Part 36

Doña Isabel sank back in her chair as if struck by a sharp weapon. “The American! the American!” she repeated again and again. She felt as though a hand had been thrust from the grave to torture her. The superstitious dread which had been planted in her breast by the first glimpse of the face of Ashley Ward, and which had perhaps led her irresistibly to a course that the resolution of years would under ordinary circumstances have rendered impossible to a nature as tenacious as was her own, became a horrible certainty. Evil fate in the guise of the American appeared to pursue her. Whatever the purpose with which he had lured Chinita from her side, it could but be productive of woe for her. Would the tale of her daughter’s shame and her own apparent heartlessness be told throughout the land? Had this pale and seemingly spiritless young man resolved on such a vengeance of his cousin’s fancied wrongs? Or—worse still—was this but a repetition of the old, old tale of passion and folly? Doña Isabel covered her face with her hand and groaned again.

Gabriel had called his wife to the room, and she came with eyes red with weeping, and told the tale that seemed to her best. Fearful of bringing the vengeance of the Señora upon Pepé, should she avow that he had left the inn alone with Chinita, she declared he had but accompanied the American, whom she boldly affirmed had set out for the coast, with the young girl, intending to set sail for the wild country whence he had come.

Doña Isabel and Gabriel both knew too well the inventive genius of their countrywomen literally to believe all she said; yet as hour after hour passed by and no news of the fugitives was heard, and no trace of them in spite of the most untiring search was found, they were at length led to conclude—the one with despair—that Juana’s words were true, and that the brief connection of the beautiful foster-child of Pedro Gomez with the lady of Tres Hermanos was ended forever.

XLI.

Never perhaps did so marked a change occur in the discipline and carriage of any body of troops, from a cause apparently so slight, as that which followed the flight of Chinita. Of the visit of the American nothing was publicly known, but the wildest rumors of her probable action ran like wildfire through the ranks, the name of Ramirez coupled with her own being on every tongue. So potent was the fame of the guerilla chieftain and the fascination of Chinita, that a word from her at that excited moment would have acted like fire on straw, and set a blaze to the smouldering insubordination and disappointed energies of the baffled and impatient recruits, who had entered upon the service from love of adventure and booty rather than with any fixed convictions or an intelligent conception of the interests at stake.

Doña Isabel wore before the world the same impassive face as ever, but at night the demon powers of remorse and intolerable anxiety wrought cruel havoc with its beauty. It was impossible too for her to conceal utterly the suspicion and distrust with which Ruiz inspired her; and the influence which through Chinita mainly he had for a brief period acquired, both over Doña Isabel and the troops, and which at best had been looked upon as a privilege he should yield later with his authority to Gonzales, began to wane rapidly. Dissatisfaction and mutinous threatenings were manifested on every hand, and the position of Ruiz but for the presence of Doña Isabel would have been absolutely untenable; and a crisis was evidently imminent, when the long desired leader suddenly appeared to relieve the tension of the situation, and to awaken a frenzy of enthusiasm for the cause, which had been at the point of abandonment.

It was with intense relief that Ruiz himself greeted the appearance of Gonzales, unexpected though it was, and incomprehensible the means by which he had obtained information that had led him so completely to alter his plans. That the American was concerned in the matter Ruiz did not doubt, though he could imagine no clew to his motives, the conviction being still in the mind of the baffled officer of Chinita’s indifference to Ashley, and of her flight to Ramirez.

It was with amazement and alarm that Gonzales witnessed the ravages of time and care upon the once beautiful and stately Doña Isabel. The very excess of joy with which she welcomed him seemed weak and pitiful. He had been detained long upon the way from El Toro by a series of petty annoyances, such as the bad state of the roads and a succession of trifling skirmishes with the enemy, resulting in burdening the march with the care of the wounded; and thus the loss of Chinita had become to Doña Isabel by the time of his arrival an assured fact. With tears of anguish she told him of the ingratitude of the child she loved, though she carefully concealed the fact that she supposed her to be other than one of the class of people from whom she had taken her; and with this explanation only Gonzales could not enter fully into her grief, or accept the fact that the loss of her _protégée_ was indeed the entire cause of her anguish. Had she not mourned for years as he had the living entombment of her daughter Herlinda? Had not the sight of him revived in her mind the keenness of her woe?

