"Here, O Prince, is a friend whom you will be pleased to greet, I am sure; for in him you see Cacami, the hunter, who delivered you from the Tepanec soldiers on the highway," said Euetzin, turning to his friend, who stood waiting to be presented.

Cacami saluted the prince, who, in return, gave him a cordial greeting, and said:

"Yes, Euetzin, I am more than pleased to know and greet the valiant hunter Cacami; for it is a hope realized, an opportunity I have truly wished for. More than grat.i.tude is due from us to him, and when we are in position to requite his service he will find us not unmindful of the fact."

Pa.s.sing over Cacami's reply, except to say that he deprecated an allusion to the occurrence, which he regarded as a very little thing for him to do, and, with the presentation of the party to the hermit, who found in the occasion another opportunity in which to be profoundly impressive, we leave the friends to engage in explanations and consultation, and return to Tezcot's.

Mitla was not so bright as was her wont, all through the morning hours.

She was inclined to avoid conversation, and sought, more than was her practice, to be alone. After the mid-day meal she took her archer's outfit and sauntered off along the plateau, around the mountain. She was heedless, alike of time and distance. Her bow was seldom brought into use. A parrot or pheasant seemed to have no attraction for her. In one or two instances, however, when the mark was so conspicuous that the attention of a less interested person would have been drawn to it, she let go an arrow with good effect, but showed no animation at the result; she was manifestly _distrait_.

The afternoon wore on, and Mitla was far from home ere she took account of where she was, or the distance she had gone. She was in the act of facing about to retrace her steps when she noticed, for the first time, three men approaching from the opposite direction. She did not wish to meet them, and, turning, walked briskly in the direction from which she had come. She did not look back for fear of attracting their attention, but, gradually increasing her step, hastened homeward. The first intimation she had that the men were following, with a view to overtaking her, was when one of them called:

"Not so fast, pretty maiden; we would keep you company."

Mitla turned quickly, in surprise, and discovered that the men had nearly overtaken her.

Three Tepanec soldiers, not more than a dozen steps away, showing a menacing disposition, was a sight to strike terror to the stoutest woman's heart. Mitla was terribly frightened at seeing them, and her heart instantly leaped into her throat. There was not a house within a mile of where she was, and, if the men meditated harm to her, her situation was indeed alarming. Her bow could hardly be deemed a means of defense against the soldiers, who were now close upon her. What should she do? was a question that called for prompt decision. She was quick of foot and in vigorous health; she might get away from them by running. It was worth trying. From the impulse of the thought she gave a bound forward, and shot away from her menacing pursuers like a frightened fawn. The soldiers immediately entered on a determined chase, and, to her, it now became a run for self-preservation. She kept up well for a short distance, and then began to flag. The shock from her fright, together with the awful sense of dread which filled her heart, unnerved her, and a growing weakness followed. She thought of her friends: if some of them were only near to come to her relief! But they were not, and her heart sank lower and lower. By an occasional glance over her shoulder she could see that her pursuers were rapidly closing the intervening distance between them, and would surely overtake her. It was a terrible moment to the fleeing maiden, who was naturally courageous and brave under ordinary circ.u.mstances, but, in her present desperate dilemma she became an impotent, helpless thing, about to sink to the earth from exhaustion. The foremost soldier was within an arm's length of her, and in another moment she would be at their mercy.

When the hunters' chief and his Tezcucan companions returned from the hermit's cave, about the middle of the afternoon, the first thought of the tzin was of Mitla. On being informed that she had gone around the mountain, presumably to do some shooting, he determined to go in search of her. He saw in the circ.u.mstance an opportunity to further his acquaintance, which he would not fail to improve. He accordingly threw his hunting outfit across his back, and started off in the direction she had gone.

