"What you say, Fernando," replied the mayor domo, "is unfortunately but too true. The proverb is right, 'Cap a knave with a knave.' I perfectly understand the bearing and the justice of your reasoning, yet I confess that it is hard for an honest man, accustomed to look his enemies in the face, to be forced to wrap himself in a fox's hide, and condescend to stratagem when his heart leads him to attack openly."
"But what can we do? This is one of the sad necessities of our position. If we do not act in this wise, we may as well submit to our foe as attempt to thwart his measures; for we should fail."
"Let it be as you wish, since there is no other method; but now for your plan."
"It is this: notwithstanding the disagreement between myself and the Tigercat, he has allowed me to dive too deep into his confidence – too many of his secrets are known to me – for him to exhibit any rancour against me, whatever anger he may feel. Accustomed for a number of years to mould me to his will, and rule over me as he pleased, he thinks he knows my character thoroughly, and is persuaded that my dispute with him was only an outbreak of temper, and that nothing would please me more than to place myself once again under his guidance. Finally, like all men who have through long years cherished a chimera, the Tigercat – who, I am convinced, has only fostered me and suffered me in his presence for the sake of making me useful in one of his infernal plots – will allow himself, shrewd as he is, to be overreached by me, if I choose to take the trouble."
"All this sounds plausible enough," observed Don Estevan.
"I think it does. Well, then, listen to my proposal. At daybreak tomorrow you and I will leave for the presidio, where I will put you into communication with a certain rogue of my acquaintance, who is as much devoted to me as people of his sort can be. This pícaro will serve you as an agent: through him we shall learn all the Tigercat is doing at San Lucar with the leperos he is enrolling for some sinister purpose. We will then part: you to return quietly to this place; I to rejoin the Tigercat in the prairies. In this way, whatever happens will reach our ears. This is my project; what do you think of it?"
"It is capital, Fernando; you have thought of everything."
"But remember three things: first of all, whatever I may do or say, whatever measures you may see me try, do not take offence at them; leave me complete master of my actions, and never for a moment suspect that I intend to betray you."
"Have no uneasiness on that score; I will put no faith in the testimony of my eyes or ears: my confidence in you shall be unalterable. And now for your next remark."
"You will instantly comprehend its importance. As soon as we have left the presidio, we must be as strangers; we must know nothing of each other."
"It is indeed an important piece of advice, and I will take care to follow it; the consequences of a single mistake would be incalculably disastrous to us."
"Lastly, be ready to act at the first signal, be it by night or day. Never mind what you may be doing; leave everything instantly to assume the offensive the moment the signal is given."
"Good. After tomorrow, on the pretence of having certain urgent work to be carried out at the hacienda, I will quietly enlist a score of leperos, – hairbrained fellows, – who for gold will obey me blindly and recoil before no danger."
"The very thing! You can easily employ them here in doing nothing till the time comes for the use of knife and rifle."
"I will be answerable that no one shall make a single inquiry concerning them. But what sort of token will you send me, and through whom will you send it?"
"The token will be a white eagle's plume broken into three pieces, and with the quill painted red. He who brings the plume will only say the words, 'My two piastres.' You will give them to him without remark, and send him away again."
"But who is the man, Fernando?"
"He will be a stranger; most likely the first man I happen to meet. It is requisite that the messenger should not suspect the importance of the message he conveys, should he chance to fall into the enemy's hands."
"Well reasoned! Come, come, I think we shall get through this business successfully."
"As for me, I am sure of it," exclaimed Don Fernando, "if you will only follow my instructions to the letter."
"Do not be anxious on that score, brother; I will answer for my accuracy."
Everything having been thus arranged and decided on by our three personages, they separated and retired to rest, for it was already late, and the two men were to mount at daybreak to take the road to the presidio of San Lucar.
CHAPTER II.
THE VIRGIN FOREST
Don Torribio Quiroga, with whom we have now to do, was a young man of twenty-eight, with a refined and intellectual countenance, an elegant figure, and possessing in the highest degree the manners of the best society.
He belonged to one of the richest and most considerable families in the province of Chihuahua: the death of his parents had put him in possession of an income of more than five hundred thousand piastres, or about ninety thousand pounds sterling; for money is plentiful in that country.
A man in this position, and gifted with all the mental and physical advantages enjoyed by Don Torribio, had a right to very high pretensions; for, a certain amount of fortune once reached, obstacles no longer exist, or, at least, are only an excitement instead of an impediment.
Don Torribio had succeeded in all his undertakings, with one exception: his struggle against Don Fernando, – a struggle in which the latter had always come off victorious.
Thus the hatred the rich hacendero felt for the bee-hunter, and which was originally based upon puerile motives, had insensibly increased with each successive mortification, and ended at last by assuming the alarming proportions of real Mexican hate, which only the death of its object can appease.
After the meeting with Don Fernando Carril, which resulted so unfavourably for him, Don Torribio Quiroga remained a prey to that cold and concentrated rage which slowly eats into the soul till it explodes with terrific violence.
As soon as he lost sight of his lucky adversary, he had started at full speed. His spurs mangled the flanks of his luckless horse, who snorted with pain, and redoubled his furious pace.
Now, where was Don Torribio going, with distorted features and hair streaming to the wind?
He did not know himself; moreover, he did not care.
He saw nothing, heard nothing. Revolving sinister projects in his brain, he crossed torrents and ravines without checking his horse's career.
Hatred was crying aloud in his heart; nothing cooled his burning forehead; his temples beat as if they would burst, and nervous agitation shook him in every limb.
This state of overexcitement lasted many hours. His steed still continued to fly. At last the noble animal, worn out with fatigue, suddenly stopped and dropped upon the sand.
Don Torribio rose, and looked around him with a bewildered air.
A shock like this rude fall was necessary to restore order to his ideas, and recall him to reality. Another hour of such continued anguish would have made him raving mad, or ended in sudden apoplexy.
It was night. Thick darkness covered the earth; a mournful silence reigned over the wilderness to which chance had brought him.
"Where