~_

THE PEON PRINCE;

OR,

IPUTNAM POMFRET’S MEXICAN FORTUNES.

 

CHAPTER I,
THE BRIGANDS AT HOME,

Ir was the autumn of 1845. The sun was gilding with
his retiring beams the tops of that extended reach of mount-
ain steppes, rising one above another from the sea-coast of
Mexico, far up to the vast table-land on which its capital is
built, and higher still to the eternal snows of regions beyond.
The shades of night were stalking like giant phantoms up the
sides of precipices, and over the dense forests, and a singular
golden mist blended with the brown haze which is the twi-
light of those climes, and is immediately succeeded by the
glorious light and beauty of semi-tropical constellations.

Upon the summit of one of the mountain ridges, overlook-
ing the surrounding country, was situated, at the period of
our story, the stronghold of a notorious band of brigands
whose name had long been the terror of the neighboring vil-
lages, as well as of many unfortunate merchants who trans-
acted the trade between seaboard and inland cities, and who
never trusted themselves in the vicinity of the “ Outlaw’s
Mount,” as it was called, without a strong guard of soldiers,
hired at a heavy price from the Commandant of the nearest
garrison. These soldiers, as well as their Commandant, found
it, as may easily be imagined, so profitable a business to pro-
tect the caravans, that they took little pains to drive the
brigands from their fortr esses, or attack them by any regular
sy stem of warfare. Indeed, so intrenched were the outlaws,
and so desperate were they known to be, it would have been
a hazardous business to attempt their destruction,

 
 

6 THE PEON PRINCE. i

At the present hour, the edge of evening, the brigands’ re-
treat presented a motley appearance. In the midst of a thick
growth of wood was a circular “ clearing,” marked by decayed
trunks of trees and huge rocks, in the center of which could
be seen the entrance to one of those mountain caves common
in the passes of Mexico, used long ago, doubtless, as places
of refuge for the hunted children of the soil, when the Span-
ish conquerors, asserting tyrannic dominion, subjected the
hapless aborigines to a cruel servitude. Scattered around,
before the cavern mouth, were several groups of men, of wild
appearance, clad in a costume half savage and half military.

Each man was armed with a carabine, anda brace of large
pistols hung at his belt, from which also depended a short
sword or knife, shaped somewhat like the creese of a Malay,
and which is the same kind of weapon as that used among
the Uaneros of South America, in slaying the wild buffalo on
theirextensiveprairiesorpampas. A blanket cloak, orponcho,
was thrown across the shoulders of each, covering a leather
jacket, and lower garments of untanned buffalo-hide. It
might be difficult to bring together a more ferocious-looking
set of fellows in any place save ameng the mongrel descendants
of Spanish buccaneers.

Nevertheless, though ill-looking enough, they appeared at
the present time to be enjoying themselves vastly ; for, in the
midst of the party, upon a rocky shelf, stood a large skin of
wine, to which each, as occasion offered, applied his tin can-
teen, and imbibed with much seeming relish its sparkling
contents, All at the same time mingled ina rapid stream of
conversation, as if every one was fearful he should not have
an opportunity to deliver his opinion.

“Ho, Lopez, a song!” cried a burly fellow, the nearest to
the wine-skin, and who appeared, withal, to have already
become pretty well acquainted with its contents.

“Not I,” returned Lopez, a younger member of the group,
who lazily puffed his cigar at the other side of the wine-skin.
“Not I; drunken Spaltro; but I'll give you else than a song,
if you quit not your winks and nods at Berta yonder.”

Saying this, the young man glanced toward a female, quite

youthful and handsome, who stood near the group, occupied in
filling the cups of those furthest from the wine-skin

 
A QUARREL 7

“Ho! ho!” laughed Spaltro, rolling his tongue over his lips
contemptuously. You must be jesting, Master Lopez. Come
hither, Berta—give me another cup of wine with your pretty
fingers, and then a kiss, to sweeten the wine, my girl. Let
us see if Don Lopez will keep his threat.”

“You shall have no wine from my fingers, Spaltro,” cried
the young girl, gayly. ‘And as for a kiss, you are too old
and ugly even to expect such luxuries.”

This sally of the girl was reccived with a loud laugh by
those who heard it, except by Spaltro himself; who staggered
to his feet, and muttering, “‘ Ah, we shall see,” endeavored to
lay hold upon the handsome cup-bearer. But the damsel
dextrously eluded him,

“ Aha, we shall see all about that,” continued Spaltro, tipsily
pursuing the girl. ‘Come here, little child! Diablo! how
fast it runs !”

“ Pester not the child, Spaltro,” roared Lopez. ‘Do we
not all know she hates you ?”

“Tl pester you, braggart Lopez, if you hold not your
peace. Stand aside, till ‘T have a kiss from the girl.”

“Aha, you think, old comrade, to get what our Berta
has never given to one of us young and handsome gallants.
Be off, else my musket-stock shall remind your weak head
of its vanity.”

But the intoxicated brigand took little heed of the threats
and abuse of his young comrade. He staggered forward, and ~
would probably have reached the young girl, had not Lopez
suddenly thrown out the stock of his carabine, which, entan-
gling Spaltro’s feet, brought him. sprawling to the ground.

“ Lie you there, illustrious Spaltro,” said Lopez, while the
rest set up a vociferous shout that enraged the discomfited
ruffian to the last degree. =

“ By St. Dominic!” he yelled, rising to his feet, with a
murderous gleam in his bloodshot eye, ‘you shall die for that
insult, Lopez!”

And, raising his carabine to his shoulder, he took deliberate
aim at his laughing antagonist.

But the girl Berta cr ept softly up behind him, and slyly
emptied a cup of wine upon the priming of the leveled gun.

“ Fire away, valiant Spaltro,” cried Lopez, with a woes of
derision ; for he had noticed Berta’s maneuver, *

 
 

8 THE PEON PRINCE.

Spaltro dropped his carabine.

“Ten thousand devils!” roaredhe. But this shall do the
business !”

Drawing his knife, he rushed toward Lopez, who now, in
turn, presented the muzzle of his own piece. |

At this moment, a quick footstep was heard, and a tall fig-
ure suddenly emerged from the cave. A whisper ran around

the group :
; ~ «Tt is the Captain !” :

The “Captain” was a terrible-looking fellow. He had an
eye like that of a hawk, and long, snaky locks hung over his
shoulders. At this time, he wore a dark frown upon his
forehead.

“What means this quarrel ?” was his first exclamation, as,
advancing into the center of the group, his quick eye caught
the aspect of affairs. “Are ye about to cut your throats as
soon as your leader’s back is turned, comrades? Havea care,
or my hand will do the cutting for you. Speak! Spaltro—
Lopez—what do you mean 2”

-“ He insulted me !” muttered Spaltro, in a sullen voice.

“That's a lie !” eried Lopez.

“ Silence! both of you !” thundered the Captain, ‘No
more quarrels—but shake hands !”

“Not I,” said Spaltro.

“Nor I, by St. Juan !” muttered Lopez.

_ “By St. Juan, but you shall!” cried the robber Captain,
drawing a pistol from his belt. He then motioned to the
young girl who had been the innocent cause of the dispute.

“ Berta,” said he, “bring me a cup of wine.”

The damsel silently obeyed, while the band regarded their
Captain with anxious looks. -

“ Now mark me, comrades,” continued the brigand leader,
fixing his fierce glance upon the two malcontents, and lifting
to his lips the cup of wine. ‘ You will not shake hands,
Muy bueno! Nevertheless, if you do not shake hands before I
shall have swallowed the wine—valgame Dios ! you both die !
Do you understand me ?”

So saying, the brigand chief placed the cup to his lips, and
turning his head away, began slowly to drink.
~ Spaltro cast a savage look at his Captain, and clenched his
@

A SHOT FROM THE CAPTAIN. 9

teeth together in sullen determination. Lopez moved not
from his position, his back being turned to his antagonist,
though it was apparent that the young bandit understood his
leader’s command as one not to be trifled with, for his ruddy
complexion became at once deadly pale.

“The business is serious, for our Captain will certainly
keep his word,” muttered Lopez to himself, half turning his
head to catch a glimpse of his adversary. Spaltro’s brow
was knit gloomily, and his eyes bent to the ground, but he
made no movement of reconciliation. ‘I'll die,” eried Lopez,
“before I give my hand first!”

The Captain continued to drink his wine slowly, and the
young girl watched his face with a fearful interest, while the
band gathered in a semicirele around. The last drop was at
length drained from the cup, and the brigand chief removed
it from his lips.

“Have ye done it?” he cried, dashing the goblet to the
ground, and cocking his pistol with a sharp click. He
turned about, as he spoke, toward the men, and beheld the
sullen Spaltro preserving the same dogged demeanor which
he had at the outset assumed. It was but one instant that
he saw this, for in the next his pistol was discharged, and
Spaltro, leaping from his feet, fell a corpse upon the ground.

The whole band uttered a cry of horror, for not one of
them had believed that their leader would proceed to this
extremity. But the Captain gazed around the circle with a
fierse expression, and shouted to the remaining rebel :

* Lopez! kneel down !” é .

Lopez, trembling like a child, looked from the body of his
late antagonist to the faces of his shuddering companions. He
read in their white cheeks the horror which their leader's act jf
inspired, and he half resolved to call upon them toavenge their jf
comrade. Had he acted upon this impulse, and boldly con- ff
fronted the Captain, the spell of terror might have been broken }}
at once; but he hesitated, and the next instant his eye was
transfixed and ruled by the mastering glance of his chief.

“Lopez! kneel down !”

The young robber knelt, and the Captain drew another
pistol trom his belt, while not a movement was heard among
the surrounding brigands. Again the sharp click of a lock
sounded fearfully distinct,

 
 

10 THE PEON PRINCE.

But this time the deadly report did not follow; for, as the
muzzle of the weapon pointed at the heart of the youth, the
Captain’s arm was suddenly arrested, and Berta, the young
girl, flung herself at his feet.

- “Oh, spare him !” she shrieked.

Her beautiful olive face was thrown backward, her long
black hair streaming wildly to the ground. Tears gushed
from her eyes, and her lips were parted in agonized entreaty.
The Captain paused, and a low murmur ran through the band.

“What say you—has he not merited death?” asked the
chief, in a tone so fierce and haughty that the foremost of the
murmuring group sunk back, “Speak!” am I your chief, or
not ?”
ey man was silent; not one pleaded for his comrade’s

ec

“No, no! he shall not die—no, no !” murmured the young
Berta, still clinging to the arm of the stern brigand.

“ Lopez! do you hear? Our comrades are willing that
you should die, like Spaltro, rather than discipline be lost in
the band which I command. Is it not. so, amigos?’ he
continued, turning to the crowd around.

A. low assent came from the robbers.

“Ttis well. You hear, Lopez—your life is justly forfeited !
Only one pleads for you—the poor little Berta. Nevertheless,
I shall grant Berta’s request. Your life is spared. Go,
comrade, and let us have no more quarreling !”

Lopez arose from his knees like one who had seen a spirit,
so pale and ghastly were his features. The Captain turned
toward the rest, and called ;

“Pedro !”

A young brigand sprung promptly forward.

“ Pedro, you are cunning and vigilant.. I have business
for you. To-night, comrades, we shall have booty.”

“Viva Marant !” shouted the band, rejoiced at this intelli-
gence, and already forgetful of the slain Spaltro.

“To-night I will lead you on a rich enterprise. We shall
attack the house of Murillo the Rich. Pedro, go at once,
disguise yourself well, and reconnoitre the whole farm.
Learn if there be suspicions afloat, and bring me tidings ere
the moon scales the ‘Outlaw’s Mount.’ You understand me,
comrade?” Be Aeot
INEZ. ll

“Am I to enter the house?”

“If possible.”

“T will go, then, Captain, as @ wandering minstrel: We
have an excellent bandolin in the cave, that belonged to a
poor devil of an actor whom we shot in our attack on the
Vera Cruz caravan, Withsuch an instrument, noble Captain,
doubtless I can charm Murillo’s household.”

“ Be wary, Pedro, and lose no time. Ere the moon climbs
yonder tree-tops, we must march.”

Pedro seized his carabine, and disappeared within the
cavern, to prepare for the enterprise, while the chief, advanc-
ing to the wine-skin, filled a cup of the red liquor. 1

“Comrades,” cried he, “pledge me this toast: To the |f
wine-casks and coffers of Murillo the Rich !” |

“Bravo! bravo! long live our noble Captain !” shouted |
the brigands. “ Long live the brave Marani !” See

And, filling anew their cups, they drank to the health of |
their chief, while at their feet lay the stark corpse of Spaltro ||
their comrade,

 

CHAPTER IL oe

LOVE AND DAGGERS.

Tyez Muritxo, only daughter of the rich farmer whose |
house is to be attacked, was one of the handsomest maidens |}
of the whole valley. ete |

She had black, velvet-looking eyes, and a complexion of ff
that rich olive which imparts such a luxurious appearance to ff
the Southern women. Her hair, glossy and jetty, was always ff
braided most bewitchingly, and many a lover sighed to possess ff
only one little lock of it. In truth, Inez was a charming ]
creature, and it is no wonder at all that she turned the heads
of half the valley youths.

Besides all this, Inez was an heiress, and the immense |}
droves of cattle, broad meadows and well-filled money-bags }}
of Murillo the Rich, were no small items in the schedule of }}
the maiden’s attractions,

 
 

Fe. THE PEON PRINCE.

It may well be believed, then, that Inez had no lack of
suitors. But the most prominent among those who aspired
tothe hand and fortune of Murillo’s daughter, were two indi-
viduals, whose demeanor and attractions threw their more
rustic rivalsin the shade. One of these, named Antonio La
Vega, wasan officer of cavalry, whose regiment was stationed
at a post about a couple of leagues distant. And the other
was a stranger, who had resided but a few months in the
vicinity, but who appeared to be a man of immense wealth,
and extremely liberal. He had purchased a house from
Murillo, and resided in it, with one servant and an old house-
keeper.

Both of these suitors of Inez were elegant men, with good
features and graceful manners. La Vega always wore a
dashing uniform, and rode a magnificent horse, which, when
the cavalier dismounted at Murillo’s gate, was generally
covered with foam. D6n Martino, the other lover, was a
tall, majesticlooking man, with long, curling locks, anda
shining moustache, over his lip. Both of them had very
white teeth, and flashing black-eyes.

But, in spite of the fascinations possessed by these two
cavaliers, Sefiorita Inez did not love either of them; and,
though she was somewhat of a coquette, and liked very well
to receive the admiration and attentions of both, she never for
once thought seriously of marriage. So, though herfather often
talked to her of Antonio’s rank, and Martino’s riches, she
continued to rattle away with each of them, never allowing
an opportunity for a serious declaration of passion.

In fact, (gentle reader we will let you into a secret, as you
are sure to find it out, if you read on), the Sefiorita was in
love with somebody else. She did not know it herself, and
perhaps she would not have believed any one who should tell
her of it; nevertheless, it is true, she was in love with
Lorenzo the artist.

Ah! who was Lorenzo the artist?

Nobody—indeed, nobody! A poor youth, “nothing but
an artist,” as Inez used to whisper to herself, who spent his
time in making pictures all over the valley, and writing son-
nets and madrigals. How could it be possible that the daugh-
ter of the rich Murillo should ever think of so humble ayouth!
THE RIVALS. 13

To be sure, Lorenzo was very handsome, and every body
said that he knew a great deal, though the villagers generally
agreed that his learning would not get himaliving. He had
large, expressive eyes, with long lashes, and. dark, flowing
ringlets, glossy as those of Inez herself. He possessed a rich
voice, and it was delicious to hear him sing his own songs, in
the still night, to the accompaniment of a guitar. In spite of
herself, Inez acknowledged that she could not help liking
Lorenzo, but as for love—

This was the state of affairs at the time to which our pre-
sent chapter returns; that is to say, three days previous to
the night on which the attack was to be made by the brigands
on old Murillo’s house.

Captain Antonio La Vega had just dismounted at Murillo’s
gate, as usual leaving his steed in a foam, and Inez was pre-
paring herself to listen to his customary flatteries—in fact, the
young officer was about taking the maiden’s hand, and seating
himself by her side, beneath the vine-covered porch, when, at
such an unlucky moment, Don Martino appeared likewise at
the gate. é

Now, as the reader doubtless suspects, these two rivals
were not on the best terms. They never met without ex-
changing frowns and flashing glances. Now, Martino had to
bite his lips to keep from uttering a savage oath.

“Come, come, Seiiors,” cried. Inez, gayly, when she per- jf
ceived how tempestuous her admirers were getting, “do not |
frighten one with such terrible looks. Listen to me ; I wish |]
you both to be friends.” ||

So saying, she tapped Antonio’s cheek with her fan.

“T have nothing to say to men in livery,” said Martino,
glancing scornfully at the brilliant uniform which La Vega
wore.

The officer spriing instantly to his feet.

“What. do you mean, villain?” he cried, grasping his |}
sword-hilt.

“ Villain to your teeth !” returned Don Martino, fiercely.

“Ha! whatsay you?” exclaimed the soldier.

And, drawing his sword, he made a lunge at Martino, |}
which would probably have been fatal had not the blow been |}
suddenly arrested by a new-comer, )

 
   
 
     
     
   
 
 
  
   
   
     
   

14 TIE PEON PRINCE.

This was no other than Lorenzo, the young artist, who
had reached the gate just in time to hear the last words of
La Vega, and behold him make the pass at Martino, The
youth had dextrously interposed his guitar, which hung from
his neck by a ribbon, and thus caught and turned aside the
officer's weapon, not, however, without every string of the
instrument being snapped asunder,

“Diablo!” muttered La Vega. ‘Out, peasant !”

He endeavoured, as he spoke, to strike the young artist,
but the hand of Inez stayed his arm.

“ Seftor,” she said, calmly, “ you forget yourself, somewhat.
Sheathe your sword.”

“ Not till I chastise this insolent,” cried Antonio.

“ Coward !” muttered Don Martino, with a low laugh, “T
am unarmed, you perceive. You are brave, like the rest of
your mongrel soldiers.”

“ We shall meet again,” said La Vega.

Then, turning abruptly toward the artist :

“ How dared you, base peasant, arrest my sword ?’ he cried,
with a half-suppressed oath.

*T'o prevent you, Sefior, from disgracing your profession
by slaying an unarmed man,” replied Lorenzo, returning the
other’s fierce look with an undaunted gaze.

* You must be taught a lesson,” said the officer, advancing
toward the youth. ;

But Inez Murillo stepped quickly between them. She
looked steadily first at La Vega and then at Don Martino,
which last gentleman stood leaning against the gate, with his
arms folded, and a curious smile on his dark lips.

‘ Listen, Sefiors,” said the daughter of Murillo, in a clear
voice. ‘You have both disgraced yourselves this day. Ay,
disgraced yourselves !” she continued, drawing up her beautiful
form with a queenly motion, as she noticed the angry glances,
“and henceforth I will not receive the attentions of either of
you. You have both, I perceive, bad and unruly passions,
and I can never love such men.”

“But hear me!’ cried La Vega.

“ Sefiorita,” began Martino.

“T have spoken my decision,” said the maiden, firmly. “I
henceforth desire not the friendship of either of you !”
       
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
  
    
   

A CHALLENGE. 15

And taking the arm of Lorenzo the artist, who had silently,
but secretly well pleased, listened to her words, Inez entered
the cottage.

La Vega cast a furious glance at Martino, and dashing
rudely by him, sprung into his saddle.

“You shall hear from me again !” he cried.

“ With all my heart, soldier !’ replied Martino.

La Vega galloped away, and for a few moments Don Mar-
tino remained standing at the gate. Then he advanced a
step, as if to follow the Seiiorita; but, checking himself,
turned slowly from the cottage.

“The proud girl !” he muttered. I will teach her what
it is to insult me. We shall be even yet ?”

So saying, he directed his steps toward the house which
was his residence, about a mile from Murillo’s dwelling.
Arrived there, he immediately summoned his servant.

“ Pedro,” said he to him, “ we must be moving; we have
been idle long enough.”

“St. Juan be praised, Captain !” answered Pedro. “I’m
heartily tired of this life.”

“We leave the valley to-night, and to-morrow I shall be
myself again.’

“ And how goes the wooing, noble Captain ?”

“Of that I shall myself take care,” answered the master,
with a frown, which seemed at once to repress all curiosity in
the servant. “Say no more now,” continued Don Martino,
“but make ready for our departure.”

* As you say, noble Captain,” returned Pedro.

Early the next morning, a challenge to mortal combat from
Captain Antonio La Vega to Don Martino reached the house
of the latter. But the messenger was informed by the old
housekeeper that her master and his servant had left for a
long journey, and that she knew not when they would return,
16 THE PEON PRINCE.

OPA PeER IL tf.
LOVE'S STRATAGEMS,

    
   
   
 
  
   
   
   
  

Wuen Captain Antonio La Vega rode away from the house
of Murillo, his bosom burned with the most violent passions,
among which hatred of Don Martino (or, as the reader now
knows, Marani,) was perhaps the strongest. The contemptu-
ous dismissal which he had received from the Sefiorita Inez,
coupled with jealousy of his rival, lashed his spirit to a pitch
of fury. He conceived that Inez favored Martino, and that
her angry words to him were but a cloak to hide her interest.

“He is with her now, doubtless,” muttered the soldier.
“Fool that I was to give way so easily !”

Checking the speed of his horse, he half turned to retrace

his course. But a moment’s reflection satisfied him that to
return would be useless; for, if the Sefiorita had really deceived
him, he knew it would be vain to attempt a renewal of his
suit. .
‘“‘T will have my revenge, nevertheless !” he cried, with a
deep oath. ‘ By San Pedro, this proud girl shall rue her
scorn! And Martino—he shall never live to triumph over
me !”

When La Vega arrived at this conclusion, he had likewise
reached the barracks where the soldiers under his command
werestationed, Dismounting, heimmediately sought a brother
officer with whom he was on terms of close intimacy.

Don Ferrardo Nunez was another Captain, serving in the
same regiment with La Vega. They had long known each
other, and though their characters were very dissimilar, were
united in the firmest friendship. La Vega was passionate and
revengeful, and, where his interest or pleasure were concerned,
he stopped at nothing to obtain his objects.

Nunez, on the contrary, was a good-humored, careless
soldier, fond of excitement, and reckless of danger. He liked
his brother ofiicer, because he knew him to be brave, and he
never paused to enquire whether La Vega was depraved or
wicked, Antonio, with a penetrating mind and unscrupulous

1??

ce —
ie it Cd
etme Se

Sa

A VINDICTIVE LOVER. 17

conscience, never failed to use his friend whenever he needed
him ; and as Nunez generally seconded his wishes, he had
begun to consider the latter as much in the light ofa tool as
a companion.

On the present occasion, La Vega resolved to engage hig
brother soldier in a scheme to obtain revenge for himself
upon those who had insulted him ; and for this purpose he
proceeded at once to the quarters of Nunez. He found the
Captain discussing a bottle of wine, and throwing himself
upon a chair, he poured out a goblet of the liquor, and swal-
lowed it at a draught.

«« Well, Antonio,” said Nunez, “how speeds your suit with
the fair Inez ?”

“The devil take her!” cried La Vega, replacing the
goblet with violence on the table.

“ Valgame Dios! What! A quarrel, comrade?”

“You shall hear,” replied La Vega.

And he proceeded to speak of his adventure at the farm-
house, the particularsof which wererelatedin the last chapter.

“ And what do you intend ?” asked Nunez, when La Vega
had coneluded his recital.

“Intend !” cried Antonio. “To revenge myself upon the
whole brood. What else shouldI do! The girl shall repent
her treatment to me, and sue for my forgiveness ; and as for
thatscoundrel, Martino, and the base peasant-boy who had the
boldness to stay my arm, by San Pedro, they shall both die !”

“T think, amigo, you ought to be thankful to that ‘ base’
peasant, as you style him, inasmuch as he prevented what, to
my mind, is a grievous sin—the slaying of an unarmed man.”

“ By heaven! what are you saying?” cried La Vega, im-
patiently. “You are repeating the slave’s own words.”

“T am right, for all that,” returned Nunez; ‘and so you
will say, after reflection. For my part, Antonio, I think the
youth showed very much like a gentleman, in mecting your
sword with his fiddle.”

* Diablos | do you desire to drive me mad? Icome to you
for assistance, and here you take part with my enemies.”

“Nay, Antonio! Not only do I not side with your ene-
mies, but, by the bones of Cortez, if you tell me to take your
quarrel on myself, there’s my hand, comrade !”

 

 

 
 

18 THE PEON PRINCE.

“T fight my own battles.” said La Vega, coldly.

“Then by St. Iago—fight Don Martino forthwith, amigo,
and we shall have you in good-humor again. Come, send a
cartel at once, and when you've run him through the body,
like a gentleman, go and make your own peace with Murillo’s
daughter! What say you, comrade?’

“That your counsel agrees with my purpose. To-morrow
you shall ride over to this Don Martino Diablos, and bear
him my mortal hatred.”

“Enough, amigo,’ said Nunez. “Let us consider the
business settled, and I beg you will fill up your glass.”

So, next morning, betimes, Don Ferrardo Nunez mounted
his horse, and galloped down the valley road to its other ex-
tremity, where -was situated the old mansion within which
he expected to meet Don Martino. But, as we have seen,
the cavalier who bore that name was not to be found, having
departed suddenly, with his servant. Nunez, therefore, was
obliged to rejoin his brother officer, without accomplishing
the object of his morning ride; and La Vega, boiling with
rage, which vented itself in curses, became so unreasonable
as to reach the verge of a quarrel with his friend. But Don
Ferrardo preserved his good temper.

“Come, Antonio, this can not be helped,” cried the frank
soldier. ‘I shall not run you through for this Martino, who
will, it is likely, return to the valley ere long. As for your-
self, you are a poor lover if you do not improve your rival’s
absence, by pressing your suit to the maiden.”

“ Maledictions on him !” muttered La Vega. “But, as
you say, Ferrardo, the maiden—”

“ Ah! the maiden,” rejoined Nunez. ‘ Now that this
truculent fellow, Martino, is out of the way, you can find no
difficulties in that quarter, amigo !” :

“Tm not so sure of it,” cried La Vega, moodily ; “ though
Tl wager my life that she loves me—that is to say, she would
love me if we wére wedded.”

«And why not wed at once, amigo ?”

_ “Very good talk, if there was not an old Murillo the
Rich in one’s way.”

“Tn one’s way, say you? Since how long have money-

bags been in a poor cavalier’s way, comrade?”

 
    
  
  
   
  
 
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
 
   
  
   
   
   
    

HOW TO WIN A BRIDE.

“T tell you, Nunez, you know nothing about my affairs.”

“Tis your own fault, then, comrade. Why do you not
tell me? Am I not your sworn friend?”

“Ah!” cried La Vega, with a crafty glance at his com-
rade’s honest face ;,if one could depend on a friend to stand
by one—”

“ By the bones of Cortez—”

“Through fire and water—’

“Give the word, comrade. What do you want?”

* By St. Pedro! I want Murillo’s daughter?’ replied La
Vega. “And if Don Ferrardo Nunez will stand by me—”’

“ By the bones—”

“Tl carry her off and marry her in spite of a hundred
fathers !” ;

“Bravo!” cried Nunez, jumping up and oversetting his
camp-stool. ‘ That’s spoken like a Cid, and I’m your com-
rade against old Murillo and his money-bags. You shall
have her, wmigo, and Padre Torvaso can tie the knot here in
our barracks, in spite of—”

La Vega smiled grimly, as he returned the warm grasp of
his comrade’s hand. “TI shall count on you, Ferrardo.”

“ As yourself, by St. Juan! And now, amigo, when shall
it be done?’

“To-morrow night. We will detach a party, under pre-
tense of scouring the mountains for brigands. At midnight,
we can descend upon the valley, sutround Murillo’s house,
and—” a

“ The Seiiorita—she will be prepared—”

“T shall provide for that! If the household become
alarmed, you and our men must cover our flight.”

“ But, should the Sefiorita get frightened?”

“Leave the Sefiorita tome, Nunez. We shall understand
one another. And remember—strict secrecy !”

“Oh! you may depend upon me, comrade. To-morrow
night you shall win your bride, in spite of old Moneybags!”
* To-morrow night, Ferzard¢ ?

 

 
 

20 THE PEON PRINCE.

La ee

CHAPTER IV.
PUTNAM POMFRET AND THE GREASERS,

Wuits the incidents related in the first chapter of our
story were transpiring, there might have been observed, ona
road which wound through the valley that skirted the “ Out-
law’s Mount,” a pedestrian, whose habiliments were an odd
mixture of garments, which bespoke a stranger in those parts,
To a tal! person, at least six feet as he strode, some ten
inches of beaver hat gave additional altitude ; while shrunken
white breeches, and a swallow-tailed blue cloth coat, disputed
with a yellow poncho and crimson scarf, the honor of indi-
cating his nationality, so far as that might be done by cos-
tume. The man’s face was browned by the sun; his eyes
were black and sparkling, like any Mexican hombre; but,
there was in his face an expression of humor and shrewd-
neys, mingled with entire self-reliance, which marked its pos-
sessor as belonging to a more northern section of the American
continent. In fact, reader, our pedestrian was a Yankee,
which means in every foreign land, some offshoot of that
creat Anglo-Saxon stock, whose footsteps track the paths of
empire from the pine woods of Aroostook to California
canons; from the wild swash of icy seas upon Labradov’s
beaches, to the swell of undulating waves in Pacific harbors.

Twilight was deepening into dusk in the more thickly-
wooded bottoms, though sufficient day yet lingered to afford
a clear perception of surrounding objects to the wayfarer’s
eyes, which appeared to keep a sharp look-out on either side :
for this valley-road was lonesome and devious, though on a
direct course to the neighboring city. Tall trees overhung
the footpath, and stretched back into the forest, amidst
whose somber shadows brooded a sepulchral silence.

