall poplars; but this, with the knowledge I had of what was going on so near me, impressed me with an indescribable feeling of sadness.

L--had kept his promise; he was not long about it.

In less than ten minutes the party came trotting up, chatting gaily as they rode, but their prisoners had been left behind.

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As the American army moved down the road to Vera Cruz, many travelling carriages were in its train. In one of these were a girl and a grey-haired old man. Almost constantly during the march a young officer might be seen riding by this carriage, conversing through the windows with its occupants within.

A short time after the return troops landed at New Orleans, a bridal party were seen to enter the old Spanish cathedral; the bridegroom was an officer who had lost an arm. His fame and the reputed beauty of the bride had brought together a large concourse of spectators.

"She loved me," said L--to me on the morning of this his happiest day; "she loved me in spite of my mutilated limb, and should I cease to love her because she has--no, I see it not; she is to me the same as ever."

And there were none present who saw it; few were there who knew that under those dark folds of raven hair were the _souvenirs_ of a terrible tragedy.

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The Mexican government behaved better to the Ayankeeados than was expected. They did not confiscate the property; and L--is now enjoying his fortune in a snug hacienda, somewhere in the neighbourhood of San Angel.

Story 4.

THE BROKEN BITT.

Several months after our army had made its fighting _entree_ into the capital of Mexico, the regiment known as the "Texan Rangers" arrived in that city. [Note. By _our_ army is understood the American forces.] I am not very certain but that their approach, peaceful as it was, created almost as much terror in the minds of the inhabitants, as our sword-in-hand entrance had occasioned three months before. The name "Tejano" in the ears of a Mexican, sounded with a fearful emphasis, as Goth might have done to a Roman, or Cossack to a plain Christian. Many of them thought they would now be called upon to answer for the sins of Santa Anna, for the treason of Santa Fe, the slaughter of the Alamo, and the _battue_ at Goliad. In the midst of this ludicrous consternation, the Texans rode quietly into the piazza, and breaking up into squadrons, filed off to their respective quarters. In a few hours the minds of the Mexicans became once more tranquil. They were not to be plundered, after all!

I shall never forget the appearance of the Texan Rangers as they pulled up in the Plazza--I could not call the movement a halt. If I live, I shall make an attempt to describe it. I say an attempt, for, to do justice to that ragged _coup d'oeil_ is beyond the privilege of the pen. The brush might do it, handled by a Hogarth; and had that excellent artist been in my place, there and then, we might have had a picture that would have drawn laughter so long as paint and canvas stuck together. Here we have no room for details. One point, however, must be noted, as it relates to our subject--the horses--for be it known, the Rangers were mounted men. Instead of the large cavalry horses which the government had put under them some six months before, each ranger now straddled a scraggy mustang, his boot-heel, with its rusty spur raking the ground as he rode along. What had become of the original "mount"? That was the question, which was answered thus:--The regiment had just made its march of several hundred leagues through the enemy's country, halting at various places. During the halts, the rich _haciendados_ coveting the fine steeds of Kentucky--colossal when compared with their own gingery jennets--offered freely for them. A series of "swops" had been the consequence. The Texan, at a horse trade keen as the edge of his bowie, took anything that could carry a saddle, at the same time receiving a "mighty heap" of dollars to square the exchange. In this way they had brought themselves down to the ill-conditioned nags upon which they made their first appearance in the capital. Strange to say, these grew fat in a trice, although they were constantly on the scout; seldom idle long enough to let their backs get dry. There was no rest for the Rangers. One week riding fifty leagues to capture Santa Anna; the next, after Paredes, or the robbers of the Cerro; the next, on the trail of the Padre Jarauta; and yet, despite this journeying and fatigue, it was observed by every one that the Rangers' horses, though still only mustangs, became as fat and plump as if they had been standing all the time with their heads in a corn-crib. It was wonderful to see horses thus fattening upon hard work!

Some endeavoured to account for it, by insinuating that they were not the same cattle upon which the regiment was mounted on its arrival--that the "swopping system" was still practised along the road, and frequently with only one party present at the "trade." There were such insinuations I remember well. Perhaps they were slanders, perhaps not. I leave it a question of inference.

About this time I was told of a splendid mare that was in the possession of one of the Rangers. Of course she was for sale. I wished just then to obtain such an animal; so, drawing three months' pay (being in all about 300 dollars), I rode over to the Texan quarters--intending, if the mare pleased me, to make a bid.

She was led out, and proved to be worthy of her reputation--a large brown Arabian, with jet black legs and sweeping tail, while her head and neck were graceful as an antelope's.

While examining her, I noticed a small brand upon her left hind flank. I observed at the same time that some diligence had been used to render the mark "unswearable." After a little puzzling and adjusting of hair, I made out the letter C.

"What is this?" I asked.

