University of Virginia Library

22. CHAPTER XXII.

Sylvia, that arch beldame, as Juana esteemed her, in the sovereignty
of her domain, below stairs, was, at this moment, in the
enjoyment of her highest felicity. She had a good supper before
her; her toils of the day were ended, and she was congratulating
herself upon the ease and security with which she could
command all the comforts which were necessary to the creature.
Supper over, she would sleep, and the dreams that would
follow might reasonably be expected to be all very pleasant ones.
But Fortune plays fine tricks with human securities, and the
Fates are always busy to thwart pleasant anticipations; making
no sort of difference between those of the nobleman and those of the
drudge. Humble as was Sylvia's secret of happiness, it was destined
to disappointment; and care nestled in the cup, the grateful
beverage of which she was about to carry to her lips. In this
very moment, the cruel and capricious fortune, in the aspect of
the mestizo, Mateo, stood quietly behind the old woman, prepared
to cast the sack over her head. Suddenly she felt a rude gripe
of huge, strange fingers about her throat, utterly denying her
the privilege to scream;—almost to breathe! Hardly had she
been thus surprised, when a shawl was passed about her jaws,
effectually shutting out the supper, and just as effectually shutting
in all sound. She strove desperately to shriek, but the voice died
away in a hoarse but faint gurgling in her throat. She was in the
hands of an adroit enemy. Mateo was dexterous in his vocation.
He had enjoyed some practice in his outlawed life. The eyes of
the old woman were soon enveloped in another bandage, and as

completely denied to see, as her mouth to speak or swallow. A
stout cord was then passed about her arms, and thus rendered
hors du combat, she might be trusted safely. Every obstacle was
thus removed from the way of the conspirators, and Mateo now
gave the signal for the appearance of Juana, who, till this moment,
had kept in the background. She was not long in showing
herself. Mateo, in the meanwhile, coolly took his place at the
table which bore the supper of Sylvia, and his appetite being invigorated,
we may suppose, by long abstinence and previous toils,
he proceeded to its demolition in a manner which would have
shocked the true proprietor, could she have seen. She suspected
no doubt what was in progress, but there was no remedy. She had
to submit with as much resignation as she could command.

Meanwhile, Juana was otherwise busied in making inquest into
the secrets of the prison-house. Mateo soon joined her, and the
leading purpose of the conspirators was soon made apparent.
There were closets thrown wide, and boxes torn open. All the
goods and chattels, the accumulations of old Anita, to which Sylvia
had so quietly succeeded, were brought out from their hiding-places.
One may conjecture the variety of treasures which
had been accumulated by both these ancient beldames, in the
course of half a century of peculation. But the details must be
left to conjecture. Our purpose is not a catalogue. Mateo and
Juana were equally busy. The latter knew where to look, and the
former how to secure. His machete did good service in forcing
open boxes; and every sack which could be found, was appropriated
to the compact accumulation of the scattered treasures.
Slung upon the broad, strong shoulders of the outlaw, they disappeared
one by one; transferred, in brief space, from the house
to the adjoining woods, where, it seems, the mestizo had seasonably
provided a sort of cart for their better conveyance to other
hiding-places. The work was done by a practiced hand, and very
effectually.

Sylvia could readily conjecture what was going on, but she was
only able to groan and grieve internally. She did not remain
passive, however, and rose up, blinded and muzzled, and corded

as she was, with more than one effort to interfere. It was only
by one or two emphatic exhortations from the heavy fists of the
outlaw, that she was persuaded of the better policy of submitting,
without farther struggles, to her fate.

Supposing this work to be fairly over, and Mateo in full possession
of all his mother's chattels; perhaps of others also, to
which that amiable woman could never assert any claim, the outlaw
found it becoming to transfer his attentions to another of the
household. His next work was with the master.

We have seen that Don Balthazar de Alvaro was disposed to
indulge in a somewhat meditative mood; one, however, in which
conscience was allowed to play only a subordinate part to philosophy.
The pleasant fumes of the cigar, the grateful potency of
the wine-flask, the genial sweetness of the climate, had together,
as we have seen, induced finally a very grateful condition of revery,
in which the thoughts of the mind accommodated themselves,
with a rare condescension, to the humors of the body. The result
was a condition of complacent happiness, which was stripped
of all apprehensions. There were no clouds in his sky, that he
could perceive; and for the troubles of his hearth, it was surprising
how slight they seemed, and how soon they were dispersed,
as he meditated his good fortune, his own resources, and
brought the energies of his will to bear upon the future. It was
only to get Philip de Vasconselos out of his path;—and for this
object he had several schemes, even if the love-sick damsel should
fail to assert her virtuous resolution to reject him;—to get Olivia
out to her plantation, and under proper surveillance there; and
then for the gold regions of the Apalachian, and one or two campaigns.
His ambition was not asleep during all these speculations.
His appetites demanded free floods of gold; he required captive
red men for slaves; he had fancies of royal favor, and did not see
why he, too, should not become the Adelantado of newly-discovered
and treasure-yielding provinces. It is rarely that ambition
is satisfied with a single field of conquest. It throws out its antennœ
in all directions; it grasps wide, right and left, and baits
for all the fish in the sea; is as eager after power as money;