“ Well,” soliloquized the solitary wayfarer, as he pursued
his path with measured strides, “I'll be dod-rotted if I ain’t
gettin’ tired o’ this ’ere walkin’ Spanish cross-lots! I reckon
‘it'll pay to speculate a trifle in mule-flesh, ef I kin find a
critter to suit, at thenext tavern. Kerryin’ a heavy sachel is

’

~S
—~

 

THE BRIGAND AND THE YANKEE. : 21

mighty independent, but Pll allow it’s rayther inconvenient.”
So saying, the speaker shifted a leather portmanteau from
one hand to the other, at the same time pausing to wipe his
forehead with a red bandanna handkerchief.

“ This ’ere beats natur’ fora country” continued the pedes-
trian, proceeding to solace himseif with a morsel of Jamestown
tobacco, which he cut from a long plug with a formidable-look-

‘ing jackknife. ‘Who'd thought o’ Putnam Pomfret, from

Varmount, ever toting his traps over a Mexican turnpike ?
I would’nt mind the blamed thing so much, ef there was a
white critter to talk to ’casionally ; but, this ’ere circum-
navigation all alone by oneself, day in and day out, ain’t
what I reckoned on. Cowrse, there’s plenty o’ greasers and
yaller-jackets ; but who wants to be jabberin’ with sich
heathen? They laff rite in a feller’s face, if he talks o’ rail-
roads ; and, as for ‘lectric telegraphs or locomotives, I guess
they’d as soon believe in harnessing chain-lightnin’ to their
old go-carts. Hullo, hossfly! where'd you come from ?”

This sudden exclamation was elicited by the abrupt ap-
pearance of a man muffled in a long brown cloak, who car=
ried an oblong box, which evidently was some species ot
musical instrument; for, as the individual advanced along
the road, he was engaged in turning a crank and producing a
series of harsh sounds to the burden of a song which he was
chanting. This personage was no other than Pedro, with
whom the reader is already acquainted, and who had been
dispatched by his chief, an hour before, to reconnoitre the
house of Murillo the Rich. - The young brigand was now
upon that errand, disguised as a wandering musician, and
carrying a hurdy-gurdy, as he perambulated the valley-road.

Our North American, having delivered himself of the
ejaculation, took the liberty of staring fixedly at the new-
comer, who, it may be thought, was in no humor to be
closely inspected. The latter, indeed, stopped short in his
musical performance, and placed his hand upon the hilt of a
poniard which peeped from his mantle.

“Hullo, greaser! ye mean mischief, do you?’ demanded
the Yankee, without changing his position. He said this in
English, and then uttered a few words of colloquial patois,
which, though execrable Spanish, seemed to be intelligible to
the disguised brigand.

 

 

 
 

22 THE PEON PRINCE.

“ Brévos salude! Sefior! yo amigo! Quies usted ?” was
the salutation of Putnam Pomfret, wherewith he intended to
assure the Mexican of his own peaceful intentions, and learn
if they were reciprocated ; but the brigand only responded,
gruffly, “Dod collé!” being his vernacular for “Let me
pass ee 2

“You do! you can’t, Dod Kelly! you derned yaller-
skin !” exclaimed Pomfret, swinging his portmanteau from
right to left: a movement which evidently alarmed the mock
musician, for, in an instant, his poniard-blade gleamed in the
dusk, and was thrust at the other with the evident intention
of transfixing him as he stood.

“Thunder! is that your gait, ye skulkin’ cut-throat?”
cried the Yankee; and, in another second, he drew a stout
club from under his poncho, and dealt a quick blow upon the
robber’s arm, which knocked the knife from his clenched
fingers. Then, before Pedro could possess himself of another
weapon, our adventurer sprung forward like a panther, and
with a single blow of his fist leveled his antagonist to the
earth. This done, he pressed his knee upon the breast of the
prostrate ruffian, who began to roar lustily.

“ Oh, yell sing out, ye sarpint, will ye!” exclaimed Pom-
fret, seating himself deliberately upon the discomfited Mexi-
can. “But I callate you won’t try to come Paddy over a
live white man from the States. Now, get up, you miserable
critter, and let’s see how you kin measure sile, or, by thun-
der! ye’ll wake snaix, sure as my name’s Put Pomfret !”

Saying this, in a compound of Mexican patois and Green
Mountain slang, that might have bewildered the most ab-
struse polyglot of the French Academy, our free American
permitted his adversary to regain his feet. Then, pressing
the muzzle of a brass-barreled pistol at the robber’s breast, he
gave the word of command :

“Byes right, Ingen ! for-r-a-1-d—march !”

Pedro uttered a yell of rage and terror, as he took to his
heels, leaping from the roadside into the adjacent forest with
the agility of a catamount; while Putnam Pomfret, satisfied
with his exploit, proceeded, with somewhat hurried steps,
along the dusky highway.

Our North American was as genuine a sample of that loco

B
 

A YANKEE ADRIFT. 23

motive portion of the human race yclept “Yankees,” as can
possibly be imagined. He had, from an early period of life,
been his “ own master,” or, as the poet more loftily expresses
it, “lord of himself,” and had improved the possession by con-
veying it to divers portions of the hospitable globe. Leaving
in boyhood his native “ Varmount,” and with it the guidance
of a plow and the intimacy of ‘ Broad and Bright,” his
favorite oxen, he essayed his first adventure as cabin-hoy of a
fishing-smack, bound for the “Bay of Chaleur.” Thence,

‘after achieving distinction in the mackerel line, his ambition
had led him to hunt Leviathan in a whale-ship: and finally,
after various experiences in distant lands, a score of hard-
ships and dangers in the wilds of his own country, as pioneer
and hunter, he had “turned up,” about six months previous
to the opening of our story, on the road from Hartford,
Connecticut, conveying a load of patent clocks to New York
with the object of shipping them on speculation to Vera Cruz.
Afterward, desirous of “seeing’ more o’ the world,” he had
become his own supercargo, and accompanied his “ ventur” to
its port of destination. Arrived there, and realizing a “smart
profit” on his investment in time, he had concluded to occupy
his leisure till the homeward departure of his vessel in view-
ing the country, and enjoying a “ fishin’ season.”

Unfortunately, however, after a fortnight’s ramble among
the mountains had sufficiently gratified his piscatorial propen-
sities, our hero returned to the seaboard just in time to find
that the “Sally Ann” had sailed for the United States, carry-
ing with her his entire “traps” and “plunder,” and leaving
him a “Yankee adrift,” with light pockets and boundless leisure.

So, after remaining in Vera Cruz a sufficient length of
time to enable him to pick up a smattering knowledge of the
Spanish language, he resolved to travel inland, and was at
this time on the road to Mexico, where he “calculated” he
should meet with a “smart chance o’ making a spec.”

The stars were now shooting into the sky in quick succes-
sion, changing the grey gloom to brightness, save where the
overhanging foliage wrapped the road in duskiness ; and Put-
man continued his course, sometimes whistling or humming
a tune, sometimes cogitating with a profound countenance,
till he arrived at a spot where the thick forest was suddenly

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

24 THE PEON PRINCE,

broken, and an open space of about thirty rods appeared. On
one side of the narrow road at this place was a mountain
cataract, which came tumbling down the rocks, and, emptying
into a gully, formed a turbid “stream across the road, spanned
by a rude bridge of two or three parallel logs. Here he
paused and looked around.

The day had quite vanished, and now the moon was rising
in unclouded splendor, silvering the tree-tops, and flashing
upon the swollen stream and waterfall. All around was still,
save only the sound of the trembling cataract, and there was
a lonesomeness about the whole scene that inspired in our
hero’s mind a feeling of vague uneasiness. However, after a
rapid glance, Putnam kept on with a light step, and was pro-
ceeding to cross the rustic bridge, when suddenly the sound
of voices caught his ear. He drew back within the shadow
of the wood, and then peered cautiously out.

At first, the Yankee could distinguish nothing ; but soon,
casting his glances sharply across the bridge, he discovered
the figures of two men, with guns in their hands, standing in
the shadow of the wood, apparently engaged in earnest con-
vetsation. Another look sufficed to convince him that one
of the two was the pretended musician who had attempted to
stab him. The instrument was still in Pedro’s belt, but he
was now armed with a carabine, the bright barrel of which
rested against his arm. In fact, the brigand, after his
encounter with the Yankee, had fallen in with another of
the band, sent out, like himself, as a scout, and the two were
now together in conference—Pedro’s companion being no
other than the brigand Lopez.

Pedro had just “finished. the narration of a fierce conflict
which he averred had taken place between himself and a
band of strangers, and Putnam Pomfret sgon contrived to
comprehend some portions of the conversation.

“Where, think you, comrade, the scoundrels are now 4”
asked Pedro’s companion.

Concealed somewhere in the forest,” replied Pedro.
“You must have seen them had they passed the br: idge, Lopez.”

“ Ay, by San Juan! For here have I been waiting, by

our Captain’s orders, to intercept you, for intelligence, “But
how many attacked you ?”

=f

|
-&

 

PUTNAM LEARNS A SECRET. 95.

* A half-score, I am sure,” avowed the robber. “I had
settled some of them had I carried my trusty carabine.”

“What a liar!’ muttered Putnam Pomfret to himself.

“What sort of a fellow was their Captain, Pedro?”

“A ferocious, powerful devil of a foreigner !” answered
Pedro. “He was armed at all points, and a giant in strength,
or he'd have bit the dust, you may be sure.”

Putnam Pomfret, on hearing this description of himself,
was forced to bite his lips to keep down his laughter.

“-Twere well to advise our Captain concerning such
dangerous strangers in the forest. You know we've impor-
tant business on hand to-night,” said Pedro.

“You may well say so, Pedro; and we shall all be the
richer for it.”

“ Ay!” returned Pedro, “and ’tis you, Lopez, who are par-
ticularly lucky in being alive to share the spoils, instead of
lying, as you might be this moment, with that drunken fool,
Spaltro.”

Lopez shuddered, and wiped his forehead.

‘Twas a hard thing, Pedro, to kill a comrade in cold
blood. But, doubtless, that seems to you all right, as ’tis
said you’re the Captain’s right-hand man.”

“Tis true, Sefior Lopez; I am somewhatin Don Marani’s
confidence, as you say. Hence, I know, what I tell you, that
to-night’s work, if it twn out right, will make us all rich
men.”

“And the Captain leads—himself

“You may be sure of that.”

“Then we shall have hot work, doubtless. But speak,
Pedro ; since you knew all about the Captain’s plans, there’s
no harm in giving one a little hint as to where we're going.
Eh, comrade ?”

“Certainly not, Lopez. You shall hear all about it,”
replied Pedro, confidentially. ‘ But first let me wet my
throat with the contents of that flask which I see peeping
from your jacket.”

Lopez drew a wine-bottle from his doublet and handed it
to his comrade, who imbibed a generous draught.

Putnam Pomfret, watching the pair with anxious eyes,

leaned forward from the woody shadows, seeking to glean as

 

 

 
 

 

26 THE PEON PRINCE,

much of the secret which was about to be imparted as his
imperfect knowledge of the patois in which the robbers were
confabulating might permit.

“Now, Lopez, amiyo,” began Pedro, returning the flask to
his companion, “I'll wager you a skin of better liquor than
this that you can not guess what the Captain and myself have
been about for three months past.”

‘How should 1? demanded Lopez. “ Here have we all
been kicking our heels against the rocks, awaiting your
motions, without sport. enough to keep our daggers from
rusting, by St. Juan !”

“ Well, wait a bit, my man. Sport comes in good time.
You must know, comrade, the Captain and myself have been
playing at hidalgo, and courting a Sefiorita.”

“ Both of you, eh ?”

“No, comrade! Our Captain did the knight and I his
squire, you must know. And whom, think you, was the
lady-love, Lopez? Truly, no other but Sefiorita Inez, the
daughter of Murillo.”

© Murillo the Rich—whose house—”

We are to attack this night, Lopez.”

“ Aha! So our Captain got tired of courting in peaceful
style, and now intends to take the Seiiorita in true brigand
fashion—that is, by storm, comrade ?”

“ Ah, Lopez! we've been laying siege to the garrison for
three months, as I said! and just as it seemed to me we were
getting ready for conquest—presto—here we are—and—’

“ Well, comrade,” said Lopez, as Pedro stopped abruptly.

“ Did you not hear a rustling yonder !”

The two bravos listened, while Pomfret held his breath
Then Pedro's voice resumed the conversation.

“ Unfortunately there was a quarrel, and Don Martino—”

“Don Martino—and pray, who was he?’

“Why, our Captain, of course—the noble Marani. You
perceive, comrade, he was passing for a hididgo—”

« Ah—a hidalgo ! So there was a quarrel, you say ?”

“ Yes ; and we left suddenly and rejoined the hills, But
to-night, comrade, we are to attack the house, for our
Captain’s quarrel—”

“ Ay ! but our Captain allows us all the booty—”

z
£

eee

at
|
a

at

   

    
 

A CHASE.

« Except—”

“The woman! That of course, comrade, since ’tis for
love of her, you know, Lopez.”

Lopez laughed grufily.

“T suppose that, for the time being, he rates her higher
than Murillo’s money-bags. Well, comrade, every man to
his taste, say I.”

During this colloquy the ears of our friend, Putnam Pom-
fret, quickened by the proximity of danger so long, had lost
very little of its purport; and when the voice of Pedro
became silent, the North American had already comprehended
the extent of the whole nefarious scheme—which was to give
Murillo’s wealth to plunderers and his daughter to a brigand.

“Thunder !” was his muttered ejaculation. “There's goin’
to be the old Satan to pay, and no mistake. Somebody ought
to rise the neighbors and jest spile this ’ere speculation, and,
if luck ain’t agin me, that somebody ‘Il be Put Pomfret.”

Thus communing with himself, the Yankee, crouched upon
all fours, began to draw himself toward the edge of the wood,
endeavouring to reach a shallow portion of the stream, below
the bridge, which, lying under the full glare of the moonlight,
was not to be thought of asa means of continuing his pro-
gress. Could he succeed in fording the water-course, Pomfret
doubted not that he should soon reach some habitation or
village, where he might find shelter and disclose the villainy
meditated against ‘Mr. Murillo.”

But Putnam Pomfret was in the neighbourhood of ears as
sharp as his own; and scarcely had he crawled a dozen
yards ere the voice of Lopez called out :

“Pedro! what’s that?” @ ay

Somebody in yon copse, comrade,” was the reply !
wnereat Pomfret, springing to his feet, dashed precipitately
toward the river’s margin.

“Tis the spy! Send a bullet after him! Fire, Pedro,
fire !”

And the two robbers, raising their carabines, discharged
them simultaneously at the flying figure. But the report of
the guns was answered immediately by a low laugh from the
fugitive, who appeared in full view, skirting the river's
border.

 

 
    

28 THE PEON PRINCE.

“ After him ! Pursue! He will escape and give the alarm!”

“That's true, Lopez; but he runs like a deer, comrade.”

“Dern yer picters !” exclaimed the North American, de-
serying, as he glanced back, the figures of his enemies in
close pursuit ; and, dodging into the bushes, he ran at full
speed along the river-bank. ,

Meantime the brigands were greeted by the crackling of
underwood and oceasional glimpses of the fugitive, who kept
on with unabated swiftness till he reached an open portion of
the forest ; when, taking to the water, he speedily found him-
self on the opposite shore. Pursuing the winding water-
course, Pomfret soon reached a second clearing in the woods,
- whereon the moonbeams fell broadly, silvering every object.
Here, dofting his high-crowned hat, he deposited it upon the
river-bank, and then, turning abruptly, noiselessly retraced
his steps.

Hardly had he vepassed to the spot where he had forded
the stream, before the pursuers appeared descending to it.
Pomfret, hidden by the wootly shadows, watched their move-
ments, noticing when they paused and listened for his retreat-
ing footsteps, and aware that they were scrutinizing his tracks
in the sand. Presently they plunged into the water, crossed
the ford, and emerged so near the place of Pomfret’s conceal-
ment that he could almost touch them with his hand, But
they kept on, without suspecting his promixity, and soon dis-
covered his hat where he had deposited it, whereupon they
set up a shout..

“Ha! ha!’ laughed Putnam Pomfret; “TI cal'late two
greasers ain't a match for one Green Mountain boy, no how
you @an fix it.”

 

CHAPTER YV.,

HOW A YANKEE WAS OUTWITTED.

Tuer moon was riding the skies in unclouded splendor.
Wood, valley, mountain and stream were brilliant with her
soft light. The house of Murillo the Rich, bathed in floods
of radiance, was the center-piece of this picture of beauty,

     

 

a
  

a

“ter

 

THE BRIGANDS IN AMBUSH.

This house, or rather cluster of houses—for Murillo’s
hacienda was a small village in itself, accommodating a
domestic army of bipeds and quadrupeds—consisted of an
extensive range of wooden out-buildings, flanking the main
edifice, which was of rough stone and adobé brick, A wall
of solid masonry separated one side of the out-houses from
the high road, while, on the other side, were a deep wood
and a shelf of rugged rocks, forming the lowest ridge of that
mountain range which hemmed in the entire valley. On the
opposite side “lay a second tract of woodland, stretching to
the river; and thus the dwelling of Murillo was almost sur-
rounded by forests, rendering it no difficult matter for num-
bers to approach the premises without discovery, so long as
they avoided the highway or remained under the shadows of
the trees or rocks.

Though the moonlight fell full upon the farm-buildings, it,
failed to penetrate the thick woods encompassing them.
Consequently the brigands who, under the eye of their Cap-
tain, Marani, were now lying concealed about the place, felt
as secure from. scrutiny as if in their mountain stronghold.
A dozen or more crouched between the highway wall and the
out-houses ; and these, armed with pistols, knives and cara-
bines, awaited only their leader’s signal to commence their
attack upon the mansion.

Marani himself, with Matteo, his lieutenant, remained at
the outskirts of the wood, watching a light which still gleamed
from a window. The solitary taper, as Marani knew, was in
the chamber of Inez Murillo, and he waited impatiently for
the moment its extinguishment should announce that the
maiden had sought her pillow; when he might ascend the
balcony and be secure of his own portion of the prey ere the
farmer’s dependents could be aroused to defend their master.

“ Are all here?’ asked the robber chief of his subaltern,

“ Lopez and Pedro are absent, Captain.”

“They will arrive soon, without doubt. Meantime, lie
close and await the signal.”

Matteo crouched among his comrades, near the wall, while
Marani resumed his watch of the casement.

“ Now, by St. Geronino?” he muttered, “this daughter of
Murillo will soon learn with whom she has been coquetting

  

  

 
   

30 THE PEON PRINCE.

so daintily. Seek thy pillow, fair Inez, for the last time.
When thou leavest it, ’twill be for the mountain throne of
Marani.”

The chief, smiling grimly, turned at this moment, in his
walk, and found himself in abrupt collision with a figure
which had emerged suddenly from the woodland shadows,
In the same instant a shrill voice accosted him with, “ Hullo,
stranger! what in time are ye bout?” To which Marani
answered by clutching the intruder’s throat, and, placing a
poniard at it, cried:

“ Silence ! or you die on the spot ?”

“Thunder! what do you mean? Are you another hurdy-
gurdy chap? Jes’ let go o’ my neckercher, ef you please.”

“Sefior! your business? Speak quickly !” cried Marani,
tightening his clutch at the Yankee’s throat.

“ Jerusalem ! don’t choke afeller! I cal’late you don’t
treat peaceable travelers in that fashion, do you?”

Saying this, with a quick motion of his muscular arms,
Pomfret released himself from Marani’s hold, and at the same
time seized the brigand’s right wrist with a grip like a vice.

“Dern your picter! Be you a turnpike-keeper on the
high road ?”

“JT am the master of this place, and you can not pass?”
returned Marani, cocking a pistol with his left hand, but not
daring to fire, lest. a premature alarm might jeopardize his
plans against Murillo’s house.

“ And who might. this place belong to?’ demanded Pom-
fret, keeping the brigand’s wrist still secure,

“To Murillo el Rico.”

“ Be you Murillo—yourself?”

“That is my name. Speak! Have you business with
me? I am apprehensive of an attack on my house, and
hence must be cautious.

The robber’s words and manner were so natural that Pom-
fret was thrown off his guard. He lowered his head and
said :

“ Well, let’s go to your house, and T’ll tell you somethin’
about that.”

“Proceed, Sefior. What have you to say? I listen.”
“Well, don't get wrathy, hoss-fly! I jes’ want to let you

 

    
“yo

 

A CAPTURE, 3}

know that 2 brigand chap named Cap’n Marani is goin’ to set
fire to your house this very night, and—”

“Well, amigo, where learned you this?’

“ Heerd a couple o’ skunks tellin’ on’t up the creek yonder.
Reckon I showed ’em some tall walkin—”

“Muchos gracios,” said Marani. ‘‘ Now, have the goodness
to release my wrist, and walk to the house with me. You
shall be rewarded well, Sefior.”

“Oh! as for that—” responded Pomfret, completely de-
ceived, and unclasping his hold of the brigand’s wrist—‘as
for pay, stranger, I didn’t cal’late—”

But a low whistle from Marani cut shor$ the Yankee’s
protestation; and the next moment he felt himself grasped hy
the pretended Murillo. He started, but the robber’s hand
was again at his throat.

“ Comrades,” whispered Marani to his men, “this scoun-
drel would have betrayed our design to Murillo. What
shall be the fute of the spy?”

“ Death!” cried Matteo, cocking his gun.

“ Jerusalem!’ muttered Pomfret.

“ Do nothing here to alarm the house. Bear him away.”

“To the cave, noble Captain? - It is far.”

“No, Let him say his prayers, and then finish him,”

“ Jerusalem!” again cried Pomfret.

But the next instant the unfortunate Yankee was bound
and gagged, stripped of his valise, and hurried from the farm-
house. Marani resumed his walk beside the wall, watching
the light that still beamed from the window of the Seiiorita
Inez.

The whole business of seizing, gagging and binding was
transacted so expeditiously, that our hero had been dragged a
quarter of a mile before he could regain the full possession of
his scattered faculties, The two stalwart brigands had each
a firm clutch of his collar, while his mouth was closed with
the buckle of a heavy sword-belt, and his arms fastened
behind him by a stout leather thong. At the same time, a
couple of pistol-muzzles stared him threateningly in the face.

Putnam Pomfret twitched once or twice, as the grasp of
the robbers tightened round his neck, but a pretty smart blow’
from one of the pistol-barrels satisfied him of the folly of such

 

 
  

32 THE PEON PRINCE.

a movement. ‘He glanced nervously at the sullen features of
his guards, but saw no traces of compassion.

“ This comes o’ goin’ a fishin’ in a furrin kedntry,” inwardly
lamented Pomfret. “Gosh! ef I ever git out o’ this scrape,
dern me ef I don’t make tracks for Noo England, short order.”

But, from the present aspect of affairs, there seemed little
probability that our Yankee would ever get out of his
“scrape.” A brace of ferocious outlaws were hurrying him
along at the quickest step possible, up a rocky path into the
heart of the mountain, with the avowed purpose under orders
of their chief, to cut his throat, or shoot him through the
head, in as summary and noiseless a manner as could be
effected. It was a situation to make an ordinary person
highly nervous.

Suddenly, our hero received notice, by a violent jerk of his

neck, to turn aside from the rocky path; anda moment after-

he was hurried or dragged across a gully, and through a
cluster of tangled bushes, into the dense wood. Putnam
Pomfret bethought him seriously that he should never see
Weathersfield again, and a cold shudder ran through bis
loose limbs. Desperate, however, as was the case, he resolved
not to perish without a struggle, though the idea of escape,
bound and gagged as he was, appeared utterly unreasonable.
Nevertheless, he knew very well that resistance could not
render his position worse, while, if fortune favored him, there
was a chance of bettering it.

Acting on this reflection, the North American remained
quiet, while the brigands drew him forward through the
bushes, until they had reached a portion of the wood so dense
that scarcely a single ray of moonlight penetrated its obscurity.
Here stooping suddenly between the two guards, he dashed
himself against the burly Matteo, and overturned him in an
instant. Then, fettered and muzzled as he was, Pomfret
darted back through the thicket in the direction of the road
which they had left.

“ Diablo 1” growled the fallen robber, in a terrible voice, a3,
recovering himself, he grasped a sapling.

“ Carrajo ! he will escape !” cried the other brigand.

“No chance for him,” said Matteo. “ We will have him
ere he reaches the road.”

 

 

C- =

i
AN EFFORT TO ESCAPE, 33

And, with fierce curses, the ruffians pursued the fugitive.

Putiati had gained but a few rods, but this, to a man
running for his life, was some advantage. With his hands
straining behind his back, in the effort to break their fastenings,
while his face grew black with the painful exertion of breath-
ing half-choked as he was by the bandage over his mouth, the
Yankee stumbled on, through the thick growth of brambles
and bushes, tearing his flesh and bruising his limbs at every
step. Behind him pressed the brigands, nearing him every
instant.

At last, the poor fugitive gained a glimpse of the full moon,
shining upon the road and gully which he had before crossed.

“Better be shot in tryin’ to git away from the sarpints,”
said Pomfret. And, with a vigorous effort, he plunged over
the gully. But, alas ! it was only to fall prostrate upon the
edge of the narrow path.

The violence of his fall snapped the leather thong which
confined our: hero’s arms, though it well-nigh dislocated his
shoulder-blade, and, as it was, mangled his wrist and hand
most cruelly. But, "feeling his'limbs fF ee, he wa8 up again in
a moment,

His head, however, was giddy with the concussion, and
when he gained his feet it was to stagger feebly on, his eyes
blinded, and a stream of blood gushing from his nostrils.
Yet he still mustered strength to tear the belt-buckle from his
mouth, and shift the bandage below his chin, all the time
pressing on with all the speed he could command.

Matteo and his companion had reached the gully just as the
Yankee rose, and soon they were within half a dozen rods ot
his back. Neither dared to discharge his carabine, lest its
report should alarm the not distant farm residents before theix
Captain’s signal of attack. But poor Pomfret was already
faltering in his pace, and in a few more seconds he heard the
curses of Matteo close behind him. With a last effort, he
wheeled about, and raising his right foot, planted aw rell-
directed kick against the ‘stomach of his pursuer. Matteo
reeled backwWar d, but at the same moment the Yankee himself
fell, like one dead, in the middle of the road.

Our adventurer’s hour now seemed indeed to have arrived.
The hindmost brigand leaped past his comrade, and planted

 

 
 

 

  

34 THE PEON PRINCE,

his knee upon the prostrate man, while Matteo, bent almost
double by the kick he had received, staggered forward, and
raised his knife to plunge it into our hero's heart.

“No, comrade,” said the other, pushing back the arm of
the furious Matteo. “Not yét. Remember our Captain’s
orders. Let the poor devil say. his prayers.”

“Curse him! he shall die at once!” cried Matteo.

“No! he’s a brave fellow. His soul must be saved!
Here, Sefior, kiss the cross!” said the bandit, raising the
Yankee’s head, and placing a cross-hilted dagger to his lips.
,{Say your prayers quickly, before you die.”

Pomfret strove to raise himself, his eyes glancing from one
to another of the frowning faces of his captors. The brigand,
shifting his knee from the breast of his prisoner, allowed him
to obtain a kneeling position, while the revengeful Matteo
stood scowling by, ready to sheathe his knife in the bosom oj
his doomed enemy, as soon as his brief prayer should be
ended. At this moment, two men sprung precipitately from
the wood into the road.

Matteo and his comrade leveled their carabines, but lowered
the muzzles immediately, on recognizing the new-comers.
Pomfret also recollected the faces of the brace who new
advanced. They were the brigands from whom he had
escaped—Lopez and Pedro.

These two, drawing near, exchanged salutations with their
comrades; and Pedro, the mock musician, yelled with delight
as he beheld the Yankee’s situation.

“ Aha! the spy! Hang himy Tomaso—hang him up, at
once!” he cried, slapping his arm, and making frightful faces
at Pomfret.

“ Well thought of, had we a rope.”

“That have I, comrade,” said Pedro, producing from
beneath his jacket a long cord, or lasso, such as the brigands
sometimes had occasion to use in their marauding excursions.
_ “Diablo! but I must be executioner,” growled Matteo,
with a savage laugh.

“Up with him, then, at once,” said Pedro.

“ Let him say his prayers,” interposed Tomaso.

“Carramba ! he has had time enough,” answered Matteo.
“We must obey our Captain’s orders,” said Tomaso, whe

 

 

ee ee oe

= ee er cel -

  
   

  

alli. — ap

  

.

A ROMANTIC EXPEDITION, 35:

was @ strict disciplinarian, and acted asa sort of orderly
sergeant to the robber band.

* Quick, Sefior! pray, and be hanged !”

Pomfret had given up all hopes of escape at the instant he
recognized the features of Pedro. So now, closing his eyes,
he murmured a short prayer, while the robber Tomaso
adjusted the noose around his neck, and threw the other end
of the lasso across an overhanging bough.

Matteo and Pedro looked on in greedy anticipation of
revenge.

CHAPTER VI.
PLOTS AND COUNTERPLOTS.

“’Tis a bright night for a ride!” quoth Don Ferrardo
Nunez, as he mounted his horse at the barrack-gate, in order
to attend his friend La Vega on their romantic expedition to
the house of Murillo. ‘But perhaps it might be as well for
the success ‘of our adventure if the moon would obligingly
shroud herself in a rebozo of clouds, amigo.”

“ Bright or dark, I care not, so I succeed in my object,”
answered Antonio La Vega, reining his splendid steed, which
champed the bit, and pranced about, as if impatient to bear
his master at full speed to his object, “Tonight Inez must
be mine.”

