Though desperation was leading him on, the prince did not for an instant relax his vigilance.

At last he was in the midst of plenty; fields of corn just in the milk, and fruit, on shrub and tree, to be had for the plucking. Securing a quant.i.ty of each, he started to return. The same watchful vigilance was observed returning as in going out. He was moving cautiously along, with his senses wide awake, when a sound, very like the noise of some one moving near him, arrested his attention.

"Pish!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, after listening a moment. "'Twas but the flapping of a wing by some nightbird."

The thought had scarcely crossed his mind when a screech most dismal, and quite close, struck upon his sensitive ear, sending a chill to his very heart. Reduced as he was by hunger, with nerves up-strung to their utmost tension, the shock was very severe, and he felt, for an instant, as if he would sink to the earth.

"What a woman I have become!" he muttered, chidingly, to himself. "This will not do. To allow the scream of a bird to affect me thus is cowardice."

Bracing himself against further weakness, he resumed his cautious movement toward the foot of the mountain. When he reached it, he attempted to ascend, but now, that he was in a measure safe, the nervous rigor and force of will, which had sustained him, relaxed, and he was compelled to sit down until his exhausted powers were restored.

While he lingered thus, his thoughts reverted to his palace home; to old Itzalmo, his faithful friend and counselor; to Euetzin, his companion and confidante, and to Zelmonco villa, the home of Itlza.

Thoughts of her awakened a pleasurable thrill in his soul, and his features softened under the touch of a sentiment which, if not love, was something very nearly akin to it. To himself he said:

"Am I, indeed, in love with my friend's sweet sister? Yes, it must be so; for I feel that I could sacrifice the man who would dare to come between us!"

When he felt himself sufficiently recovered to ascend the mountain, he arose and proceeded slowly up its side, and on toward his retreat. As he approached his hiding-place he became more wary. What if, in his absence, his retreat had been discovered by his enemy? The thought impressed itself upon him so forcibly that he paused frequently to listen for unusual sounds; but nothing reached his ear save the low and familiar murmur of the night winds, lulling, with their monotonical song, nature's wearied hosts to rest.

When near enough to give it, he sounded the signal, so like the real that the shrewdest woodsman might have been deceived. Again it pierced the silent woods, and quickly came back the echo in Oza's answer.

Hualcoyotl, now relieved of his apprehensions, went boldly forward, and was gladly welcomed back by his anxious attendant.

They could not risk a fire in the nighttime, and were compelled to make a supper on uncooked maize and fruit. Very soon sleep, "Nature's sweet restorer," claimed her own, and they were lost to the dangers about them.

The next morning, before the sun was up, a fire was built, and a breakfast of roasted maize duly prepared. They had no salt with which to season it, but that was of little consequence to them; hunger furnished the added relish, and gave it a flavor that all the condiments required by necessity and art, for man's gratification and need, could not have given. It was a delicious feast to the half-starved fugitives, and was repeated several times during the day.

The first venture of the prince having proved successful, others followed as often as circ.u.mstances required it. With each recurring trip he became more bold, and less vigilant, and finally it was decided to make a daylight venture. The first was successful, but the second proved unfortunate, and the last. On this occasion he got too far away from the base of the mountain, and, in returning, was intercepted by a party of Tepanec troops. They were discovered to each other about the same time. The soldiers, to be sure of their man, sent up a savage yell, which had the desired effect, for the prince immediately started to run for his life, making his ident.i.ty quite certain, and a chase began at once.

Hualcoyotl was fleet of foot, and had recovered, in the past few days, much of his former vigor. He gained rapidly on his pursuers, which gave him an opportunity to change his course. The deflection he made took him out of sight of the soldiers, but their continued yells indicated a hot and determined pursuit.

He was becoming hopeful of his ability to evade them, if he could only hold out. The gaining confidence within him added strength to his limbs. On, on, he almost flew; and, as he ran, the yells of his pursuers impelled him forward in his flight.

The course the fugitive was now pursuing was nearly in the direction of the mountain, and he was speeding along on the wings of hope, when, as he dashed into a narrow vale, he came suddenly upon another party of soldiers. He was right in their midst before he was aware of their presence. "The G.o.ds defend me now!" was the prayerful e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n which escaped him as he took in the situation.

The moment the prince came into their midst the soldiers surmised who he was, and, closing around him, seized and laid him on the ground. A large drum, which they had with them, was then brought forward and placed over him. When this was done, they began to sing and dance around it.

When the pursuers of the prince came in sight of the party of soldiers who were dancing around the drum under which he was lying, they suddenly stopped and viewed the scene with an air of bewilderment, as if uncertain what to do. The pause was of short duration, however; for, with a yell of disappointment and rage at the disappearance of the prince, they changed their course so as to pa.s.s the dancing party, and were soon out of sight and hearing.