after slaves as conquest; after love, or lust, as in the soul-starving
search after gold. Don Balthazar, reclined on his cane sofa,
head thrown back, cigar in mouth, and wine-flask at his elbow,
was in the enjoyment of a great variety of very grateful anticipations.
How the coldest and sternest of men may become
dreamers, it is scarcely necessary to insist, with the experienced
reader.

It was the very moment when his dreaming mood was most
active, and most serenely secure in the possession of the most
teeming fancies, that Mateo, the outlaw, chose for appearing in
the presence of the knight. Now, we must do the mestizo the
justice to say that it was no part of his design to disperse the
pleasant fancies of the Don, or to overthrow the castles of delight
and strength which his imagination was erecting. To Mateo it
would be of no sort of moment, how wildly, or how pleasantly,
the knight might dream. He might smile contemptuously
upon such employments, but that he should deliberately set himself
in hostility to the worker for their overthrow, is really not
to be thought of. Bad fellow as he undoubtedly was, Mateo
was not so malicious. He had very different, and more solid
purposes. If, in his prosecution of these, the dreams of Don
Balthazar happened to be dispersed, the evil was unintended;
and, we have no doubt, if properly apprised of what he had unwittingly
done, he would have expressed his devout contrition.
Certainly he little conjectured of what a golden domain he dispossessed
his ancient master in the course of a very little space
of time.

Mateo entered the apartment of the Hidalgo without disturbing
his revery. He did not enter, after the fashion of ordinary
visitors, through the door. Mateo was no ordinary outlaw. Not
that he preferred the more laborious process of ascending a
column of the verandah and climbing in through the window.
But simply because the door was bolted on the inside. Don
Balthazar was a man of precautions—a politician who knew that
reveries were not properly to be enjoyed, unless with all reasonable
securities first taken. That he left his window unfastened,

which opened upon the verandah, was simply to admit the breeze,
and he never once fancied that his reveries could render him
oblivious to the approach of any less light-footed visitor. He
was mistaken. Mateo made his way in, without disturbing his
sense of security. Not that he was not heard. Don Balthazar
was sensible to the rustling of the orange-tree beside the verandah;
he heard the branches scrape rather roughly upon the
column. But that might be occasioned by the puff of wind that
smote just then gratefully over his brow and bosom; and so
believing, his eyes were shut, and the thick volume of smoke
went up from his cigar, increasing in mass as the exciting vision
of future lordships in Florida rose before his imagination.

On a sudden he was awakened to full consciousness. His
atmosphere grew heavier. It seemed as if his fancies found some
obstruction, and could no longer spread their wings as freely as
before. He felt as if there were some antagonist influence in his
sky, which had suddenly darkened all his bright stars. And this
consciousness certainly preceded the opening of his eyes. He
had not yet opened them, when his ears were saluted with the
tones of a strange speaker, and in language well calculated to
startle and drive him from his world of visions.

“Well, I must say, your Excellency, that you are very comfortable
here.”

We have preferred putting the patois of our mestizo into
tolerably correct language, taking for granted that the reader
will readily suppose that there were certain differences between
the speech of the outlaw and his superior. This will suffice for
explanation. We have no taste for that sort of literature which
makes the vulgar speak viciously, when what they have to say
can as well be said in tolerable phrase and grammar.

Don Balthazar forgot to smoke. The cigar dropped from his
opening lips. His eyes unclosed. His head was partly raised.
Never did visage more express confounding wonderment. There,
quietly seated on the settee directly opposite, was the outlaw,
whom he had given it in charge to his alguazils to arrest. How
came he there? Was he not in bonds? Were the alguazils in

waiting? They had probably taken the fugitive, and were at
hand. All these conjectures, and many others, passed through
the brain of the Hidalgo in a single moment of time. But they
were dismissed as rapidly as conceived. The outlaw had no
appearance of constraint. He looked rather like a conqueror
than a captive. There were no chains about his body or his
wrist. Never sat mortal so perfectly at his ease, his great bulk
covering half of the slight cane settee of which he had taken possession.
There was a good-natured mockery, too, in his face,
that betrayed no sense of inconvenience. It was evident, at a
second glance, that he was not only no prisoner, but not aware,
himself, of any risk of becoming one. There was a great knife
in his belt, conspicuous, which the eyes of Don Balthazar fastened
upon. It was the very weapon with which the matador had slain
the bull. The Don began to feel uneasy.