Doña Isabel was ill both in body and in mind; worn out with anxiety and the fatigues of travel, the reaction occasioned by the appearance of Gonzales was doubtless too great for her enfeebled powers. To his extreme embarrassment and anxiety he found himself charged with the unexpected responsibility of the care of a lady of much social consequence, and one personally extremely dear to him, who was stricken with an illness that demanded the most efficient attendance and complete isolation from disturbing influences. Added to the present necessity of gaining the confidence of the disorganized troops, and of continuing the march with the most unrelaxing vigilance, the situation thus became most onerous to the young commander,—not the less so because of the presence of a man he had thwarted and displaced, and whom it was necessary to keep in view and perhaps conciliate.

Upon the next night after the arrival of Gonzales, when Ruiz with seeming cordiality though with relief and rage contending in his mind had yielded his command, he strode to the outskirts of the camp, and smoking or rather forgetting to smoke a cigarette, mentally reviewed with bitter disappointment the perplexing and conflicting events that had led to so utter an overthrowal of his carefully concocted schemes. With the rapidity and excitement of his thoughts, his pace increased as though he was striving to tread down his mortification while he was preparing therefor a speedy and certain revenge.

The thought of this was chiefly directed toward Chinita. But for her flight Ruiz doubted not his position would have been so firmly assured that he would have been enabled to carry out his schemes. Thus he had hoped to find himself at the head of a force which in the event of final victory would have recommended him to the highest honors in the gift of Juarez, or at any rate assured him against the vengeance of Ramirez. To treachery time had added actual hatred of the man who had befriended him, and whose evil deeds, while he professed to abhor them, he would have rejoiced to have courage and address to imitate, and of whom he still held a superstitious dread, which had once been absolute awe.

It maddened the recreant follower of Ramirez to think of Chinita in the power of such a man. That day the last wild escapade of the lawless adventurer, the torture of Pedro, had in some way reached the ears of Ruiz and destroyed a lingering hope he had cherished that the girl, proud and hard though he believed her, had in some impulse of affection gone to her foster-father,—a thought that he had not even hinted to Doña Isabel, for with petty spite he refrained from uttering that which he imagined might give relief to her long agony. He imagined how Chinita, who doubtless had seen through his double dealing, would make it contemptible by her scorn, and ridiculous with her irony; and how Ramirez would, after listening to her account of him rise his sworn enemy: Ruiz had witnessed such scenes. No; return to Ramirez was impossible. Besides, that chieftain’s ultimate defeat was certain: the Liberal cause was strengthening every hour. Ramirez must have lost his former keenness to follow thus a losing venture. Ruiz began to console himself by thoughts of how, though only in a subordinate part, he should assist in the discomfiture of the proud general and that of the girl who loved him,—for the ignoble youth was incapable of believing hers to be the love of a mere unreasoning child, though to a purer heart her words would have a thousand times declared her enthusiasm to be but a fanatical admiration, untouched by a tinge of passion. The maddening jealousy that had raged in the heart of Ruiz since he had learned of the flight of Chinita, and had rendered him incapable of a sustained effort to renew the ambitious projects so fatally shaken, now flamed up with cruel intensity; and yet he loved her. At that moment he would have liked to throttle her, yet would have recalled her to life with words of passionate love and burning kisses.

As he pondered, he struck his breast with his clinched hand. “_Caramba!_” he muttered, “is all lost? Is there no way to overset this miserable favorite of the Señora? Maria Sanctissima! who is that?” His hand like a flash passed to his pistol.