“Success to love and bravery !” cried Nunez, “ Are all
our men prepared to march?”

“ Not only prepared, Ferrardo, but actually on the way.
Iwas too impatient for the business to delay a moment,
Tassure you. They rendezvous at the cross-road leading to
the ‘ Outlaw’s Mount,’ where we can instruct them as to our
work,”

“Good, Antonio ! loveis the parent of promptitude.”

“Say, ‘vather, revenge, Ferrardo, I shall also have my
revenge upon the proud girl.”

“You are a strange fellow, Antonio, to talk of revenge and
love in the same breath. Well, well! Your revenge will

   
 

36 THE PEON PRINCE,

probably end in loving the maiden to death: But let us
away, amigo—the evening wears.”

“You say well, Ferrardo. Let us go,”

The two cavaliers spurred their horses, and galloped along
the road for the distance of a quarter of a mile, when they
reached another path, branching rather precipitously up
toward the mountain passes. Both riders were well armed,
and clad in dark undress uniforms, which set off their com-
pact and graceful figures to the best advantage, The moon-
light, at this hour, was indeed most brilliant, and the excite-
ment of adventure gave their nocturnal ride a goodly share of
romance to lengthen its attractions. On they went, up the
rocky pathway, now reining in their horses to pass leisurely
along the edge of a frowning precipice, and now using spur
and whip to ‘leap a chasm or ‘broad gully.

They arrived at length at a small patch of woodland,
inclosing an area of open ground, on which they found the
thirty picked men whom la Vega had dispatched thither,
drawn up in order, awaiting their arrival. A few words
from the young commanders explained to the soldiers, much
to their gratification, that their destination, instead of being
the hospitable ‘‘Outlaw’s Mount,” where the best fare they
could expect would be the bullets of brigands, was nothing
but the house of :a rich farmer, where neither hardship nor
danger were to’ be found. The authority of their officers,
with a promise of extradollars and rations, satisfied whatever
scruples they mightentertain as to the legality of attacking a
peaceable and wealthy citizen, as well as insured their pro
found seerecy in regard to the leadership of the affair. And,
to tell the truth, it is very easy to satisfy a Mexican soldier
of any thing you desire, provided your arguments be backed
with silver and wine.

The signal was given to march, and the troop, leaving the
wood, moved slowly and silently down the narrow pathway
toward the valley, about the middle of which, as we have
seen, ‘was situated Murillo’s house. Had they suspected, how-
ever, that Marani, with his terrible band, was already there
before them, perhaps these soldiers would not haye been so
ready to obey their leaders in the matter of attacking a
farmer's dwelling.
i

S

A HALT. 37

Don Ferrardo and La Vega, on horseback, brought up the
rear of their troop, and arranged the plan of attack in such a
way that both felt sure of its success. La Vega himself had
resolved to scale the baleony beneath the Sefiorita’s window,
and thus obtain an entrance to her chamber. Then, by fair
means, if possible, he was to induce the maiden to trust her-
self to his protection ; and if she should be so uncourteous as
to refuse, he was to wrap her up in his military cloak, which
now hang at his saddle-bow, and, bearing her.out to the
balcony, drop her very gently into the arms of Don Ferrardo
Nunez, who, in the mean while, was to keep good watch for
his friend without. The soldiers were to be concealed in the
wood, and only summoned in case that old Murillo and his
servants should become aroused, and endeavor to rescue the
Sefiorita.

Now this scheme, as the reader will at once perceive, was
a very shrewd one, and, doubtless, our cavaliers had good
reasons for anticipating complete success.

They kept on in fine order, though silently, till they had
descended nearly to the lowest range of elevated land above
the valley, and were in fact within a mile of the farmer's

dwelling. Here they halted to arrange their further proceed-

ings ina council of war, which, owing to there being no
difference of opinion, was very brief. ‘The result was that
oar two officers dismounted from their horses, which they
gue in charge to a couple of soldiers, and placing themselves
at the head of the troop, led the way through the woodland
toward a point where they intended to cross, and gain the
rear of Murillo’s. Slowly and with caution they pursued theiz
way, lest any straggler from the farm-buildings should dis-
cover their approach. Thus, at every step, they neared both
the object which they sought, the fair Inez Murillo, and the
object which they did not seek, Marani’s band.

Suddenly, in approaching the point at which they proposed

to strike off toward the rear of the farm-house, La Vega’s

quick ear caught the sound of suppressed human voices ; the
word was passed for an immediate halt. —

It was at this moment that our unfortunate friend, Pomfret,
repeated to himself what he anticipated were to be his last
prayers on earth ; Tomaso was tying a hangman’s knot under

 

 
38 TUE PEON PRINCE.

his ear, and the others stood on either side, anxious to hoist
the poor Yankee to the bough above them.

And at this moment, as fortune would have it, the two
Mexican officers had halted their troop within a dozen rods
of the spot, and were themselves engaged, being concealed
just within the wood, in overlooking the proceedings of the
brigands, with a quict determination to arrest the work as
speedily as possible.

Accordingly, without the sound of a footfall, a dozen of the
trained soldiers were brought in line with the road, and placed
ready, with their long daggers drawn, to advance upon the
four executioners, as quickly as the word should be given ;
for, like the robbers themselves, the military did not venture
to use their firearms, from apprehension of alarming the
inmates of the farm-buildings. Little did revengeful Matteo
and grinning Pedro imagine, as they hurried Tomaso in his
hangman’s task, that such neighbors were so near, to spoil
their pleasant interlude.

“Up with the cursed spy !” muttered Pedro.

“Ay, give me the rope! He shall swing in a irice,”
growled Matteo.

Meantime, Pomfret had not uttered a prayer for mercy, or
striven to change the purpose of his fierce captors. What-
ever might be his reflections, he had remained silent, and
now stood with the cord tight about his neck, and his
enemies ready to draw him ina moment up into the tree
branches. He felt the rope tighten and choke, and was con-
scious that another pull would lift his feet from mother earth.

But that pull did not follow ; for at this juncture, Matteo,
Pedro, Lopez, and Tomaso were seized by a dozen powerful
soldiers, and, almost before they could utter a curse, were
thrown upon the ground, pinioned, and held in complete sub-
jection by the overpowering spectacle of a score of men sur-
rounding them, all armed with carabines, pistols and knives,
and apparently quite ready to use these dangerous implements,

Pomfret, till now more dead than alive, suddenly dis-
covered the turn affairs had taken. He saw his captors
stretched powerless upon the ground, and felt himself almost
miraculously saved from certain death. The rope noose was
still tight about his neck, the other extremity dangling acros

   
   
 
 
   

    

PUTNAM ESCAPES HANGING. 39

the tree bough, Put looked bewildered, a moment, at soldiers
and brigands; and then, without saying either “thanks” or
“byyour leave,” he gathered the slack of the lasso in hishand, }
and springing from the road, dashed at the top of his speed J
through the forest. Tl

What impelled this flight, Put himself could never after-
ward explain. Whether his late proximity to death made
him anxious to leave the scene of peril as soon as possible, or
whether he dreaded to find new enemies in the conquerors of
his old ones, is equally inscrutable; but this much is positive
—that our Yankee never paused in his flight till he had left
the road, gully and thicket far behind him, and was scram-
bling, faint and weary, up a rocky pass, nearly a league from
Murillo’s house. f

The first impulse of Ferrardo-was to order pursuit of the
fugitive ; but a second’s reflection prevented him, as a single
shout of the flying man, should he be followed, might alarm
the whole household of the farmer, and defeat their plans.
Consequently, he was allowed full scope of retreat, and the
officers turned their attention to the four captured men.

From the arms and accouterments of these, they were recog-
nized at once as brigands; but to all the questions put to
them they deigned not the slightest attention, maintaining a
sullen silence,the result of Marani’s severe discipline, which
in fact had contributed not a little to the security of the band ;
inasmuch as no torture nor punishment had ever forced a
confession or one word from a captured robber, which might
betray the interests of the band. This fact was well known
to La Vega; so, after a few useless queries, the silent brigands
were disarmed, and placed under guard within the wood, while
the two officers with a score of men, advanced toward the
rear of Murillo’s house, to carry out the contemplated abduc-
tion of Inez.

All this time, about a quarter of a mile nearer the farm
. buildings, Marani, the brigand, was pacing up and down the
shadow of the wood, waiting for the Sefiorita’s light to be
extinguished, in order that he might give the signal of attack,
and, while his band surrounded the building, penetrate, him-
self, to the maiden’s couch, and bear her away to his moun-
tain retreat,
 

+t “33

40 THE PEON PRINCE,

CHAPTER. VII.
THE ABDUCTION.

Tue night was wearing, but its beauty was sublime in that
quiet valley. So thought a youth whe, late as was the hour,
now sauntered slowly across the open fields stretching to the
rocks near Murillo’s house. This youth wasa lithe and grace-
ful figure; his limbs slight, but a buoyancy in his movements
that betokened a light heart ; and as the moon’s rays ilumed
his upturned face, they revealed a clear brow, with red lips and
rounded chin, and eyes of sweet expression. Evidently a
more than common spirit was enshrined in those fair propor
‘tions. * Lorenzo, the young artist, was a genius, and an en-
thusiast in all lovely things.

The youth advanced lightly through the meadow, holding
his guitar in one hand, and striking at intervals a string, as
though uncertain thoughts of melody were thrilling his nerves.
Indeed, with the rare loveliness of that night, the thought ot
Inez Murillo harmonized so fitly, that it was no wonder ow
artist was now composing an extempore song, in which he
compared the beauty of his love to the smile of stars, and the
breath of flowers, exactly as all lovers have done from time
immemorial. For—let poets and romancers say what they
please—when one really loves, he can not help being common
place, since every lover knows that his mistress is incompara-
ble, and that all similes for her beauty must of necessity be
flat and meager.

Nevertheless, Lorenzo continued to hum and thrum, as he
drew nearer to Murillo’s house. A patch of wood was between
himself and the building ; consequently he could not see the
light glimmering fromthe casement of Inez, though he would
have wagered his guitar that the light was there—because he
knew very well it was always shining when he was expected.
In truth, Inez Murillo was waiting, and listening anxiously,
‘too, for the first notes of Lorenzo’s guitar, which, on moon-
‘light nights like this, was always sure to be heard tinkling
in a serenade,
LORENZO’S SFRENADE. 41

ft isa remarkable fact that all young ladies love serenades,
and will get up out of their warm beds, and shiver for an
hour at an open window, rather than lose one note of a song
which they fancy intended for their own special ear.. Ah!
what multitudes of coughs, stiffnecks and neuralgic affections
proceed from this affection for serenades!

Yet Inez would never have owned that she cared a straw
for Lorenzo’s guitar, or Lorenzo’s voice, or, for that matter,
Lorenzo’s self. Nevertheless, she always left her taper burn-
ing till the tinkling began; and then, stealing near to the
closed lattice, she would peep cautiously out, to see the young
artist standing so patiently in the moonlight, his face tured
upward, and his lips breathing forth the most musical language
imaginable. Then Inez would hold her breath, listening until
the last strain was over; and then she watched Lorenzo walk-
ing away, till his form was hidden by the trees.. And when
all this was over, she would lie down on her soft, white bed, -
and, kissing the little silver cross which had been the gift ot
her dying mother, the maiden would murmur:

“ Poor Lorenzo! he is a good soul!”

But, in spite of all this, Inez might have laughed, had any-
body told her that she loved Lorenzo. And as for Lorenzo
himself, he never dared to dream of such a thing. Never
theless, our artist hummed ahd thrummed on moonlight
nights, and the maiden waited and listened.

But little did the youth think, as he leisurely approached
Murillo’s house, on this particular night, that so many fierce
neighbors were awake and watching around it. Occupied
‘with the tuneful fancies which were shaping themselves into
song in his brain, the youth entered the little patch of wood
that hid the maiden’s window, and, crossing quickly through
its shadows, took his station, as usual, beneath the balcony,
and commenced a preparatory thrumming of his guitar—a
sort of extempore prelude to the impromptu song.

It was just at this moment, that La Vega and Nunez,
advancing toward the farm-house, had discovered, and were
about to frustrate, the hanging intentions of the four bravos,
which threatened soseriously theunfortunate Putnam Pomfret.

And it was precisely at this moment, likewise, that Marani,
cogitating, as he watched the light in the Sefiorita’s chamber,

 

 
 

42 THE PEON PRINCE.

whether it were best to delay any longer lis attack, had
almost determined on giving the appointed signal to his band,
when—tum, tum, tum, sounded Lorenzo’s guitar.

“Tn the fiend’s name, what is that?’’ muttered the brigand
chief, starting at such unexpected music. ‘Whom have we
here, now?”

As he spoke, Marani glided stealthily to a position whence

he could observe the person of the unconscious serenader.
- A single glance sufficed to discover to the brigand that the
new-comer was the young artist whoge dextrous intervention
had probably saved. his life in his sudden quarrel with his
rival, La Vega. This unlooked-for appearance took the rob-
ber aback, threatening as it did to derange his well-concerted
plans. But Marani was a man of quick wit, and-he saw in a
moment how the presence of Lorenzo might be turned to his
own account. He now divined the reason why the light had
remained so long unextinguished in the maiden’s chamber ;
and so, forming his resolution instanter, he summoned two
of his band.

“Jacopo,” whispered he to. a supple, Indian-featured man
who appeared first, “‘see you yonder popinjay, with his lute?’

“T do, Captain.”

“Well, Jacopo, if we stop not his music, ye may lose your
hooty to-night. See, now, comrades, if ye can not capture
the trim youth without blow or murmur. Creep cautiously
along beneath the balcony, and mufile the young gallant ere
he can ery ‘quien es!’ What say you, Jacopo?”

“Té shall be done, Captain.”

“Go, then; and look that ye be well covered by the balcony.
I warrant she is watching him,” muttered the brigand chief,
as his ready subordinates crept toward Lorenzo. ‘Ay, doubt-
less, yonder smooth-cheek is pleasing in her eyes—but she
shall be Marani’s bride, for all that !”

Saying this, Marani folded his arms, and gazed at the artist,
while Jacopo and his comrade proceeded stealthily toward
the balcony, and, concealed by the thick growth of stunted
trees that grew along the path, managed very soon to obtain
‘a position whence they could easily spring upon and secure
the young minstrel before he could give the alarm or make
resistance.

 
THE BRIGAND CHIEF ON THE BALCONY. 43

Lorenzo, meanwhile, wholly intent upon his song and his
mistress, never dreamed of such things as ropes, matchlocks,
and the like, but continued to thrum his guitar in the most
approved manner. ‘The Sefforita, too, hidden by the blinds

f ler casement, was listening to catch every note.

Tum, tum, tum, sounded the prelude.

But, har dly had the first full note of the song from guitar
and voice broken the quiet night air, when both were instan-
taneously hushed. Lorenzo’s mouth: open. to its utmost extent
in the enunciation of his first sweet syllable, was suddenly
closed by the rude hand ‘of Jacopo, and with the quickness of
thought our minstrel’s arms were secured behind him, and a
thick mantle wound round his head.

This unceremonious proceeding took poor Lorenzo so com-
pletely by surprise that he had scarcely time to recover his
senses before he felt himself lifted bodily from the ground,
and borne from beneath the balcony at a pace that showed
his captors to be both strong and active in the business of
kidnapping.

Marani, from his position, could see very plainly the whole
operation, which took place immediately under the balcony,
and, of course, was hidden from the timid gaze of the maiden
who watched above. The brigand smiled triumphantly as he
beheld the artist hurried silently around the corner of the
house; and, shifting his short cloak to one shoulder—

“Now,” said he, “I will try myskillata serenade. Me-
thinks I can thrum the guitar as well as the boy himself.”

Saying this, and directing another brace of his band to fol-
low quietly, Marani crept along the hedge in a manner by
which Jacopo and his comrade had gained their concealment.
Arrived at the balcony, he took the artist's lute from the
ground where the robbers had left it, and ran his fingers at
once and boldly over the strings.

Inez, who had been somew hat sur prised at the sudden ces-
sation of Lorenzo’s song, now bent her pretty head again to
listen. But it was not, indeed, Marani’s intention to waste
his time in a love-song ; for he-had scarcely sounded a bar,
when he threw the instrument upon the sward, and with a
light movement clambered up the corner of the farm house,
and swung himself softly on to the balcony, Inez, instead of

 
44 THE PEON PRINCE.

hearing a repetition of the music, was startled the next in-
stant by a low tap at her casement.

Now, such a thing as this was the last in the world that
the Seiiorita imagined the young Lorenzo would do. To
clamber up to a lady’s balcony, and knock at her casement at
midnight, was, to be sure, carrying a serenade a trifle too far.
But, then, for the modest, timid, gentle Lorenzo to attempt

must be mistaken, surely! It must have been the wind !
. But, no! There it sounds again—tap, tap, tap !

“Surely, Lorenzo must be crazy,” thought the trembling
Sefiorita. “He can not think I would open the lattice.
Santa Maria ! I know not what to do. I tremble all over.
What if my father should discover him? We should all be
ruined !”

Tap, tap! Once more the knocking at the casement,

“Whatshall Ido? Mercy! if he be ill! Ah! but then
he could not climb up the balcony. No! he is not ill, surely.
Ah, perliaps he has a present for. me—a bunch of flowers,
perhaps—that is all! Poor Lorenzo! still, I dare not open
the lattice.”

Thus the maiden murmured, while her little heart beat vio-
lently, as if—-which was indeed the case—it was hal(-fright-
ened to death. But, some way or other, when a young
maiden’ hesitates and deliberates between love and duty, she
generously ends the conflict by doing what is very imprudent ;
so Inez, after debating a minute longer, concluded that she
would just open the lattice a little, a very little way, and tell
Lorenzo he was very wicked,and: must go away ; that she
was shocked at his conduct, and—a great many other things
she thought of telling him, which, if she should do, would
take at least half an hour to get through with.

** And then,” thought the poor girl, “if he has brought me
a bouquet, Pl not take it just to punish him for his impu-
dence,”

Saying this, Inez gently unfastened the lattice, and open-
ing it but a hair’s breadth, said, in a tone which she fancied
very severe :

“ What do you want, Lorenzo? Go away !”

All this time Marani was waiting on the balcony, in the

 

   
    
    
 

such a daring feat, was almost too incredible for belief. he.

i>

 
A HOSTILE ENCOUNTER. 45

shadow of the wall. When he saw the lattice unfastened,
and heard the maiden’s low voice, he pressed hard against the
blind, and with one effort forced it open.

Inez, who had expected to hear Lorenzo's voice asking her
to forgive him, and begging her to accept his Howers, almost
swooned away, as she felt herself forced back, and saw the
tall, dark form which stood in the baleony. But, before she
could scream, Marani had flung himself into her apartment,
and thrown his mantle around her head, smothering her
breath in the way the brigands had silenced Lorenzo. Then
the Sefiorita felt herself lifted in the robber’s hands, and
pressed closely to his breast. Consciousness forsook her, and
she knew net when Mavani lifted her through the casement
and placed her insensible form in the arms of one of the
brigands who waited beneath.

“ She has fainted !” said the chief, hurriedly, as he lowered
her. “Bear her gently to the road at ence. I will descend
in an instant.”

The robbers received the mufiled gil, and departed, Ma-
rani swung himself from the balcony, and was about to follow
his men, when two figures emerged suddenly from behind the
corner of the building.

“ Look, Ferrardo! By heaven! itis Inez—they are drag-
ging her away!” cried the voice of La Vega—for it was he—
as the two new-comers caught a glimpse of the maiden’s
white robe, as she was borne away by the brigands.

“Let us follow, Antonio,” answered Nunez, drawing his
sword, and dashing after the robbers, who had now disap-
peared within the wood.

La Vega was about to do the same, but suddenly the tall |}
form of Marani confronted him.

“Dog of a soldier!” cried the brigand chief, making a
desperate lunge at the officer, whose sword met and parried
his thrust with the quickness of lightning.

“Ha! do we meet?” cried La Vega, setting his teeth, and
pressing on his antagonist.

Mavrani’s reply was the instantaneous discharge of a pistol,
which he drew with his left hand from his belt. La Vega,
blinded by the flash, though unwounded, retreated a pace,
slipping on the green turf, while the brigand Captain,

 
 

- 46 THE PEON PRINCE.

pursuing his advantage, threw himself forward upon his
foe.

The next moment, a confused noise of pistol-shots and
cries, mingled with a woman’s shriek in the woods at some
distance, startled the forest-echoes, and then Marani whistled
shrilly to his band, for his eye had caught the flash of sol-
diers’ arms in the moonlight, and he knew that his men were
attacked, perhaps by a far superior force.

At the same instant, La Vega recovered his footing and
prepared for the robber’s assault. A din of horrid sounds
now rattled around-the farm-buildings ; curses, shouts and
musket-shots mingled furiously together, and the household
of Murillo, startled from their slumbers, flocked from the
doors in wild alarm. Then suddenly a column of smoke rose
from the gable of the farm-house. La Vega looked up, as he
made ready for Marani’s attack, and beheld the chamber of
Inez enveloped in flames, which cast their blazing light upon
the green sward. Then the two foes again crossed swords,
and renewed the combat, while the noise of battle, the shrieks
of terrified women, and the shouts of soldiers and robbers,
united to make the scene one of fearful interest.

GHAPLER VIII.

ZUMOZIN, THE PEON.

Tue “ Outlaw’s Mount,” with its waving trees and shifting
shadows, shot up like a vast sheet from the plain ; and on the
summit of a peak, where overhung the feathery branches of
the highest trees, arose a natural altar—a pulpit, as it seemed,
from which a high priest of Nature might interpret her coun-
sels. to a kneeling world. Formed of the white rock of the
mountain, there had it endured the storms of ages; and now,
as the moonlight brightened its ruddy sides, the imagination
of one who beheld it might well adore an awful unseen Pres-
ence, bending from its front, and voicelessly communing with
nuillions of the disembodied spirits of a perished race.
PUTNAM AND THE SERF. Al

And upon the highest ridge of this sublime mountain, stood
a figure, erect and motionless. It was that of a young man,
who, with arms crossed on his broad bosom, gazed down
upon the moonlit landscape. Beneath him grew, or rather
moldered, the moss-grown and blackened form of an ancient
tree, whose branches had been shivered by the lightning
many years before; and the youth, slightly resting ‘against

the riven trunk, seemed unconscious of everything save a . ff

desire to prolong the deep draught of beauty which his soul
was drinking from the glorious scene beneath him.

We left our friend Putnam Pomfret, in the act of vigor-
ously escaping, at once from his friends and enemies, with a
halter about his neck, and sundry cuts and bruises upon his
ill-treated person. Straight for the thickest parts of the forest
our hero pursued his flight, seemingly resolved to place as
~ great as possible distance between himself and the unlucky
vicinity of Murillo’s mansion. He stopped not for bush nor
bramble, but, clambering over rocks, bogs, and aught else
that impeded his course, soon had the satisfaction of finding
himself, wearied out and gasping for breath, on a high ridge
of rocks, shelving over a mountain chasm, on one side of
which towered still loftier precipices, and on the other, far
beneath into the valley, stretched the long tract of forest
through which his upward flight had led him. Here, com-
pletely exhausted, the Yankee threw himself prostrate on the
ground, immediately beneath that high rock, now occupied,
as we have noticed, by a solitary admirer of nature.

To the habitual novel-reader it may seem abundantly
romantic, whilst to the domestic critic it will, perhaps,
appear ridiculous, that we should choose to present a solitary
individual in such a lonesome and out-of-the-way place as a
Mexican mountain, exposed to the night air and moonshine,
with the physical certainty of contracting a cold in the joints.
Indeed, were we inclined to be simply romantic, we need not
have climbed this mountain cliff to obtain a position to effect
our purpose. There is romance enough—terrible, sublime
romance—in the everyday walks of civilized life, to cast into
shade all the incidents and accessories of brigandage and
adventure. More of the matter which forms the romancer’s
material is to be found within a mile circuit of our own

gotta

 
 

48 THE PEON PRINCE

doors, than could be encountered in the wildest realms of a
fertile imagination. But the vail which conceals our own
hearts hides also those around us, and we gaze afar off for
shadowy transcripts, which are, after all, but reflections of the
unnoted romance at our feet.

The youth whom we have described was one of a great
class of his countrymen. Within his soul dwelt the shadow
of a cruel fate, which bound to the earth not only him, but
millions, formed like himself in the image of their Maker.
He had learned to suffer, and to hide his sufferings ; and
though scarcely a quarter of a century had flung its suns and
storms across his path, yet there was that in the icy calm of
his forehead and the compressed moving of his rigid lips,
which betokened more than was revealed ; and though his
glossy hair was yet unsprinkled with silver, and his eyes
gleamed with undimmed fire, it might still be probable that
this young man had lived longer, in endurance and experience,
through his few years, than many do whose existence over-
spans the natural boundaries of human life.

A slave he was, though the descendant of a mighty race of
kings; a slave, though his blood leaped hotly and swift along
its healthy channels; a slave, though his brain glowed with
an intellect that rose, starlike, over the gloom of his destiny
—such was Anselmo Zumozin, or, as he called himself in his
better moments, “ Zumozin the Serf.”

Tt is not generally known that, although slavery, as it exists
in the United States, was long ago abolished in Mexico, there
still remains in that unhappy land a system of serfdom
immeasurably more degrading than the vassalage of the
middle ages, and at best on a level with the worst forms ot
African bondage. This is the state of Peonage, which pre-
vails more or less throughout the whole of Mexico, and by
which thousands are held in the most abject and hopeless
servitude, sold and transferred with the land they cultivate
or the mines they work.

Peonage, though neither her editar 'y nor endless in the eye
of the law, is yet as complete a system of slavery as can be
imagined. The process is as follows :

If a Mexican has contracted a debt, and either can not or
willnotpay it, his creditor brings a complaint before an alcalde

Te

wisi lie

"ey

»
ns Sania nl

: PEONAGE, 49

or local magistrate, who immediately summons the debtor.
Should the statements of the parties conflict, witnesses are
called, and if the debt be proved, the magistrate orders it to
be paid at once. If the debtor can not do this, he is brought
out and sold for the amount of his creditor's claim, to labor
for his purchaser at wages’ service until such time as he shall
have earned a sufficient sum to purchase back his freedom.

Under this horrible system he may be doomed to perpetual
servitude by the simple decision of a magistvate. Thecorrup-
tion of Mexican courts is so notorious that an oath is seldom
administered in cases of debt, and the creditor, if he be
wealthy, is almost certain of a decision in his favor, from
which there is no escape on the part of the wretch who owes.
An appeal would but expose a poor and friendless man to
new persecution, and, in the end, to a severe fate.

When the debtor is sold, and becomes a peon, he is
removed to the land or property of his new master, and if he
have a family, is provided with a hut, which is but one
remove from an Indian’s wigwam, and with certain rations of
food. To each peon is allowed two almodes or about half
a bushel of corn, per week, which is all the law constrains a
master to supply; and should the peon require more for him-
self and family, he must procure it, together with his clothing,
at his own expense.

But, as no one will furnish a peon with food or clothing on
credit—he being what is called in law a ward—he remains, of
course, entirely dependent upon his master, Consequently,
being compelled to procure every necessary from the latter,
he increases constantly in indebtedness—every charge for food
or clothing being added to the original obligation for which
the wretch was sold, and, of course, swelling the debt at last:
to such an amount that the debtor, powerless to liquidate it,
remains a bond-slave for his natural life, and moreover, is
compelled to sell his children in order to gain the means of
subsistence otherwise inaccessible ; for the wages to which
a peon is entitled amount to but the meanest jointure, often
are merely nominal, while the goods which his wants necessi-
tate him to purchase are rated enormously; so it may be
easily seen that a man once reduced to a state of thraldom like »
this, will only year by year, sink into more hopeless servitude,

 
 

50 THE PEON PRINCE.

Such a slave as this was Anselmo Zumozin, save that in the
history of this man was supposed to be involved more subtle
machinery than in common cases of oppression. Far down,
and stretching for leaguesaround, the youth could mark where,
hidden amid the thick woods, were the huts of peons like him-
self, scattered over the scene of their compulsory labor, from
which they could hope to escape only when death should claim
their mortal frames, and their place be left vacant for anew slave.

The serf’s broad breast heaved, and he dashed his hand
hurriedly across his eyes, as if to shut out some fearful vision.
Then, stretching aloft his arms, and lifting his brow till the
moonbeams fell upon his fine features, as on the lineaments of
a marble statue, he gave way to a burst of passionate feeling,
couched in the beautiful idiom of the ancient Mexic tongue.

_ “Spirits of my fathers !” he cried aloud, as he gazed over
mountain and valley and up to the bright heavens, with one
sweeping glance. Then he paused. The proud gesture with
which he had seemed to invoke the past to give up its glori-
ous phantoms was succeeded by a slack depression of his arms,
and the sinking of his head upon his chest.

“What have I to do with iy fathers?” he murmured, ina
broken voice. ‘“ What has Zumozin the Serf to do with the
brave spirits who once breathed courage into their country-
men—ay, and battled with fate itself, rather than yield their
necks to the foot of the Spaniard? What am I but a slave
like these—like these?”

He waved his arm gloomily, as he spoke, in the direction
of the peon huts, scattered beneath. Then, relapsing into
silence, he resumed his fixed attitude.

The point of rock upon which the Peon stood was the
highest of a chain of abrupt eminences commanding a view
of much of the surrounding country, as well as of the cliffs
beneath. And now, as Anselmo’s abstracted gaze fell upon
the mountain side, at some distance below, it was attracted by
a moving object which appeared advancing swiftly from the
woods below, andrapidly surmounting the stair-like precipices.