"It er the mark of a hot iron. Yer can see that, kint ye?"

"I can; but this mare is no mustang?"

"Aint a mustang neyther," responded the Ranger, whittling away at a strop of leather which he held in his hand, and seeming utterly indifferent to everything else.

"Why, then, has she been marked?" I inquired. "It is not usual for Americans to brand their horses, excepting those that belong to the government. Then they're branded U.S.; this mark is a C."

"Well, then, stranger, if you must know all about it, the mar' wur tuk from our people on the grand, by that ar chapparil fox Canales. He burned in that `C.' C stands for Canales, I reckin."

"That's true, and for many other names as well. But how did you get her back again?"

"Wagh! we kumd upon Canales an' his yellerbellies, an' tuk her from them ag'in, afore the singed bar had done smokin'. Now er yer satisfied?"

I was not. It is true, the story was probable enough. The mare was not Mexican, that was plain. The horse of that country is of a peculiar race, and is as easily distinguished from the English or American Arab, as a sheep is from a goat. Still she bore a Mexican mark, and had been in the possession of some of these people. She might have been, as the Ranger stated, one of our own horses captured and recaptured on the upper line; but I had not observed any such animal with the Texans on their arrival; and as I had heard that the _ricos_ of Mexico had, from time to time, imported blood stock from England and the United States, I feared that she might prove to be one of these. The voice of the Texan interrupted my reflection.

"The critter's Kaintuck," continued he--"true Kaintuck. She wur brought down on the Grand, by a lootenant at the breakin' out o' this hyar muss. She were at Paler Alter, an' at Monterey, an' Bony Yeesty; and at that Hashendy, the time as Dan Drake rid the hundred-mile gallop on Cash Clay's mar'. Old Kaintuck she er, an' nothin' else. They don't raise such cattle in these hyar diggins, I reckin'. Yee-up, old gal; hold up yer corn-trap; thar's money bid for ye!"

At the end of this curious monologue, the mare threw up her head and neighed long and loudly.

"Come, my man," said I, "what's the meaning of that?"

The neigh was peculiar, and struck me as that of a mare who had been recently separated from her colt.

"She's a whigherin' for a hoss, that's hyar," answered the Ranger coolly. "They haint been separate a half-an-hour for more 'n a yar, I reckin'. Hev they, Bill?"

"That they haint," replied the man appealed to, one of a crowd of Texans who had gathered around us.

"They're in the same kumpny, an' rid in the same file," continued the owner of the mare. "She won't bear that ar leetle hoss out o' her sight a minit. One o' the boys hes tuk _him_ out to water. That's why she whighers, aint it, Bill?"

"'Taint nothin' else," replied the _confrere_.

"But," said I, "it is strange I did not see this mare when you first came up. I was in the Piazza, and took particular notice of your horses. I think I should have remarked such a fine-looking animal as this."

"Look hyar, stranger," answered the Texan, somewhat irritated by this cross-questioning. "I brought this mar' up the road along with the raygyment. If yer want to buy her, yer kin do it, by givin' a fair vally for her. If yer don't, there's no bones broke, an' I don't care a nigger's dam. If I only take her out to the Palaza, I kin git my axin' from one o' these Mexikins in the twinklin' o' a goat's eye. Can't I, Bill?"

"Yes, siree," responded Bill.

"Yer say ye didn't see her when we kum up. That aint nothin' strange. She war kivered with sweat an' dust, inch deep; besides, she wur thin then as old bull in enow time. She aint to say fat yit, but she's improved some, I reckin'. Aint she, Bill?"

"A dog-goned heap," was the ready response of Bill. I was so taken with the appearance of the beautiful creature, that I determined to run the risk, and purchase her. I might have to give her up again to some gentleman claiming his property; but, thought I, I can easily recover my money, as the Ranger will be glad to pay it back to me, rather than spend his time in the guardhouse.

"How much?" I asked, having made up my mind to buy.

"The zact figger yer want?"

"Yes, the exact figure."

"Two-fifty: cheap enough, I reckin'. Aint it, Bill?"

"Dog cheap," was the laconic answer. I offered two hundred. It wouldn't do. The cunning Ranger saw that I was "bound" to have her, and stood up to his first asking. I raised my bid to two hundred and twenty-five.

"Won't take a picayune less nor two-fifty. She's a'mighty cheap at it. She er the finest mar' in all Mexiko. That's sartin."

After a while, I saw that the man was inexorable; and, drawing out my purse, I counted down the required amount. A bill of sale, which was signed by the Ranger, and witnessed by his comrade, Bill, completed the "trade," and the mare was forthwith transferred to my quarters. Under the nimble brush and comb of my Mexican groom, Vicente, she soon became the most admired piece of horseflesh that made its appearance on the Pasao.