Quite a distance had been covered by the tzin when his attention was attracted to a beautiful golden pheasant which flew into the wood just ahead of him. He turned aside to get a shot at it, hoping to secure it for Mitla. It escaped him, however, and, disappointed, he returned to the plateau. As he emerged from the bushes he was startled and horrified at what he saw. Only a few steps away Mitla was struggling to free herself from the hands of the Tepanec soldiers, who had only just overtaken and seized her. The tzin was upon them in an instant, and, sending an arrow into one and his javelin at another, they were quickly made to desist. His sword, which he carried more as a weapon of defense than to be used in the pursuit of game, was raised to strike, but before he could use it the villains drew off. He could not follow them; for when Mitla was released she staggered, and would have fallen to the ground had he not caught her in his arms, thus saving the miscreants from his deadly _maquahuitl_. Mitla had swooned, and he could only vent his indignation and wrath in words. He exclaimed:

"Beasts, ocelotls, in the guise of soldiers! Were I free to do it, I would punish you as you deserve. Go, if you would escape a just retribution for your iniquitous conduct."

One of the soldiers was badly wounded, and they were only too glad to get away, knowing they merited all the punishment and denunciation Euetzin had meted out to them; and more--should they fall into the hands of the mountaineers, they would be summarily dealt with. They did not wait to be addressed the second time, but moved off as rapidly as they could with the wounded man to look after.

It was some minutes before Mitla recovered sufficiently to free herself from the tzin's arms. During the time of her unconsciousness he used every convenient means known to him to restore her, and succeeded very well in his efforts. When he saw that she was conscious, he inquired:

"Have you received personal injury?"

Mitla answered by a shake of the head, at the same time giving him a look of trustful helplessness. The look spoke more than words could have expressed, and told how grateful she was for the deliverance his coming had brought her, from a fate too terrible for contemplation.

When Euetzin's support was no longer required, he conducted her to a place where she could be seated, and waited for her to speak. After a moment's pause she turned her eyes, beaming with grat.i.tude, full upon him, and said:

"It is now Mitla's turn to be grateful. If I have done aught to place a debt upon the prince, or his friends, you have paid it a hundredfold. I shall never cease to regard you as my preserver from a fate against which death would be a welcome deliverance."

"Any true man, in my place, would have done the same for you," he answered. "I am ent.i.tled to no especial grat.i.tude for doing my duty, I would a.s.sure you. Because I happened to be here at the right moment to rescue you from the hands of those villainous soldiers, the act should not make a hero of me."

He spoke jocularly, hoping to impart cheerfulness by a cheerful manner.

"Your words do not affect the sense of obligation which fills my heart, and that it is so I am glad, for I could not be generous were I ungrateful," she returned, still deeply affected.

"I shall certainly bear in mind, with no little satisfaction, Mitla, that I have earned a place in your remembrance. Let that suffice to reward me for the service done, and think no more about it," he replied, endeavoring to dispose of the matter by depreciation, in which he failed, for Mitla said:

"I am sure you are generous. Will you not, then, permit me to be so, too? Would you have me stifle the feeling which fills my heart--the feeling of immeasurable grat.i.tude which goes out to you, my deliverer?"

Her eyes shone with intense brightness as she spoke, showing how deep were the fires of pa.s.sion in her nature, which only required stirring to become irresistible. The pa.s.sionate vehemence with which her words were uttered was affective. The tzin was human, though a young man with the profoundest sense of right; for the nonce, however, he allowed himself to yield to impulse, and replied to her impa.s.sioned appeal with the warmth, almost, of a lover:

"I am reproved. I would not that you stifle one generous impulse of your peerless woman's heart. I shall not soon forget the glowful expression which but now lighted up your beautiful face--so earnestly fixed in kindness upon me. The recollection of it will be an ever-present reminder of the n.o.ble girl I rescued from peril, and whose friendship I shall always prize."

For these words she bent on him an expression which carried with it more than grat.i.tude. It recalled him to himself, and he discovered, all too late, that he had said too much. He was honorable in a high degree, and held it a discreditable act to encourage in a maiden a sentiment he could not fully reciprocate. Her pa.s.sionate utterances had caused him, for the moment, to forget his conscientiousness, and he overstepped the bounds of propriety. He was not in position to play the role of lover, and, recalling what he had said, he became greatly disturbed.