This object was no other than our friend Pomfret, who,
when thus overlooked by the solitary Peon, was in the act of
making the best use of his recovered liberty, increasing, as
he fancied, the distance between himself and his enemies,

Sate

%

=
e~

e

A CONFLICT. b1-

Zumozin watched the Yankee’s progress, at a loss to con-
jecture what manner of person it could be who pursued a
course so reckless, and up a path which, in broad daylight,
was at least perilous. When, however, he suddenly lost sight
of the fugitive, and waited in vain during several minutes
for his reappearance, the Peon began to apprehend that the
man, whoever he might be, had missed his footway, and
fallen headlong into some concealed chasm. So, girding
tighter the belt that confined his blanket about his waist, he
grasped a short iron-tipped pole which had rested against the
shattered tree, and, leaving the cliff, descended toward the
spot where his glance had rested on the runner.

A few moments sufficed to enable him to reach the patch
of sward, where, overpowered by the peril and fatigue of the
last few hours, the Yankee had fallen upon the ground, and
now lay without motion or apparent life.

“ He is dead !” muttered the Peon, stooping over Pomfret’s
rigid form. ‘Dead! and there is one less of an accursed
race upon the earth. But, ha!” he continued, turning the
Yankee’s face toward the moonlight, ‘this is no Spaniard, it
is an Englishman! Well, let him rot! They are all alike
oppressors ; let them perish like dogs !”

Thusspokethe moody Zumozin, rising from the Yankee’sside,
and standing with folded arms, his lip curled witha bitter smile,

At this moment the report of a pistol sounded from the
vale beneath, echoing among the rocky passes. It was im-
mediately followed by a succession of quick discharges of
musketry, accompanied with distant shouts and cries. And
then from the woods below there shot upward a column of
smoke and flame. ;

 

CH AP ALB AR ch.

THE SPECTER OF THE FLAMES.

Inrz Mvrit1o, completely insensible, and muffled in the
brigand’s cloak, was hurried by her rude captors from the
vicinity of the farm-house. The two robbers had, however,
scarcely reached the roadside, when the noise of firing notified

 
 

52 THE PEON PRINCE.

them that the attack had commenced. They discovered,
likewise, that Marani was not following them.

“The work is begun!” cried the brigand who supported
the fainting girl.

It had indeed begun. The soldiers saw, at a glance, the
true condition of affairs, and immediately flew, with a will,
into the conflict. Marani found his match in Vega, but,
scorning to fly, was soon seized and bound, together with
four officers who fiew to his aid. Deprived of their leader,
and inferior in numbers to the soldiery, the brigands were
eut down mercilessly. Those who escaped unhurt made at
once for the mountain passes, so that very soon none re-
mained of the band save the dead upon the ground, and the
prisoners, Marani the chief and his four subordinates.

But, although the object of this marauding expedition on
the part of both soldiers and brigands had been thus far
frustrated, the scene around Murillo’s mansion was a sad one.
The burning buildings were crackling and flashing beneath
the quiet sky, surrounded at a short distance by groups of
soldiers, terrified farm-servants, and the figures of wounded
and dying men, struck down in the brief but desperate strug-
gle. The soldiers made no attempt to arrest the progress of
the flames, which indeed were now beyond all human control,
and the other spectators were occupied in hurried prayers and
supplications as they knelt, terror-stricken, upon the sward.

Murillo the Rich, attended by a few members of his house-
hold, lay upon a bank at the edge of the wood. The old
man had been suddenly awakened from his peaceful shimbers
by the noise of the attack, and had escaped from his: house
only to behold it devoured by the angry flames, and to fall,
almost bereft of life, into the arms of a faithful servitor. He
was now slowly recovering from his swoon, and his first
words were :

“ My daughter—whevre is Inez !

The terrified servants could only answer him by their
averted eyes.

“ Alas! Santa Madonna ! we have not seen the Sefiorita !”

Murillo sprung to his feet, forgetful of all weakness, and
with gaze fixed upon the burning walls of his house as if it
might penetrate the red curtain of fire. Then, rushing wildly
&

THE CONFLAGRATION. 53

from the servants, the old man reached the gable of the build-
ing where were situated the balcony and casement of his
daughter’s chamber. As he fled, his white hair streamed
disorderly over his half-clad shoulders,

* My child! Inez! my daughter !” he screamed ; but no
accents replied from beyond the rampart of flame.

“Tell me, oh! if ye be human beings, where is my child?”
implored the poor old man, as he turned his agonized eyes
upon the circle of faces around him. ‘‘ Have none of you
beheld my Inez?’ he repeated, in wilder tones.

But none could reply. The crimson tongues of flame
which now lapped every casement, appeared to mock at
human impotence. Gusts of fiery heat flew downward, and
volumes of cinders ascended over the woodland. The balcony
of the Sefiorita’s chamber had fallen, and from the window
nothing issued but stifling smoke, the light woodwork having
been quite consumed.

But did the cars of those who listened mock them? Or
was it a mortal voice which appeared to sound from the
interior of that chamber. -

“ Listen !” he cried to another, in whispered accents.

It was indeed a human voice, choked and broken, as if
the one who cried out were fighting with death. And pres-
ently, protruding from the blackened rafters of the gable, a
human head appalled the spectators beneath. The fitful
gleam from other parts of the building revealed a strange
figure emerging through fragments of the dismantled roof ;
and the next moment it plunged from the height into the
midst of the servants, who, stricken with superstitious terror,
shrunk coweringly behind Murillo, But the white-haired
father rushed forward, murmuring :

“ My daughter! my Inez! where is she?”

Then the staggering figure became rigid, its arms were
uplifted, and a hollow groan, breaking from its lips, shaped a
single word,

“ Dead !?

Murillo sunk heavily to the ground ; while the weird-like
blackened being, tossing its arms, uttered a shrill yell, and
fled across the green-sward. The soldiers crossed themselves,
muttering Paters and Aves, as they raised the insensible

 
 

54 ‘IE PEON PRINCE.

Murillo in their arms, and heard, afar off, from the wood-
depths, a peal of maniac laughter.

But no one dreamed that the burned and scarred wretch,
now flying wildly through gloomy forest-paths, had been, one
hour before, that loving and light-hearted youth—Lorenzo,
the artist.

CHA PLE Rak
POMFRET’S FRIENDS.

Zomozin the Serf, standing over our unconscious friend,
the Yankee, and listening to the distant sounds of conflict in
the valley, did not observe another figure advancing up
the pass, until a drawn sword flashed before his eyes, coupled
with a voice pronouncing the word :

“ Surrender !”

The Peon threw out his arms, which had been crossed on
his breast, showing by that movement both his humble garb
and weaponless person ; wherupon the assailant dropped his
sword’s point.

“ Who are you ?’ demanded the new-comer,

Zumozin replied, briefly :

“ A slave !”

But, at the same time, he drew up his stately figure with
an air that seemed to contradict the servile admission.

“What do you here?”

“T dream that I am free,” answered the Peon, bitterly,

“ Beware how you sport with my question. Know you
aught of Marani’s robbers? Has no one passed you? But
why do Task? You are, doubtless, a spy, posted here by the
brigands. Confess, instantly, or you die !”

Saying this, the stranger seized Zumozin’s collar and
placed his sword-point within an inch of the serf’s heart.
But no sign of fear was manifested by the defenceless man.

“Tam unarmed, as you see; alone likewise. Werela
robber I should not be without friends.”

The other again withdrew his weapon ; but at this juncture
THE PEON AND THE CAVALIER. ee

his eyes fell upon the prostrate form of Pomfret, who
remained, as he sunk, quite insensible.

“ Ha! slave, as you call yourseli, what is this at your feet?”

“Sefior, you ask what Ican not answer. “Tis but a little
while since, from the rocks above, I beheld this man flying,
asif from enemies. He sunk upon this spot, and I descended
to assist him just as you yourself emerged from the pass.
Whether he fied from your pursuits best known to yourself.
Sefior, you know all that I can tell you, save that my name
is Anselmo Zumozin, as yours is Don Ferrardo Nunez.”

“You know me, then?”

“Only as a serf may know the proud cavalier who dashes
past his hut on a prancing steed. Perhaps I deserve punish-
ment for having marked you oftentimes, and envied, per-
chance, your war-siced and broad-sword. Ha! ha! Sefor!
think of a slave envying a cavalier like Don Ierrardo !”

The soldier felt a thrill pass through his frame as the
Peon’s wild, half-scornful laugh broke on the night air. But,
before he could reply, the man had stopped suddenly, and
was lifting the head of Pomfret Putnam.

“This man is not dead, Sefior. He breathes—his heart
beats!”

“ Here is a flask of wine,” said Nunez, producing a silver
canteen. “Give the wretch a drink; though, if he be one of
Marani’s cut-throats, you will but save him from the gallows.”

“He is a foreigner by his complexion,’ answered the
Peon, applying the officer’s flask to Pomfret’s lips.

The reviving liquor had an immediate effect. Opening
his eyes, our Yankee looked from one to the other of the
faces above him, and then, in his own language, murmured,
dolefully :

“Tngens ag’in, by thunder!”

§ Friend, have ceurage. You are in no danger,” said the
serf, astonishing his countryman, Don Ferrardo, by address-
ing ‘the stranger in English.

“At the same time poor Pomfret started suddenly upright
on hearing the familiar tongue. He started at Zumozin as if
incredulous of his own hearing g, and then spoke feebly:

“ Say that over ag’in, hoss. Jes’ you speak that ar’ blessed
language once more—now do,” The tears gathered in

 
 

56 THE PEON PRINCE.

Pomfret’s eyes, and began to roll down his bronzed cheeks.
“Jerusalem!” he murmured, “TI hain’t heerd that sweet and
nateral tongue so long that it’s jest like hum to meet you,
stranger. ’Deed it is now, I tell you.” Poor Pomfret, over-
come by his feelings, broke down at once.

“Who are you, Sefior?” asked. Don Ferrardo, while
Zumozin’s dark lip curved with a smile.

“Who be I? Well, stranger, ’m a free and enlightened
citizen of the States—that’s what I be.”

“ A North American—of the United States?’ said the Peon.

“Yes, hoss; and you're the first civilized feller I've come
across since I left Vera Cruz. It does me good to hear you
talk, now. Give us your hand, I want to shake.”

“But why are you, a stranger, here at this hour} Have
you traveling companions near ry?

“Not a critter. To be sure, I’ve got friends—lots on
’em; and they'll be after them yaller robbers with a sharp
stick one of these days, now I tell you.”

“This must be the man whom Marani’s rascals were
hanging not long ago,” said Don Ferrardo, noticing the rope
which still dangled from the Yankee’s neck.

“To be sure I be,” responded Pomfret, comprehending the
officer’s remark, “I cal’late I had a smart run for life,
anyhow.”

“The man may be ef use to us,” mused Nunez; and then,
turning to the Peon, whose knowledge of a foreign language,
as well as singular demeanor, so little comporting with his
station as a serf, now began to excite his curiosity, he asked:

“What said you was your name?”

“Tam called Anselmo Zumozin.”

“Well, then, Anselmo Zumozin, oblige me by taking
charge of this American, if such he be, and let him be
brought to our barracks when he recovers sufficiently. Can
the man walk ?”

Well, I reckon,” answered Pomfr et, whose strength and
courage had been wonderfully stimulated by the soldier's
wine; and rising as he spoke, he followed Ferrardo, who
was himself preceded by the Peon. But they had descended
only a few steps, when they were confronted by a half-dozen
rude figures, advancing at a rapid pace,

»
THE PEON’S ADDRESS. 57

“ Yaller-skins, by hokey !’ ejaculated Pomfret.

“The robbers!” exclaimed Don Ferrardo, raising his
sword, as he scanned the dusky figures, and saw that they
approached with leveled carabines.

“ No, Seiior, they are friends,” interposed the Peon, calmly.
And, advancing a few paces, he made a slight gesture, and
spoke a few hurried words, which neither Don Ferrardo nor
Pomfret could interpret. In a moment every carabine was
Jowered, and the half-dozen grim sentinels, ranging themselves
on one side of the narrow passway, permitted the serf and his
two companions to descend without molestation, though to
do so they were obliged to brush against the doublets of the
brigands.

They kept on toward the valley, the Peon keeping the
lead, until they reached the borders of the wood, through
which now the glare of Murillo’s house was distinctly visible.

“ Here we part,” said Zumozin to the officer.

* Not so. _I must know more of you.”

“T am a slave, and at my master’s disposal, not my own.”

“ And who is your master ?”

“Juan Garcia, the alcalde.”

“ Garcia ! I know him well.”

“So do I, Sefior. Adieu.”

“Stay. First tell me how it is you have authority over
these brigands. Why did they not attack us?’

“That you may learn at some future time, Sefior.”

Nay, you go not till I have—”

“Tf you wish to see me again, seek me among Juan
Garcia’s slaves.”

With this speech, Zumozin turned abruptly away, and, be-
fore the soldier could make an effort to detain him, darted

‘back among the trees. Don Ferrardo hesitated a moment,

and then, bidding the Yankee follow, ¢rossed the road toward
the farm-house. It was at the very moment he reached the
open space, in view of the building, that the wild form ot
Lorenzo, the artist, appeared emerging from the roof.

Nunez beheld the maniae’s wild leap, and saw the aged
Murillo place himself before him. 'Then he heard the mad
laugh of the unhappy youth, and darting forward, reached
the group of soldiers and servants in time to see the stricken

 
 

58 WIE PEON PRINCE

father of Inez lying senseless on the green, while the timbers
of his roof-tree, crackling and smoldering, fell like a surge
among the fiery ruins.

The red gleam which had illumined sky and forest now
faded to a dusky brown, and shadows began to creep over
the fallen home of Murillo the Rich!

CHAPTER XI.
IMPRISONED AND HATED.

In the mean time, Inez, borne rapidly through the forest,
had opened her eyes, and recovered suflicient consciousness to ’
perceive her situation. It was her sudden shriek at this
discovery which Don Ferrardo Nunez heard.’ But Gomez
only wound the mufiler closer, and quickened his pace amid
the difficult defiles.

The tumult near the farm-house was speedily lost in the
distance, though the bright light, which shot up behind him,
apprised the flying robber of the work of destruction. He
kept on, however, with unflagging speed, till he reached a
circuitous defile conducting along the brink of a dangerous
chasm to the outer barrier of the brigands’ retreat. Here a
solitary sentinel responded to the watchword, and passing
him, Gomez soon reached the outer cavern, whence a dim
’ and scarcely perceptible light gleamed faintly out upon the
darkness.

Entering this place, he deposited his exhausted captive
upon a rough couch formed of the skins of wild animals, and
called, in a loud tone:

“ Berta !”

The girl, to whom the reader already has been introduced,
answered the summons. Emerging from the interior of the
cave, she came toward the couch.

“ Berta, make haste. Bring wine and refreshments for this
lady. She is the Captain’s prize! Dost not hear, child?”

“ The Captain’s prize! Where, then, is he?’ asked the
-

INEZ IN THE ROBBER CAVE. 59

girl, quickly, the color mounting to her face and neck.
‘Where is Giacomo ?”

‘At the farm-house of Murillo, in the valley, whither I
must straightway return. Take good care of this lady, Berta,
as you value our Captain’s favor. He is head over ears in
love with her, by the mass! See to her at once, good child.”

Berta paused, as if in thought, and then withdrew to pro-
cure the refreshments, while Gomez paced the cave.

Inez, meantime, remained motionless upon the couch. The
moon was still shining brightly upon the open area before the
cavern’s mouth, and there a sentry paced up and down, his
carabine gleaming in the silvery rays.

“ Hot work, Gomez?” remarked this sentinel, eager for
news concerning the expedition. ‘Were not the Captain’s
orders so strict, and were not one afraid of the fate of that
poor old sot, Spaltro, I would even leave my post, and go
back with you. There'll be plenty of plunder—eh, comrade?”

“ Doubtless. And you'll get your share of it. Whatever
we may say of our Captain, he takes care of every one. No
ons fares badly who obeys orders.”

*“ Ay, Gomez, it’s very well for the Captain to order ; but
it’s hard to be cooped up in a cavern here so long as I’ve
been, without an adventure to keep my poniard bright. I
wanted to go to the valley to-night, but says the Captain,
with that confounded way of his: ‘Stay at home, comrade.
Your turn will come next.’””

“So it will,” retuned Gomez, “This booty of Murillo’s
will make us all rich, comrade, and we can dash away like
grandees for a twelvemonth. Take my word for it, neither
monte nor pulgue can ruin us for a year to come.”

“The saints be praised for that, at least,” returned the
sentinel.

Berta now came from the inner cave, bringing a flask of
wine, together with some dried fruits; and Gomez, with a
renewed injunction upon the girl to take care of the Captain’s
prize, loaded his carabine once more, looking carefully at the
priming, and departed hurriedly from the retreat. The
sentinel resumed his rounds, and Berta was left alone with
Inez. :

It is now time to describe this girl of the “Outlaw’s Mount.”

 
 

60 THE PEON PRINCE.

In person, she was below the medium size ; feet and hands
exquisitely small, and every movement gra aceful and lightsome
as a young antelope’ 3. Her round, compact waist and sean cely
developed bust, might serve as models of natural symmetry,
and a charming oval face, fringed with glossy black ringlets,
that fell in masses over her neck, was made up of irregular
but expressive features.

No one of the band had ever seen Berta, without remarking
the sunny smile that often broke all over her olive face ; and
every body said, in the little brigand world where she dwelt;
that’ Berta was the happiest child who ever wandered through
a forest, or climbed high rocks like a wild kid. *

The girl, after the departure of Gomez, stood, half on tiptoe,
by the couch. Neither smile was on her lip, nor gladness in
her eye. Her dark blood had mounted to her forehead, and
swollen every vein into distinctness ; her large eyes blazed
with intense though suppressed passion.

“ Loves her!” ‘she murmured, wildly clasping her hands to
her breast. | “ What right has—”

She drew nearer to the couch, and stooping beside it, drew
away the cloak which concealed the features of Murillo’s
daughter. Then she arose to her feet.

“Ah! she must be beautiful ; very beautiful indeed, if
Marani loves her. Oh, I dare not look upon her face.”

The cayern was lighted -by the smoky glare of a lamp sus-
pended from the rocky roof. An attempt had been made to
give even this outer cave, which was a sort of vestibule to the
robbers’ retreat, some features of comfort, and even of rude
elegance, On the rough wall were hung the skins of animals
slain in the chase, mingled with crossed carabines, gilded
crucifixes and naked swords, interspersed with numberless
details of feathers, rosettes, and other ornaments which go to
make up the tinsel of a robber’s paraphernalia.

At the head of the couch was a narrow, arched opening in
the rock, half concealed by a faded crimson curtain, looped up
with discolored fringe. This was the entrance to a private
portion of the interior cavern, sacred to theuse of the brigand
chief, Marani.

On the opposite side of the vestibule was a wider aperture,
leading to a range of subterranean apartments, occupied as

a>
+>

Es 2%
JEALOUSY. 61

kitchens, larders, armories, and dormitories by the wild
wretches who composed the band.

Berta pressed her hand to her forehead, and stamped upon
the ground, as if to summon new determination; then she
bent down once more, ahd slowly withdrew the mantle from
the face of Inez. The light from the suspended lamp, falling
upon the captive’s countenance, disclosed its full classic
beauty, more striking, if possible, from .the motionless and
deathlike insensibility of the unhappy maiden.

“Ah, Holy Virgin, she is beautiful—too beautiful!” cried
the girl, with a smothered groan, as she gazed upon the faint-
ing lady. ‘Oh, she has stolen his heart from me, and I am
lost, lost forever!”

Berta flung herself upon the floor of the cave, and sobbed
bitterly.

Inez, partially recovering from the swoon, opened her eyes,
and gazed fearfully around ‘the apartment. A vague memory
of the last hour’s events wandered through her -brain, but it
found no tangible point whereon to rest, save the indistinct
confusion of her seizure and the noise of the attack. Slowly,
however, her eyes became accustomed to the place, and,
raising her head, she beheld the open mouth of the cave,
through which a portion of the heavens was discernible. She
also caught the sound of Berta’s sobbing, and glancing down-
ward, beheld the prostrate girl. A cry ofalarm escaped her lips.
Berta instantly started to her feet.. Dashing back her
disordered hair, she stared wildly into the captive’s s frightened
countenance,

**Who are you, beautiful devil?” she shrieked, passionately.
“What do zoe here? Tell me, or I will kill you?”

_ “Alas! Sejiora, I know not thow I was brought hither. I
am most unhappy.”

“You speak falsely. You have come, wicked, beautiful
creature—you will be his bride!—Marani’s bride! And Iam
to be deserted! Woman, I will kill you!”

“Alas! you are deceived. I know not what you mean.
Who is the Marani of whom you speak? I know him not,”

And Inez shrunk from the fierce gaze of the brigand girl,
who had lifted her hand menacingly, as if she longed to strike
her rival.

 
 

   

   

= THE PEON PRINCE.

‘\

“Marani? what say you? Beware how you speak falsely
tome. I know how you proud ladies win the hearts of men,
and count it a light thing. But you shall never be Marani’s
wife! No—no—no!”

* Alas! I know not your Marani.”

“Tt is false, oh, wicked woman! Have I not beheld him
at the gate of Murillo’s house, and did they not tell me he
was to be the husband of Inez? But that shall never be.
You are here, and in my power, and you. shall die—die,
beautiful demon that you are, to steal Marani from me.”

The low yet vehement tones with which the passionate
Berta poured forth her speech, penetrated poor Inez with an
indefinable terror. Nothing that this strange girl uttered
was intelligible to her, and yet she could not help feeling that
she was in some manner compromised with the Marani of
whom Berta spoke.

But, as the flashing eyes of the speaker grew yet more
angry, the captive maiden shrunk away toward the curtain,
which, as we have seen, hung over the aperture near the head
of the couch. Berta perceived the movement.

“Tal” she exclaimed; “you would escape me. You
would fly to your lover’s chamber, and there await his return.
But you shall not enter there! Never, never /”

Suiting her action to the word, she drew a silver-mounted
pistol from her girdle, and pointed it at the bosom of Inez.

“Oh, merey, mercy! do not killme! Sefiora, I am inno-
cent. What do you seek?”

“ Your life,” cried the frenzied girl.

“Do not killme. In the name of the Blessed Virgin,
spare me! My father, my pgor father would die!”

She was answered by a bitter laugh. As her hands, raised
in entreaty, strove to protect her bosom, the pistol exploded,
and she fell back on the couch. i

A volume of smoke rolled around the vaulted apartment.
Suddenly, without the cave, was heard the report of a musket,
aud immediately after, persons rushed through the aperture. °

Berta stood, with the discharged pistol in her right hand,
while her left was pressed against the breast of Inez. And as
she withdrew her hand, and held it up in the light of the lamp,
those who had entered could see that it was crimson-stained,

 

 

en pe oe ere ee we

-—}—-
   
   
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    

THE APPROACH TO THE CAVE.

CHAPTER XII.
WHO THE OUTLAWS ARE,

Tue approach to the retreat of Marani’s band was a. peril-
ous one, mainly on account of narrow shelves which formed
the path in many places, but most difficult, because of the
devious crooks, ascents, and abrupt turnings, which a member
of the band only would be certain of following, and which
hitherto had always preserved the brigands from pursuit, even
when, at times, some daring expedition of the band had
stimulated the closest search on the part of neighboring
authorities.

In some places the mountain path afforded scarcely a foot-
hold, and an adventurous passenger, if he dared to glance
downward, would discover himself poised on»a precipice, a
thousand feet of chasm below him, in which roared the black
waters of a torrent boiling over its bed of rocks. In such
spots as these, a single stone hurled from above would suf-

t
fice to sweep a column of pursuers into eternity. Indeed,
|

ae ee ee me

the greatest caution was necessary when a solitary person
attempted the ascent of such narrow ledges; and, to guard
against mischances, the robbers had hung ropes from the cliffs
above, which, being caught hold of as they dangled, enabled
the climber to swing himself with comparative ease around
the dangerous abutments of slippery rock. Those ropes were
sometimes concealed in the thick foliage of the stunted trees
which grew on the very edge of the cliff, but usually were
thrown above, as occasion required, and carefully drawn up
whenever the band were secure in their fortress.

So accustomed, however, were the daring followers of
Marani to scaling and descending these footways, that an ac-
cident had never befallen one, either by daylight or the less
reliable beams of the moon, which latter were the usual
guiding-lights of their expeditions. In dark or stormy nights
no enterprise ever was projected, as the risks in escaping to
this mountain hold were far too great to be rashly encoun-
tered,

 
 

:
64 THE PEON PRINCE, oo

Tt was on such moonlight evenings as the previous one,
marked by the assault and destruction of Murillo’s house,
that Marani’s band were wont to descend silently to the val-
ley roads, attack and plunder a caravan, and then dispersing,
each with his booty, regain the cave with great celerity,
there to collect and divide the plunder under arbitration of
the chief.

We have seen with what facility the brigand, Gomez,
though encumbered with the fainting Inez, had mounted to
the retreat. Let us now follow him on his second departure
to rejoin his comrades in the valley.

Like many of the band to which he belonged, Gomez was
of the Mestizo race, deriving its origin from a union of the
white inhabitants with Indians and half-breeds. Inno coun-
try are distinctions of blood and consequent variety of charac-
ter more apparent than in Mexico. “While the Guadalupinces
and Creoles have enjoyed by turns the power and immunities
of an aristocracy, the Aborigines, Mestizoes, Mulattoes and
Blacks, in all their various shades, have always, since the
Conquest, occupied inferior grades of life, as “hewers of
wood and drawers of water ;” or else, breaking from the re-
straint of a weak Government, have arrayed themselves
against the laws, and uplifted, like Ishmaelite, their hands
against all men.

The great passion in Mexico is gaming; the great pleasure,
idleness. From the highest to the lowest, there is scarcely a
man who will not stake his Jast dollar on a game of chance.
Gambling is, indeed, the vice of the nation. Offices, emolu-
ments, reputation, are the sport of the ‘hazardous politics,
which partake as much of the grand passion as does monte
itself. “The subaltern stakes his life in a plot against his Gen-
eral; the General risks his in a conspiracy, whose object is
the Presidential chair. All ranks gamble, and are, by chance,
ruined or enriched.

And to the spendthrift Creole or Gochupin, who rises from
a gambling-table without a coin in his pocket, or to the broken,
officer, who has lost both cash and easte, there is one way
always left to retrieve their shattered fortunes, and this is
what, in English slang, would be called “the road.” Tt is a
very easy undertaking to organize a temporary association for

—_y~ =
FORMATION OF BANDITTIL 65

brigandage in Mexico, While there are dashing Creoles
ruined in the capital, there are hundreds of poverty-stricken
and discontented Mestizoes in the valleys and provincial
towns, ever ready to embark in an enterprise which promises

. pay, whether it be robbery or insurrection ; whether they be

summoned to arms by a revolutionist’s pronunciamento, or
called by a secret word to some brigand’s rendezvous, In
most cases, the band thus formed has for its object the sudden
surprise of a caravan, and, in general, when this purpose is
achieved, the amateur freebooters disperse, to dissipate their
booty at monte, the national game of hazard, or in drinking
puique, the national beverage. But, in not a few instances,
well-ordered and desperate banditti have been known to set
the Government at defiance for a series of years, and at length
be brought to terms only by a general amnesty, and perhaps
enrollment in the service of the State.

Such bands as these, however, are organized by degrees,
and are composed of various materials. While a portion are
men of the wildest passions and habits, who adopt the pro-
fession con amore, there are other portions made up of unfor-
tunates, who have been driven by wrong and tyranny into
red-handed opposition to the laws.

Among these latter may be classed the native Indian bri-
gands, who, having escaped from a state of forced servitude,
like peonage, or from abject poverty, find themselves outlawed
at once, and embrace a life which promises, at the least, a
wild independence. Many of the Mestizoes, too, as well as
the pure Indians, cling to the singular customs and supersti-
tions of the ancient race, and their religion is a blending of
Aztec traditional ceremonies with the observances of the
Romish Church.

As said, the Indians, unlike the Gochupins, or European
inhabitants, and the Creoles, never obtained sway in political
affairs; and this is true of them considered as a. class.
Nevertheless, many instances have occurred of pure-blooded
Indians attaiming to high positions in the State, holding rank
in civil and military affairs. These, however, are exceptions
incident to peculiar individuals, and serve but to exhibit more
forcibly the injustice which creates social distinctions on ac-
count of the accident of birth. Mexico owed, probably. as

 

 
 

66 THE PEON PRINCE.

much to the Indian and Mestizo portions of her citizens, dur-
ing the struggle for independence, as to any other class.
Guerrero, indeed, the first of her actual Presidents, and one
of the bravest of her patriot commanders, was scarcely more
a white than a negro in the quality of his blood. It is evi-
dent, therefore, that the inequality of political power is not
- the result of natural inferiority in the degraded classes, but
rather the offspring of that injustice which repudiates all
merit when opposed to prejudice.

A band of brigands, constituted of restless and ambitious
spirits from all classes, with diverse motives and objects, re-
quires, it may be imagined, some vigorous intelligence to con-
trol its operations, and not a little ingenuity to preserve the
discipline essential to its safety.

Such a band was that of the “ Outlaw’s Mount ;” and its
chief, Giacomo Marani, possessed the qualities necessary to
leadership in an eminent degree. Marani was neither a Mex-
ican nor a Spaniard. His first breath was drawn among the
Apennines, and his passions and incentives were the offspring
of an Italian education. Those who affected to know some-
what of his history, averred that he had once been noted as
a terrible outlaw of the Abruzzo. Some said he had escaped
the guillotine by a miracle, or by the agency of magic.
There were not a few who would swear that he was under
the especial protection of the Arch Enemy himself, who, for
some hidden purpose, prospered all his undertakings. At the
present time, however, it would appear that the fiend had
deserted his protegé ; for Marani was a prisoner of his old
enemies, the soldiers, with little apparent chance of escape.

