before venturing so rashly into the claws of El Buitre. The orejada – "
"Oh, my lord!" the luckless Saccaplata exclaimed, as he fell on his knees, "I am a poor devil. Have pity on me, noble captain, I implore you!"
"Come, put an end to this."
In spite of his cries and protestations, the landlord was seized and haled off by his guardians, amid the laughter and sarcasms of the bandits, whom the sight promised by the captain delighted.
"Stop!" the huésped suddenly exclaimed; "I think I have a little money about me."
"No, no!" the salteadores shouted. "Give him the orejada all the same."
El Garrucholo made a sign, and order was restored.
"Let us see," he said.
The wretch gave a sigh, and with extreme difficulty, after ransacking all his pockets with many a protestation that he was utterly ruined, which the bandits listened to with stoical indifference, he at last succeeded in making up a little more than half the sum.
"Hum!" the lieutenant said as he pocketed the money, "that is nothing; but I am a good fellow. You have no more?"
"Oh! I swear it, excellency," he said, turning out all his pockets.
"Well," El Garrucholo continued philosophically, "no man is bound to do impossibilities, and as you have only that – "
"I am sure of it," the other said, fancying himself saved.
"Well, then," the lieutenant continued, "let him be only attached by one ear: we must be honest."
An immense burst of laughter from the whole band greeted this proposition. The landlord was carried off to a tree, and before he understood what they meant to do to him, he uttered a frightful yell of pain. A bandit had fastened him to the tree by the right ear, by simply driving his knife through it.
"There, that's settled," the lieutenant said. "Now, I warn you that, if you continue to howl, I will have you gagged."
"Traitors, dogs, assassins, kill me!"
"No. But listen; that wound is nothing. It is easy for you to deliver yourself by a slight tug. Your ear will be torn, I allow, but you can't have everything. As soon as you are free, return home; one of our friends will accompany you, and you will pay him the rest of the sum."
"Never!" the landlord howled, "Never! I would sooner die!"
"Very good; then you shall die, and after that we will carry off the contents of the hiding place you have so cleverly made in the wall of your cuarto, by placing before it a picture of Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe. Eh! What do you think of that?"
The lieutenant had hardly finished speaking ere the landlord, by a sharp movement, had regained his liberty. Without thinking of his frightfully-mutilated ear, he threw himself at the feet of El Garrucholo.
"I accept, my lord, I accept; but I implore you, do not ruin me."
"I was certain you would understand. Be off, scoundrel; and if it is any consolation, know that you will be avenged on the colonel."
"Yes," the landlord muttered to himself, "but who will avenge me on you? Thanks," he added aloud; "that promise causes me to forget my suffering."
"All the better; but mind you, no treachery, or we shall manage to get hold of you again."
Saccaplata bowed, but made no reply. He understood that it would have been better for him to remain at home, and allow matters to follow their course, without seeking a problematic vengeance which cost him thirty gold ounces and an ear. On reaching the mesón he paid the rest of his ransom, and banging the door in the face of the bandit who accompanied him, and thanked him with an air of mockery, he sank on a bench, and overcome by so many terrible emotions, fainted away.
IV. – THE BARRANCA DEL MAL PASO
The rest of the night passed, apparently at any rate, calmly and tranquilly, and nothing occurred to disturb the rest enjoyed by the guests at the mesón of San Juan. About four in the morning the doors of the travellers' cuartos began to open one after the other, and lights flashed in the patios. The shouts of the muleteers, and the bells of their animals, aroused the colonel and his daughter, warning them that it was time to prepare for their departure.
Don Sebastian, after the suspicions Don Cornelio had suggested to him, did not at all wish, as he had a young lady with him, to start before sunrise, especially as he had to traverse the gorge we have already described, and where it would be easy to form an ambuscade.
By the sunlight he had a better chance, for two reasons: in the first place, the servants who accompanied him were old soldiers, accustomed to war, and greatly attached to him; the second was, that the Mexican brigands are usually great cowards, and whenever they meet with any serious resistance from those they attack, they immediately give up the game.
These two reasons, and, before all, the fear of alarming his daughter, and uselessly exposing her to danger during the darkness, obliged the colonel to let all the other travellers at the mesón start before him; and, in fact, they soon quitted the hostelry, and dispersed in various directions.
The Señor Saccaplata, with pallid face, compressed eyebrows, and head bandaged up, was walking up and down the patio, with his arms behind his back, every now and then raising his eyes angrily to the colonel's window, and growling in a low voice, —
"Body and bones! Will not that trumpery colonel make up his mind to start soon, if he is so ready to give the bastinado to poor folk? But let him do what he will, he will not escape the fate that awaits him."
At this moment a young man appeared in the patio, strumming a guitar, and singing in a low voice, —
"No sabo donde mirar,
De todo teme y rezela,
Si al cielo teme su furia,
Porque hizo al cielo ofensa."3
These verses, taken from the romance of King Rodrigo, though probably sung without any malignant meaning, still referred so closely to the landlord's present position, that he turned furiously to the unlucky singer, and attacked him in a brutal voice.
"Deuce take your howling! Why do you come buzzing in this way in my ears, when you ought, on the contrary, to be preparing for your departure?"
"Why, it is our worthy huésped," Don Cornelio replied with that joyful accent peculiar to him. "What! You are not fond of music? You are wrong, my worthy friend, for what I am singing to you is really fine."
"That is possible," the other said in a rough voice; "but I should feel obliged by your giving me no more of it."
"Oh, oh! You are not in a good temper this morning. What's the matter with you, that you are so bandaged up? On my soul, you must be ill. Oh! I see what it is; you slept with your window open, and have caught a toothache."
The landlord turned green with impotent fury.
"Caballero," he shouted, "take care."
"Of what?" Don Cornelio said peacefully. "Toothache is not catching, as I am aware. Poor man! Pain causes him to wander. Take care of yourself, my good man; take care of yourself, I advise you."
And without further ceremony
He knows not where to look; he fears or distrusts everything. If he is afraid of the anger of Heaven, why did he insult it?