“Who is that?” he inquired; though he need not have done
so; for he knew the intruder the instant he set eyes upon him.

“Don't your Excellency know?”

“No!—who?”

“Your Excellency has a bad memory for old acquaintance.
Don't you remember Mateo, that once belonged to the estate of
Don Felix?”

“You?”

“Yes, Señor, the same! I was a bad fellow, you know, and
wouldn't work. Work don't suit me. If it hadn't been for that,
I'd have kept on the estate forever, for I rather liked the place,
and the living was very good. But it's too hard to have to work
for the bread one eats, and I always preferred to take it where I
could get it without work. I don't object to other people doing
all the work they can. It's necessary, perhaps;—some must do
it, indeed, where all must feed; but I am for leaving it to those
that like it. I don't like it, and as long as I can get my bread
without digging for it, I'll do so.”

“You killed Pedro Gutierrez?”

“Exactly: because he would make me work! It was all his
fault. I warned him that I wouldn't work; that it didn't agree

with me; that I didn't like it. He tried to force me, and blows
followed; and he got the worst of them. If he was killed, he
brought it on his own head.”

“You are a murderer, and an outlaw.”

“Good words, your Excellency,—good words! What's the use
of fouling your Excellency's mouth with bad ones? I don't care
much about words at any time; but sometimes they make me
angry. I don't want to be angry now, as I'm in a special good
humor, and there's no need to quarrel with old acquaintance. I
have not seen you so long that it does me real good to look upon
you. Your Excellency don't seem to be much changed. There's
a little more of the salt in your hair, your Excellency, and it
shows a little in your beard, now that you let it grow so long.
You should use some of our black root die, which will make the
hair as young as when you were only twenty!”

The blood of the knight was boiling in his veins. But he tried
to be cool, and with great apparent calmness, said—

“Do you know, Mateo, that if you are once taken you will be
garoted without trial?”

“One must take the tiger, your Excellency, before you can
draw his teeth.”

“But they will take you! You cannot resist a dozen men—
a troop—an army. Now, I happen to know that you have been
heard of in Havana, and that the alguazils are in search of
you.”

“Ah! well! They will hardly look for me here, your Excellency,
and I shall not be here very long. I shall soon be off for
the mountains. Meanwhile, I must take my choice. Alguazils
are very fine trencher men, but scarcely of much account where
the only feed is steel and bullet. I shall probably escape from
these of Havana.”

“But what brings you here now?”

“Well, you're something concerned in the affair, though perhaps
you don't know it. I heard of the death of my poor
mother, Anita —”

“Ah! yes; true, she was your mother.”

“I rather think your Excellency ought to know, since you've
been promising the old woman to get me pardoned for a long
time past. I suppose you had good reasons for not keeping your
promise.”

“Yes; your mother knew. I told her that no pardon was
possible until you should come in.”

“Very clear, your Excellency; and now that I've come in,
you tell me that the alguazils are already looking after me, and
that I shall be garoted if caught. How do the two stories tally,
your Excellency?”

“To come in and surrender, is quite a different thing from
coming in as you do now.”

“Perhaps so; but it don't matter much any way. As for my
surrender, your Excellency, before I have the pardon under the
seal of the king's governor, it's not to be talked of, it's so foolish.”

“Then what brings you now?”

“Ah! I was telling you. My mother died, your Excellency,
very suddenly, nobody knows how. I hear that she was poisoned,
Señor.”

“From whom do you hear this?”

“That's not necessary to be said. She was poisoned, and I
have to find out the poisoner and settle with him”—here he
handled his machete. “It's his blood or mine, your Excellency.”

This was said with significant emphasis, and such a look as
showed the Don that he himself was the object of suspicion.

“But suppose she was poisoned by a woman?”

“Then it's only a little harder upon my conscience, and I must
use a smaller knife than this. But what woman, your Excellency?”

“Nay, I do not know by whom the deed was done. I have a
suspicion only.”

“Your Excellency's suspicions are like to be as good as another
man's evidence. Was it the woman Sylvia?”

“No, I think not; and as I suspect only, I cannot say.”

“The thing must be found out, your Excellency. I am not the

man to let my mother be baited, like a dog we hate, with poisoned
beef. Your Excellency will find it necessary to give me help
in this discovery. You have not done right by me. You let
this woman Sylvia take possession of all my mother's property.”

“Property! Why, what property had your mother? She
was a slave!”

“Yes, by the laws, I know; but your Excellency knows I
don't mind laws, and have my own. Now, I have already taken
possession of all my mother's property.”