 

Gomez lightly descended the rocky defiles, swiftly skirting
the narrow ledges, reaching, in a brief space of time, the
shrouded valley. Though he no longer heard the reports of
carabines, he could still perceive, glimmering faintly over the
trees, the glare cast by the burning farm-house.

Suddenly his ears caught the tread of footsteps rapidly
nearing him through the woods, and presently a number of
his robber comrades appeared. They were Indians of the
pure breed, and not, like himself, a Mestizo.

“Whither, comrades?” asked Gomez, quickly.

&
THE FUGITIVES. 67

“To the mountain. We are beaten, and our Captain is a
prisoner.”

“Carrambo! Marani taken? But he will escape. They
cannot keep our Captain in their dungeons.”

“That may be, Gomez; but let us look out for ourselves,
that we do not dangle in the market-place of Puebla. A
curse’on all Murillos, and a double curse on those mis-
begotten soldiers, say I. Come on, comrades. To the
mount.”

“Stay,” cried the Mestizo. “Though our Captain bea
prisoner he may be rescued. Who among you will retum
with me to the farm-house? Look! here are more of us,
comrades all.”

As Gomez spoke, another squad of the robbers approached
with hurried steps. But to the Mestizo’s proposition all
turned a deaf ear. It was quite evident that the marauders
were panic-stricken, and magnified the numbers of their
foes.

“So you will leave our Captain to be shot or strangled,
eh, comrades?”

“ There's not much danger of that,” spake a young, oval-
faced Indian: “The Captain commands assistance that we
can not.”

A murmur of assent attested the belief of the other Indians
in this assertion. Gomez shrugged his shoulders.

“You'll bear me witness, comrades, that I desired to res-
cue our Captain?”

‘Ay, but it is useless, Gomez.” .

“Very well, comrades ; let us, then, return to the cave.
The Captain may soon follow us—who knows?”

“ Ay, who knows?’ echoed the young Indian.

“JT know that he will not return, at least to-night. The
soldiers will take good care of him,” said a new voice; and
at the same moment a tall figure glided from the shadows ot
the wood.

Gomez grasped his earabine, but the Indians, with whom
he was surrounded, recognized the new-comer by a spontane-
ous salutation.

“Ha, Zumozin, is it you?” cried Gomez. ‘You come
among us, by St. Jago, like a ghost.” Then in an undertone,

 
 

68 THE PEON PRINCE.

the Mestizo muttered: “ These Indians are like spirits ; you
never know when they are at your shoulder.”

“T saw from the thicket that your Captain was a prisoner,”
answered the serf. “ He is in the hands of his deadly enemy,
La Vega. As for yourselves, I would advise an immediate
return to the cave, for a force will to-morrow invade the
mountain. This night an officer of yonder garrison demanded
of me the path to your retreat.”

“And you—’ commenced Gomez.

“T offered to conduct him thither,” returned Zumozin.

“ By St. Jago! What? betray us?”

“T offered to conduct him to the Mount,” said the serf. “TI
did not promise to bring him back.”

“Ha, ha!” the Indians laughed, and Gomez, stroking his
beard, said :

“You are a strange fellow, Zumozin. However, we will
take your advice and seek our retreat. I’m of opinion that if
Captain Marani does not return, these copper-faced comrades
of mine will elect you to be our Chief—so I'll even begin to
obey now !”

This was said in a gruff tone, but the Indians who heard it
seemed to manifest some satisfaction at the idea conveyed.
But Zumozin said, haughtily :

“Tam no robber—though I may be worse! Adieu !”

Then, turning on his heel, he departed as abruptly as he
came; while Gomez and the rest continued their flight to the
Mount.

The solitary sentinel who remained on guard at the cave,
after Gomez had set out for the farm-house, was extremely
ill-contented with his situation. ~ He could not help reflect-
ing that it was more exciting and professionally respectable to
be handling old Murillo’s dollars and emptying his wine jugs—
the occupation, as he firmly believed, of his distant comrades
at that period—than to be keeping guard over a cave and a
woman, with nobody to converse with, and scarce wine
enough to wet his lips. He leaned, therefore, upon his gun,
and cogitated gloomily.

“ Gomez and the rest are doubtless enjoying themselves, it
is true,” muttered the discontented robber ; and here am I,
one of the bravest of all, left to”

ws
THE WOUNDED OFFICER. 69

What further the worthy might have said, was lost, for, at
this moment, an unearthly cry pierced his ears, and before he
could level his carabine, a man leaped from the thick wood-
land, and dashed full against him, The gun exploded in his
hands, and at the same instant a pistol-shot resounded from
the cave.

Almost at the same instant the open space before the
cavern became a scene of the utmost confusion, A throng of
fugitive brigands, led by Gomez, came rushing through the
woods, while the unfortunate sentinel, wounded by the pre-
mature explosion of his piece, lay writhing with pain upon
the ground. At the mouth of the cave, two of the robbers
were struggling to master a wild-looking being, whose features
and form were scorched and black with fire, and who uttered
the most frightful cries.

Two other brigands, emerging from the cavern, supported
the form of a woman, while behind, grasping the discharged
pistol with which she had wounded her rival, appeared the
half-crazed Berta.

In vain the strong-handed mountaineers struggled with
the wild figure they had seized, and attempted to restrain
him. He dashed them aside with the strength of a madman,
and, bounding across the open area, sunk exhausted upon the
turf, his glaring eye fixed upon the pallid face of Inez
Murillo,

A sad finale for the Serenade of Lorenzo!

 

CHAPTER XIItf.
THE TIGER IN A CAGE,

“ Curses light upon the villain! Why did they not cast
him into the flames?’ was the exclamation of Antonio de la
Vega, who, with bandaged and blistered body, lay upon his
bed, listening to the rehearsal, by his friend Ferrardo, of the
last night’s events, which had taken place subsequently to his
own mishap.

“You forget, Antonio, that the brigand surrendered to our

 
 

70 THE PEON PRINCE,

men, and was disarmed. He is, moreover, a prisoner, and
incapable of doing further harm.”

“ Ay, indeed—a prisoner? Perdition! Had I not fallen
upon his sword, the villain should never have survived to be
afforded the chance for life which a prisoner always has. I
tell you, Ferrardo, this Marani will escape ws yet.”

“ Impossible.”

“Did you not inform me that Juan Garcia, the alcalde,
had arrived, and that he is even now in the prison of this
brigand!”

“T did—but of what consequence is that? The alcalde is
no friend of the robber.” -

“No; but the alcalde, as a magistrate, possesses authority
to order his removal hence; and should Marani have gold to
purchase his liberty, an alcalde might be bribed. I have
heard of such things, Ferrardo.”

“But the law, Antonio! Garcia would hardly dare to
tamper with justice in the case of so notorious a robber as
this?”

“You talk of that of which you know nothing,” answered
La Vega. “Law in Mexico is made for the convenience, not
the guidance, of magistrates. Juan Garcia, the alcalde, is
the most powerful civil functionary within a score of leagues.
Who is to call him to account, my good Seiior?”

“You may be right, Antonio. But trust me, I will keep
my eyes open. For yourself, let not your mind be agitated
by dwelling on our unfortunate expedition. Your wound
requires rest, or it may become serious. Fear not that
Marani will escape; for, by St. Juan! if he should attempt
it, I myself will be his executioner!”

“Stay, Ferrardo. Has naught been learned concerning
the fate of Murillo’s daughter?”

I have despatched soldiers to scour the mountain.
Marani’s band is completely dispersed.”

“And Murillo?’

“The old man is here, safe from injury, but inconsolable
for the loss of his child. He believed her dead, at first, but
is now assured that she is not. The woman whom we beheld
carried off, and whom I pursued so fruitlessly, was, without
doubt, your Inez,”
THE PRISON, Gai

“ Thats some consolation,” muttered La Vega. ‘The
proud girl will experience the tender mercies of robbers, in
return for her rejection of a soldier.”

With this reflection, the wounded Captain settled back on
his pillow. Don Ferrardo left the apartment, proceeding to
the barrack guard-room, beyond which was the prison wherein
Marani and other captured brigands were confined.

“Where is the Sefior Garcia?” inquired Nunez of a soldier,
on entering the guard-room. ;

“He is examining the brigand, Marani.”

“They have been a long time together?”

“For an hour at least, Captain,” answered the soldier.

“ The devil take Garcia!” thought Nunez; but he kept the
thought to himself, and, walking to a window, looked out
upon the valley.

This military post, at which the two officers were stationed,
was situated, as we have seen, at the head of the valley, and
commanding a view of the surrounding country for a wide
distance. It was upon the direct or “National” highway
leading from the seacoast to the city of Mexico, and was so
well chosen that it could be made a formidable barrier against
the advance of an enemy.

Don Ferrardo could behold, stretching far beneath him,
fertile plains, dotted with farm-houses, and broken by abrupt
heights which, like the ‘‘Outlaw’s Mount,” were extremely
difficult of access to unfamiliar feet. Below in the distance
appeared the roofs of a well-defended city, glittering afar
beneath the rays of the sun. This city was Puebla, one of
the strongest places on the route from Vera Cruz to Mexico.

Far off to the right, the officer could catch occasional
glimpses of a river flashing in the sunbeams, and winding
from the base of a lofty mountain many leagues distant; but,
though he surveyed the wide expanse of valley, hill and
plain, he took little note of the beauty of either. His thoughts
were intent upon his previous night’s adventure.

“A singular fellow, that Zumozin,” said he to himself, as
the recollection of his encounter with the Peon crossed his
mind. “I can not account for his influence over the brigands
—unless, indeed, he is one of them. J must see Garcia
respecting this ‘slave’ of his; yes, I must question Garcia.”

 
 

79 THE PEON PRINCE.

The young officer unconsciously uttered this last sentence
aloud, and was startled by a voice at his elbow, replying to
the remark ;

“Well, what is your question, Captain Nunez?”

Don Ferrardo turned quickly, and beheld the person whom
he had named—Juan. Garcia. ~

Sefior Garcia was a dark-complexioned man, a trifle below
the medium size, firmly knit and muscular. His breast was
broad, his shoulders square, his head round and covered with
short, crisp curls of shining black. His face was full, and he
wore a heavy, arched moustache, beneath which his teeth glit-
tered like ivory. His small eyes, piercingly black, were of
that kind which never seem to rest, and while their owner
spoke were dancing about, apy parently scrutinizing every por-
tion of the soldier’s form and features.

“Such was Juan Garcia, the alcalde, who, smiling in
a manner to display every one of his white teeth, repeated
his remark :

“Of what would you question me, Captain?”

“Pardon me, Sefior—it is nothing. I was merely thinking
of”

Don Ferrardo paused.

“T am all attention, Captain Nunez.”

“Well, Sefior, there is, in truth, no mystery about the
matter. Have you among your servants one called Zumozin
—Anselmo Zumozin?”

“There is such a name. But why do you ask this, my
dear Captain?”

“ Oh, in reality, itis of little moment. On our last night’s
march T encountered this Zumozin, and—

“ Ah! you met him?”

“Yes, Sefior, last night, as I said. He was—”

“Well, beware of him.”

“What mean you, Seiior?”

“Jn truth, it is notimportant; but this varlet’s reputation
is not good among his fellows. Therefore, my dear Captain,
I can not advise you to any intimate relations with my
servant.”

The cool, contemptuous tone with which the alcalde uttered
these words brought a flush of anger into the face of the
THE ALCALDE. 73

proud young officer. Ere he could reply, however, Garcia,
ina changed voice, exclaimed :

“ Now, Captain, a word in regard to Marani, your prisoner,
Was it not singularly good fortune to capture him so easily ?
The band has been considered very formidable.”

“Tt is now, I think, scattered,” answered Don Ferrardo.

“Doubtless. But apropos, Captain, when had you warning
of Marani’s projected attack on the farmer? Certainly your
arrangements to defeat it were admirably made.”

“We had no warning.” ,

“Oh, indeed ! thatis more singular yet. Pray, then, how
happened your soldiers to be in the valley at the point of
time ?”|

“‘We—we marched there,” said Nunez, hesitatingly.

“You will permit me to remark that your reply is rather
indefinite, my dear Captain. Doubtless there is a little mys-
tery about this adventure. However, I must not be too curi-
ous. But, before I depart, Captain, let me caution you to
keep strict guard over your prisoner. This Marani is a
dangerous fellow, take my word for it; and, as you and
Captain de la Vega possess joint command, the responsibility
now, of course, devolves upon you. Look sharp, therefore,
Captain.”

“ But—pardon me, Sefior—this Marani, what will probably

 

_be his fate?”

“Shot, [ dare say,” returned Garcia, exhibiting his teeth
ina quiet smile. “Indeed, Lassured him of that, by way of
consolation, before I left him. He is, without doubt, a
great scoundrel, Captain.”

“ Another question, Sefior, and I am done.”

Don Ferrardo paused again.

“Oh, I can answer that, Tam sure,” said the smiling
alcalde. ‘My niece is happy and blooming, as usual and as
ever the, humble servant of Don Ferrardo Nunez.”

The Captain’s face crew crimson, and he turned his head
aside, while Sefior Garcia, with another “of his bland
stniles, said, “Good-day,” and passed from the guard-room.

When he had gone, the young man bit hig lips, and
muttered ;

“ He is certainly the devil himself—else how could hehave

     

 
 

  

74 THE PEON PRINCE.

guessed my thoughts? One thing is certain, however, he
knows not how well this fair niece loves Ferrardo Nunez, in
spite of his teeth.”

With this reflection, which seemed to relieve the Captain
not a little, he turned from the barrack-room, and callinga
servant, ordered his horse to be immediately saddled, and
brought to the door.

While he is waiting for the steed, let us follow Juan Garcia
on his homeward road through the valley.

CHAPTER. 21 V.
A BRACE OF PATRIOTS.

Movntep on a gayly caparisoned mule, the alealde ambled
leisurely down the road, keeping to the left as much as pos-
sible, in order to avail himself of the shelter afforded by
wooded heights against the powerful sunbeams.

The house of Garcia was situated at less distance from the
barracks than that which had been lately the residence of
Murillo. It was surrounded by a tolerably thick settlement
of tenantry and dependents of the alcalde, whereas that of
the father of Inez was isolated by a stretch of woods and
rocks from any other habitation. Garcia was, in truth, one
of the largest landholders in that part of the country, as well
as an extensive speculator in mines, and a man, likewise, who
was reputed to exercise no little influence in political affairs
at the capital. Certain it was, that his occasional visits to
the seat of government, together with mysterious interviews
which often took place at his hacienda between himself and
high dignitaries of the State, were supposed, by those who
affected judgment in such matters, to be intimately connected
with. subsequent governmental changes,

The political character of the alcalde had never been
broadly developed. Many people recollected the time when
he entertained Don Augustine Iturbide at his mansion, and
was supposed to know more about that unhappy monarch’s

 

  
DON MARIANO. 75

Schemes than any other Mexican. Others were sure that
Juan Garcia had been the main-stay of Guerrero’s adminis-
tration, while others again were ready to wager that the
worthy alcalde was Don Lopez de Santa Anna’s bosom
friend and adviser.

But, Juan Garcia was a being of the most impenetrable
secretiveness, and whatever might be surmised, very little was
known concerning his character or actions. He smiled with
the same bland expression on everybody, and everybody
acknowledged that he possessed amiable manners, though all
experienced an unaccountable uneasiness in his presence.

Juan Garcia kept on his road, his mule carefully picking
her way, as she descended the slope of the valley. The
alcalde was apparently immersed in reflections, for his small
and usually restive eyes were wonderfully quiet and subdued;
so much so, indeed, that their glances failed to encounter the
shadow which was thrown broadly across his path from the
figures of a horse and rider, awaiting his approach beneath a
roadside tree, until the voice of the latter hailed, in a round,
full tone:

“Ho! Garcia!”

The alcalde drew rein as quickly as if he had beheld the
edge of a precipice, but recovering his self-possession imme-
diately, exclaimed :

“ Ha! Don Mariano, here?”

“At your good service, Sefior,” returned the horseman;
“that is, if you will ride to the hacienda at once. . Lhaye but
a few moments to spare, and have ridden far to meet, you.
Let us go forward.” :

*T was but this moment thinking of you, Don Mariano,”
said the alcalde, quickening the pace of his mule to keep up
with the stranger’s horse. ‘‘ Indeed, it. was your business,
General, that called me forth to-day.”

“You have been to yonder station?” asked the stranger, in
a soft tone of voice.

“T have, Don Mariano.”

“Captain Antonio de la Vega commands there?”

“ Jointly with Captain Ferrardo Nunez,” replied Garcia,
“ Ta Vega, however, was severely wounded last night, and—”

“How? <A duel?’

 
 

76 THE PEON PRINCE.

“ No, General; a skirmish with the robbers, who infest this
district. They assaulted and burned a farm-house, but were
repulsed by La Vega anda party of his men. Their Captain,
a noted brigand, was taken.”

“Humph! I passed the burned farm-house, methinks, on
my way hither. But you remarked, Garcia, that you were
out upon my business. What have I to do with those
robbers?”

“ Perhaps much,” answered Garcia, with his peculiar smile,
his glittering eyes at the same time dancing over the other’s
features. “Perhaps much! These brigands are useful, some-
times—very useful.”

“T understand, my worthy friend,” replied the stranger.
“ Report has often said that Sefior Juan Garcia finds robbers
of great utility at times.

“ And so may Don Mariano,” said the alcalde. “ In certain
stages of politics, as. well as commercial affairs, one need not
be too choice of instruments.”

“You are right, Garcia,” returned the other quickly; and
then for a few moments he preserved silence ; while the alcalde
rode by his side, carelessly patting the neck of his mule,
though at the same time his bead-like eyes were covertly
scrutinizing Don Mariano’s countenance.

At last, suddenly starting, as if breaking a revery, the
horseman spoke:

“This brigand—who is he?”

“Giacomo Marani.”

“Ha! He was once well known in Mexico. Don Lucas
Guzman and he were suspected of—”

“Tt is the same, General. Your memory is good. Don
Lucas and Marani were known to be good friends.”

** A dangerous man—this Marani.”

‘‘ Dangerous as an enemy, but a serviceable friend, I should
fancy, General. , At least, Don Lucas found him such.”

“ And what do you propose, my good Garcia?’

“Yonder was the farm-house burned last night,” said the
alcalde, as they reached a point in the road from which could
be seen the stil smoking ruins of Murillo’s mansion, “Tt
will give you an idea of how Marani executes his work.
Suppose, General, that we turn off toward theruins. Itisa
THE BURNING RUINS. yey 4

place where one may converse in safety. These thick woods
often have ears, and some things are as well kept secret.”

“You say well, Garcia. Let us approach the place,”
answered he who has been called Don Mariano, spurring his
horse toward the ruined buildings. The alcalde’s mule kept
pace, and, in a brief space of time, the two had diverged from
the main road, and arrived in the vicinity of the ruin,

Tt was now noon ; the air was sultry, and a dead stillness
reigned oyer the scene. The dependents of Murillo had
sought refuge ina distant part of the farmer’s possessions.
The mansion and out-buildings were completely destroyed,
nothing now meeting the eye but blackened and tottering
rafters, where, yesterday, stood a peaceful cluster of houses.
A few dull wreaths of smoke curled upward from the
smoldering fragments; and, as Garcia and his companion
rode around the walls, a breath of hot air came from the still
burning foundation of the building.

But all was silent as the grave beneath the bright sunbeams.
Naught was visible but the tokens of destruction.

“ What was this man’s object ?” asked Don Mariano, as he
contemplated the scene.

“ Plunder, doubtless,” answered Garcia ; “though I have
learned that Murillo’s daughter was carried off by the band.”

“ Atrocious !? murmured Don Mariano.

“ Veryatrocious !” echoed Garcia. ‘Nevertheless, General,
this Marani is just the man for our emergency.”

“Well, then, Garcia,” cried Don Mariano, turning his head
and fixing a keen glance upon the alcalde’s face, ‘let us hear
your suggestion. What do you propose in my emergency, as

ou term it ?”

“ First, tell me, Don Mariano, if you have not the support
of twenty thousand soldiers, provided—”

“Provided I pay for them? It is true,” answered Don
Mariano.

“ And to do this, you must have money?”

“That is equally true.”

‘‘ Marani can give you the money.”

What say you? A brigand prisoner! Ah ! as the price
of his liberty ?”

“Not quite so cheaply as that, General. Nevertheless

 
 

78 THE PEON PRINCE

Marani can procure you wherewith to replenish the military
chest, and enable you.to carry out your project, which I take
to be—excuse me, General—a new revolution.” E

“You are sanguine, Garcia. Does not your zeal outrun
your caution ?”

“‘T am aware, General, that money wrought the Dictator’s
fall. Your patriotism, Don Mariano, had a great deal to do
with it, I confess ; nevertheless, money, money was necessary.
Now, then, as Santa Anna is out of the way, your patriotism
is opposed to Herrera. More money (and patriotism of
course,) can ruin him. DolI make out my case?’

“You are Juan Garcia.”

“Thank you, General, for the compliment. Now. to
Marani.» He must provide the money.”

“ By what means?’

“ Taisten, Sefior. In three days, a large and valuable
caravan will cross the mountains. I have certain advices of
its approach. The traders have been unusually successful,
and a heavy amount of specie is in their possession—enough
doubtless, for your ‘emergency.’ It is true, these traders
possess Government protections ; but that, Don Mariano, will
be of little avail against brigands.”

“ T understand you, Garcia.”

“Whatis patriotism without, money ?’

“ But are you sure of this Marani’s fidelity ?”

“Entirely, though he must be allowed a, fair share of what
he earns.” ;

“You will stake your word that he does not betray us?”

“What has: he to gain by such a course? No, General.
In one week, or: less, you will thank Juan. Garcia. for. his
foresight. In a month, Herrera will—”

“ What is that !:0I heard a voice !” cried Don. Mariano.

“ Tt was but-a loose stone detached,” answered thealcalde,
“See! yonder wall totters. Look ! itis falling.”

As Garcia spoke, a fragment of blackened adobé fell from a
portion of the ruined house, and presently a mass of shattered
masonry surged downward, burying itself among the heaps
of smoking bricks, and throwing a cloud of dust and smoke
around and above.

And the next instant, half hidden by the thick atmosphere

es
f “e

DON FERRARDO’S SOLILOQUY, 79

the form of a man was dimly visible, and then disappeared
behind theruins. Garcia and his companion simultaneously
uttered an exclamation, and then galloped around the corner
of the house.

But no living thing was there, and all was quiet as before,

CHAPTER XV.
A PROPHET AND A FRIEND.

“T writ win Garcia’s fair niece, if there be any-truth in
woman,” soliloquized Don Ferrardo Nunez, as he permitted
his steed to walk leisurely along the road, after a hard gallop
of a mile from his quarters. ‘“I can see plainly that the
crafty alealde is ambitious, and will, doubtless, look coldly
enough, when it comes to the point, upon a poor cavalier of
fortune like myself. But the maiden—ay, she loves me, and,
by St. Jago! methinks both of us are a match for the
guardian !”

Thus run the Don’s thoughts upon the niece of Garcia.
With the fertile imagination of a young lover, he already
pictured the consummation of all his wishes. Little cared
the light-hearted soldier of the opposition of a dozen Garcias
so long as he felt himself beloved by the lady; therefore,
nothing appeared easier to his mind than winning the Donna
[sabella.

“Faith ! why should I not turn my own mind to polities ?”
ruminated the young Captain. ‘‘ ‘ Where there’s meat for one,
there’s meat for two,’ says the proverb, and I see no reason
why Ferrardo Nunez should not thrive on that which makes
Garcia fat. I will begin to school myself now, and take note
of things about me; and it shall go hard, but, between my
sword and my brain, I’ll find wherewith to secure my ends.
Oh, for a right bloody war, where brave men might cut their
path to honor ! War! ay, that’s the lottery for him whose

urse is of the lightest,” cried the young officer, making his
hae suddenly bound beneath an emphatic stroke of the spur.

« War is indeed a great lottery,” said a measured voice at

 
 

80 THE PEON PRINCE.

Don Ferrardo’s elbow. The Captain drew rein quickly, and
beheld, standing at the roadside, the figure of Zumozin’ the
Serf. 01

“ Ha! do we meet again!” cried the officer, ‘ You are
he whom—”

“Of whom Juan Garcia bade you beware,” said the Serf,
calmly. “Is it not strange that an alcalde should caution a
soldier against a poor slave ?”

“Tn the devil’s name, Zumozin, how knew you of this
caution? Are you a wizard?” ;

“Should I be Garcia’s slave if I had power to release
myself?” said the Peon, bitterly. “Iam no wizard, Don
Ferrardo, yet I can perchance predict your destiny.

“TJ should not object to that, Sir Peon, provided always
the destiny be a good one.” :

“Tt is such as but now formed the burden of your thoughts
—blood—crime—misery !”

“ An agreeable prospect, truly, Sefior Zumozin. But you
are wrong; such lugubrious subjects have not possessed my
mind to-day.”

“Ha!” exclaimed the Serf, with a vehemence that startled
his hearer; “have they not, Don Ferrardo? What, then,
was that word which broke from your lips, as if it were the
utterance of your wildest impulse? War—war! Was it
that you prayed for, Don Ferrardo Nunez? And is net war
all that I have named—blood, crime, misery ?”

The soldier was silent beneath the flashing eyes of the
Peon.

“Such shall be your life,” continued Zumozin.

“ And with war will come, at least, honor,” said Nunez.
“Let the blood, the misery, be the lot of those who provoke
and merit them—come what may, my sword shall be stained
with no crime, But go on, prophet of my destiny. When
shall be these wars of which you speak? For, by the sword
of the Cid! my own steel is growing rusty for want of use !”

“Tt will come—nay, it is here now?” answered the Serf.

“Faith ! there is little sign of war, with good-natured,
peace-loving Herrera at the helm of state,” said Nunez.

“ And Don Mariano Paredes at the head of the army,”
evied the Peon, suddenly, “And Don Antonio Lopez de

 

3
 

 

THE SERFS PREDICTION. 81

Sanna Anna plotting at Havana. And Don Lucas Alaman
mixing potions at—’

“ Are you the devil himself?” interrupted Nunez, casting
a look of intense curiosity upon the calm features of the Peon,
who stood, with folded arms, on a slight bank at the roadside,
so that his head was nearly level with that of the soldier on
horseback. ‘‘ You tell me you area slave—a miserable bond-
servant of the alcalde Garcia—yet I have heard you speak
different tongues like a scholar, and here you talk of Generals,
Presidents, and Administradoes, as if you had been a statesman
all your life. In the evil one’s name, what are you ?”

“T shall speak no further, Don Ferrardo, if it pleases you
not. But I predict war—war, that will plunge Mexico in
mourning—that will depopulate her towns, ruin hercommerce,
massacre her sires, and outrage her daughters! Does the
prediction satisfy you, Don Ferrardo ?’

* And why, Zumozin, do you tell this to me? You surely
talk not thus among Garcia’s servants?” :

An expression of alarm for a moment spread over the
Peon’s face, as he answered :

“Don Ferrardo, war is at our doors. Your path of destiny
lies through fields of blood, through danger, and destruction ;
where the demon of battle rages with fiercest fury, there will
be the soldier Nunez ; and beside him, will be—’

“Whom?” gasped the young officer, strangely agitated by
the demeanor and words of his singular companion. ‘ Who
will be beside me?’

“Zumozin the Serf!” was the Peon’s reply, almost
whispered, but uttered in a tone which thrilled the very air
around,

For some moments Don Ferrardo contemplated his com-
panion with earnest attention. He scrutinized the expression
of the Serf’s countenance, surveyed his manly form, and the
singular grace which characterized his demeanor, and dwelt
in recollection upon the curious traits that had thus far been
developed in the man’s character. He remembered, likewise,
Garcia’s words in regard to his servant, words which he could
not but reflect had been evasive of his own question. Inthe
end, he remained as much puzzled as ever,

“Your speech is strange |” at length spoke Don Ferrardo

 
 

82 @HE PEON PRINCE.

tothe Peon. ‘How can you be beside me, in the fierce bat-
tles which you predict? Are you not a serf, and does, not
the alcalde Garcia control your actions?”

Zumozin’s eyes rested calmly on the soldier.

“T obey a higher power than Garcia will—one to which
Don Ferrardo Nunez pays willing homage.”

“How say you? 1?”

“Even so, Sefior. For in what would you not obey the
lady Isabella ?”

Had the Serf suddenly smitten the soldier’s face, the latter
could scarcely have exhibited greater surprise than at this
simple question. The blood mounted hotly to his face, his
hands trembled, and he seemed for a moment to be in danger
of falling from his horse, so strangely did the mere mention
of his lady’s name affect him. It was not, indeed, her name,
but rather the lips which uttered it, that caused such emotion,

“Tn the name of heaven, what do you mean, Serf? Zumo-
zin, what have you to do with the lady Isabella?”

The Peon’s head drooped, and his eyes sought the ground.

“ Alas!” he murmured, ‘“ what, indeed, have I to do with
the high-born and beautiful lady?” Then, in a moment chang-
ing his tone, and lifting his head, “Soldier !” he said, in the

deep, earnest voice which was natural to him, “TI, a serf—a
slave—have yet the soul to feel gratitude. The lady Isabella
has been kind to her uncle’s slaves—I pity my brethren, and
remember kindness.”

The last was uttered with a subdued feeling which touched
the heart of Don Ferrardo. The Peon continued :

“ Soldier, I have long known that you love my master’s
noble niece. Did I deem you unworthy of her, I would not
be here now, to say to you what I alone have learned—”

“Speak: what would you tell me?’ cried the young
officer, as the Peon paused for a moment.

