The Lone Ranch by Mayne Reid (books to read to increase intelligence TXT) 📖

At length the day, the hour, is at hand when the young Kentuckian purposes taking departure. He does not anticipate this with pleasure. On the contrary, the prospect gives him pain. In that sequestered spot he could linger long—for ever, if Adela Miranda were to be with him. He is leaving it with reluctance, and would stay longer now, but that he is stirred by a sense of duty. He has to seek justice for the assassination of his teamsters, and, if possible, punish their assassins. To obtain this he intends going on to the Del Norte—if need be, to Albuquerque itself. The information given by the ex-commandant, with all the suspicious circumstances attending, have determined him how to act. He intends calling Uraga to account; but not by the honourable action of a duel, but in a court of justice, if such can be found in New Mexico.

“If it turns out as we have been conjecturing,” he says, in conversation with Miranda, “I shall seek the scoundrel in his own stronghold. If he be not there, I shall follow him elsewhere—ay, all over Mexico.”

“Hyar’s one’ll be wi’ ye in that chase,” cries the ex-Ranger, coming up at the moment. “Yis, Frank, go wi’ ye to the heart o’ Mexiko, plum centre; to the halls o’ the Montezoomas, if ye like, enywhar to be in at the death o’ a skunk like that.”

“Surely, Colonel Miranda,” continues Hamersley, gratified, though not carried away by his old comrade’s enthusiastic offer of assistance, “surely there is law in your land sufficient to give redress for such an outrage as that.”

“My dear Don Francisco,” replies the Mexican, tranquilly twirling a cigarrito between his fingers, “there is law for those who have the power and money to obtain it. In New Mexico, as you must yourself know, might makes right; and never more than at this present time. Don Manuel Armijo is once more the governor of my unfortunate fatherland. When I tell you that he rose to his present position by just such a crime as that we’ve been speaking of, you may then understand the sort of law administered under his rule. Manuel Armijo was a shepherd, employed on one occasion to drive a flock of thirty thousand sheep—the property of his employer, the Señor Chavez—to the market Chihuahua. While crossing the Jornado del Muerte, he and one or two confederates, whom he had put up to his plan, disguised themselves as Apache Indians, attacked their fellow sheep-drivers, murdered them, and made themselves masters of the flock. Then pulling the plumes from their heads, and washing the paint off their faces, they drove their muttons to a different market, sold them, and returned to Chavez to tell a tale of Indian spoliation, and how they themselves had just escaped with their scalps. This is the true history of General Don Manuel Armijo, Governor of New Mexico; at least that of his first beginnings. With such and many similar deeds since, is it likely he would look with any other than a lenient eye on the doings of Gil Urago, his imitator? No, señor, not even if you could prove the present commandant of Albuquerque, in full, open court, to have been the individual who robbed yourself and murdered your men.”

“I shall try, for all that,” rejoins Hamersley, his heart wrung with sorrow at the remembrance of his slaughtered comrades, and bursting with the bitter thought of justice thus likely to be obstructed. “Don’t suppose Colonel Miranda, that I intend resting my cause on the clemency of Don Manuel Armijo, or any chance of right to be expected at his hands. There’s a wide stretch of desert between the United States and Mexico, but not wide enough to hinder the American eagle from flapping its wings across, and giving protection to all who have a right to claim it, even to a poor prairie trader. A thousand thanks, Colonel Miranda. I owe you that for twice saving my life, and now for setting me on the track of him who has twice endangered it. No use your trying to dissuade me. I shall go in search of this forban direct to the valley of the Del Norte. Don’t fear that I shall fail in obtaining justice, whatever Don Manuel Armijo may do to defeat it.”

“Well, if you are determined I shall not hold out against you. Only I fear your errand may be fruitless, if not worse. The two mules are at your service, and you can leave them at a place I shall indicate. When Manuel returns I shall send him to bring them back.”

“Possibly I may bring them myself. I do not intend making stay in New Mexico; only long enough to communicate with the American Consul at Santa Fé, and take some preliminary steps for the end in view. Then I shall return to the—States to lay the whole affair before our Government.”

“And you think of coming this way?”

“Walt, here, has been making explorations down the stream that runs through this valley; he has no doubt about its being one of the heads of the Red River of Louisiana, if not the Texan Brazos. By keeping down it we can reach the frontier settlements of Texas, then on to the States.”

“I’m glad you intend returning this way. It will give us the pleasure of soon again seeing you.”

“Colonel Miranda,” rejoins Hamersley, in a tone that tells of something on his mind, a proposition he would make to his host, and feels delicacy in declaring it, “in coming back by the Llano Estacado I have another object in view besides the idea of a direct route.”

“What other object, amago mio?”

“The hope of inducing you to accompany me to the States—you and yours.”

“Señor Don Francisco, ’tis exceedingly kind of you. But the period of our banishment may not be long. I’ve had late news from our friends, telling me things are taking a turn and the political wheel must soon make another revolution, the present party going below. Then I get back to my country, returning triumphant. Meanwhile we are happy enough here, and I think safe.”

“In the last I disagree with you. I’m sorry to say, but have reasons. Now that I know the real character of this ruffian Uraga—his deeds actually done, and others we suspect—he’s just the man who’ll leave no stone unturned to discover your hiding place. He has more than one motive for doing so, but one that will move him to follow you here into the desert—aye, to the uttermost end of the earth!”

The motive in the speaker’s mind is Uraga’s desire to possess Adela.

After a pause, this though: passing him, he adds,—

“No, Don Valerian, you are not safe here.”

Then, continuing,—

“How know you that your servant Manuel has not been recognised while executing some of those errands on which you’ve sent him; or that the man himself may not turn traitor? I confess, from what I’ve seen of the fellow, he has not favourably impressed me.”

The words make an impression upon Miranda anything but pleasant. It is not the first time for him to have the thought suggested by them. More than once has he entertained suspicions about the peon’s fidelity. It is possible the man might prove traitor; if not then, at some future time—aye, and probable, too, considering the reward offered for the exile’s head.

Miranda, knowing and now thinking of it, admits the justice of his friend’s fear. More; he sees cause for raising alarm. So does Don Prospero, who, at the moment coming up, takes part in the conference.

It ends in the refugees resolving to stay in the valley till Hamersley and Walt can return to them; then to forsake that asylum, no longer deemed safe, and retire to one certainly so—the land over which waves a flag powerful to protect its citizens and give the same to their friends—the Star-spangled Banner.