Leaving the body of Barbato to be devoured by wolves and vultures, they spur on along the Pecos, only drawing bridle to breathe their horses as the trail turns up at the bottom of a confluent creek--the Arroyo de Alamo.

CHAPTER SEVENTY.

A SCHEME OF ATROCITY.

Discomfited--chagrined by his discomfiture--burning with shame at the pitiful spectacle he has afforded to his followers--Uraga returns within his tent like an enraged tiger. Not as one robbed of its prey--he is still sure of this as ever; for he has other strings to his bow, and the weak one just snapped scarce signifies.

But for having employed it to no purpose he now turns upon Roblez, who counselled the course that has ended so disastrously.

The adjutant is a safe target on which to expend the arrows of his spleen, and to soothe his perturbed spirit he gives vent to it.

In time, however, he gets somewhat reconciled; the sooner by gulping down two or three gla.s.ses of Catalan brandy. Along with the liquor, smoking, as if angry at his cigar, and consuming it through sheer spite, Roblez endeavours to soothe him by consolative speech.

"What matters it, after all!" puts in the confederate. "It may be that everything has been for the best. I was wrong, no doubt, in advising as I did. Still, as you see, it's gained us some advantage."

"Advantage! To me the very reverse. Only to think of being chased about my own camp by a man who is my prisoner! And before the eyes of everybody! A pretty story for our troopers to tell when they get back to Albuquerque! I, Colonel commanding, will be the jest of the _cuartel_!"

"Nothing of the kind, colonel! There is nothing to jest about. Your prisoner chanced to possess himself of your sword--a thing no one could have antic.i.p.ated. He did it adroitly, but then you were at the time unsuspecting. Disarmed, what else could you do but retreat from a man, armed, desperate, determined on taking your life. I'd like to see anyone who'd have acted otherwise. Under the circ.u.mstances only an insane man would keep his ground. The episode has been awkward, I admit. But it's all nonsense--excuse me for saying so--your being sensitive about that part of it. And for the rest, I say again, it's given us an advantage; in short, the very one you wanted, if I understand your intentions aright."

"In what way?"

"Well, you desired a pretext, didn't you?"

"To do what?"

"Court-martial your prisoners, condemn, and execute them. The attempt on your life will cover all this, so that the keenest scandal-monger may not open his lips. It will be perfectly _en regie_ for you to hang or shoot Don Valerian Miranda--and, if you like, the doctor, too--after ten minutes' deliberation over a drum's head. I'm ready to organise the court according to your directions."

To this proposal Uraga replies with a significant smile, saying:

"Your idea is not a bad one; but I chance to have a better. Much as I hate Miranda and wish him out of the way, I don't desire to imbrue my hands in his blood; don't intend to, as I've already hinted to you."

Roblez turns upon his superior officer a look of incredulous _surprise, interrogating_,--

"You mean to take him back, and let him be tried in the regular way?"

"I mean nothing of the kind."

"I thought it strange, after your telling me he would never leave this place alive."

"I tell you so still."

"Colonel! you take pleasure in mystifying me. If you're not going to try your prisoners by court-martial, in what way are your words to be made good? Surely you don't intend to have them shot without form of trial?"

"I've said I won't imbrue my hands in their blood."

"True, you've said that more than once, but without making things any clearer to me. You spoke of some plan. Perhaps I may now hear it?"

"You shall. But first fill me out another _capita_ of the Catalan.

That affair has made me thirsty as a sponge."

The adjutant, acting as Ganymede, pours out the liquor and hands the cup to his colonel, which the latter quaffs off. Then, lighting a fresh cigar, he proceeds with the promised explanation.

"I spoke of events, incidents, and coincidences--didn't I, _ayadante_?"

"You did, Colonel."

"Well, suppose I clump them altogether, and give you the story in a simple narrative--a monologue? I know, friend Roblez, you're not a man greatly given to speech; so it will save you the necessity of opening your lips till I've got through."

Roblez, usually taciturn, nods a.s.sent.

"Before coming out here," continues the Colonel, "I'd taken some steps.

When you've heard what they are I fancy you'll give me credit for strategy, or cunning, if you prefer so calling it. I told you I should take no prisoners back, and that Don Valerian and the doctor are to die.

They will go to their graves without causing scandal to any of us. To avoid it I've engaged an executioner, who will do the job without any direct orders from me."

"Who?" asks the adjutant, forgetting his promise to be silent.

"Don't interrupt!"

The subordinate resumes silence.

"I think," continues Uraga, in a tone of serio-comicality, "you have heard of a copper-coloured gentleman called `Horned Lizard.' If I mistake not, you have the honour of his acquaintance. And, unless I'm astray in my reckoning, you'll have the pleasure of seeing him here this evening, or at an early hour to-morrow morning. He will make his appearance in somewhat eccentric fashion. No doubt, he'll come into our camp at a charging gallop, with some fifty or a hundred of his painted warriors behind him. And I shouldn't wonder if they should spit some of our gay lancers on the points of their spears. That will depend on whether these _valientes_ be foolish enough to make resistance. I don't think they will. More likely we shall see them gallop off at the first whoop of the Indian a.s.sailants. You and I, Roblez, will have to do the same; but, as gallant gentlemen, we must take the women along with us.

To abandon them to the mercy of the savages, without making an effort to save them, were absolute poltroonery, and would never bear reporting in the settlements. Therefore, we must do our best to take the ladies along. Of course, we can't be blamed for not being able to save our male prisoners. Their fate, I fear, will be for each to get half a dozen Comanche spears thrust through his body, or it may be a dozen.

It's sad to think of it, but such misfortunes cannot always be avoided.

They are but the ordinary incidents of frontier life. Now, _senor ayadante_, do you comprehend my scheme?"

"Since I am at length permitted to speak, I may say I do--at least, I have an obscure comprehension of it. Fairly interpreted, I take it to mean this. You have arranged with the Horned Lizard to make a counterfeit attack upon our camp--to shoot down or spear our poor devils of soldiers, if need be?"

"Not the slightest need of his doing that, nor any likelihood of his being able to do it. They'll run like good fellows at the first yell of the Indians. Have no apprehensions about them."

"In any case, the Horned Lizard is to settle the question with our captives, and take the responsibility off our hands. If I understand aright, that is the programme."

"It is."

CHAPTER SEVENTY ONE.

A BOOTLESS JOURNEY.

Having returned to his original design--the scheme of atrocity so coolly and jestingly declared, Uraga takes steps towards its execution.

The first is, to order his own horse, or rather that of Hamersley, to be saddled, bridled, and tied behind his own tent. The same for that ridden by Roblez. Also the mustang mare which belongs to Adela Miranda--her own "Lolita"--and the mule set apart for the _mestiza_.

The troop horses already caparisoned are to remain so.

Ignorant of their object, the troopers wonder at these precautions, though not so much as might be expected. They are accustomed to receive mysterious commands, and obey them without cavil or question.