“That she loves you /” said Zumozin, in a low voice.

Again Don Ferrardo started in his saddle, while his heart
beat wilder than if he had heard the blast of a battle trumpet.

“Loves me? Isabella loves me? How know you this?’

“Sefior, it is true! I know not if the noble lady has yet
confessed it to herstlf; but, on my life, Sefior, she loves you !
Behold, then, why Zumozin the Serf has sought Don Ferrardo
THE GUARD-HOUSE, 83

Nunez: * In gratitude to her whose kindness makes her very
name worshiped among my fellow-slaves, I have sworn to
devote myself to him she loves—to watch over his safety, to
shield his life—if need be, to sacrifice my own. in his behalf’

The lofty tone of enthusiasm in which his declaration was
uttered, the flashing, yet sorrowful eyes of the Peon raised to
heaven as he spoke, while his majestic form towered upward,
and his arm was outstretched, awakened all the generosity of
Don Ferrardo’s nature. He leaned from his saddle, and,
grasping the Serf’s hand, drew him to his bosom,

“Noble Zumozin !” he exclaimed, while tears gushed over
his manly cheeks, ‘ you shall be my friend, my brother. May
God make me worthy of this devotion.”

The Serf clasped the soldier to his heart, and thus fora
moment these two magnanimous men remained locked in
each other’sembrace. Strangers till this moment, one thrill
of sympathy had united them. The magnetism of true souls
had made them one,

CHAPTER VIL

A RACE FOR LIFE.

THE noontide heats beat down upon the military station in
the prison of which was now incarcerated the brigand chief,
Marani. The guard-house, a heavy fronted building, just
within the embankments which formed the rude defenses of
the place, was apparently the coolest spot to be found, inas-
much as its doors were shaded. by tall and thickly-branching
trees, beneath whose shelter were seated several soldiers, dis-
cussing the never-failing topics of war, gaming, and robbery.

‘‘ What think you, comrade, will be done with this rohbes
Marani?” drawled a lank specimen of the yellow Mexican
warrior, removing from his mouth a cigar which he had becn
lazily puffing. ;

“The garote, undoubtedly,” replied another, who reclined
at full length upon a patch of grass before the door, “Tix as

 
 

84 THE PEON PRINCE.

certain as fate ; though, for my part, I pity the wretch—he
was always such a daring fellow.”

“ No doubt of that,” said a third soldier. “ Many’s the
conducta he -and his band have rifled, under your very noses,
my comrades. To be sure, Marani was a gentlemanly brigand,
and never injured an innocent escort when he could have the
treasure without striking a blow. Ishall weep, mostcertainly,
when they pin his throat for him.”

“So will not our Captain, La Vega,” remarked the first
speaker. ‘It is said he has a personal quarrel with the rob-
_ ber chief, and will never rest satisfied till Marani’s doom is
sealed.”

“T know all about that,” said the soldier, who lay upon the
grass. “ There was a black-eyed Sefiorita in the case, and it
was doubtful, at one time, whether our Captain or Marani
would be the—”

“Hush !—there is that loon of a Yankee whom the Captain,
Nunez, has taken into confidence so suddenly. We had
better be mute before him, comrades.”

As the soldier spoke, he pointed to the figure of Putnam
Pomfret, which appeared ata short distance, approaching the
guard-house from another quarter of the station, with as care-
less and sauntering pace as if the worthy adventurer were at
the moment crossing a New England village green, instead of
a Mexican plaza.

“ The fellow is a spy,’’ muttered the soldier addressed,
watching the North American with no amiable expression
upon his swart features. But Pomfret, as he reached the
group, quietly drew a cigar fron his pocket, and holding it
out for a light toward the growling Mexican, remarked ;

“¥ hope this ’ere terbacker a’nt p’isoned. They tell orful
stories of sich things among your yeller chaps.”

Then, with a congratulatory grin, as he noticed the soldier
lying at full length upon the grass, Putnam threw himself
likewise beneath the shade-trees, and reaching out a handful
of cigars, invited the others to accept them,

“Take a smoke! Fire up! Guess they’re fust-raters, for
I got’em of the Capting. That ar’ Capting Nunez is a natural-
born hoss, no mistake. He and I take to one another jes’
like kittens—I tell you!”

 
QUESTIONING THE YANKEE. 85

“Tis fortunate for you, Sefior, that you are not sharing the
dungeon of your friends, the brigands, instead of smoking our
Captain’s cigars at your ease,” muttered one of the soldiers,
grufly. “Vl wager a dollar that this fellow knows more
about Marani than is honest—what say you, comrades?’
continued the speaker, appealing to the rest.

An assenting grunt was the response, but Pomfret, although
he perfectly understood what the soldier said, was not inclined
to take umbrage at the remark.

“Yaas !’ at length drawled he, emitting a succession of
smoke-rings from his open mouth. “It’s jes’ as you say, yal-
ler-skin! *“I'was kinder owin’ to me that the brigands got
sich an all-fired thrashin’. I tell you what, it takes a raal
Down Easter to come the giraffe over Ingens.”

The figurative language in which the stranger indulged,
compounded of equal parts of bad Spanish and tortured En-
glish, was not likely to convey to his companions a very lucid
idea of his meaning ; but, enough was intelligible to indicate
the fact that the stranger was prepared for cross-questioning.

“How happened it that you were with Marani’s band,
Sefior Americano ?”

“ How kin a feller get into bad kump’ny? I was taken
prisoner.”

“ And how did you escape, Sefior?”

“ Gin ’em leg bail.”

The Mexican was completely at fault in the endeavor to
interpret the last idiom of our Yankee, so he quickly changed
the subject.

“ How do you like our Captain, Don Ferrardo—eh, Sefior?’

“He keeps nice cigars, no mistake.”

“ Are you going to enlist with us?”

*©No, yaller-skin ; see you derned fust. I’m a free-born
citizen of the States, and don’t fight under nary colors but
the stars and stripes.”

“ What may they be, Sefior?”

“ Derned ignoramus, don’t ye know that gel-lorious flag ?
T kinder guess that ef you’d been down to San Jacinter, whar
Sam Houston gin the Mexicans partick’lar Jesse, you'd a-seen
that ar’ flag flyin’, and Sainty Anny makin’ tracks up an
apple-tree. Well, you would!”

 
 

 

86 THE PEON PRINCE,

The Mexican smiled at the Yankee’s vehement defense of
his country’s standard.

Pomfret proceeded to smoke his cigar in silence, returning
the stare of his dark-featured companions with a, glance of
conscious national superiority.

Thus passed a quarter of an hour, the various. figures
remaining grouped picturesquely, their half-naked bodies bared
to catch the least breeze that might stir for a moment the
sultry atmosphere. To the mongrel. soldiers, meanwhile,
Pomfret was an object of peculiar interest, his protection by
Don Ferrardo having generated a certain jealousy, which the
Yankee’s apparent shrewdness, and the evident contempt in
which he seemed to hold them, did in no measure diminish.

Within the guard-house, at the entrance of the passage
leading to the prison portion of the buildings, a single sentinel
leaned carelessly against the wall, clasping with one hand his
earabine, while in the other he held his heavy hat, which the
heat had compelled him to remove from his reeking brow.
His’eyes were directed toward the open window, through
which he could catch glimpses of waving woods and sheltered
valleys, contrasting an idea of coolness and shade with the
oppressive closeness of the fort. The grass-plot and trees
before the guard-house, where his companions were quietly
reposing, presented, likewise, a tantalizing picture. _,
©) But the sentinel, absorbed in his reflections, whether of
‘envy or not, was unconscious that a door had been noiselessly

‘opened in the interior passage, or that a tall figure was stealthily
approaching the spot where he stood. In an instant a strong
hand compressed his throat, and dashed him, stunned and
powerless, against the floor. ;
~ Putnam Pomfret, mouthing his cigar, and the soldiers
‘lying about the guard-house door, sprung simultaneously to
their feet atthe concussion produced by the sentinel’s fall!
but it was only to behold the stalwart form of Marani, the
brigand, who, grasping the carabine wrenched from the hand
of the guard, now brought it to bear on the group. Startled
suddenly from a careless siesta, without arms, and crowded
together at the guard-house door, the panic among the soldiers
was complete. They stood silent fora moment; then breaking
from the door, fled in all directions across the square,
THE BRIGAND’S ESCAPE, 87

Marani, with a laugh, sprung across the threshold, and
gained the open space that separated the guard-house from
the feeble barrier presented by the half-formed parapet.

Pomfret, rising with the rest, instantly comprehended the
brigand’s game. With a sudden bound, he leaped aside to a
stack of arms, shouting, at the same time, to the Mexicans,
to follow and recapture their prisoner. Marani beheld his
peril, and saw the Mexicans pause, and then hurry to arms.
As he gained the highest portion of the embankment, he saw
that Pomfret’s piece already covered his breast.

“ Surrender, Ingen!” shouted the Yankee. ‘ Sur-ren-der !
or you're a gone critter! Shoot ye, sure as you live !”

Marani answered by almost instantly discharging his own
piece. The ball struck Pomfret’s gunstock and glanced aside.

“ Je-ru-sa-lem! what a critter!’ exclaimed the Yankee, as
the brigand disappeared beyond the embankment. “But
come on, greasers! we'll capture him yet,” shouted the gallant
fellow, as he dashed after the fugitive.

“Come back! You are mad! He is the devil!” were the
confused eries which arose from the soldiers; but Pomfret
was already out of hearing, in full chase of the brigand, whe
had diverged from the open road into the intricacies of the
wooded mountain, and kept on at full speed, though aware
that he was followed by but one man. ;

Our Yankee, however, had lived and moved among the
Green Mountains of his native State ; and to dash vigorously.
through a tangled thicket, leap a barrier of fallen logs, or
bound over a sunken chasm, was to him but a renewal of
boyhood’s sports.

Marani, on his part, skilled in all the hazards of his wild
life, knew that his main chance of safety lay in keeping within
the covert of the forest; and he hoped that his own more
familiar acquaintance with both valley and mountain would,
ere long, baffle any pursuer.

‘Halt, ye consarned Ingen, or I’ll shoot!” yelled Pomfret
to the brigand, as the latter, after reaching the woody road,
dashed boldly from its protection, and struck in a direct line
for the rocky sides of the mountain, near which commenced
a narrow defile, leading by many windings to the outlaw’s
retreat, In doing this, he necessarily exposed himself to the

 

 

 
 

   
 

  

88 THE PEON PRINCE,

aim of his pwrsuer, who was rapidly shortening the remaining
distance between them,

“ Halt, or I'll shoot!”

Marani stopped suddenly, and possessing himself of a heavy
fragment of rock, hurled the missile at his foe! It was well
aimed, but the nimble Pomfret avoided it, and with a
* whoop!” brought his piece to bear upon the fugitive.

Marani crouched at the base of the rocks, and with a
sinuous motion, dragged himself rapidly forward. Confounded
by this maneuver, Pomfret paused in his aim, affording the
brigand time to reach a shelving cliff, and disappear over its
face. Pomfret darted forward, expecting to find the robber
at bay, for to all appearance the projecting cliff was a barrier
which cut off all approach to the mountain. But hardly had
he passed the rock, when, instead of a brigand at bay, he
beheld a long and tenantless pass, and the next moment fell
to the ground under the weight of the robber, who, gainng
a shelf of the cliff, leaped from it upon his too eager pursuer.

Our hero fell, his head striking the hard rock. It was but
the work of a moment for Marani to wrest. the still loaded
carabine from his grasp, and then, disengaging himself, to
level it at his late pursuer. Pomfret’s fate seemed, to him-
self at least, to be sealed ; but not so decided Marani. Accus-
tomed to form his plans almost instantaneously, he quickly
saw that the loaded musket in his hands might aid his esca .e
more certainly than the death of his foe. He therefore
contented himself with dealing a blow upon the Yankee’s
head, which laid him senseless upon the rocks, Then,
shouldering his carabine, Marani sped on his course.

Thus Pomfret’s headlong chase resulted only in mischance
to himself. He lay upon the bare rocks, with blood stream-
ing from a deep wound in his forehead, his consciousness
completely gone. The sun glared fiercely upon him, and it
wasmanifest that, if he should not perish from the loss of blood,
he might finally experience a more horrible fate in his exposure
on this unsheltered hill-side. But our friend’scareer wasnot yet
finished, for seomingly, Providence ordained his preservation,

The echo of the retreating brigand’s fect had but died in
the distance, when through the wood, in the direction of the
valley, approached the tall figure of Zumozin, returning from

 

ii
 

THE HACTENDA OF JUAN GARCIA. 89

his interview with Don Ferrardo Nunes. The serf advanced
with his usual firm stride, and was about to enter the
mountain pass, when Pomfret’s bleeding form attracted his
attention. He recognized at once the foreigner with whom
he had conversed on the previous night, after discovering him
in a similar precarious condition. Stooping over the insen-
sible man, he endeavoured to arouse him to consciousness,
but in vain. A death-like stupor possessed the stranger's
senses, and his face was pallid as a corpse.

“The poor wretch is dying,” cried the Peon. “He must
be removed from this frightful heat.”

Saying this, he raised Pomfret in his arms, with as much
apparent ease as the latter would have lifted a rifle, and
strode forward, though thus burdened, with a step as majestic
as usual. He did not, however, follow the narrow pass for a
great distance, but, diverging from the rocks, struck across
the open plain toward another line of woodland skirting
the base of a hill at some distance from the ‘ Outlaw’s
Mount.” ‘

Pomfret gave no evidence, save bya faint flutter of his pulse,
that he still possessed life ; nevertheless, Zumozin slackened
not pace till he had threaded the woodland, and ascended an
eminence at its other extremity. Arrived here, the serf
paused a moment, and looked downward over the plain.

CHAPTER 2 Y IT.
THE PEON ZUMOZIN.

A scENE of varied interest was visible from the woody
height. Afar off appeared a beautiful mansion, surrounded
by trees, and presenting from this point the softened outlines
of a charming picture. It was the hacienda of Juan Garcia,
the alealde, completely embowered in a thick grove, the rear
of which was bordered by a graceful slope of lawn extending
to theriver’s bank. The stream itself, at a distance of a quarter
of a mile from the house, fell abrzptly over a precipice, forming

 

 

 
 
  

90 THE PEON PRINCE.

a succession of broken cascades, and turning, at right angles
from its previous course, to lose itself in a deep and narrow
glen. Thus the hacienda was hemmed on two sides by the
water, the sloping bank at its rear, and at its right a steep,
shelving cliff, beneath which, at the depth of a hundred feet,
flowed the river on its passage to the somber glen.

On the left of the mansion, the possessions of Juan Garcia
extended for miles through the valley, diverging. from the
river, which approached ‘the dwelling with a wide curve.
Alternate marks of meadow, woodland and plantation, all
bearing marks of careful supervision and labor, relieved the
eye, and exhibited one source of their possessor’s wealth,
while, as if in contrast, a rift in the plain presented, as in a
sort of valley, a collection of huts, which were the abodes of
peons, and immediately around which the land was naked
and sterile.

Thus a stranger, standing upon the table-land above the
hacienda, might behold an illustration of the two extremes
of Mexican existence. The mansion, embowered in care-
fully-trimmed and ornamental vegetation, with sloping lawns,
was a perfect picture of rural luxury; while at a distance, the
small gap of desert soil, crowded with miserable huts, and
parched by the direct beams of a scorching sun, denoted the
absence of nearly all enjoyment, and the paralyzing effects of
abject, unrequited servitude.

There were at least a hundred huts dotting the barren
plateau ; Sefior Juan Garcia was master of three hundred
human beings, who dwelt in them.

Beyond and apart from the luxurious mansion were
sterility and miasma.

The hot sunbeams darted fiercely, like a shower of fire,
upon the very places where stood the peon dwellings, the
huts of Garcia’s bond-slaves.

But the hacienda was beautiful, and nature smiled uponit.
There dwelt the master.

Downward upon the desert and the peon huts—which
were indeed his home—the serf, Zumozin, gazed. Then

slowly, with the form of the wounded Yankee in his arms, .

he descended to the barren plateau.

   
 

    

 

{
|
THE PRIEST HERRATA, 91

Tt was now some hours after midday, and the heat was at
its greatest point. No sign of life appeared around the
squalid huts which Zumozin approached. The tenants, save
alone the bedridden and infants, were now ‘toiling in their
master’s fields, or in a factory which he had established upon
the river some three miles from the hacienda. To this fac-
tory; a/novel experiment at that time, the greater portion of
the debtors who inhabited this village repaired at éarly dawn,
there to toil till sunset, when receiving their rations of food,
they were permitted to return home to their miserable rest.

Zumozin was not subjected to this factory labor, but, with
about two score others, Indians like himself, was charged
with the keeping of large droves of cattle which Garcia
pastured in the mountains, and which, reared for the annual
markets, were a source of much profit to their owner's
coffers.

The serf, until he reached the age of fifteen, had been
numbered among the house dependents of the alealde, and at
that age, from some whim of his master, or because, as many
thought, of a fierce quarrel which arose between Garcia and
the boy, had been transferred at once from the hacienda “to:
the mountains, and placed in the degrading position of a herd:
boy, among the half-wild Indian peons. Previously to this, |
the youth had been thought a favorite of his master, and had:
enjoyed many privileges unknown to others of his class.’»Ine
fact, during his early boyhood he had been allowed to: share
in the lessons which the alcalde’s niece, Isabel, received from
her tutor, a priest, who resided in the house of Garcia, and
who, discovering the boy’s aptitude for study, took pleasure
in cultivating his youthful mind. From him, Zumozin had
received the first rudiments of an education, which, after his
banishment to the mountains, he had learned to cultivate with
every means in his power.

To the priest, Herrata, indeed, the Peon was indebted for
that knowledge of foreign tongues which had: so astonished
the soldier Nunez. And such lore as this was not the extent
of information which the boy had gathered from his clerical
friend.

Padre Herrata was a patriot, in the highest sense of the
syord. Descended, on his mother’s side, from the pure-blooded

 

 
   
 

 
  

92 " ‘HE PEON PRINCE.

natives of the upper regions of Mexico, the priest inherited
much of that defiant spirit which marks the Mexican
who is untainted by the blood and influence of his European
oppressors—a spirit impatient of the unnatural restrictions
which caste winds around the people. He had been born
under Spanish despotism, and lived to behold the foreign
tyrants driven from his country ; but, alas! had also lived to
witness the distracted counsels of even her liberators, and to
mark clique after clique of Republican despots possess the
rule of his unhappy land, while her people, unfreed by their
conflicts, unblessed by their sufferings, were still, as ever, the
prey of oppressors—ruthless, though petty tyrants, who, by
monopoly, extortion and rapacity, ‘amassed the wealth which

properly belonged to those whose labor and struggles had _

opened the avenues to industry and commerce.

From this patriotic priest, as he recapitulated his country’s
history, and bewailed her fate, Anselmo Zumozin had early
imbibed a hatred of oppression im all its forms, and had,
moreover, felt awakened within him thoughts and impulses of
which even the good padre was quite unaware. Their precise
character or tendency, Zumozin himself could not explain ;
but, their effect seemed to bring about a crisis, which, as we
have seen, at the age of fifteen years banished the boy from
his master’s dwelling to the labors of the mountain, and the
companionship of half-civilized men. This crisis was, as was
shrewdly divined among the peons, a quarrel with the alcalde,
in which the latent spirit of the Jad had flashed up so sud-
denly as to startle Garcia from his usual equanimity, and
induce him to cut off his servant at once and forever from all
advantages of civilized intercourse ; while Padre Herrata, for
the part he had taken in developing the boy’s spirit, was like-
wise favored with a polite intimation that his services were
no longer needed at the hacienda. Thus it was, that, in his
fifteenth year, Zumozin had become a herd-boy, and the
patriotic priest, his teacher, had lost the favor of the alcalde.
What afterward had befallen the Padre Herrata, Anselmo
could never learn, but he still cherished the liveliest gratitude
for the good man’s early care and instruction.

But to return to the rude huts of the village, one of which
the serf had just entered. It was of no larger proportions

   
A NOTE FOR ISABEL, 93

and not a whit more comfortable than the hovels which sur-
rounded it, but it possessed the advantage of being unshared
by any other debtor. In one~corner, upon the brown earth,
lay a few skins of oxen, which served for Anselmo’s couch.
A. rude table and stool, with a few cooking utensils, and
dishes, constituted the remainder of the furniture of the
dwelling.

Into this hut Zumozin bore the Yankee. Placing him
gently upon the couch, he proceeded to examine his injuries.
The blow that Marani dealt was severe, but its direct force had
evidently been parried by the haste with which it was dealt.

Zumozin washed the wound and bathed the other bruises.
In a few moments he enjoyed the satisfaction of beholding
his patient’s return to consciousness. Carefully bandaging his
forehead, and disposing him comfortably upon the rude bed,
Zumozin. watched beside him until a soothing slumber began
to steal over the sufferer’s senses. Then noiselessly leaving
the hut, he took his course across the barren stretch toward
the river’s bank and the deep glen, beyond which was situated
the hacienda of Juan Garcia, whither we will precede him.

CHAPTER XVIII.
UNCLE AND NIECE.

Tw an elegant apartment of the alcalde’s mansion, adorned
with all that a cultivated taste might covet, sat, or rather
reclined, upon a silken couch, a female clad in a light blue
robe, which flowed in graceful folds around her person.
Through an open window a heavy atmosphere of aromatic
odors floated into the room. The window looked out upon a

rospect of nature’s loveliness at her most gladsome season.
Amid the tall, straight trees, might be caught glimpses of
quiet, shaded hillocks, clustering thickets of luxuriant flowers,
and sheets of shining water falling over abrupt rocks, or
gliding serenely between grassy banks. The murmur of dis-
tant cascades came musically from the woods and from the

Si

 
    

 
  

94 THE PEON PRINCE.

low glen; and the fragrance of the flowers, cooled “bya
gentle breeze, wooed the lady seemingly into pleasant dreams,
for she became still and thoughtful as if in a heart-revery.

Suddenly a man glided from the quiet glen, and reaching
the corner of the hacienda, stood, concealed by the clustering
vines, gazing through the leaves upon the unconscious
dreamer. It was Zumozin, the serf.

‘With arms crossed upon a breast swelling as if agitated by
violent thought, the serf looked long wpon the lady. At last,
with a sigh, he shrunk back, and, drawing a silken packet
from the folds of his. coarse garment, flung it through the
open casement.

The lady, startled from her revery, beheld the clustering
foliage shaken as by the wind. She rose from the couch, and
gazed anxiously out upon the balcony. Zumozin was closely
screened by the foliage, and watched the lady’s motions. As
Isabel looked out, Juan arene appeared at the door of her
room.

The alcalde stood siclibiates a moment, his restless glance
wandering from his niece’s form to every object in the room.
Suddenly it fell upon the packet which had fallen upon the
couch. Zumozin beheld his master steal noiselessly across
the floor, and possessing himself of the packet, retire as quietly
. to the door, his departure, like his entrance, unheard. by: the
maiden, who, disappointed in her scrutiny, now newt from
the casement, and resumed her seat.

A frown overspread Garcia’s usually smiling face, as, igi
ing the string which confined the purloined missive, he
perused its contents:

“Senora Isanet:—Let me behold thee but for one moment
at early twilight, in the wood behind the hacienda. I have
much to say to thee, FERRARDO.”

“Ha!” was Garcia’s long-drawn exclamation, muttered
between his clenched teeth, as he read these few words.

Crumbling the silk in his hand, he paused for a moment
to reflect.

“Tt must be broken,” at last he murmured, “else my
schemes fall to the dust. My niece shall no-longer trifle. I
must be speedy in that which I have to do.”

Smoothing his ruffled countenance into bis habitual calm,

   

 
  

A GAY SEASON ANNOUNCED. 95

Garcia thrust the packet into his pocket, and then, with
measured steps, returned to Isabel’s presence.

““T returned from my morning ride sooner than I expected,
and have immediately sought my sweet niece, especially as I
have something to communicate which will doubtless interest
her.”

The lady instinctively resumed an unconscious haughtiness
of demeanor, but made no reply. Garcia proceeded :

“We leave for the capital to-morrow morning.”

“Indeed! It is somewhat sudden, Sefior.”

“ Are you not weary of this seclusion, Isabel ?”

“T can not confess so much. Quiet is not unpleasant.”

Garcia's lips curled, and he seemed inclined to hazard a
remark, which, on second thought, he repressed.

“Tt will bea gay season in Mexico, if rumour speaks truly.
lL anticipate great changes in the reign of fashion, if not in
other reigns.”

“Truly, Sefior, you are freighted with gossip. What, I
pray you, may result from the change of which you speak ?”

“ What say you, fair niece of mine, to a court and royalty ?”
Not like the mock empire of my poor friend Iturbide, but a
substantial—”

“ And pray, Sefior, what have I to do with all this?’
inquired the maiden, with a look of well-feigned surprise.

Garcia bit his lips, and remained silent.

“Probably another of your important secrets, Sefior,’
remarked the lady, in a careless tone.

Then, assuming an air of vexation, she continued :

“T shall be rejoiced when this reign of mystery, under
which I live, can give place to something else, be it what it
will.”

*‘ Your wish may be gratified sooner than you expect, my
lovely niece,” remarked the alealde, dryly.

Isabel betrayed impatience.

“Well, I shall be ready to accompany you to-morrow,
Sejior,” she said, pointedly, turning her face away from the
alealde.

“Many thanks, sweet niece,” returned Garcia, raising the
maiden’s hand to his lips, without appearing to notice her
marked indifference to his presence. “At early: dawn, if it
please you, we will away.”

   
   
 
 
 
 
   
   
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 

96 THE PEON PRINCE.

The alcalde then, with a parting obeisance, retired from the
saloon, and Isabel, leaning her forehead upon her white hand,
became speedily immersed in thought.

When Garcia had crossed the threshold of the apartment,
he half turned, and raised his finger threateningly at the
unobservant Isabel.

«Proud girl,” he muttered, “I will mold your destiny to
my purposes. To-morrow you shall be far out of the reach
of this adventurer, Ferrardo Nunez.”

The serf had witnessed and heard all. He now glided
from his concealment, and noiselessly threading the garden,
penetrated to the patch of woodland immediately in the rear
of the mansion. This woodland was not wild and irregular
like that which bordered the mountain, but exhibited the
works of the gardener’s skill. The undergrowth had been
removed, and the twilight shadows fell over smooth grass
thinned to velvet softness by constant care, while the lower
branches of the trees were trimmed in symmetric proportion.
Even the thick, spinous leaves of the aloe, which upon the
mountain grew in tangled and hedgy closeness, were here
separated and trained into distinct masses, from which the
pyramidal clusters of flowers issued in luxuriant beauty.
Avound the trunks of many of the trees crept the night-flower-
ing cactus, whose magnificent blossoms were just opening
to receive the brillant kisses of the moon, its mistress, . And
from the gardens which, extending from one extremity of this
wood, half-encircled the mansion, was wafted. the aroma of a
thousand rare plants exhaling with the dews of eve.

Tt was a paradise, this country-seat of the alcalde Garcia.
‘Such a paradise as wealth procures for the most unworthy of
the human family—such a paradiseas is denied, upon. this
earth, to the best and noblest of God’s creatures.

Thus reflected Zumozin, as he paused, and beheld another
figure advance, whom he recognized as Don Ferrardo
Nunez.

“Ah! Zumozin, did you convey to her my letter?”

“ Tt is to inform you of the result of my attempt to do so
that Iam here,’ returned the serf.

Then, in a few words, he related the particulars of the
interview which he had witnessed between Garcia and his
niece.
THE YANKEE DISCOURAGED. 97

“ But will not Isabel see me? Will she depart without one
word ?”

“ Behold !” said the serf, pointing, as he spoke, to a light
form which at this moment appeared atthe edge of the wood.
“Has not this been your trysting-place, Don Ferrardo ?
Doubt not she comes, though expecting not your presence,
Ferrardo ! brother ! farewell !”

With these words, the serf grasped his friend’s hand,
pressed it to his heart, and then, returning to the Padre
Herrata and the Yankee, he led them from the wood.

CHAPTER XTX.

A PRIEST AND A DESTINY.

Puryam Pomrrer lay upon the Peon’s rude bed, and be-
side him sat Anselmo himself. The Yankee, much renovated
by slumber, now exhibited some of his natural animation,
replying to the serf’s questions by a detail of the incidents
which had led to his last escapade.

“ And the next time I hunt a yaller-skin through these ’ere
woods, may I be busted!” was the remark with which Pomfret
concluded his recital.

“Tt was a rash attempt,” said the Peon. ‘ Marani is too
well acquainted with the forest ; and had you fallen into the
power of his band again, your escape would not have been
easy.”

“’Spect not,” returned Pomfret. The critters don’t owe
me any good-will, that’sa fact. I guess I’ll take your advice,
stranger, and make tracks out o’ these ere diggins fast as pos-
sible. Id kinder like to see that ’ere Capting Nunez, how-
ever. He’s a good feller, IT reckon.”

«“ You had better pursue your route to the capital, without
returning to the station,” replied the Peon. “The soldiers
look with no favor upon you. I heard more than one threat
ainst you in yonder guard-room.”

“You did?” cried the Yankee. “ Tow in time could you
hear what was goin’ on up yonder?” 4

ag:

 

 
 

98 THE PEON PRINCE.

“T was there,” quietly replied the serf—“those drowsy
soldiers little know when the slave Zumozin listens to their
reckless prattle. “Tis not the first time I have scaled yon
rocks beind the barracks,”

“ And are you a slave, stranger ?”

“Such am I held in law,” answered the Peon, bitterly.