“The devil you have!”

“Exactly; I took possession just an hour ago. I tied up the
old hag below—”

“You have not murdered the woman?”

“No! Only tied her up, hand and tongue. You will find
her after I am gone rather stiff in her limbs, and feeling the want
of her supper, which I have eaten. The goods I have carried off
already, and the plunder, were worth having, I assure you. There
will be fine sights of treasure in the mountains when I get back.”

The knight grew more and more uneasy. The cool insolence
of the outlaw was almost intolerable. He looked about him
with impatience, and his eyes turned involuntarily to the wall
upon which he had hung his sword and dagger. To his surprise,
they were gone. How had they been taken away? It was evident
that Mateo had been in the chamber already that night, or
some emissary; and he found himself completely in the power
of the ruffian. Don Balthazar did not lack for courage; but the
gigantic frame of his companion discouraged at a glance the momentary
impulse which he felt suddenly to spring upon and
grapple with him; and he now gazed upon the person whom he
feared with an eye of vacancy. Mateo seemed to read his
thoughts. He had followed his glance to where the weapons had
been wont to hang, and divined his feelings. The outlaw laughed
securely, with a bold, honest chuckle of security and triumph.

“'Twont do, your Excellency; the game's in my hand. I
could strangle you in a moment, and slit your pipe before you
could make any music out of it. But that's not what I want to

do. I'll not be hard upon you; that is, if it is not by you that
the old woman was poisoned. I don't say 'twas you, but I
have my thoughts. I know you deal in poisons sometimes, and
I've got a trail to some of your secrets. What do you think
now of the Señorita, the Lady Olivia? She's a beauty, I know;
—but what do you think?”

The knight winced.

“I certainly think with you. She is a beauty.”

“Ah! Don Balthazar, what a pity it is that you are her uncle,
and that your hair is so salty!”

“Hark ye, Mateo!” said the Hidalgo, suddenly rising to his
feet.

“Sit down,” cried the outlaw imperatively, and putting his
hand to his knife. “You can talk, and I can hear just as well
when both of us sit.”

“Do you think I mean to harm you?”

“Oh! no! that you can't. I could settle your accounts in a
moment; but don't want the trouble of it. I want you to get
my pardon, I tell you, for I want to be free to come and go where
I please. I am sometimes cut off from a good bull-fight and a
festa, because of the trouble with the alguazils.”

“You want a pardon, do you?”

“Exactly; and something more, your Excellency. I said that
I liked the sort of living at the old estate, and I should like it
still if I had no work to do. Now, what I want of you is not
only to get me a pardon, but to make me overseer for the
estate of the Señorita.”

“Demonios! What more does your modesty require?”

“Very little after that.”

“Put the wolf to take care of the sheep, eh?”

“Not quite so bad as that, your Excellency. The fact is, you
can't do a better thing for the interests of the estate. It's a good
rule to set a thief to catch a thief; and the man that won't work
is either too lazy or too knowing. Now, your Excellency, it's
not because I'm lazy that I won't work. It's because I'm too
proud; and I'm too proud because I'm too knowing. I can

make others work, and I know as well as any man how the work
ought to be done. Try me, and you shall see. If you had tried
me before instead of putting a blind bull over me, you'd have
done better, and Pedro Gutierrez would never have had his skull
opened suddenly, to his great disgrace showing that he had no
brains in the shell. Many a man don't do, and won't do, because
the right work is not given him, and the right confidence. Now,
do you try me, and you'll see what I can do. Make me your
overseer, get my pardon made out with the royal seal, and give
my sister to live with me, and you will find Mateo as faithful as
a dog. Refuse me, and you keep me the tiger and the outlaw
that you have made me.”

Rapid were the thoughts which coursed through the knight's
brain. The philosophy of the outlaw began to strike him favorably.
He reflected—“This fellow can be bought. He will do
any service in return for these things. He will strike my foe,
as coolly as butcher smites ox; he will obey my finger without
questioning. I leave for Florida. Olivia retires to the hacienda.
There, he is supreme in my absence. Ah! well! I
see!”

Then aloud:

“'Pon my soul, Mateo, you are moderate in your wishes.
But suppose I comply with them?”

“It will be wise!”

“Perhaps so! But are you prepared to show your devotion
to him who will do for you all this?”

“Am I prepared to make a profitable bargain?”

“Suppose there be a hateful serpent in my path?”

“I will put my heel upon his head!”

“Suppose there be a wolf in my close?”

“I will put my knife across his throat!”

“A mad bull, fierce as El Moro, and as strong?”

“Here is the very machete that slew El Moro!”

“It shall be done! Fill yourself a cup of wine, and we will
speak farther of this matter. We understand each other. It is
a bargain between us!”