CHAPTER X.
FELIPE’S CONFESSION.
Marcos Sayosa did not escape entirely scatheless from his frightful peril at the tiro general, where Estevan Despierto attempted his murder, for the shock had thrown him into a fever that settled upon his brain. But fortunately it was not very severe, and in a week’s time he was well again, although somewhat feeble. Still he would not return to his work at the mine. The adventure had sickened him of that, for the time being, at least.
Then he recalled his promise to visit the Canelo hacienda, and thinking that a change of air and scene would do him good, he determined to redeem it, and so announced to Tomas Ventura. On the next day the old man told Carlita to get ready to pay an old friend a visit of a few days. She knew better than to cross her father, and although wondering inwardly what new whim he had taken, accompanied him to Donna Paxuita’s house, greatly to that venerable dame’s surprise. But a few words from Ventura satisfied her.
Marcos was also surprised, but still more so when tio Tomas said that he was going to accompany him upon his visit.
“You need not be troubled, Marcos. I shall not intrude upon the fine folk, but stop with the servants. There is one there that I must see, and this may be my only chance; for I do not believe that my days are to be much longer,” he exclaimed.
“Pshaw, tio Tomas, you will outlive me yet, see if you don’t. But are you really in earnest about going with me?”
“So much so that there is but one thing that can prevent me.”
“And that?”
“Is death.”
“Do you know, tio, that I wish you would not speak so much about that? It does not seem right, and gives me the cold chills whenever you mention the word. Perhaps because I have stared it in the face so lately,” said Marcos, with a little shrug.
“I may be wrong, but it seems to me that before many days, I, too, shall stand face to face with it; only instead of evading it, as you did, it will be the victor. I only hope that it may not be until after I have seen the person I wish. Then it matters but little, for I know that you will care for Carlita,” solemnly uttered Ventura.
“Carambo, tio, take a drop of this; it will warm you up and banish all such idle fancies,” as he handed the old man a bottle of wine from the cupboard against the wall.
“Not so idle as you think, perhaps; but we will see.”
Early the next day the two men rode out from the little timber belt, and set out rapidly upon their journey. They were well mounted and thoroughly armed, as indeed they needed to be, for the country then was not the most peaceful or safe to traverse. They determined to divide the journey into three days’ ride, as neither of them was very strong.
Nothing occurred till the third day of any consequence. They had halted at about eleven o’clock, to lie by during the heat of the day, under a few small trees that grew beside a spring, bubbling forth from beneath a pile of sandstone. They kindled a fire to boil their chocolate, and, not fearing any danger, were not particular as to whether they burned perfectly dry or damp wood. In consequence, the smoke, thick and dark, arose in a considerable column above the tree tops before the fire was fairly started.
It caught the eye of a single horseman, who was riding along upon the opposite side of the rocks, and, after eyeing it curiously for a few moments, he slowly advanced in its direction. Then securing his horse in a small ravine, he unslung his escopette, and proceeded to investigate the cause.
But of this our two friends were, of course, unaware. They little suspected that the hunter of blood was so near. Had a zopilate, that dusky scavenger of Mexico, been sailing overhead, he would have seen this picture:
The green clump of trees, shadowing the little rill of water that ran from the sparkling, bubbling spring; the fire lighted and now bursting into a bright, roaring blaze, with the forms of two men bending over it, while their horses eagerly cropped the rich grass that grew hard by. On the opposite side of the gray rocks he would have seen the dark form of a man rapidly gliding along with trailed rifle, crouching half way to the ground, until he had to bend his long arms to keep them from dragging. This he would have seen, and more. Two horsemen swiftly approaching the spring upon nearly the same trail as that followed by Marcos Sayosa and Tomas Ventura, and consequently closed out from the view of the solitary stalker.
His instincts would have told him that there was a fair prospect of his dinner being afforded him, and he would have hovered over the spot.
The two men were sitting near the fire, engaged in conversation, when one of the horses stamped his hoof and pricked up his ears, as though he scented something suspicious. This did not escape the watchful eye of Ventura, and, as he followed the direction indicated by the tremulous ears of his horse, he saw a shaggy head rise from behind a boulder, and then the bright barrel of a gun as it was leveled toward them.
“Look out, Marcos, there’s some deviltry going on!” he shouted out, leaping forward and pulling the young miner backward to the ground.