“Hist!” said a voice. “It is I, Fernando. I have not a moment to spare. I have tried to gain a way to thee for an hour or more. I know all that has passed. Fool! thou shouldst have raised the battle-cry for Ramirez before this Gonzales reached thee; there were men with thee who would have sustained thee well!”

“Bah! a man has opinions,” answered Ruiz, coolly, recognizing the voice; “and if Ramirez still chooses to fight for the priests, that is no argument for my being as mad. I tell you plainly, Father, I am tired of playing a boy’s part; you will hear of me yet as something more than the lieutenant of Gonzales.”

“Big words, big words,” laughed Tio Reyes. “Now listen to that which I have to say to you;” and leaning from his saddle in a few concise words he delivered the message of Ramirez, adding a few paternal injunctions as to the conduct Ruiz should in future observe.

“Up to this time nothing is lost,” he continued; “in truth had you acted in good faith, no course could have been better save this last step,—but that may easily be recalled. Ramirez will soon be prepared to attack Gonzales in force; his mind was set on regaining El Toro, but that can be deferred. ‘When the loaf is cut the crumbs may be soon eaten!’ Be you prepared to pass over to your rightful commander at the last moment with all your men. The rest of the troop will follow like sheep. Bah! what is the name of Gonzales to that of Ramirez! With the forces we could then combine, what might we not attempt! I promise you in the name of Ramirez, on his honor as a soldier and his faith as your godfather, a free pardon for all that has passed. _Caramba_, man! I can’t imagine how you could have been so mad. I have seen the girl who has bewitched you, and by my faith I thought her nothing more than any other brown chit, save that her eyes were darker and bigger than most, and her tongue sharper than a man cares to find between his wife’s lips! What, you hesitate? You believe Ramirez at the bottom of a pit, and the pit dry? Fool! He has treasure you know nothing of; and as for men, did the mountain villages ever fail him?—and you know how many may be counted on here. _Caramba_, try them! Tell them he has sacked Tres Hermanos.”

“I know it,” said Ruiz, thoughtfully, “and doubtless the booty was great!”

Reyes shrugged his shoulders but did not contradict him, reiterating again and again the assurances of the favor of Ramirez in the event of Ruiz’s acceptance of his proposals, and on the contrary the chief’s determination to wreak an awful vengeance upon his god-child should he prove obdurate and attempt to carry to injurious lengths the treacherous intrigues which he had designed against his benefactor.

Ruiz vehemently denied his guilt, yet hesitated to make promises which, whether kept or broken, might make still more dubious his future position. Reyes read his mind, and at length said coolly,—

“The fact is, you have been bred a servant of Ramirez. When I swore the service of my life to him, yours went with it. You are the one creature in the world he has never met with a frown or given a harsh word to; but do you think he will spare you for that? No; if you should fall into his hands as a traitor, which sooner or later you would be sure to do, you would be shot! Yes, like a dog,—” and the speaker spat on the ground to emphasize his contempt. “But if you are reasonable he will forget all that has passed,—more than I would do in his place I can tell you; ay, he will even give you his daughter.”

“His daughter!” echoed Ruiz with a sneer.

“On my soul, you must be hard to please,” cried his father. “For the girl’s sake I was sorry enough he killed the fool of a gatekeeper five days ago. For all her proud ways, she loved him like a child,—more than she will love Ramirez though he is her father, when she hears of this mad deed.”

Ruiz sprang to his side. “What do you mean?” he cried, seizing his arm. “Is Chinita the daughter of Ramirez? Is she with him? Is she indeed the girl who has been promised to me for these years and years? _Por Dios_, what would I not do for her? What would I not dare? But I do not believe it. Ramirez knows I love her; this is but a deception. Ah, I know him too well!”

Reyes laughed. “He told me if you were not satisfied you might go and see for yourself. Faith, he had no thought you loved her already. I met him on the road as he came back from leaving her. Does that surprise you? He is a careful father; she is in the house of the Señora’s daughter, Doña Carmen.”

