or foe, tell me who you are, that I may know with whom I have to deal."
"I am," the voice made answer, "the man you met on the road."
"Hem! What do you want with me? Why are you not asleep at this hour, instead of coming to rouse me?"
"Open, in Heaven's name! I have important news to tell you."
The colonel hesitated for a moment, but soon reflecting that this man, to whom he had done no harm, could have no motive, for being his enemy, he decided on getting up. Still, through prudence, he cocked one of his pistols, which he had placed by his side on retiring to bed, and went to open the door. The stranger walked in quickly, and closed it after him.
"Speak low," he said hurriedly. "Listen to me: the host is forming some scheme against you."
"I suspect it," the colonel said, who, while speaking, had lit a candle; "but whatever he may do, I am out of his reach, and the scoundrel will be crushed if he attack me."
"Who knows?" the stranger said.
"Come, you know something positive. Have I any plot to fear inside the house?"
"I do not think so."
"Tell me what you have discovered, then."
"I will do so; but in the first place, as I am a total stranger to you, allow me to tell you my name."
"For what good?"
"No one knows what may happen in this world: it is useful to be able to distinguish one's friends from one's enemies."
"Speak; I am listening."
"You nearly guessed the truth. Under my starving appearance I conceal a certain monetary value. My name is Don Cornelio Mendoza. I am a student. I had at Guadalajara an aunt, who, on dying, appointed me her heir. I am carrying with me in my belt one hundred and fifty gold ounces, and in my portfolios bills for an equal amount payable at San Blas. You see that I am not so poor as I appear to be. But the road between the two cities is long and dangerous, and I assumed this disguise to escape the robbers, if that be possible."
"Very good, Don Cornelio: you can now, if you please, change your attire, for I hope that we shall pursue our journey together."
"With all my heart; but if it make no difference, I will retain my lepero dress provisionally."
"As you please; but now to the fact. What have you to tell me?"
"Not much, but yet enough to put us on our guard. Our landlord, after making his round and assuring himself that everyone had retired, woke up one of his servants, the very one who thrashed him with such good will."
"Yes, I remember that rogue's face."
"Very good. After calling him into his room, he remained shut up with him for ten minutes; then he opened a window, the peon leaped out on the highway, and ran off at full speed."
"Oh, oh!" the colonel said.
"The landlord looked after him till he disappeared, then muttered several words I could not understand, excepting one name, which, thanks to Heaven, reached my ear."
"What was it?"
"El Buitre (the Vulture)."
"Hum! Is that all?"
"Yes."
"It does not teach me much; but how did you learn all this? The landlord did not make you his confidant, I suppose?"
"No, not a bit in the world. I became his confidant in spite of himself, and in the most natural way. My cuarto is just over his room. I heard him open a window, and I listened."
"Yes, but unfortunately you heard nothing."
"Yes, a name."
"But a name which has no meaning for us."
"On the contrary, it is of enormous significance."
"How so?"
"The famous leader of the salteadores, whose band has been desolating the province for a year, is called El Buitre. Do you now understand?"
"Body o' me!" the colonel shouted, as he jumped up hurriedly, "I rather think I do understand."
III. – THE GENTLEMEN OF THE ROAD
We will for the moment quit the mesón of San Juan, and proceed about two leagues further on, where certain persons, with whom the reader must form an acquaintance, are assembled.
Hardly one hundred and fifty yards beyond the mesón the road begins to grow narrower; the mountains approach, as if wishful to shake hands, and that so abruptly and unexpectedly, that they form all at once a narrow and long gorge, which is known throughout the country as the barranca del mal paso.
After passing through this gorge, the scenery leaves its abrupt and savage aspect to resume a smiling character; the road widens again; a charming valley, intersected by a stream, presents itself to sight; and on all sides the eye surveys a deliciously accidented horizon.
On either side of the barranca begin impenetrable forests, through which a road can only be cut axe in hand, unless the traveller has a deep knowledge of the narrow and almost invisible paths which lead into the interior with innumerable twinings.
We must ask the reader to follow us to one of the most hidden and least known resorts in this forest.
In the centre of a vast clearing, where burned a cedar eighty feet in height, emitting incessant sparks, some twenty men in sordid garments – a horrible medley of luxury and indigence – with faces in which crime was written in capital letters, but all armed to the teeth, were assembled in groups of three or four each, drinking, eating, smoking, and singing.
Not far from them, their horses, saddled and ready to mount at the first signal, were eating their provender of alfalfa and climbing peas; while, on the edge of the covert, four or five men, motionless as bronze statues, were attentively surveying the surrounding country.
A little on one side, two men, seated on low stools, were talking and puffing in each other's faces enormous volleys of smoke. The first and elder of the two appeared about eight-and-twenty years of age; his long, light hair fell in heavy curls on his shoulders; his features were effeminate; but his aquiline nose, his bright blue eyes, and narrow forehead, imparted to his face a character of baseness and cold cruelty. He wore the splendid costume of the Mexican hacenderos, and was carelessly playing with the trigger of a splendid silver-mounted American rifle.
His companion offered a striking contrast to him: while the first was tall, well built, and endowed with pleasing manners, the second was short, stumpy, heavy, and repulsive in face, gestures, and even in language. The richness of his attire only seemed to render more striking the hideousness imprinted as an indelible stigma on this odious person. Everything announced in him the prowling jackal, that possesses all the ferocity of the lion, but none of that animal's nobility or courage.
The clearing we have described was one of the principal haunts of the Vulture, that terrible bandit who, at the time we write of, was ravaging the state of Guadalajara. The men collected in it formed his band, and the two men we have just introduced were, the first, El Buitre himself; the second, El Garrucholo, his lieutenant and dearest friend.
At