About ten days after, a party of us (we had nothing to do at the time) came to the resolve to visit Real del Monte, a rich silver-mine in the mountains that skirt the north-east of the valley. A division of our army was stationed there, and some of our old _comarados_ had sent us an "invite" to come up and explore the mines--adding that two or three very hospitable English _haciendados_ lived in that neighbourhood.

We could not resist, and consequently made ready to start. There were eight or ten of us in all, who had asked and obtained leave; and as we intended to include in our excursion the old town of Tezcoco and the pyramids of Teotihuacan--a guerilla neighbourhood--we borrowed a score of dragoons to escort us. I had resolved to try my new purchase upon the road on this occasion.

The morning of our departure arrived, and I was about to throw my leg over the saddle, when I was accosted by a small, spare man, with the salutation--

"_Buenas dias, capitan_!"

There was nothing in the words strange or unusual, nor, indeed, in the individual who pronounced them; but there was something in the manner of this gentleman that told me at once he had some business with me.

"Well, senor," I asked, "what is it?"

The stranger hesitated for a moment, and then looking at the mare, replied, "La yegua, capitan."

"The mare--well, what of her?" I asked, with a beating heart.

"I regret to inform you, captain, that you have purchased a stolen horse;" and the little man bowed politely as he said it.

Had it been an order from the commander-in-chief, placing me under arrest, I should not have been so much vexed at it. I had grown so fond of this animal that I would cheerfully have paid down another two hundred and fifty rather than part with her, and this I saw plainly I would now have to do.

"Stolen!" I echoed involuntarily.

"Yes, captain, it is true."

"And from whom? From you, sir?"

"No, captain; from Don Miguel Castro."

"And you?"

"I am his agent--his _mayorazgo_--nothing more."

"Don Miguel Castro," thought I. "Yes--C for Castro--yes, all as he says, no doubt of it. I must give up the mare."

"Well, my dear sir," I asked, after a pause, "how am I to know that your statement is true?"

"Here, captain--here is the certificate of Senor Smeeth." Saying this, the little man handed me a folded document, on opening which I found it to be a bill of sale delivered by the celebrated Joe Smith, of Mexican horse-dealing notoriety, and describing the property to a hair.

"This seems quite correct," I observed, returning the bill; "but it will be necessary for you to prove this claim before the commander-in-chief; and when that is done I shall deliver you your mare. _Adios, caballero_!"

So saying, I rode off to overtake my companions, determined, since I must part with the animal, first to have one good ride out of her.

We spent about a week in the mountains, enjoying every amusement that our friends could provide for us. We found the English _haciendados_ worthy of their reputation. What a contrast between the cheer of their Saxon hospitality and the cold welcome of the selfish Iberian! But we approached the limits of our "leave," and must get back to duty and the city. After a parting and a promise to return, we leaped once more to the saddle, and headed our horses homeward.

It was our intention to have made the journey back in one day, but the stirrup-cup had delayed us at starting; and night--a very dark one at that season--overtook us as we crossed the isthmus between lakes Tezcoco and San Cristobal. The road was deep, miry, and bordered by bottomless zancas of mud and water. The little village of San Cristobal lay by the border of the lake, at some distance; and wheeling out of the road, we approached it, intending to remain there till morning. The _pueblito_ was reached at length, and with the alcalde's permission, our horses were picketed in the piazza, and ourselves put in possession of an empty _cuarto_, which, with several millions of fleas, was placed at our disposal. Money was offered freely, but no supper could be had; and when it was not to be procured for money, we had experience enough among these people to know that it was not to be had at all. A dish of _frijoles_ stewed in lard, a _tortilla_, and a bowl of sour _pulque_, were all that we could raise; and, after swallowing this, we lit our cigars, spread our blankets both over and under the fleas, and commenced arranging ourselves for the night.

It so happened that I could talk Spanish "like a book," and, furthermore, that I was the only one in our party who possessed this accomplishment. The alcalde, in consequence, directed all his conversation to me, and, being a sociable old fellow, he had become very fond of me. He had remained with us until a late hour, and during this time I had offered him a havanna, which he had accepted and smoked with much seeming enjoyment. As I was about seizing my blanket to make my "spread" along with the rest, old Jose Maria--for this was the alcalde's name--plucked me gently by the sleeve, and whispered in my ear that "_su casa_" was "_a mi disposition_" I was about to translate this hospitable proffer according to its usual French and Spanish signification, when it was repeated in a more pressing manner; and as I was not very difficult to coax away from the _cuarto_, I took Jose Maria at his word, and followed him across the piazza. On the other side was _su casa_. We entered it at once, and were welcomed by a felt, buxom-looking old lady, who proved to be Don Jose's left rib. Another lady made her appearance shortly after, who was neither so old, nor so fat, nor so buxom as the dona, but whose complexion was very dusky, with a dangerous black eye peeping from under a dark, crescent-shaped eyebrow. This, I was given to understand, was the only fruit of Don Jose's wedded life; and not bad-looking fruit either.