Ruiz seemed stunned. Reyes saw that his point was gained, and uttered but a few words more, which elicited only the response,—“Ramirez’s daughter? Wonderful, wonderful! And after all, she will be mine. Heavens! how can I live a day longer without seeing her? Commend me to the Señor General. You know, my father, my heart is good, though my brain may have erred! Tell me, has she said but one good word for me? She—”

“Enough!” cried Reyes, laughing the more. “I have not seen her, I tell thee; and if thou wouldst know what she thinks, find a pretext and see her at Doña Carmen’s house. It was a strange freak of the General’s to take her there, but a happy one. Thou shalt not be molested on the way, I promise thee. But I have no further time for talking. Adios! thou art the only man I have ever seen whom love has brought to his right senses. It will be well if thou art as sane a year after the wedding!”

The two men embraced, in the fashion of the country, and with an ardor on the part of Ruiz that he seldom affected.

“_Caramba!_ the father is a man of a thousand,” he muttered to himself as he watched him disappear, guiding his horse so deftly that not a sound broke the silence of the night. “Virgin of consolation!” he continued, as he walked slowly back to his quarters. “This is like a dream. Plague upon it! That is the fault of my father; he is always in haste. I would have asked him a thousand questions, had he given me but a quarter of an hour. But it is of Chinita herself I will ask them. Surely she must have shown some favor toward me, or my godfather would not recommend me to her with such confidence. _Santo Niño_, show me some way to make it possible to steal into Guanapila and exchange a word with her!”

The curiosity of the young man as much as his love prompted the latter aspiration. His suspicion of the identity of Ramirez with the brother of Doña Isabel, the Leon Vallé so long supposed dead, returned to him with force; but he longed to know whether the secret of her birth had been conveyed to Chinita, and how her flight had been contrived. He pictured her then like a bird in a cage beating herself against the iron bars of Doña Carmen’s windows. That was not what she had hoped for when she had talked to him of Ramirez. If she had tolerated him before, would he not now be doubly dear, as one who should liberate her from the natural restraints of a maiden’s life?

Ruiz forgot his fancied wrongs in an intoxication of delight. Constant pondering upon the question how he should manage to evade the vigilance and suspicions of Gonzales and effect a visit to Guanapila kept him preoccupied, yet feverishly alert, until the increased indisposition of Doña Isabel brought about what appeared to him a special interposition in his behalf, and in pleading for the aid of “Our Lady of the Impossible” he promised her in pious gratitude a candle of enormous proportions.

To reach a point where he might leave his generous but failing friend had become the most earnest desire of Gonzales. But its fulfilment had seemed an impossibility, for from the time he assumed command of the troops almost hourly news had been brought to him of gatherings of bands of Conservatives, which promised to offer formidable resistance to any movement he might make; and until Doña Isabel was safety disposed of, he desired at almost any risk to avoid an open collision.

The march had slowly proceeded, and so constantly had Gonzales been occupied, and so serious became the condition of Doña Isabel, that there was but little conversation between them, and somewhat to his impatience that on her part had been limited to a few brief sentences of warning against Ruiz and constant inquiries for Chinita, and entreaties that search should be made for her in every direction.

Gonzales, as far as was possible, had obeyed these inopportune requests; but the anxiety and grief that prompted them seemed to him strained and unnatural, though he could not doubt after due inquiry made that the lost girl was of remarkable beauty and of an original and fascinating character. Still, his knowledge of the class whence he supposed her sprung had made quite credible to him the generally accepted theory of her flight. Yet he started when Doña Isabel had mentioned the American as her probable companion or instigator, adding in a low voice, “Twice an American has robbed him.” What did she mean? His cheek flushed as he remembered that it had been said that for love of the murdered Ashley, Herlinda had taken the veil. And had Doña Isabel dreamed that he would find consolation after so many years in this beautiful peasant girl whom she had raised from the dust? Gonzales silently resented the insinuation. Yet none the less the suggestion of the complicity of the American in her disappearance haunted and vexed him. He did not tell Doña Isabel that to Ward he owed the definite news of the approach of reinforcements, and that he had virtually left him in charge of El Toro, and that the commission from Juarez for which the foreigner had applied had already doubtless reached him. Had he betrayed this young girl,—the _protégée_ of Doña Isabel,—in spite of his zeal in his service the American should have much to answer for to him. A few weeks would decide all. He preferred to wait patiently the development of affairs, and refrained from perplexing further the mind of Doña Isabel.