“Wall, now, you're a nateral fool to be so. -I should
like to see’em makin’ a slave o’ Put Pomfret, unless they
chained up his legs with iron balls. Jerusalem! why don’t
ye make tracks? I'll stan’ by ye, and see ye safe through,
J will.”

“Thanks !” said Zumozin, with a faint smile as he noticed
the Yankee’s enthusiasm, ‘The time may come when
Zumozin shall be free.”

“The time will come,” said a voice at the door of the
hut, and turning suddenly, the Peon beheld the figure of
a man past the middle age, with features of much nobleness,
though the traces of care and suffering were legible in their
many lines. He wore acoatof dark-brown cloth, of a coarse
texture, reaching below his knees, and bound by a cord
about the waist. His head was covered by a round felt hat,
which, thrown back from his forehead, reyealed his coun-
tenance, whereon the beams of the declining sun were falling
mildly.

Zumozin cast one glance, and then, witha burst of joy that
seemed the welling up of long-pent feelings, sprung from the
‘Yankee’s side, and threw himself into the extended arms of
the stranger.

“ Padre Herrata !”

“ Anselmo, my boy !”

Long and fervid was that embrace on the part of the Peon
and his. long-lost. teacher. , Ii, seemed like the meeting, of
father and son, so,warm was; their mutual clasp, so endear-
ing the expression which seemed to break spontaneously from
their lips,

When, at length, after gazing fondly in the face of the
young man, as if to recall every feature of his boyhood, the
priest mastered in some degree his emotion, and contented
himself with retaining the serf’s hand within his own, Zumozin
spoke ;

a

_
a

   

   

THE SERF AND THE PADRE.

“My more than father, do I again behold thee? I have
prayed for this blessed hour.”

“ Anselmo, the good God reunites us, no more to part till
I have fulfilled a creat trust committed to me. My boy, you
must leave this place, and go with me.”

“Whither, my father?”

“To Mexico, But who is yonder man?” inquired the
padre in a lower tone, noticing for the first time that they
were not alone.

“A stranger, father; but, fear him not, for he is not of the
race of our oppressors; he will not betray our confidence.”

“No, by thunder, that I won't,” criedthe Yankee. “Put Pom-
fretnever playsfalsetoa friend, Ingenor not. And you’reatrue
friend, for you've saved this critter’s life more’n once a’ready.”

Zumozin acknowledged the Yankee’s expression of grati-
tude by an inclination of the head, and then, turning to the
priest, remarked:

“We need fear nothing, Padre Herrata.”

“Well, my son, I would have you set out at once with me
from this place for the capital. On our way I will reveal
much that concerns you. My boy, there is a God in heaven,
who hears the ery of the oppressed.”

“ As you have often assured me, father,” returned Zumozin.
“T know not new for what purpose you would conduct
me from this place. But, Padre Herrata! my earliest friend!

tmy teacher, to whom I owe all that I am, I know that to

obey your command is to follow the will of God.”

“ Enough, my boy. May heaven direct us both,” said the
priest solemnly. “And now, Anselmo, in this, the hour of
our reunion, it-is meet that we give praise unto our Father
in heaven.” ;

Kneeling on the floor of the hut, in which attitude Zumo- -
zin likewise sunk, the Padre Herrata lifted his hands, and
poured forth an earnest prayer. The wounded Yankee
looked on in silent sympathy, while the deep tones of the
priest’s voice arose upon the air, and the golden sunbeams
glanced in a halo around his placid brow, Juan Garcia had
no power to check that fervent prayer in his serf’s hut.
 

100 THE PEON PRINCE,

CHAPTER XX,
ZUMOZIN THE KING.

THE setting sun, disappearing behind the western barriers
of the valley, cast a parting gleam upon that desert plateau,
whereon were scattered the forlorn huts of the peons. The
little hamlet was not quiet, as at midday, for its population,
released from their daily toils, had returned to their dwellings,
and were occupied in preparing their evening meals, from the
_ scanty supplies allowed them by their overseers.

There was every variety of character to be discovered
among these unfortunates; for poverty embraces in its sad
list all shades of experience, and all descriptions of nature.

Here were collected men and woman of a dozen different
races. The degraded representative of European lineage side
by side with the vagabond Mestizo and the half-savage Indian.
The latter class, however, predominated in numbers, and alse \
in character, exhibiting less of the stolid indifference or
despairing submission which marked the others, and giving
token of unbroken spirit, even in their dependent situation.

Many of these latter were, at the present time, engaged in
apparently careless sport; some casting stones at a rude
target erected in some quarter of the village; others dancing
a fandango, and others, again, chanting a not unmusical
chorus, keeping measured time by beating sticks against the
walls of their huts.

Altogether, the peon village presented an: appearance of
mirth, which ‘might have impressed an unreflecting stranger
with an idea that’ ity inhabitants were ver y contented with
their lot,

Perhaps it is a wise provision of divine care, that the
human heart, even in its severest trials, has yet the faculty of
drawing some flecting good from the midst of its hard
endurance. The wretched captive in his dungeon may be
cheated out of sad reflections by the distant whistle of a bird,
the gambols of a tame mouse or spider, or, perchance, the
transitory presence of a sunbeam gleaming through his prison

---- =e
DEPARTURE (FOR ‘THE CAPITAL. 101

hars. So, likewise, the captive of cruel fate, the slave of
circumstance and victim of oppression, whether he be helot,
or peor, or human. chattel, may and will find evanescent
enjoynients even in the extremes. ofhis misfortunes.

Zumozin stood at the door of bis hut, his hand clasped in
that of his restored friend, Padre Herrata, Both looked upon
thescene with emotion. Both felt the mockery of the apparent
enjoyment which they witnessed.

Ata little distance from them stood the Yankee, leaning
against a;corner of the hut. , His head was still bandaged,
but, savean unusual paleness of his countenance, he appeared
to suffer little from the effects of his severe experience during
the last twenty-four hours... Indeed, Put Pomfret’s constitu-
tion was of ‘the toughest nature, and. his wiry frame capable
of enduring and: resisting as much hardship as. that of any
brigand. He had been accustomed to exposure and fatigue,
and ‘somewhat familiar with hard blows from boyhood, and
his» checkered: life, thus far, as. woodsman, farmer, hunter,
and sailor, had taught him to. regard with equanimity such
incidents of travel as resulted. in his present familiarity with
different phases of Mexican. life, Consequently, Pomfret, on
being made acquainted with the intention of Zumozin to
depart: that night with the Padre Herrata for the capital,
had.at once: mustered resolution.and strength, and declared
his intention of accompanying them, i

The sun had now totally vanished from the valley, and the
evening was closing in. Zumozin called toa young man who
stood: near him, and who, by his complexion, was likewise of
the Indian race :

“Tebayo, come hither,”

The youth was at his side in a moment, and awaiting with
evident:deference the serf’s further speech.

“Tebayo, summon together our brothers, and repair to the
Sacred House as soon as the moon is risen, I willawait you.”

The young Indian made an inclination of the body, lifting
his hand to his forehead, and answered in a strange tongue,
Then, turning quickly, he mingled with his companions.

Zamozin exchanged a meaning smile with the padre, and
beckoning to Pomfret to follow, strode rapidly away from the

huts. The priest kept by his side.

 
102 THE PEON PRINCE,

The Yankee, though able to walk, was still extremely
weak, and suffering acute pain from the bruises which he had
received, Nevertheless, he contrived to ke eep up with: the
serf and his friend, tl hough unable to take part in or compre-
hend their conv ersation, , which was carried on in the Indian
dialect, which is intelligible to very few even of the native
‘Mexicans.

The serf strode on with his companions, for some moments
after they had left the wood, without addressing a word to
either.

At length the Yankee, unaccustomed to preserve a long
silence, remarked, in his own vernacular :

“Wall, I rayther think this ’ere travelin’ scrape’ll about
gin me a decent plenty o’ furrin adventoor, In futur’, I
guess I'll stick to city trade, and not go roamin’ round over
the hull o’ creation.”

“We know not, my son, what our future may bring forth,”
remarked the padre, in pure English. “We are but instra-
ments in the hands of our Heavenly Father.”

“Jerusalem, mister, do you speak English ?’’ cried the
Yankee, stopping short, and staring at the priest with an odd
mixture of astonishment and delight. ‘“ Wall, now, I reckon
T’ve got on a soft place, seein’s how the hull of us can talk
like Christians. Give me your hand, ole feller; I’m proud
o your acquaintance, now I tell ye, ’cause I b’lieve you're a
good man.”

Saying this, the North American took the padre’s hand,
and would probably have proceeded to some livelier expres-
sion of satisfaction by a vigorous shaking of that member, had
not a severe pain which shot through his body reminded him
of the recent maltreatment he had undergone.

“ Tt’s no go,” cried poor Pomfret. “T hain’t got a morsel
of strength left. I do believe I ain’t enterprisin’ enough to
pick a raisin off its stem, by golly !”

And the Yankee, letting his hand drop by his side, made
a weak attempt to laugh at his own weakness.

“ Come, we have a league to walk,” said Zumozin, speaking
now for the first time since they had left Garcia’s wood.
“Tet us quicken our pace.”

Saying this, the serf advanced more rapidly im @ path

   
THE HOUSES OF THE SUN AND MOON, 103

diverging to the open country, and, in a few moments, the
party arrived in view of an object which at once arrested our
Yankee’s attention.

The moon had arisen, and her clear radiance fell from the
broad heavens, covering trees and valleys as with a mantle of
silver. It fell over the mountainous walls that shut in the
valley, and shot up from the plains. It showed afar the
mountain Popocatapetl casting forth its perpetual column of
smoky flame, and further still, with the crown of eternal
snow, looming grandly toward the skies, his great brother
Tataccihuatl.

And immediately before him Pomfret beheld an immense
building, whose vast shadow stretched far over the plain.
The form of this structure was pyramidal, its apex nearly two*
hundred feet high, its base covering four times that extent of
ground, It towered aloft, a mighty monument of the past, .
for it was a temple of the ancient Mexic race; it was the
great house of the Sun, where, centuries before, the priests of
Tlascala held their awful rites, while a hundred thousand
warriors marched around, chanting the war-songs of their
native land.

The moonbeams slanted over this mighty pyramid, reflected
back dazzlingly on the beholder’s gaze. Pomfret, impressed
with awe at the grandeur of the pile, remained silent, as his
companions passed along its base to the further extremity,
Here another structure, of similar form, and nearly as magni-
ficent in its proportions, was visible at some distance, and
around the two the Yankee could behold a circle of smaller
pyramids, rising like tombs from the face of the plain. At
the same moment he became aware of a multitude of human
figures, standing half-shrouded in the shadows of the pyramids,
and motionless as statues carved in stone.

But Zumozin, advancing before his companions, cried, in
a loud voice :

‘Who are these who stood between the Houses of the Sun
and Moon !”

Then a response went up from the multitude of dusky
figures, as if a thousand men spoke in one clear whisper :

“We are of the blood of Tlascala. We are the children

of Zumozin, our king.”

 
 

104 : THE PEON PRINCE,

Hardly had these words fallen upon the ears of the
astonished Yankee, and the no less surprised Padre Herrata,
than a simultaneous movement was visible among the assem-
blage, and advancing, as if by a preconcerted signal, the
multitude closed around the serf and his companions. Then
appeared Anselmo Zumozin in his natural character. His
majestic figure was drawn to its full stature, his head thrown
proudly back, until the light shone upon his brow. His eyes
were lustrous as with great thought.

“Children of Tlascala,” said he, solemnly, “‘ we meet. to-
night to recall the memory of our ancestors, to exchange out

vows of friendship with one another, to swear 'Sidelatey to the
ancient laws of our country.”

A low murmur ran through the ranks of men, and with
one accord they sunk upon their knees. Zumozin remained
standing, and his two companions could now examine the
multitude who surrounded them.

They were evidently of the pure Indian race, and many of
them were distinguished-looking both in form and features.
The ‘greater part were humbly clad, some in coarse cotton
cloth, others in fabrics manufactured of the bark and fibers
of the aloe or agave tree, before noticed as growing upon the
mountain, and which is a plant that furnishes to the native
tribes a large portion of their clothing, and articles of domestic
use, as well as producing the substance out of which is ex-
pressed the national beverage of plque, or, as the aborigines
called it, oeti. The dusky figures of many were relieved by
shining ornaments of copper, and some carried in their hands
spears and axes such as had been used among the ancient
race, and which were probably heir-looms im particular
families,

* Father,” said Zumozin, speaking in a low and impressive
tone to the priest beside him, “ you behold the fruit of your
early counsels to the boy Anselmo. These whom you look
upon are of the ancient races of Tlascala and Cholulu, who
fought first and bravest against the invader. Father, their
blood flows in your veins, as in mine. But in mine runs the
ancient tide of Tlascala’s princes, and therefore, though Iam
crownless, and a serf, the children of Tlascala listen to my
words.”

 
 

THE PATRIOT OATH. 105

* And you have awakened their spirit, my son?” asked the
priest.

“T have spoken to them, my father, as you were wont to
speak to the wandering boy in yonder hacienda. I have
recalled to them the glories and the sufferings of our ancestors.
I have revealed to them the prophetic traditions which yet
promise peace and happiness to Aztlan.”

“ Ay, I remember,” said the padre, solemnly. ‘ The tradi-
tion that out of her ancient race should arise a deliverer for
the oppressed. May God speed his coming.”

“He will!” cried Zumozin.

Then, turning towards the Indians, who had arisen from
their knees, he waved his hand thrice, speaking to them in the
language of their Aztec fathers. They responded in the same
tongue ; and then, forming in a line, began to defile with
slow steps before the central group, each one, as he passed
Zumozin, extending his right hand toward the House of the
Sun, and repeating what appeared to be a customary formula :

“T swear to be true to Aztlan !”

When the last erect figure had passed the Peon Prince, the
long line sunk to the knees, bowing between the two pyra-
mids of ancient Tlascala, and then Zumozin the Sold, advane-
ing before his countrymen, lifted his arms to heaven, and
prayed aloud in the Indian tongue.

Thus, beneath the same clear moon that had, in other days,
looked down upon the free children of that beautiful land, the
thousand slaves, their descendants, assembled to commemorate
their old traditions. They had stolenforth from the city and
hamlet, from mountain and vale, to commune before the
sacred altar of their ancestors. And as the pale-faced
stranger from a land of freedom listened to the strange
accents of an Indian prayer, rising upon the still air, to the
Father of nations, he felt that these serfs still hoped for
liberty and longed for a day of battle against their oppressors.

Putnam Pomfret, the Vermonter, whose fathers had fought
at Bennington and Ticonderoga, grasped the hand of the
priest who stood beside him, and murmured his deep Amen,”
to the prayer of a serf, for freedom,

 
 

106 THE PEON PRINCTs

CHAPTER XXf.

TWO ACTS OF A DRAMA.

AnsELMo Zumozin and his friend, Padre Herrata, in com-
pany with Putnam Pomfret, departed from the mystic
gathering which they had attended, retracing their steps
across the plain. On all sides, divergent from the pyramids,
the children of Aztlan were dispersing to their respective
habitations. At the same hour three horsemen could be
seen, advancing from different points toward the ancient
ruins.

4umozin’s keen glance was the first to desery the noc-
turnal cayaliers; and, as they drew near, illumined by the
moonbeams, it was apparent that the serf recognized their
persons; for, with a sudden gesture he stayed his companions.

“¥ onder,” whispered he, “‘ride those whocome far that they
may converse without fear of eavesdroppers. Consequently,
there is reason that I should overhear what they talk about.
Remain here, my friends, in the shadow of these ancient
shrines.”

Saying this, the serf pointed to several broken slabs
of stone, relics of monuments with which the plain had
once. been, covered; and then, while the priest and Pomfret
cast themselves prone upon the sand, behind them, he pro-
ceeded to make a detour, in order to reach a point whence
he could observe the approaching horsemen, who were now
between the Houses of the Sun and Moon. Preserving a
stooping gait, which confounded his dark garments with the
thick verdure, it was not long ere the Peon gained a knoll,
overgrown with rank grass, and strewed with the debris of
some ruined shaft that had long ago crumbled. Scarcely had
he ensconced himself here, when, almost simultaneously, the
three cavaliers drew near at the base of the hillock, and the
two foremost exchanged salutations :

“ Don Mariano |”

“Juan Garcia!” -

Then followed a few rapid words between the alcalde and
the other, which Zumozin could not distinctly hear, followed

 
» and said abruptly :

    
   
    
  
  
  
  
  

THE GENERAL AND THE BRIGAND. 107

by the remark, ina louder key ; “ I will question him myself!
Retire you, Garcia, for a moment.”

The alcalde reined his horse, and galloped round the hil-
lock, trampling the grass which concealed his listening serf.
Then he who had been addressed as Don Mariano turned to
the third horseman, who was sitting immovable in his saddle,

 

“You are Giacomo Marani !—late a prisoner at La Vega’s
valley post, wherefrom you were released by my friend, Juan
Garcia.” .

“ You ave mistaken, Sefior ! I released myself

“How! has Garcia deceived ine ?”

“No, Sefior! Juan Garcia came to my prison, and
remarked: ‘ Marani, if you could make your escape, ‘by
knocking down a sentinel, and if you should thereafter
desire to serve the State, there will, no doubt, be a free pardon
made out for you.’”

“Ah! there spoke my non-committal Garcia! And ‘you,
sir—”

“T tookthe alcalde’s counsel, agreed to every thing, and after
Garcia. left the barracks, I followed him as soon as I could.”

“ And he spoke to you of pardon and reward ?”

“On condition of what I am to do in the matter of an
expected conducta of treasure—”

“Do you know to what important events this enterprise
may lead! Are you aware that great interests are involved ?”

‘I apprehend that my success in securing the treasure may
involve a revolution. But, Sefior, revolutions are so com-
mon now-a-days—’

“You are the coadjutor I want,” interrupted Don Mariano.
“Serve me well, Giacomo Marani, and you will not be the
loser. The action I want must be bold and prompt—foot in
stirrup and swordinhand. I think 1 would rather trust you
than Garcia.”

T will serve you faithfully, General. But I must have

our safeguard.”

“You shall have a commission as Captain in my guards.”

“T am grateful, General; before three days pass, this con-
ducta shall be attacked, and the treasure shall be yours,
Must I communicate with Juan Garcia ?”

1?
 

108 THE PEON (PRINCE.

‘No! report to me at Puebla ; Garcia will inform-you in,

what manner, in three days.”

“Tn three days, General.”

“That is well! Now, we>may join’ our alcalde:” » Saying
this, Don Mariano and the brigand rode to meet Juan Garcia,
who was awaiting them. Presently, all three galloped away
over the plain ; wher eupon Anselmo Zumozin rose from his
covert, and crept toward his friends.

“Juan Garcia,” murmured the Peon, ‘you have one slave
too many.”

Giacomo Marani, a man of quick resolve and action, soon
parted from his fellow-horsemen, and took his way aléne
toward the neighboring town of Puebla. He had already
decided on the ‘plan of. his contemplated expedition against
the conducia.

This conducta or caravan, it was well known, was» how
approaching from the coast, conveying an immense sum in
specie and bullion belonging to the Government, together
with merchandise of the costliest kind. It was understood
to be provided with ample means of defense and a powerful
escort. Nevertheless; Marani was aware that, since his:late
disastrous encounter at’ Murilio’s farm-house, the rumor had
been extensively circulated to the effect thet the band of the
“QOutlaw’s Mount” was completely panic-stricken and)dis-
persed ; and this, together with the news of himself »being

made prisoner, was calculated, as the shrewd brigand thought,

to render the advancing caravan less apprehensiv re of attack.
On this account, Marani hoped to arrange his measures with
certain anticipations of complete triumph.

So, after his parting with Don Mariano, the robber Captain
pursued his way in deep reflection, until hé had left the open
plain behind, and reached the environs of Peubla, where he
paused at a point whence diverged two lonely roads, and
entered a small posada or roadside inn. Here ai man, who
had been evidently awaiting his arrival, arose! and ‘saluted
him. A mule, meanwhile, stood tethered ab ‘thedoor:

Ah comride », you are prompt as usual,” said: Marani, in
reply to the greeting. “What news froi the Moumt ?”

“As you left it,” answered the man. “And we are all
ready for our new enterprise, whatever it-may be. >There is
THE AMBUSCADE. 109

not one of us, Captain, but is ready to die rather than suffer
ourselves to be so shamefully beaten as we were at Murillo’s
farm-house.” : f

“Return, then, without delay, to our comrades. Say to
them that Marani will be with them, ere to-morrow’s sun
declines, to lead them where they may retrieve our late mis-
fortune. Let them be ready !”

“ And the prisoner—the youth who is now with us. Gomez
bade me ask what is to be done with him ?”

Marani remained for a few moments in thought, ere he
answered ;

“The artist—I had forgotten him. Say to Gomez he may
let the young man depart!” Then, turning aside, Marani
muttered: “ Yes, yes—what should / fear from this poor, half-
crazed youth? Let him go. He is safe, unless he cross my
path hereafter. Now, away, and by to-morrow’s sunset,
. muster all at the valley pass. Let each man be well armed,
and ready for hot work. The word is ‘ Paredes!’ Away !”

“« Paredes,” repeated the messenger. Then, mounting the
mule, set out toward the “Outlaw’s Mount,” while Marani,
again mounting his horse, rode forward into Puebla.

“ Ah!” said the brigand to himself, when his horse’s hoofs
clattered soon after on the pavement of Puebla’s streets, ‘ did
these good people know that Marani was so near them, they
would scarcely sleep sound to-night.”

CHAPTER VIIL
THE CONDUCTA,

Tue night on which the robbers threatened the caravan
was one of loneliness and quiet; but little was its beauty and
peace shared by those rude men who at the twilight hour
descended from the “ Outlaw’s Mount,” and scattered them-
selves at intervals along the valley road, concealed by the
thick growth of trees that covered it. The conducta, with
its treasures, was now momentarily expected, and though the

 
 

110 THE PEON PRINCE.

traders were known to be well armed, fortified by government
protections, and guarded by a military force, the followers of
Marani looked to an easy surprise and capture of their’ prey.

The opportunity of accompanying a convoy of government
treasure, and thus uniting their private strength with that of
the military, is regarded almost as an insurance by the interior
traders, while, in addition, single travelers often time their
movements with the progress of one of these caravans, in
order to swell its numbers, and thus present a numerical front
guaranteeing greater security to all. It is seldom, therefore,
that these large companies are molested by brigands, save,
perhaps, in periods of civil war, or when the marauders have
managed to concert with traitors among the government
escort. As a general thing, a traveler might journey with a
caravan through the entire country, and (for all his personal
experience could prove to the contrary,) set down every pre-
vious tale coricerning banditti as mere moonshine,

The present, however, threatened to be a bold exception to
the general rule of impunity ; for there was a desperate as
well as assured look about the brigands who now lined the
roadside, that boded no good to the approaching caravan.

The position chosen by the outlaws was one which, of
itself, gave them no small advantage.

At the distance of about a quarter of a mile from the place
where Marani had formed his ambuscade, was a rocky hill,
totally destitute of vegetation, from the summit of which the
road over which the conducta must pass descended quite
precipitously into a deep and narrow gully, densely bordered
with heavy trees. Beyond this gully was another rise, not,
perhaps, so steep as the rocky hill just mentioned, but yet
sufficiently difficult of ascent, and curving very suddenly into
a shelving pass which conducted through the heart of the
mountains. This pass diverged at a sort of fork, the other
arm of which led downward through Murillo’s valley, and
thence up to the military post commanded by La Vega ; and
it was quite as possible that a frightened mule train would
turn aside into the mountain gorge as that it should keep on
to the more secure valley road. At this point, the brigands
were so posted as to be enabled to force their prey into the
position which would place it most at their mercy,
THE CARAVAN. 11

The caravan, with all its appurtenances, was at this moment
scarcely a league distant fromthe ambuscade; and ag it
leisurely wound its way, the pleasant sound of tinkling mule-
bells floated to the listeningrobbersupon the quiet evening air.

And -yery little seemed the varied throng that followed and
preceded the governinent treasure to reck of the présence of
such dangerous neighbors as the brigands now  sentineled
along their route. In this throng might be observed, as our
Vermont friend would probably express it, ‘a smart sprink-
lin’” of all sorts of people. Here was a muleteer, in slouched
hat and ragged doublet, swinging a long thong, and pouring
out volleys of oaths, snatches of songs, and muttered grum-
blings, all, as it were, in the same breath. Opposite him
lazily marched a government soldier, tilting his carabine hori-
zontally upon his shoulder, while he conversed with a com-
rade upon the possibility of some new pronunciamento offering
a prospect of speedy war and spoils. Here was a priest,
ambling leisurely upon a fat mule, and there a stalwart trader,
leading his horse by the bridle, and keeping a stealthy eye
upon every object within gun-shot.. And the motley costumes,
the wild figures of muleteers, the confused noises of songs,
bells, and curses, combined to produce a scene worthy of
Salvator’s pencil.

All due precautions had been taken, and the company was
under the direction of an experienced mountain guide, who, |
clad in a garb half muleteer, half soldier, rode a sure-footed
mustang, at the head of the troop, keeping up a rapid con-
versation with one of the traders, whose appearance and. posi-
tion denoted him to be the leader of the mercantile portion
of the caravan.

The guide was a sharp-looking, bead-eyed, compactly-built
man, of about fifty years of age, with a seamed face, a restless
heal that he appeared able to turn completely round without
wringing his neck, and legs which clung ,as closely to the
sides of his mustang as did the old man of the sea to the
shoulders of Sinbad. He gesticulated with one hand, and
with the other grasped his horse’s shaggy mane.

The guide’s companion was a fine-looking personage, of
perhaps the same age, clad in a close-fitting doublet and short
mantle, with a carabine slung over his shoulder, and arms of

 
 

112 THE PEON PRINCE.

various kinds bristling about his person... His countenance
was a noble’ one, and of that singular cast uniting the clear
northern blue eye with the black hair and eyebrows of
southern climes. A shade of settled thought and the lines
of severe experience gave solemnity to a countenance which
inore naturally had borne a frank and joyous expression.
This individual was the Captain of the traders, under whose
direction were the mercantile interests and private treasures
of the company.

A short distance behind these two, half-way between them
and the leading military detachment, rode two other persons,
likewise engaged in conversation. One was a young man
apparently scarce beyond majority, who wore the gaudy uni-
form of a Captain of lancers, and who was, in fact, the com-
manding officer of the government soldiers, and the one to
whom was intrusted the safe conduct of the specie. Like
most of the class, he was gay, brave, and careless, with a
haughty lip, a bright black eye, and graceful person.

His companion, as regarded personal appearance, was deci-
dedly the opposite. Fancy a combination of three manifest-
ations of Mexican life, as developed in soldier, brave, and
lepero, Imagine a’ pair of red-stockinged legs, slung over a
stunted mustang, and supporting a burly body, on which was
apparently tumbled a collection of nondescript garments,
ragged and parti-colored, the whole covered with a faded
yellow blanket, confined to the waist by a black leather belt.
Placé on the shoulders, above this blanket, a round hat and
shock of tangled black hair, a face almost concealed by its
bushy beard, and a mouth crooked diagonally from the right
temple to the left ear, and you have before you the grotesque
figure which now rode side by side with the young lancer.
Add to the attractions enumerated above, a hoarse voice and
cracked laugh, and the likeness will be more distinct.

The last sunbeam had long since quivered on the wood-
tops and mountain side, and the mellow atmosphere of
transient southern twilight was now deepening, toward the
valley, into a sober brown. Still the long train wound
slowly forward, the mule-bells tinkled, and alternate song and
laughter sounded from the motley travelers.

“There is not, then, much danger to be apprehended even
THE ATTACK, : 113

here, my friend, if you know so well the road. It is long
since I myself traveled it, but, if I remember rightly, a
league’s travel will conduct us safely through these mountain
passes. Is it not so?”

This question was addressed by the Captain of the traders
to the guide who rode beside him.

“There would be danger enough, were the brigand Marani
at large; but, thanks to the Virgin, his race is nearly run,
for yonder vagabond, who is talking with Captain Guzman,
tells me that the soldiers have at last captured the outlaw.
Nevertheless, [ shall not feel safe till we are through Murillo’s
valley.” Here the muleteer crossed himself devoutly.

“But, surely, there’s little danger of a brigand attacking
so well armed and numerous a company as ours,” returned the
merchant, “were he even assisted by Satan himself.”

“* Hush, Sefior Gonsalyo,” exclaimed the guide, hurriedly,
laying his hand upon his companion’s arm. “ Among these
mountains, the least said about Satan the better. If rumor
speaks truth, the ‘Outlaw’s Mount’ is rented from the Evil
One himself.”

The guide paused as he entered the gloomy pass, and cast.
his eyes forward to the opposite acclivity,

“ Never,” said he solemnly, ‘do I enter this gulch, but I
seem to think the brigand is at my elbow.”

Hardly had the words been spoken, when a loud, harsh
laugh sounded from behind. The merchant Gonsalvo wheeled
his horse, and beheld a sudden panic among the soldiers and
muleteers. At the same instant the mountebank dashed from
among them, and passed him with the rapidity of thought ;
then the report of a pistol was heard, and then the young
lancer Captain fell dead from his saddle. The attack had
commenced.

The old guide sprung from his horse ina moment. The
merchant-leader followed his example, and, after falling back,
the two endeavored to rally the soldiers, who, appalled at the
suddenness of their Captain’s fall, were about to plunge into
a disorderly retreat.

Into line, men! Stand to your posts!” cried the merchant,
in a loud voice, as he reached the first rank,

“ That villain who lately joined us,” said the guide; “it wag
he, the treacherous spy, who has slain our poor Captain.”