The ladies spent but little time in idle phrases of welcome. Jose snapped his fingers, and in a twinkling, a turkey hash with a large dish of _mole_, were smoking upon the table. There were other dishes, too-- pleasant little _entrees_, spiced and flavoured with all sorts of _chile_.

As I ate my supper with the alcalde and his compact little family, I could not help chuckling at the advantage I had gained over my supperless, and, no doubt, sleepless companions. Neither was my exultation diminished when, near the end of the repast, old Jose Maria stepped up to an alcove and drew out a quaint, queer old bottle, whose waxen seal conjured up exciting visions of the port of Funchal and the peak of Teneriffe.

I was fortunately enabled, through my cigar-case, to contribute to the evening's entertainment; and my host and I sat for an hour after the ladies had retired, discussing our wine and tobacco, and talking of the Texan Rangers, of which corps the worthy magistrate had rather a low opinion. It appeared that they had paid the neighbourhood a visit not long before, behaving upon the occasion in no very creditable manner.

It was late, or early if you will, when Jose inverted the bottle for the last time, and pressing my hand with a "_posa V. buena noche_!" the Mexican showed me to my chamber. Here I found one of the great and rare luxuries of this land--a couch with clean sheets; and in the "twinkling of a bedpost" I was between the latter, and forgetful of everything.

When I awoke in the morning, I found my comrades in the piazza, making ready to start. It was still only grey dawn, but as they were all sadly flea-bitten, and knew that nothing could be had to eat in San Cristobal, they had made up their minds to ride on, and breakfast at Guadalupe. I was preparing to accompany them, when Jose whispered in my ear that breakfast would be on the table in five minutes, and I must wait for it. This was a tempting offer. My health was excellent, and half-a-dozen mouthfuls of the fresh morning air had given me a keen appetite.

"If the breakfast," thought I, "bear any sort of proportion to last night's supper, it's worth waiting for; better than we are likely to get at Guadalupe; besides, `a bird in the hand,'" etc. I could soon overtake my companions on my fine mare, which had by this time proved herself a first-class roadster.

I placed my lips under the broad brim of Josh's, and repeated the words, "_Con gusto_."

"_Esta bueno_," replied Jose, slipping back into his house.

The next moment my companions had ridden off into the obscure twilight, and I was left alone in the village. None of my friends, I believe, had noticed that I stayed behind; and if they had, it would not have called forth a remark, as I was considered old enough to take care of myself.

My host proved as good as his word; for in five minutes, or less, the breakfast was steaming on the table; nor did it do any discredit to the supper. There were ham and eggs; a ham omelette; a chicken _fricase_; a dish of _chile rilleno_; another of _chile Colorado_; plenty of good claret, to wash down the peppers; and after that, a cup of the coffee which only Spaniards can make. Then there was a glass of good old Maraschino, and a cigar to "top off with," and as the morning was now tiptoe, I rose to take my leave. I shook hands with the senora, then with the senorita; and, amidst a shower of benedictions, I walked forth, followed by Jose Maria himself. My mare stood near the door, ready saddled. I threw the bridle over her neck, and was about to plant my foot in the stirrup, when my host touched me lightly on the left arm, and holding out a small slip of paper, with a sort of apologetic smile, uttered the words, "_Sa cuenta chiquita, capitan_." (The small bill, captain.)

"A bill!" I exclaimed, as soon as I had recovered from my astonishment.

"_Chiquitita_," (Very, very small) coolly responded Jose.

I took the "_cuenta chiquitita_" in my fingers, and opening it, read--"_Un peso por cena--un peso por cama--un peso por almuerzo--tres pesos por vino:--Suma seis pesos_." (Anglice: Slipper, one dollar--bed, one dollar--breakfast, one dollar--wine, three dollars. Total, six dollars.)

"It's a joke the old fellow's playing me," thought I.

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 hoarse. 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 chiquitita_," 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 clustering 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 goddess.

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 chiquitita_ 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 passed 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. Assuming 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 passing 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 goddess 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--

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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. On my return from Mexico, in June, 1848, I accidentally overhauled my man in the Ranger camp at Encerro. He was without a dollar. The _fandangueras_ of Jalapa had completely cleared him out; but, to do him justice, he did all in his power to make suitable reparation. Going behind the tents, he returned in a minute or two, leading a large and handsome sorrel, which he delivered over to me with due formality, and with the following wind-up:--

"Thar aint no such hoss doins in this hyar camp. I tell yer, cap, thet thet ar mar' wa'n't a suckumstance to this hyar anymal."

Story 5.

A TURKEY HUNT IN TEXAS.