The Rifle Rangers Part 40

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.

AN ODD WAY OF OPENING A LETTER.

"Has any of you heard of Dubrosc on the route?" I inquired of my comrades.

No; nothing had been heard of him since the escape of Lincoln.

"Faix, Captain," said the Irishman, "it's meself that thinks Mister Dubrosc won't throuble any ov us any more. It was a purty lick that same, ayquil to ould Donnybrook itself."

"It is not easy to kill a man with a single blow of a clubbed rifle,"

observed Clayley; "unless, indeed, the lock may have struck into his skull. But _we_ are still living, and I think that is some evidence that the deserter is dead. By the way, how has the fellow obtained such influence as he appeared to have among them, and so soon, too?"

"I think, Lieutenant," replied Raoul, "Monsieur Dubrosc has been here before."

"Ha! say you so?" I inquired, with a feeling of anxiety.

"I remember, Captain, some story current at Vera Cruz, about a Creole having married or run away with a girl of good family there. I am almost certain Dubrosc was the name; but it was before my time, and I am unacquainted with the circ.u.mstances, I remember, however, that the fellow was a gambler, or something of the sort; and the occurrence made much noise in the country."

I listened with a sickening anxiety to every word of these details.

There was a painful correspondence between them and what I already knew.

The thought that this monster could be in any way connected with _her_ was a disagreeable one. I questioned Raoul no further. Even could he have detailed every circ.u.mstance, I should have dreaded the relation.

Our conversation was interrupted by the creaking of a rusty hinge. The door opened, and several men entered. Our blinds were taken off, and, oh, how pleasant to look upon the light! The door had been closed again, and there was only one small grating, yet the slender beam through this was like the bright noonday sun. Two of the men carried earthen platters filled with frijoles, a single tortilla in each platter. They were placed near our heads, one for each of us.

"It's blissid kind of yez, gentlemen," said Chane; "but how are we goin'

to ate it, if ye plaze?"

"The plague!" exclaimed Clayley; "do they expect us to lick this up without either hands, spoons, or knives?"

"Won't you allow us the use of our fingers?" asked Raoul, speaking to one of the guerilleros.

"No," replied the man gruffly.

"How do you expect us to eat, then?"

"With your mouths, as brutes should. What else?"

"Thank you, sir; you are very polite."

"If you don't choose that, you can leave it alone," added the Mexican, going out with his companions, and closing the door behind them.

"Thank you, gentlemen!" shouted the Frenchman after them, in a tone of subdued anger. "I won't please you so much as to leave it alone. By my word!" he continued, "we may be thankful--it's more than I expected from Yanez--that they've given us any. Something's in the wind." So saying, the speaker rolled himself on his breast, bringing his head to the dish.

"Och! the mane haythins!" cried Chane, following the example set by his comrade; "to make dacent men ate like brute bastes! Och! murder an'

ouns!"

"Come, Captain; shall we feed?" asked Clayley.

"Go on. Do not wait for me," I replied.

Now was my time to read the note. I rolled myself under the grating, and, after several efforts, succeeded in gaining my feet. The window, which was not much larger than a pigeon-hole, widened inwards like the embrasure of a gun-battery. The lower slab was just the height of my chin; and upon this, after a good deal of dodging and lip-jugglery, I succeeded in spreading out the paper to its full extent.

"What on earth are you at, Captain?" inquired Cayley, who had watched my manoeuvres with some astonishment.

Raoul and the Irishman stopped their plate-licking and looked up.

"Hus.h.!.+ go on with your dinners--not a word!" I read as follows:

_To-night your cords shall be cut, and you must escape as you best can afterwards. Do not take the road back, as you will be certain to be pursued in that direction; moreover, you run the risk of meeting other parties of the guerilla. Make for the National Road at San Juan or Manga de Clavo. Your posts are already advanced beyond these points.

The Frenchman can easily guide you. Courage, Captain! Adieu_!

_P.S.--They waited for you. I had sent one to warn you; but he has either proved traitor or missed the road. Adieu! adieu_!

"Good heavens!" I involuntarily exclaimed; "the man that Lincoln--."

I caught the paper into my lips again, and chewed it into a pulp, to avoid the danger of its falling into the hands of the guerilla.

I remained turning over its contents in my mind. I was struck with the masterly style--the worldly cunning exhibited by the writer. There was something almost _unfeminine_ about it. I could not help being surprised that one so young, and hitherto so secluded from the world, should possess such a knowledge of men and things. I was already aware of the presence of a powerful intellect, but one, as I thought, altogether unacquainted with practical life and action. Then there was the peculiarity of her situation.

Is she a prisoner like myself? or is she disguised, and perilling her life to save mine? or can she be--Patience! To-night may unravel the mystery.

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE.

THE COBRA-DI-CAPELLO.

Up to this moment my intention had been engrossed with the contents of the note, and I had no thought of looking outward. I raised myself on tiptoe, stretching my neck as far as I could into the embrasure.

A golden sunlight was pouring down upon broad, green leaves, where the palms grew wildly. Red vines hung in festoons, like curtains of scarlet satin. There were bands of purple and violet--the maroon-coloured morus, and the snowy flowers of the magnolia--a glittering opal.

Orange-trees, with white, wax-like flowers, were bending under their golden globes. The broad plumes of the corozo palm curved gracefully over, their points trailing downwards, and without motion.

A clump of these grew near, their naked stems laced by a parasite of the lliana species, which rose from the earth, and, traversing diagonally, was lost in the feathery frondage above. These formed a canopy, underneath which, from tree to tree, three hammocks were extended. One was empty; the other two were occupied. The elliptical outlines, traceable through the gauzy network of Indian gra.s.s, proved that the occupants were females.

Their faces were turned from me. They lay motionless: they were asleep.

As I stood gazing upon this picture, the occupant of the nearest hammock awoke, and turning, with a low murmur upon her lips, again fell asleep.

Her face was now towards me. My heart leaped, and my whole frame quivered with emotion. I recognised the features of Guadalupe Rosales.

One limb, cased in silk, had fallen over the selvage of her pendent couch, and hung negligently down. The small satin slipper had dropped off, and was lying on the ground. Her head rested upon a silken pillow, and a band of her long black hair, that had escaped from the comb, straggling over the cords of the hammock, trailed along the gra.s.s. Her bosom rose with a gentle heaving above the network as she breathed and slept.

My heart was full of mixed emotions--surprise, pleasure, love, pain.

Yes, pain; for she could thus sleep--sleep sweetly, tranquilly--while I, within a few paces of her couch, was bound and brutally treated!

"Yes, she can sleep!" I muttered to myself, as my chagrin predominated in the tumult of emotions. "Ha! heavens!"

My attention was attracted from the sleeper to a fearful object. I had noticed a spiral-like appearance upon the lliana. It had caught my eye once or twice while looking at the sleeper; but I had not dwelt upon it, taking it for one vine twined round another--a peculiarity often met with in the forests of Mexico.