The Rifle Rangers by Mayne Reid (best free e book reader txt) 📖

Clayley had now recovered, and I once more enjoyed the society of my light-hearted friend. But neither that nor the smiles of the hospitable Jalapenas could make me happy. My thoughts dwelt upon Guadalupe, and often was I harassed with the painful apprehension that I should never see her again. Better fortune, however, was in store for me.

One day Clayley and I were sitting over our wine, along with a gay party of friends, in the Fonda de Diligencias, the principal hotel of Jalapa, when Jack touched me on the shoulder, and whispered in my ear:

“Captain, there’s a Mexican wants to see ye.”

“Who is it?” I demanded, somewhat annoyed at the interruption.

“It’s the brother,” replied Jack, still speaking in a whisper.

“The brother! What brother?”

“Of the young ladies, Captain.”

I started from my chair, overturning a decanter and several glasses.

“Hilloa! what’s the matter?” shouted several voices in a breath.

“Gentlemen, will you excuse me?—one moment only—I—I—will—”

“Certainly! certainly!” cried my companions, all at once, wondering what was the matter.

The next moment I was in the ante-sala, embracing Narcisso. “And so you are all here! When did you arrive?”

“Yesterday, Captain. I came to town for you, but could not find you.”

“And they are well?—all well?”

“Yes, Captain. Papa expects you will come this evening, with the lieutenant and the other officer.”

“The other officer! Who, Narcisso!”

“I think he was with you on your first visit to La Virgen—un señor gordo.”

“Oh! the major! Yes, yes, we shall come; but where have you been since we met, Narcissito?”

“To Orizava. Papa has a tobacco-farm near Orizava; he always goes to it when he comes up here. But, Captain, we were so astonished to hear from your people that you had been a prisoner, and travelling along with us! We knew the guerillos had some American prisoners, but we never dreamt of its being you. Carambo! if I had known that!”

“But how came you, Narcisso, to be with the guerilla?”

“Oh! papa had many things to carry up the country; and he, with some other families, paid Colonel Cenobio for an escort—the country is so full of robbers.”

“Ah! sure. Tell me, Narcisso, how came I by this?”

I held out the dagger.

“I know not, Captain. I am ashamed to tell you that I lost it the day after you gave it to me!”

“Oh! never mind. Take it again, and say to your papa, I shall bring ‘el señor gordo’ (the fat gentleman) along with me.”

“You will know the way, Captain. Yonder is our house.” And the lad pointed to the white turrets of an aristocratic-looking mansion that appeared over the tree-tops, about a mile distant from the town.

“I shall easily find it.”

“Adieu, then, Captain; we shall be impatient till you arrive—hasta la tarde!” (till the evening).

So saying, the youth departed.

I communicated to Clayley the cause of my temporary withdrawal; and, seizing the earliest opportunity, we left our companions over their cups.

It was now near sundown, and we were about to jump into our saddles, when I recollected my promise to bring the major. Clayley proposed leaving him behind and planning an apology; but a hint that he might be useful in “keeping off” Don Cosmé and the señora caused the lieutenant suddenly to change his tactics, and we set out for Blossom’s quarters.

We had no difficulty in persuading “el señor gordo” to accompany us, as soon as he ascertained where we were going. He had never ceased to remember that dinner. Hercules was brought out and saddled, and we all three galloped off for the mansion of our friends.

After passing under the shadows, of green trees, and through copses filled with bright flowers, we arrived at the house, one of the fairest mansions it had ever been our fortune to enter. We were just in time to enjoy the soft twilight of an eternal spring—of a landscape siempre verde; and, what was more to the major’s mind, in time for a supper that rivalled the well-remembered dinner.

As I had anticipated, the major proved exceedingly useful during the visit. In his capacity of quarter-master he had already picked up a little Spanish—enough to hold Don Cosmé in check over the wine; while Clayley and myself, with “Lupé” and “Luz”, walked out into the verandah to “take a peep at the moon”. Her light was alluring, and we could not resist the temptation of a stroll through the gardens.

It was celestial night; and we dallied along dos y dos (two and two), under the pictured shadows of the orange-trees, and sat upon curiously-formed benches, and gazed upon the moon, and listened to the soft notes of the tropic night-birds.

The perils of the past were all forgotten, and the perils of the future—we thought not of them.

It was late when we said “buenas noches” to our friends, and we parted with a mutual “hasta la mañana.” It is needless to say that we kept our promise in the morning, and made another for the following morning, and kept that too; and so on till the awful bugle summoned us once more to the “route.”

The detail of our actions during these days would have no interest for the reader, though to us the most interesting part of our lives. There was a sameness—a monotony, it is true; but a monotony that both my friend and myself could have endured for ever.

I do not even remember the details. All I can remember is, that on the eve of our march I found myself “cornering” Don Cosmé, and telling him plainly, to his teeth, that I meant to marry one of his daughters; and that my friend—who had not yet learned the “lingo”, and had duly commissioned me as his “go-between”—would be most happy to take the other off his hands.

I remember very well, too, Don Cosmé’s reply, which was given with a half-smile, half-grin—somewhat cold, though not disagreeable in its expression. It was thus:

“Captain—when the war is over.”

Don Cosmé had no intention that his daughters should become widows before they had fairly been wives.

And we bade adieu once more to the light of love, and walked in the shadow of war; and we toiled up to the high tables of the Andes, and crossed the burning plains of Perote; and we forded the cold streams of Rio Frio, and climbed the snowy spurs of Popocatepec; and, after many a toilsome march, our bayonets bristled along the borders of the Lake Tezcoco. Here we fought—a death-struggle, too—for we knew there was no retreat. But our struggle was crowned with victory, and the starry flag waved over the ancient city of the Aztecs.

Neither my friend nor myself escaped unhurt. We were shot “all over”; but, fortunately, no bones were broken, and neither of us was converted into a cripple.

And then came the “piping times of peace”, and Clayley and I spent our days in riding out upon the Jalapa road, watching for that great old family-carriage, which, it had been promised, should come.

And it came rumbling along at length, drawn by twelve mules, and deposited its