"Forwards!" don Jaime cried.
They set out once more. The silent and rapid ride recommenced. The night was gloomy and the riders glided through the shadows like phantoms. All night they galloped thus. At about five a.m. they changed horses again at a half-ruined rancho. These men seemed made of iron; though they had been fifteen hours in the saddle, fatigue had no hold on them. Not a word had been exchanged between them during this long ride.
At about ten o'clock in the morning, they saw the domes of Puebla glittering in the dazzling sunbeams. They had covered one hundred and twenty-six miles that separated that town from Mexico, in twenty hours, along almost impracticable roads. At about half a league from the town, instead of continuing to advance in a straight line, at a sign from the adventurer, they turned off and entered a scarce traced path that ran through a wood. For an hour they galloped after don Jaime, who had taken the lead of the cavalcade. They thus reached a rather extensive clearing, in the centre of which stood an enramada.
"We have arrived," said the adventurer, checking his horse and dismounting. "We will establish our headquarters here temporarily."
His companions leaped down and prepared to unsaddle their horses.
"Wait," he continued. "Lo?ck, you will go to your rancho, where the Count de la Saulay and his servants are at present, and bring them here. You, López, will fetch our provisions."
"Are we two going to wait under this enramada, then?" Dominique asked.
"No; for I am going to Puebla."
"Do you not fear being recognized?"
The adventurer smiled. Don Jaime and the vaquero were left alone. They removed their horses' bridles so that they might graze freely on the tender grass of the clearing.
"Follow me," said don Jaime.
Dominique obeyed. They went under the enramada. This is the name given in Mexico to a species of shapeless hut formed of interlaced branches, and covered with other branches and leaves; these tenements, though of very paltry appearance, offer a very sufficient shelter against rain and sunshine. This enramada, better built than the others, was divided into two compartments by a hurdle of intertwined branches, which mounted to the roof and divided the hut into two equal parts. Don Jaime did not stop in the first compartment, but passed straight into the second, still followed by Dominique, who for some moments past seemed to be plunged into serious reflections. The adventurer disturbed a pile of grass and dry leaves, and drawing his machete, began digging up the ground. Dominique looked at him in amazement.
"What are you doing there?" he asked him.
"As you see, I am clearing the entrance of a vault; come and help me," he answered.
Both set to work. Ere long appeared a large flat stone, in the centre of which a ring was fixed. When the stone was removed, steps, clumsily cut in the rock, became visible.
"Come down," said the adventurer.
He had lighted a lamp by means of a lucifer match. Dominique cast a curious glance around him. The spot where he was, situated some seven or eight yards underground, formed a sort of octagonal hall of very considerable dimensions; four galleries, which seemed to run further underground, entered at so many different points. This hall was amply supplied with weapons of every description; there were also harnesses, clothes, a bed made of leaves and furs, and even books on a shelf hanging against the side.
"You see one of my dens," the adventurer said with a smile. "I possess several like this scattered all over Mexico. This vault dates from the time of the Aztecs, and its existence was revealed to me several years ago by an aged Indian. You are aware that the province in which we now are, was anciently the sacred territory of the Mexican religion, and temples swarmed on it; the numberless underground passages were used by the priests to go from one place to another without being discovered, and thus give greater force to miracles of ubiquity which they pretended to accomplish. At a later date, they served as a refuge to the Indians persecuted by the Spanish conquerors. The one we are now in, which runs on one side to the pyramid of Cholula, and on the other to the very heart of Puebla without counting other issues, was on several occasions extremely useful to the Mexican insurgents during the war of Independence—now its existence is forgotten, and the secret is only known to myself and to you now."
The vaquero had listened to this explanation with the most lively interest.
"Pardon me," he said, "but there is one thing that I do not exactly understand."
"What is it?"
"You told me just now that if anyone arrived by chance, we should be at once warned?"
"Yes, I did say so."
"I do not at all understand how this can be."
"Very simply. You see that gallery, do you not?"
"Yes."
"It terminates with a sort of outlook about a yard square, covered with shrubs, and impossible to detect at the very entrance of the path by which it is alone possible to enter the wood; now, by a singular effect of acoustics, which I shall not at all attempt to explain, all sounds, of whatever nature they may be, even the slightest, which are produced near that outlook are immediately repeated here, with such distinctness, that it is most easy to recognize their nature."
"Oh! In that case I am no longer alarmed."
"Moreover, when the persons we expect have arrived, we will stop up this hole, which will be useless to us, and leave by the gallery that opens there in front of you."
While giving these explanations to his friend, the adventurer had doffed a portion of his garments.
"What are you doing?" Dominique asked.
"I am disguising myself, in order to go and find out how matters stand in Puebla. The inhabitants of that town are very religious; monasteries are numerous there, and hence I am going to put on a Camaldoli dress, by favour of which I can attend to my business without fear of attracting attention."
The vaquero had sat down on the furs, and was reflecting with his back against the wall.
"What is the matter, Dominique? You appear to me preoccupied and sad?" don Jaime asked him a moment after.
The young man started as if a viper had suddenly stung him.
"I am, in truth, sad, master," he muttered.
"Have I not told you that we shall find do?a Dolores again?" he continued.
Dominique quivered, and his face became livid; "Master," he said, as he rose, and hung his head, "despise me, I am a coward."
"You a coward, Domingo! Good God, you speak falsely."
"No, master, I am telling the truth, I have misunderstood my duty, betrayed my friend, and forgotten your recommendations." He gave a profound sigh. "I love the betrothed wife of my friend," he added feebly.
The adventurer fixed his bright eyes on him, "I was aware of it," he said.
Domingo started and exclaimed in alarm, "You knew it?"
"I did," don Jaime continued, "And you do not despise me?"
"Why should I? Are we masters of our heart?"
"But she is betrothed to the count, my friend."
The adventurer made no answer to this exclamation. "And does she love you in return?" he asked.
"How can I tell?" he exclaimed, "I have hardly dared to confess it to myself."
There was a lengthened silence. While putting on his monastic garb, the adventurer examined the young man aside. "The count does not love do?a Dolores?" he at length said.
"What! Can it be possible?" he exclaimed, hotly. Don Jaime burst into a laugh.
Join or Log In!
You need to log in to continue reading
(Left Keyword <-) Previous:
CHAPTER XIX COMPLICATIONS.
Back
Next:
CHAPTER XXI. THE PRISONERS.
(Right Keyword:->)