"And did he execute his project?" cried the stranger.
"He did. He let a coral snake bite him, the deadliest of all; but, thanks to the mikania, the bite proved as harmless to him as the prick of a thorn. That is the manner in which this precious remedy was discovered. But," added the unknown, suddenly changing his tone, "I have complied with your wishes in bringing help to your daughter; she is safe. Adieu! I may stay no longer."
"You must not go before you have told me your name."
"What good will this pertinacity do you?"
"I wish to embalm the name in my memory as that of a man to whom I have vowed a gratitude which will only end with my life."
"You are mad!" rudely answered the unknown. "It is useless to pronounce to you a name which you will very likely learn but too soon."
"Let it be so; I will not persist, nor ask the reasons which compel you to act thus. I will not seek to learn it in despite of you; but, if you refuse to teach me your name, you cannot prevent my making you acquainted with my own – I am called Don Pedro de Luna. Although until today I have never penetrated thus far into the prairies, my residence is not very far off. I am proprietor of the Hacienda de las Norias de San Antonio, close to the frontiers of the Despoblado, near the embouchure of the Rio San Pedro."
"I know the Hacienda de las Norias de San Antonio. Its owner ought to belong to the happy ones of earth, according to the opinion of those who dwell in cities. So much the better: if it does belong to you, I do not envy riches with which I should not know what to do. Now, you have nothing more to say, have you? Well, then, adieu!"
"What! Adieu! You will leave us?"
"Certainly; do you think I intend to remain all night with you?"
"I hoped, at least, you would not leave unfinished the work you have undertaken."
"I do not understand you; caballero."
"Will you abandon us thus? Will you leave my daughter in her present state, lost in the wilderness, without the means of escape, – in the depths of this forest, which has been so nearly fatal to her?"
The unknown frowned several times, then cast a stolen look on the girl. A violent struggle seemed to commence in his bosom; he remained silent for several minutes, uncertain how to decide. At last he raised his head.
"Listen," said he in a constrained voice; "I have never learnt to lie. At a short distance I have a jacal (hovel), as you would call the miserable calli (cottage) which shelters me; but, believe me, it is better for you to remain here than to follow me there."
"And why?" said the stranger, surprised.
"I have no explanation to give you, and I will not lie. I only repeat: believe me, and remain here. Nevertheless, if you persist in following me, I will not oppose it; I will be your faithful guide."
"Danger menace us under your roof? I will not stop on such an hypothesis: hospitality is sacred in the prairies."
"Perhaps so; I will neither answer yes nor no. Do you decide; only make your resolve quickly, for I am in haste to have the matter decided."
Don Pedro de Luna threw a sorrowful look at his daughter; then addressing the unknown —
"Whatever may happen," said he, "I will follow you. My daughter cannot stay here; you have done too much for her not to wish to save her. I confide in you; show me the way."
"Agreed," replied the unknown laconically. "I have warned you; take care you are on your guard."
CHAPTER III
THE CALLI
Much as the unknown had hesitated in offering shelter to Don Pedro de Luna and his daughter, – and we know in what terms the offer had been finally made, – he showed himself equally anxious, as soon as his decision was made, to quit that part of the forest where the scene passed which we have recorded in our preceding chapter. His eyes wandered about continually with a disquietude he took no pains to conceal. He turned his head repeatedly towards the hillock, as if he expected to see some horrible apparition suddenly rising from its summit.
In the state the girl was in, to awaken her would have been to commit a grave imprudence, seriously compromising her health. In accordance with orders delivered in a dry tone by the unknown, the peones of Don Pedro, and the hacendero himself, hastened to cut down some branches, in order to fashion a litter, which they covered with dry leaves. Over these they spread their zarapés, of which they deprived themselves in order to make a softer couch for their young mistress.
These preparations finished, the girl was raised with great precaution, and gently placed upon the litter.
Of the three men who accompanied Don Pedro, two were peones, or domestic Indians; the third was the capataz (bailiff) of the hacendero.
The capataz was an individual of about five feet eight, with broad shoulders, and legs bowed by the constant habit of riding. He was extraordinarily thin; but one could truly say of him, he was nothing but muscle and sinew. His strength was wonderful. This man, called Luciano Pedralva, was devoted, body and soul, to his master, whom, and his family, he and his had served for nearly two centuries.
His features, bronzed by the vicissitudes of the weather, although not striking, had an expression of intelligence and astuteness, to which his eyes, black and well opened, added an appearance of energy and courage beyond the common. Don Pedro de Luna had the greatest confidence in this man, whom he considered more in the light of a friend than a servitor.
When the girl had been placed upon the litter, the peones lifted it; while Don Pedro and the capataz placed themselves one on the right, the other on the left of the patient, in order to guard her from the branches of trees and creepers.
At a mute sign from the unknown, who had remounted, the little troop leisurely began its march.
Instead of reentering the forest, the unknown continued to advance towards the hillock, the base of which was speedily attained. A narrow pathway serpentined along its side in an incline sufficiently gentle. The little troop entered upon it without hesitation.
They ascended in this manner fur some minutes, following ten or a dozen yards behind the unknown, who rode on in front by himself. Suddenly, on arriving at an angle of the road, round which their guide had already disappeared, a whistle rent the air, so sharp that the Mexicans halted involuntarily, not knowing whether to advance or retreat.
"What is the meaning of this?" murmured Don Pedro anxiously.
"Treachery, without a doubt," said the capataz casting his eyes searchingly around.
But all remained quiet about them; no change was perceptible in the landscape, which looked as lonely as ever.
Nevertheless, in a few minutes, more whistling, similar to the first they had heard, was audible in different directions at the same lime, answering evidently to a signal which had been made.
At that moment the unknown reappeared; his face pale, his gestures constrained, and a prey to the most vivid emotion.
"It is you who have willed this," said he; "I wash my hands of what may happen."
"Tell us, at all events, what peril threatens us," replied Don Pedro, in agitation.
"Ah!" said the other, in a voice of subdued passion,
"Do I know it myself? And what would it aid you to know? Would you be the less lost for that? You refused to believe me. Now, pray to God to help you; for never danger threatened you more terrible than that which hangs over your head!"
"But why these perpetual reservations? Be frank; we are men, vive Dios, and, great as the peril may be, we shall know how to meet it bravely."
"You are mad! Can one man oppose a hundred? You will fall, I tell you; but it is to yourself