Just then the gun cracked, and, with a wild yell of agony, the old man fell to the ground, writhing and moaning with pain. The bullet that had been intended for Marcos had passed through his own body. The youth saw the jet of flame-colored smoke, and regaining his feet, he drew a pistol and bounded forward to avenge the death of his companion.
The murderer, nothing loth, leaped from behind his covert, and with one report the two pistols were discharged. Marcos was untouched, and Sylva Cohecho received but a crease upon his shoulder, that acted as a spur. Before either could draw another weapon, they came into collision, and grappled with each other in a death struggle.
Although Sayosa was a powerful man, and had never before met his superior, his late illness had weakened him considerably, and he found, when too late, he was overmatched. The long arms of his antagonist seemed like bars of flexible steel, and wound around him, clasping him close to Cohecho’s body, with such force that it seemed as if his ribs were being crushed.
Still, he struggled manfully, and, by being so much taller than his foe and very active, he managed to keep his feet. But he was weakening, and his head began to swim. Cohecho saw his advantage, and did not fail to improve it. Under his enormous strength the tall, stalwart miner bent and swayed, until, with a dexterous trip, the murderer threw his antagonist, falling heavily upon him.
“Ah-ha! my game cock, your spurs are clipped now!” he growled, as he kneeled upon the senseless body, and, drawing his knife from his bootleg, tore open the shirt upon the young miner’s bosom, so as to gain a fair blow.
When Tomas Ventura fell, he thought that he was mortally wounded, but when he heard the struggle going on between his adopted son and Cohecho, he raised himself up on one hand, fearing lest Marcos, too, should be worsted. He saw enough to know that, unassisted, this would be the result and, dragging himself along by his hands, he managed to reach the guns, although the path was marked with his blood, and every motion wrung a groan from his lips.
He reached and cocked one of them, supporting it by resting his elbow upon the ground. Still he dared not fire, for the chances were as much in favor of his hitting Marcos as Cohecho. But then the combatants fell, and, as Sylva raised his knife to give the finishing blow, the escopette cracked and, true to its aim, an ounce ball crashed through the huge, shaggy head of the hunchbacked monster.
When the smoke shut off his view, Ventura swooned away, and for a long time all was blank. When he once more awoke to consciousness, he saw that Marcos was bending over him, and there were strangers in the glade. Then one of them approached and stood where the sunbeams fully revealed his features. Tomas Ventura glared at him wildly for a moment, and then shrieked:
“Holy Virgin, it is he!”
* * * * * * *
“And what is puzzling your brain now, Luisa, darling! You have been silent for one whole ten minutes by the watch. Surely something dreadful must be pending.”
“Why—was I still? I must have been thinking, Felipe.”
“Really? Well, as I never heard of your doing such a thing before, suppose you tell me the subject of your thoughts. Come, call me your father confessor, and begin.”
The speakers were Luisa and Felipe Canelo, who were walking in the large garden at the rear of the house, that was surrounded by a moderately high wall. They both looked somewhat abstracted, and Felipe particularly so, as though ill at ease.
“Well, I know of none that would suit me better than my handsome, noble brother,” she replied, with forced gaiety. “Come, here in the arbor. Let us sit down and I will try to explain why I am ‘out of sorts,’ if you will be as frank.”
“I?” echoed Felipe, as if astonished at her words.
“Yes, sir, you. Do you think you can blind me? I say that you have some secret in your mind, and I must know what it is; so there!”
“Sis—Luisa, tell me what you mean. What is it that you know?” cried Felipe, hoarsely, as he sunk upon the seat at her side.
“Brother, Felipe, are you ill? You are as pale as a ghost!”
“No, no; I am well, quite well. But tell me what you know—what you meant by my secret,” tightly clasping her hands.
“A secret—did I say that? No, Felipe, I was only jesting. Surely, you have no secret from me, your sister, who loves you so dearly?” asked Luisa, gazing up into his half-averted face.
“Are you sure that you do not know—that you tell me the whole truth?” faltered her brother.
“Felipe!”
“Pardon, sister. I believe I am mad of late—” he began.
“Yes, ever since that strange man visited you. Dearest brother, can not you confide your troubles to your mother and sister? Who should you trust if not those who are so proud of, and love you so tenderly?” pleaded Luisa, pressing his hand.