 
 

114 THE PEON PRINCE.

Ashe spoke, a dozen brigands sprung fromthe mounitai
gorge, led by the spy, still riding his mustang. The old guide
uttered 1a ery, as he recognized this man, and, drawing a
pistol, leveled it at his head.

But the robber flung himself from the mustang, and, with
a rapid movement divesting himself of the yellow blanket and
ragged habiliments which had constituted his bodily disguise,
appeared at once clothed in full brigand costume. The
crooked mouth and burly beard had previously disappeared,
and in its place appeared a face of striking but fierce beauty.

_ Had any thing been needed to augment. the superstitious
uneasiness of the guide, this transformation would. have
answered. the purpose. No sooner had the face and form of
the brigand: become visible, than his pistol dropped from, the
guide’s nerveless hand, and, shrieking aloud, ‘(It is Marani!”
he dashed precipitously to the rear.

“Tt is Marani!” was repeated by soldiers and muleteers ;
and the brigands, profiting by their dismay, rushed boldly
forward. But Gonsalyo the merchant sprung into Marani’s
path, disputing his advance with a leveled carabine. A. bullet
buried itself into the brain of the robber Gomez, while Marani

‘found himself in the grasp of the trader’s iron arms, crushing
his ribs together. With a yell he attempted to drawa knife,
but to do this was impossible, for the merchant's grasp grew
stronger with every struggle. Muttering a curse, he clutched
Gousalvo’s throat; determined to maintain his hold until his
foeman’s breath should depart for ever.

Thus the two antagonists rolled together under the mules,
until:they reached an, open space, illumined brightly by the
moon, when a sudden effort on the part of the merchant
enabled him. to free his throat, and spring to. his. feet.
Marani was not behind him, and almost instantly the two
Were again in conflict face to face.

But, in rising, the merchant's cap had fallen, and his broad
forehead and marked features were prominently revealed in
the moonlight. Marani, confronting them, appearetl suddenly
to recognize some fearful likeness in those calm lineaments.
His color fied, his glance wandered, and then, with a hollow
ery, he turned and retreated, murmuring, as he fled;

“Tis he!—tis the dead—arisen |”
THE TIMELY SuCCOR. 115

The conflict was now becoming desperate on the side of |
those who defended the conducta.. Only a few brave traders |
kept up the contest in defense of their private property: But
at this juncture a new arrival changed the aspect of affairs,

Leaping from the upper road, and plunging, like’a young
lion into the melée, the majestic figure of Zumozin appeared
on the scene. Behind him came Don FerrardoNunez, with
Pomfret and Lorenzo, leading the soldiers and peons, with
loud shouts. The brigands, who had believed their victory
secure, were bewildered by this attack from an unlooked-for
force ; and before Marani—himself unmanned by this sudden
terror—could control or direct his comrades, the entire band
was in full flight before a rallying column of soldiers, peons
and traders. The brigand chief saw himself again defeated,
and as he turned to seek safety, he was met by the bright
glance and armed hand of Lorenzo the artist, whose voice
announced him to “Surrender!” :

But Marani had no time to waste in combat. Dashing his
slight antagonist aside, he leaped upon the old guide's mus-
tang, which grazed by the roadside, and, striking his poniard
in the animal’s flank, rode hurriedly from the mountain pass.
Lorenzo seized the bridle of Gonsalyo’s’ horse, and dashed
after the flymg outlaw. i

And then a wild race took place through the narrow pass-
way, and down into Murillo’s valley.” The mustang bestrid-
den by Marani, was one of great speed and strength, while
the merchant’s steed, bearing Lorenzo, was not inferior.

Thus sped the chase across the plain, and through the out-
skirts of Puebla. The few citizens who yet stirred in their
dwellings heard the hoot of flying horses; but ere they could
define the figure of the first rider, the second dashed past and
was lost in the distance.

Lorenzo, grasping a trooper’s pistol, and bending on his~ |
steed’s mane, grew excited almost to delirium as he galloped
after the flying mustang, whose clattering hoofs guided him
through the devious streets. Suddenly the hoof-beats ceased,
and the pursuer, urgiug his horse, found himself turning the
corner ofan antique dwelling-house. He heard the mustang’s
gallop further off; but at the same instant his glance fell upon
a figure crouching by the wayside. He checked his steed,

 
 

116 THE PEON PRINCE.

and, throwing himself from the saddle, encountered the subtle
Marani, who aimed a poniard at his breast. The robber
had resorted to one of the stratagems of his wild life, by drop-
ping from the mustang, and permitting the ahimal to gallop
y riderless, in order to mislead the pursuer to follow his
sttering hoofs. But Lorenzo’s quick eyes had caught the
gleam of steel, and by a timely spring he eluded the dagger
stroke, and, in another second, leveled his pistol at Marani.

“ Robber! where is Inez Murillo?’ demanded the artist,
half choked with his emotion. Muttering an oath, Marani
sprung upon Lorenzo, but the latter’s finger was on the spring
of his weapon. A sharp report startled the street, and Giacomo
Marani, lifting his hand to his breast, staggered and sunk
upon the curb. At the same moment lights flashed in the
windows of the old mansion before the gate of which he had
halted, and people began to gather from all parts.

“Ha! a murder!’ cried one of the citizens, observing the
fallen man and the youth who stood over him with a dis-
charged pistol. ‘Unhappy youth, what have you done?”

“Tis Marani, the brigand!” murmured the artist; and
the cry was taken up by a score of pallid citizens:

_ “Marani the brigand!”

And as the name of Marani was repeated, a woman’s shriek
sounded from a casement above. Then the door of the old
house was flung open, giving passage to a female, who darted
out, and sunk beside the bleeding brigand, lifting his head:

“Giacomo! Giacomo!—speak! It is I—'tis your Berta!”

The robber opened his eyes, now filmy with the approach
of death. He recognized the girl, and his forehead drooped
on her bosom.

“Berta?” he murmured—* Poor Berta!—they—have slain
me—at last!”

“Oh Giacomo! Giacomo!”

“Berta !—kissme !—listen !—you are—my—daughter 1?—
Berta !—pray—pray for your poor father—Giacomo!”

An expression of hopeless agony was stamped upon Berta’s
forehead, as she clasped Marani’s neck and pressed her lips to
his, receiving her father’s last sigh. Lorenzo turned aside
with shuddering sympathy, and encountered another vision.
He saw the open door through which Berta had descended,

 

ont
DON LUCAS AND GARCIA, 117

framing, as it were, the figure of a white-robed woman, who
carried a silver lamp, whose rays revealed her pallid features.
Tt was Inez Murillo; and Lorenzo, tottering forward, fell
fainting at her feet,

CHAPTER XXIIL

JUAN GARCIA IN MEXICO.

Juan Garcta, the alcalde, stood at the door of an ancient
mansion in the City of Mexico, and, knocking at its outer
portal, was admitted into the vestibule. To his low inquiry
concerning the master of the house, an old servant answered
by ushering him to an inner apartment, and to the presence
of a man apparently of about sixty years, though but a few
silver threads mingled as yet with the glossy black of his
hair, and his forehead was smooth as a summer lake.

“Sefior Garcia, be seated,” said this person, waving’ his
hand gracefully to the alcalde. “I was expecting you.”

“T but a few hours since arrived in the city,” answered
the alcalde, “‘ having been delayed upon the route.”

“Was nota caravan attacked near Puebla ?”

“Sot have learned,” replied Garcia, with a sudden and
but ill-concealed trembling of his lips, which gave way at
once to a careless expression. ‘The robbers in the mount-
ains near my estate have been quite bold, of late.’ But,”

‘he continued, changing the theme, “I believe your message,

Don Lucas, intimated business of moment.”

“You remind me, Sefior Garcia. It was in regard to the
young man—Anselmo—”

* And what about Anselmo, Don Lucas?’ queried Garcia,
showing his shining teeth.

“T confess, Juan, to have been somewhat troubled con-
cerning this youth. THe must be nearly of age.”

“Don Lucas,” responded Garcia, in a measured tone, “ if
Lam not troubled about Anselmo Zumozin, trust me, you
have no cause to be, As he has been, so will he remain.”

 
 

118 THE PEON PRINCE.

“Ah! if one could be sure of that!” rejoined the. other.
“ But he has the old blood in bis veins, you know ; and, in
these unquiet times there is no certainty that. some powerful
patron might not arise for him.”

“Ay! if the boy were master of himself or of a secret that
concerns him !” said Garcia. ‘‘ But you forget, Don Lucas,
he is aserf, with a serf’s ambition only—+to eat, sleep, and
escape labor. Trust me, had I thought him likely to annoy
us, there were many methods—’

“Oh, truly, Garcia—you are this youth’s master, and know
his capacity. And, as you say, he is a serf, and in your
power atall times. But should he learn—should he suspect—”

“ What would you, Don Lucas?—that he be sent after his
father ?”

“ No—no!” answered the other, hesitatingly—“ I trust all
to you, Juan. Our interests are one; our lives depend on
the safety of our secret. Neverthcless, it must be confessed,
youhave drawn largely—you have the lion’s share of every
thing, Juan.”

“Tt is very true, Don Lucas, that I have my share of that
which had been lost to both without my assistance. But you
can not deny that I have earned all I claim. Pray, my, dear
Don Lucas, whatsvould you have been without Juan Garcia?”

“Tt is very true; you were my friend, Juan.”

“T think so—since you, Don Lucas Guzman, could hardly
have secured the reversion of Montagnone’s estates, if, the
lawyer Garcia had not certified the deeds by his own testi-
mony, as well as that of other credible witnesses.”

“ All of which was—”

“Skilfully fabricated, so that you, the administrator of
Prince Montagnone’s Mexican lands and mines, might estab-
lish a legal title to that vast property, and assume the guard-
ianship of his infant son; so that you, Lucas Guzman, faith-
ful friend and steward of the Prince, might lay your plans
for the futwre—”

“ Juan ! there is no occasion to revert to—’ >

“Suffer me, Lucas—'tis my mood to-day. I wish to recall
to your memory how Montagnone, inconsolable for the loss
of his young wife—a pure-blooded daughter of the ancient
Mexic race—departed for Europe, leaving you his adminis-
THE CONSPIRATOR’S PLOTTING. 119

trador; how Lucas Guzman then took counselwith his friend,
Juan Garcia; how the steel of our trusty friend, Giacomo
Marani, insured to Montagnone a long rest in one of the
Abruzzi passes; how the guardian of Montagnone’s infant
heir kept his precious charge so well that the child was never
afterward heard of, and is probably at this time a serf on the
lands of Juan Garcia.”

“Juan, why do you rehearse all this?”

“Simply, Don Lucas, to remind you, what you sometimes
seem to forget, that through Juan Garcia you enjoy your
share of Montagnone’s princely revenues, and that, for this
reason, Juan Garcia has a right to take care of himself.”

“T find no fault—I make no complaint !” cried the admin-
istrador, hastily. “Your schemes are always good—always
successful, Juan. And now let us speak of other matters—
of your niece, the Sejiorita Isabella—lIsabella the queenly
one !”

“You say well, Don Lucas,” responded Garcia, ‘with a
gratified smile. “She is a queenly one, and may yet be—”

« A queen, perhaps.”

“And why not, Don Lucas? You say my plans are
always successful. Well, who knows, if Paredes shall pros-
per and Herrera suecumb !—who knows whether Juan Garcia
may not reach the second place in the State ?”

“ But you have said, ere this, that you look not for the
perpetuity of this Republic.”

“Nor do I desire it. Mexico must have a solid: govern-
ment again. These unquiet races can be ruled ‘only with an
iron scepter. We must have a government that will ensure
your interest and mine.”

«A monarchy !”

“ Ay, Don Lucas! supported by the civil power, and con-
trolling the army.”

“Would you proclaim Don Mariano? I fear me-he would
goon meet the fate of our poor Yturbide.”

« And so would any other Mexican. No, Don Lucas, the
ruler who must direct, with a strong hand, the energies of
this nation, is a youth of royal birth, whose election toa
Mexican throne, will be backed by European armies. Ere a
year rolls round, such a ruler will be husband of my niece,”

 
 

 

120 THE PEON PRINCE.

“What say you, Garcia?—husband of the Sefiorita Isabella?”

“ Ay, Sefior! Think you I play for comunon stakes? He
who, through my aid, shall found a throne in Mexico, may
well consent to mingle my blood with his dynasty.”

* You ave a daring man, Juan. I begin to have hopes of
amonarchy. The Republic has had its day.” Don Leas
arose, and took the alcalde’s hand. ‘‘ Let us ever be true to
one another,” said he.

“So shall we always be successful,” answered Garcia,
showing his teeth. Then, with smile and bow the confeder-
ates separated, Don Lucas resuming his arm-chair, the alealde
traversing the outer hall, and descending with rapid steps the
wide stair-case of Guzman’s mansion. But when he reached
the lowest step, a hand touched his arm, and a voice said:

“ Sefior Garcia, [ would fain speak with thee.”

He turned and beheld Anselmo the Peon !

“Sefior Garcia, it is Zumozin, your serf.”

“ And what brings thee here without permission, Anselmo?”
demanded the alcalde, with assumed mildness.

“Seftor Garcia, I seek Mexico, without permission, because
I desire to learn more than I could learn from your cattle on
the hills. I have been dreaming of my past life, and would
unravel its mystery. Can my master assist me ?”

“ Anselmo !” said Garcia, agitated, in spite of his habitual
control of emotion, by the singular demeanor of his dependent,
“ Anselmo, return to the haciensia, and you shall hear from
me. There is a mystery in your life, and it is time, perhaps,
you should learn what I alone can tell you. Go, therefore,
good Anselmo, and await patiently my return to the estate,
when, I promise you, all shall be made clear.”

There was an expression in Garcia’s eyes that indicated
some hastily-formed resolution, boding no good to his Peon.

“ Sefior Garcia, I would have you reveal my father’s name.”

“ Anselmo, this is neither the time nor place for revelations;
nor is it proper that all should be disclosed at once. I know
not what prompts this pertinacity on your part, or why you
should fancy your ancestry different from that of a hundred
of your companions.”

Garcia still spoke in a mild, almost parental tone—his eyes,
meanwhile, fixed upon Zumozin’s face, as if to fathom his

2:
THE PEON’S ANCESTRY. 121

thoughts, The Peon, standing with folded arms, seemed
equally immobile, but met his master’s gaze with » steady
regard as he replied, in an even voice :

“Sefior Garcia, in my childhood I was taught to look up
to you as my superior and lord. I have eaten your bread,
and given you the labor ofmy hands. This lot I shared, in
common. with my fellow-dependents, till I became more than
a serf in tasting of the tree of knowledge. Padre Herrata,
the teacher of your niece, discovered that Anselmo, the bond-
slave, had a soul.” ’

“Padre Herrata was an. ingrate.”

“T know, Sejior, that, in permitting me to become his
scholar, the priest incurred your displeasure ; I know that,
when you bade me destroy my books, I spoke words of disre-
spect, for which you sorely punished me. Yet, Sefior, Iam
grateful for the education bestowed on me through careless-
ness, while hundreds of my fellows grew up in blindness, I
am grateful, Sefior, that my spirit was taught to rebel against
servitude, and to feel that chains degrade both body and
mind. I am grateful that, in spite of his lowliness, the blood
of a kingly race runs in the veins of Zumozin.”

«Ah! you have learned that—”

“ Ay, Sefior Garcia—master, as I have called you! When,
driving me forth upon the hills, you made me free, at least, to
think, I demanded of myself why the boy Anselmo was less a
slave than his fellows—why he escaped the lash, and breathed
mountain air, while others toiled in field and mine. Then it
was that an aged serf, who has long since gone to his rest,
approached me and said, ‘ Zumozin, [ ask thy blessing.’ . I
demanded why he sought the benediction of a boy, and he
laid his hand, in answer, upon my naked bosom. ‘There,’
said he, ‘is the mark of all Zumozin’s race—the print of a
flowering cactus.’ Sefior, it was true ; I felt within me that
the slave-boy’s blood was of the current which once boiled in
the fiery heart of Quahtzimozin.”

The alcalde listened to his recital with a countenance
apparently impassible ; but he experienced a relief at its close.
Tt seemed evident that Anselmo remained still ignorant of
aught concerning his father, though the knowledge he had
obtained regarding his mother’s ancestry was strictly true.

 

 
 

122 THE PEON PRINCES.

None knew better than Juan Garcia that the youth was noble
in right of both his parents—since his father was an Italian
grandee, and his mother an Indian princess, chosen to be
Montagnone’s bride out of all the dames of Spain’s trans-
Atlantic empire.

“There needs to be no revelation on my part, then, it
seems,” said the crafty lawyer, “ since you already know what
T intended to communicate.”

“Senor Garcia,” replied the Peon, changing neither his
attitude nor the expression of his features, “till three days
ago, I bore my chains with resignation, hoping for future
freedom. But I am changed, Sefior, for I have since grasped
a soldier's blade and mingled in the strife of men.”

“ You, Anselmo ?”

“J, Sefior Garcia !” responded Zumozin, starting abruptly
back with a passionate gesture. ‘’I'was I who led my com-
rades against the robber. Marani. "Iwas I who saved the
treasure of the State.”

Garcia’s assumed calmness vanished with this last sentence.
The Peon’s vehemence, his knowledge of the expedition, and,
more than all, his asserted agency in defeating it, penetrated
the alealde with sudden apprehensions. He felt that this
conduct of his serf was not the result of impulse, but of
some settled purpose, and he divined at once that he had too
long underrated Anselmo’s character and abilities. Never-
theless, dissembling with habitual readiness, he responded:

“You will not shame your ancestry, Anselmo, nor your
father’s name. But, return, I pray you, to our hacienda.
Ere a week shall pass, I swear that you shall learn all that
concerns yourself,” :

« And if you break your oath to me, Sejior,” said the Peon,
gravely, ‘may I demand an unravelment of this mystery
from the lips of Don Lucas Guzman ?”

Now, indeed, the alcalde’s cheek became ashy, and his
glance shifted in terror. Zumozin resumed in sterner accents :

“ Juan Garcia ! I demand my father’s name !”

“ You shall learn it,” answered the alcalde, with unnatural
calmness. “ To-night—this hour, since you will it! Follow
me, Anselmo Zumozin, and we will seek Don Lucas himself !”

With these words, Garcia turned, ascending the staircase
 

THE TWO ASSASSINS. 123

of Guzman’s mansioa. Zumozin followed him, and as the two
disappeared within the building, two other figures emerged
from beneath the balcony. These were Padre Herrata and
the Yankee, Putnam Pomfret,

CHAP THR XxX V2
THE REVELATION.

Guzmay’s door was opened by the administrador himself,
whose features exhibited surprise at the alcalde’s return, and
the paleness of his countenance. But Garcia at once spoke.
“Don Lucas,” he said, after noiselessly closing the door,
“T bring hither a young man—a servant of mine—his name,
Anselmo Zumozin.” Guzman started i, and grew pallid as his
friend; but Garcia continued : “This young man is anxious
to learn his father’s name. I endeavored to dissuade’ him
from penetrating family secrets, but his curiosity is insatiable.
I shall, therefore, with your permission, proceed to satis!
Uttering this, in a calm voice, Juan Garcia suddenly dvew
a pistol from under his vest, and discharged it at the Peon’s
bosom. ‘Then, precipitating himself upon the young man,
he bore him heavily to the floor. Don Lucas started back,
appalled at the alcalde’s desperate action. A dense smoke
filled his eyes, andas it dispersed, he beheld the serf prostrate
and bleeding, and Garcia’s hand clasping his throat.
“Quick! your dagger, Don Iuecas!” cried the alcalde,
hoarsely. “TI have him fast! Strike at once—to the heart !”
The administrador drew his poniard, and darted forward,
while Garcia, forcing Zumozin’s head to the floor, exposed
his side to the deadly blow! But the weapon did not descend ;
for at that instant the oaken door leading from the corridor
was dashed open, admitting Pomfret and Padre Herrata.
Putnam. saw at a glance the position of affairs, and with
a hurrah, threw himself upon Don Lucas, hurling dian heavily
against the alealde, who released his hold of the Peon’s
throat. Garcia sprung to his feet, confronting the assailants ;

 

 
 

124 THE PEON PRINCE,

but ere he could recover’ his thoughts, new actors appeared
upon the scene. A file of soldiers entered quickly from the
passage, and ranged themselves behind another person who
now advanced. It was Herrera, the President of Mexice,

The alealde and Don Lucas shrunk back, as they met the
quiet but meaning gaze of the Republican chief; and the
latter sought to conceal the dagger with which he had
threatened the life of Zumozin. The serf, supported im the
arms of Padre Herrata and the Yankee, was lifted to a couch.
His wound, though bleeding freely, was not deep, and Pomfret
quickly bound a soldier's scarf around his breast,, stanching
the dangerous flow.

Herrera first spoke.

“Juan Garcia,” said he, “why have you sought the life of
this young man?’

“He is my enemy, and sought mine,” was the sullen
response.

“ And is he not-likewise the son of your friend, the late
Prince Montagnone? Answer me!” _

“ He is a peon, and the son of a peon,” replied the alcalde.
“Don Lucas Guzman here knows that. Montagnone’s child
. died at an early age.”

- Padre Herrata here cameforward, and confronted thealcalde.

“ Juan Garcia,” said he, “you remember me! Years ago,
I drank wine and broke bread under your roof. You drove
me from your house because I had presumed to teach Anselmo
Zumozin more than a slave should know. Is it not true?’

The alcalde replied not, and the priest proceeded.

“JT went forth, and traversed strange lands, and made new
friends. Abroad, T learned that the Prince Montagnone,
fighting against the Algerines, had been carried into captivity.”

“Tt is false,” interrupted Garcia. “ He died in Italy.”

So it was thought,” responded the priest, quietly, “The
Prince was a captive in Morocco, but had left a son in Mexico,
under guardianship of his friend, Don Lucas Guzman, to
whom, likewise, he confided his property in trust for the
heir. Sefior Guzman, am I right?’

« All the world knows this,” cried Juan Garcia. ‘ Mon-
tagnone’s will was proved in our courts. Don Lucas can
produce 2..-

 
we

THE ACCUSATIONS. 125

Padre Herrata folded his arms, and rejoined :

“ T ask the Sefior Guzman to produce that wilt.”

Don Lucas looked at Garcia, who made a sign of assent.
The administrador then stepped to a cabinet, near the win-
dow, and, pressing a spring, opened a private drawer. From
this drawer he took a roll of parchment discoloured with age.

“ Here is the will of Don Anselmo Montagnone,” said he,
“ by which I am constituted sole executor of his estate—in
trust for dn infant child.”

“ That child—” began the padre.

“ Died in infancy.”

« And the estates—”

“ By a codicil of this will, the estates passed to Montagnone’s
friend, Lucas Guzman.”

“ And by this title, Seiior Guzman, you hold the property ?”

‘Tt was the decision of our court.”

Padre Herrata flung the parchment from him, and raised
his hand toward heaven. 5

“ Sefior Guzman !”’ cried he, ‘and you, Juan Garcia, I here
accuse you both of defrauding the heir of Montagnone of his
sire’s possessions ; of attempting to murder the Prince Mon-
tagnone, in Italy, by the hand of a hired bravo named Marani ;
of perjuring yourselves by falsely swearing to the death of
Montagnone’s child ; of degrading that child to the position
of serf; and finally, of forging a false codicil to that will, -
through which to obtain the estates, which, had Montagnone
died without issue, would have reverted to the Republic.”

The priest, as he spoke these words in solemn voice,
turned to Herrera, who, at their close, motioned to the soldiers
behind him. They advanced toward Don Lucas and the
alcalde, but the latter sprung forward.

“Why should this mad priest’s assertions weigh against
the law?” cried he. ‘This will was proved—”

“‘ But Montagnone’s death is not proved,” said the priest,

“Tt is a lie,” cried the alcalde, struggling with the soldiers
who now restrained him. ‘’Tis all a vile collusion in these
men. Your Excellency knows well that—’

“The will was proved,” here broke in Don Lucas. ‘ Mon-
tegnone, my noble friend, is long since dead—”

Atthis moment, the door of theapartment was again opened,

 

 
 

126 THE PEON PRINCE.

giving entrance to Don Ferrardo Nunez, and the merchant
Gonsalvo. These two advanced to the middle of the floor,
the latter pausing opposite Guzman.

* What said Don Lucas?” asked the merchant. “That
his friend Montagnone was dead ?”

Guzman uttered a loud cry, and fell senseless to the floor.
The alcalde retreated before the merchant’s gaze.

“Tn the devil’s name, who are you?’’ he gasped.

“Tam he who has more than once escaped the daggers of
his good friends. I am—the Prince Montagnone !”

Juan Garcia saw that the game he had played during
a lifetime was ended. He beheld his last chance cast s away ;
for the man he had wronged, and believed dead, was now
arisen to blast him. He glanced backward an instant over a
long career of cunning and crime ; he dared not look forward,
for the defeat of all his schemes was there apparent, with
ruin, beggary, and perhaps a shameful death. Juan Garcia’s
hardihood forsook him, His eyes fell beneath the gaze of his
injured friend; but, as their glance rested on the floor, it
caught the gleam of Guzman’s dagger. The alcalde stooped
suddenly, raised the naked blade, and drove it heavily into
his breast.

 

CHAPE RR XV.

FATHER AND SON

Turree days elapsed after the suicide of Garcia. Rumors

of approaching civic strife gathered strength. Provinces

_issued pronunciamentos against the administr: ation, and a

portion of the army under General Paredes declared open
rebellion, All signs betokened a political change.

But the traders of the caravan, arriving safely, forgot their
dangers in the quest of new gains. The authorities, rejoicing
over the defeat of a famous robber-band, signified their
content by condemning all prisoners to the garote.

In a house in Mexico were gathered several of the charac-
ters of our story. The mere thant Gonsalvo, returned from
ZUMOZINS CHOICE. 127

his long banishment in season to counteract the scliemes of
the treacherous alcalde, sat beside his recovered son, Anselmo
Zumozin, the heir of Montagnone. Outside the apartment,
upon a baleony, were the priest Herrata and Don Verrardo
Nunez, and at a little distance sat Pomfret.

Zumozin’s face was pale, and the trace of pain yet lingered
upon it. The merchant Gonsalvo’s countenance was over-
shadowed with thought.

«“ Anselmo,” he remarked, “ you surely will not leave me.
Must I again lose the son whom Heaven has vouchsafed in
my declining years? Who will uphold the name of our
ancestors? Who will inherit my recovered wealth?”

‘Father, I covet neither wealth nor station. The reef
mountain has been my home from childhood. Thither I
return, and there, my father, I will welcome you.”

« But, my son, there are duties to perform. Society and
the State demand the assistance of such as you, Anselmo.”

“Other duties, dearer far, call me to the scenes of my
youth, I would do justice to the wronged—TI would soothe
the afflicted—I would redeem and exalt the race of my
mother—the race of Zumozin.”

Montagnone’s eyes grew moist, as his thoughts went back
to the time when the mother of Anselmo lay upon his bosom
_his chosen bride, wildly loved, and never forgotten. He
grasped his son’s hand, and said, in the beautiful language of
Holy, Writ: “ Whither thou goest, I will go.”

The young man smiled gratefully, and half rising from the
couch on which he reclined, beckoned to his friend Nunez.

“ Ferrardo,” said Zumozin, “we called one another by the
dear name of ‘brother’ when I was a lonely serf, and you a
cavalier. Ferrardo, are you not my brother still ?”

«Till death, noble Anselmo,” cried the young Captain,
warmly. “ What do I not owe to you!”

“Hear you, my father?” said Zumozin, turning to Mon-
tagnone. “ Ferrardo Nunez, the son of a friend whom you
once loved, is the brother of your son. He must wed the
niece of Juan Garcia, and be happy. Tohim Iresign the wealth
of Garcia, which is now ours. Shall it not be so, my father?”

« As it pleases you, my son Anselmo.”

« No, no, it must not be,” exclaimed Ferrardo, ‘I can not

 
THE PEON PRINCE.

thus abuse your friendship. My own arm shall win me
fortune, supported by the love of Isabella.”

* The love of Isabella!” Those words called the blood into
Zumozin’s cheeks. But he pressed the hand of his friend.

“Ferrardo,” he said, “you promised to be my brother. As
a brother, then, I require you to gratify me in this thing.”

The melancholy eyes of Anselmo sought the flushed face
of his friend with a pleading expression. Don Ferrardo could
not resist their appeal. He threw his arms around Zumozin’s
neck.

“My brother—my noble brother! May God reward you!”

“Wall, ef that ’ere Ingen Zumozin ain’t the most generous
individual I ever scen, then thar’ ain’t no mean critters in
creation,” was the remark of Pomfret to Padre Hervrata, in
witnessing this scene. “Jerusalem!” he continued, brushing
away a tear with his coat-sleeve, “he don’t think any more 0”
givin’ away fortins than I'd think o’ selling a clock!”

“He is a true friend; God bless him!’ murmured the

Padre Herrata.

The capture of Marani, the brigand, and the dispersion of
his band, relieved the valley of Murillo from its dangerous
neighbors of the ‘“ Outlaw’s Mount.” And it was not long
before the lovely Inez, restored to her father’s arms, beheld
once more the gardens blooming around a new mansion,
where, unchecked by the dread of robbers, she could listen,
well pleased, to the thrumming of a light guitar touched by
her lover-husband, the happy Lorenzo,

One alone, of all the band of Marani, was afterward seen
in the valley of Murillo. This was the girl Berta, who sur-
vived the death of the brigand chief only to become deprived
of reason, Her fate, however, was not a severe oné, for the

. daughter of Murillo received and protected her, soothing her
bewildered mind with friendly care.

It is unnecessary to dispose of the Yankee; for, with the
pertinacity characteristic of his race, he will not be disposed
of until his story of Knight-Errantry in Mexico is complete.