A silence ensued, until, presently, Mitla moved as if to rise, which the tzin antic.i.p.ated by lifting her to her feet. She was sufficiently recovered to go home, and, leaning on the arm of her escort, she was conducted from the scene of her terrible struggle with the villainous Tepanec soldiers.

CHAPTER XXIII.

A week had elapsed since the tzin and his party arrived at Tezcot's so opportunely, much of which time had been spent at the cavern in formulating plans and instructions for the direction and government of the prince's friends, in the operations which would follow Euetzin's return to the valley.

The final consultation had been held, and the instruments of authority, which made the tzin the accredited representative of Hualcoyotl, were in his possession; and Cacami and he, it was decided, would start for the scene of their future labors the next day, leaving Oza to attend his master.

The blessings of the G.o.ds had been invoked upon the young men and the cause they were engaged in promoting; a final leave had been taken of the prince and hermit, and they were now at Tezcot's waiting for the advent of to-morrow to speed them on their way to Tlacopan, their first point of destination.

It was in the last hour of day--an hour on the mountains which brings with it a peculiar sense of subduedness--that Euetzin and Mitla strolled away from the house to find a spot where they could be alone for a short time to have a final talk before his departure, which he purposed taking at an early hour the next morning.

After the adventure with the Tepanec soldiers, when the tzin inadvertently allowed himself to say more than he should have said, he was very careful to avoid giving further encouragement to Mitla's evident regard for him; matters, therefore, had not progressed in that direction to any appreciable extent.

"Has it been well with my friend, to-day?" he inquired casually, by way of saying something as they sauntered along together.

Mitla glanced up at her companion doubtfully with her large, full eyes, looking very sorrowful. Friend is a very cold sounding word when applied by a loved one to the one who loves, and thus it sounded to her, coming from Euetzin.

"Yes, it has, thanks to you, my preserver," she answered dispiritedly.

She could not forget for a moment, when in his presence, the great service he had rendered her. Thoughts of it seemed to dispossess all else in her mind, and she continually referred to it in their conversations. Her voice, sad and low, attracted Euetzin's notice, and, looking at her, he caught her eyes as they were raised to his seemingly almost ready to weep, and he said concernedly:

"You are not happy; your eyes look too sadly appealing for that. Are you in trouble?"

"My eyes reflect the sadness which is in my heart." She could say no more; and the tears were seen to start, which she tried to conceal, but could not.

"Why, Mitla, you are surely ill! Why do you weep?" the tzin asked solicitously.

"Can you not guess? Is it not enough to sadden my heart to know that you are going away, perhaps never to return?" was her tearful reply.

"Am I, indeed, so much to you that my going should affect you thus?" he asked, not only surprised, but deeply moved by her evident distress.

"You will never know, because you can not realize it, how much you are to her whose honor you preserved inviolate. I will never see you again; it is for this that my heart is filled with sadness and my eyes with tears," she said sorrowfully.

Coming to a little shaded mound they sat down, and the tzin said:

"When I am gone you will soon forget, and only remember me as the friend of Hualcoyotl." Her answer to this was a reproachful look. An expression of pain pa.s.sed over her countenance, and her eyes suddenly became suffused again with tears. Euetzin saw that her feelings were deeply wounded by his words, and, taking her hand, he hastened to say, repentantly:

"I have hurt you by my careless expression. May I not recall my words, and a.s.sure you of my great sorrow for having spoken them? I will come again, if only to learn more of the beautiful mountain girl who holds for me so much of kindly feeling. Yes, I will come again. You will forgive me now, I'm sure, for having caused you pain." He spoke rapidly, and his voice grew almost impa.s.sioned in his earnestness.

A happy smile lit up the weeping Mitla's face, for she read in the tzin's fervent manner that he was not wholly indifferent toward her.