Meanwhile the condition of the lady had become rapidly worse. Perhaps she had brought from Tres Hermanos the germs of the disease that during these very days was working such terrible havoc there; perhaps the long days and nights of exertion, anxiety, and grief had produced it,—but certain it is that as the position of Gonzales became more critical, so the imminent danger of Doña Isabel increased. A desperate evil commands a desperate remedy. So it was at length decided that an effort should be made to convey the lady to the city of Guanapila, to the house of her daughter Doña Carmen; and Ruiz, in the utter impossibility that Gonzales found of personally conducting the party, was permitted to execute the delicate and important trust.

With an apparent readiness of resource and disregard of danger, which commended him greatly to the perplexed General, Ruiz himself had proposed the measure.

Taking the precaution to send with him men from Tres Hermanos only, and such as he knew to be warmly devoted to their mistress, Gonzales acceded to the plans of the wily young officer, and despatched him upon the important and seemingly dangerous mission.

After the separation of the detailed party from the main body, skirmishing parties began upon the latter frequent and harassing attacks, and the suspicions of Gonzales were again aroused by the impunity which Ruiz enjoyed, yet alternated with fears for his ultimate safety. He could scarcely believe that knowing it to be in their power to secure so rich a prize as Doña Isabel, the hungry forces of the clergy would suffer her to escape, unless indeed Ruiz was himself as false as he had once suspected. Again and again he reproached himself for yielding to the apparent frankness and loyalty of the man he had at first distrusted, and with an anxiety which grew into actual torture he awaited the outcome of the action which circumstances against his will and judgment had forced upon him.

Ruiz, unmolested, made his way as rapidly as the condition of his charge permitted toward Guanapila. He comprehended well the circumstances which were distracting the mind of Gonzales. These constant though petty attacks he knew from information sent by Reyes were destined to weaken the prestige of Gonzales by a series of petty misadventures, after which his destruction by the desertion of Ruiz, followed by the mass of the disaffected, might, it was conjectured, be readily accomplished. It seemed the simplest matter in the world to effect, and had been instantly agreed to by Ruiz in the hasty conference with his father. Yet further reflection gave him an unaccountable antipathy to the course he was to pursue. It cannot be said that a lingering trace of honor influenced him, or any genuine disapproval of the character or convictions of Ramirez, for Ruiz was in the widest sense a man to be bought and sold, a creature influenced by every turn of advantage; but in spite of all that had passed between him and Reyes, he doubted the good faith of Ramirez. The good fortune that was to give him Chinita at so slight a cost seemed to him incredible. Did the girl love him, and had she owned as much? Or was she to be fooled into acquiescence in the plans of Ramirez by the chimera of his parental power? No; he knew Chinita too well to believe she would marry against her own desire, even to gratify a parent who exerted over her the extraordinary ascendency that she had instinctively acknowledged in Ramirez. Ruiz was, moreover, impressed with a belief in the ultimate disaster of the Conservative cause. For Chinita’s sake he would risk involvement in the ruin he foresaw, hoping that by some spar he himself might float; but unless assured of her good-will,—the thoughts of the young conspirator carried him no further, unless vaguely to conjecture the extent of power which he might thereafter exert over the fortunes of Doña Isabel, through his connection with her mysterious _protégée_.

With ill-concealed impatience, and hopes and emotions which every hour grew more dazzling and overpowering, Ruiz at length found himself in the house of Doña Carmen, and in her presence and that of her young companion. With inexpressible amazement, instead of her he sought he found himself face to face with Chata, the supposed daughter of Don Rafael.