Hualcoyotl's wonder and astonishment were great when his captors began to sing and dance around the drum. The song did not indicate a spirit of hostility, but, on the other hand, friendliness. What did it mean?

Could it possibly be that he was not in the hands of an enemy? These queries pa.s.sed quickly through his mind.

The mystery was very soon cleared away. When his pursuers had disappeared, his captors lifted the drum from over him and a.s.sisted him to rise. He was free; no hand was upon him, and the faces about him were wreathed in smiles of satisfaction, while he was told that he was among friends. His astonishment, and the joy he experienced because of his deliverance, were very great. His captors were men of Tlacopan, a friendly nation, whose singular conduct was explained when they informed him that on his appearance in their midst they guessed who he was, and that his pursuers were emissaries of Maxtla. There was no time to lose in explanations, then, if they would save him; so he was quickly seized and placed under the drum as a means of concealment.

Hualcoyotl expressed his grat.i.tude in words of no uncertain meaning, and commended the soldiers for their ready shrewdness in devising and executing the plan to save him.

He remained with them until night, when he was escorted by them to within a short distance of his retreat, where they left him with a feeling of personal friendliness, and also one of satisfaction at having done a kind act in the service of a good man.

Oza was overjoyed at his master's safe return, for he had given him up as lost or captured.

After explaining the cause of his protracted absence, the prince said:

"And now, Oza, we must leave this place at once, and get as far from it as possible before daylight to-morrow morning. My pursuers will scour these rocks and hills in every direction without delay in search of me.

If we would escape them, we must lose no time in getting away."

The prince took his bearings, and they started. It began to rain, and the night grew wet and dark. They suffered much from the inclement weather, and the hurts and bruises which they got in their efforts to cross the mountain. All night through they dragged themselves wearily on, over the rough and rocky ground. When day dawned they knew not where they were, nor did they care, so they were beyond pursuit.

The first thing to be done after daylight was to find a suitable place, safe and comfortable, in which to fix a temporary habitation.

In a small, narrow ravine among the rocks a spot was found which promised protection from the sun and rain by adding a covering of boughs and leaves, which was speedily accomplished. After partaking of a light breakfast of maize and fruit, the last they had excepting a few ears of the former, they disposed themselves to rest; and being greatly worn and fatigued from the laborious tramp of the night, soon found oblivion in sleep.

CHAPTER XV.

"That was a good shot, Mit! Your old father couldn't have done it better." Such was the comment made by Tezcot, the hunter, on the result of a well directed arrow from a bow in the hands of Mitla, the "Mountain Princess."

They were out on the mountain, hunting. Tezcot often went on short excursions of the kind to please Mitla, and it gave him genuine pleasure to do so. Being very kindly disposed, as he was, it afforded him much gratification to make others happy, especially his children.

"He's a fine specimen of his kind," he continued, holding the bird up before him, "and will increase your stock of plumage, and, as well, add another feather to your archer's cap."

The prize was a most beautiful pheasant; and for a moment Mitla's eyes were bright with excitement, but as she gazed upon the lovely bird, lying dead and bleeding at her feet, where her father had carelessly thrown it, the woman's heart within her was touched with feelings of compunction, and she said:

"Father, is it well to kill such beautiful birds? My heart is sad because I have done this."

"It's all the same, child, whether the bird is beautiful or ugly; the one suffers equally with the other, when it comes to that,"

philosophized he. "h.e.l.lo, Menke! Is that you?" he continued, addressing a hunter, who just then came up to where they were.

"Wull, yes, it's me, ef I know myself; an' think I should, for some folks do say that Menke an' me are right sociable," jestingly replied the newcomer, a well known mountaineer hunter, who was much addicted to talking to himself, to which addiction his remark referred.

"That ye are, Menke, we all know," answered Tezcot, appreciating the hunter's reference to his peculiar habit, "but it doesn't make ye any less friendly toward the rest of us."

"Wull, no; Menke's about the same all over," returned he, and, suddenly changing the subject, continued: "Goin' far up the mountain, Tez?"

"Not far. We're only out for a short hunt this morning. Mit, there, enjoys a trip to the mountains occasionally."

"Good mornin', Princess," he said to Mitla. "Had any luck, eh?"

"Yes, I have one beautiful bird, a pheasant. See! Is it not a pretty one?" she replied, showing him the prize.

"Nice bird, Princess. Shot it yerself, eh?"

"Certainly, but wish I had not; it is such a lovely bird," she returned, looking sorrowfully at it.

"That's the woman of ye, Princess. Women don't make good hunters; they're too squeamish," he observed, rather contemptuously.

"You, no doubt, speak truly, Menke; but it is our nature, and we can not help it," she replied, her eyes fixed on the bird with an expression of sadness.