“And so I will; but first, dear one, tell me of what you were thinking a while since,” returned Felipe, as he banished the cloud from his face, and turned toward his sister.
“You will not laugh at me, brother? Well, it was of that noble stranger, who so gallantly rescued us from those ruffians.”
“And what did you think of him—in what way, I mean?”
“I can scarcely tell. When he first spoke to me, it seemed as though I had often heard his voice before, and when he was silent, the words were repeated over and over in my heart. And then something seemed to tell me that he was connected with my future life, and that he would have great influence over it. But whether for joy or sorrow, I could not tell. I knew that I should meet him again, and that we would become very dear to each other, and it was that secret voice that made me join my request to yours that he would visit us. I have often thought of this since, and tried to explain it to myself, but can not. We have not seen or heard of him since, and yet I know that he will come, that he will be here soon, and that my feeling will be explained. But how, or in what manner, I can not tell. I only know that it will be so!” murmured Luisa, in a dreamy, half-musing tone.
“And shall I explain this miracle, Luisa?” asked Felipe, bitterly, as he dropped her hand, and drew a little back.
“It you can, oh, if you can, dear brother!” exclaimed the maiden.
“I have solved many an enigma far more difficult than this one of yours, child. You say that you know this young miner will come here?”
“He will; I feel it.”
“And what would you say, my sister, if he should come to you and ask you to be his bride—to mate with him, the digger in the earth?”
“Felipe, what do you mean? You frighten me!”
“This. I mean that this Marcos Sayosa loves you. And more; that you love him!” exclaimed Canelo, bitterly.
“Oh, brother, surely you are wrong. He does not love me, nor do I love him—in the way you mean. And yet he is very dear to me; I know it, and perhaps I do love him. I don’t know; it is so strange—so sudden; you have frightened me!” cried Luisa, burying her face in her hands, and sobbing convulsively.
“Pardon me, sister—dear Luisa; I was mad—cruel, to speak so fiercely,” exclaimed Felipe, gently raising her head, and wiping the tears tenderly away. “See, let this be my apology,” softly pressing a kiss upon her brow.
“Thank you, Felipe; I was very foolish,” smiled Luisa, through her tears, “but I could not bear that you should speak harshly to me. I may love this stranger; perhaps I do, as you say so; but rest assured that I love you far better—a thousand times better than him!”
“If I could believe that you would say this after you have heard my confession, then I would be happy—oh, so happy!”
“I will, Felipe. Surely, you can say nothing to change it.”
“Ah, you do not know. You will hate me, scorn me, if I tell you my secret!” he murmured, despondingly.
“Felipe, can not you trust me?” asked Luisa, reproachfully.
“Yes, yes; I will—I must. It burns my heart and racks my brain until it seems as though I would go mad! But our poor mother; how will she bear it? Holy Virgin! at times I am tempted to kill myself.”
“Don’t, brother—dear Felipe; you frighten me when you look that way,” murmured Luisa, shrinking back a little.
“Frighten you, my angel? Not for worlds!” and he bent forward to bestow a kiss, when he suddenly started back. “No, no, not now. If ever my lips touch yours, the offer must first come from you, not me. It were a sin now!”
“Felipe!”
“Wait. Do not speak or look at me. If you should, my courage will fail me. Wait until I have finished my confession, and then—you shall judge me. Luisa, if you loved a man with such love as you should feel for a husband, and he should be guilty of a sin, a great crime, what would you do? Would you hate and despise him, and tell him to begone where you might never look upon his face again?”
“Not if he repented, Felipe, and acknowledged his sin of his own free will. No. If I loved a man as you say, brother—if I loved him as I do you, his fate should be mine. Where he dwelt, there would be my home; in all things we would be but one. If the world neglected or scorned him, I would try and make him forget all—all except that to me he was dearest of all. Do you understand me? I can not say what I would, but you can guess what I mean,” exclaimed Luisa, as she drew nearer to Felipe.
“No, Luisa, not yet; wait until I have told all, and then if you forgive me, put your hand in mine. But think well. If you do, it will be mine—mine forever! But now, listen.
“Luisa, I am not your brother, but am an impostor! Stay. Do not speak yet; let me finish, now that I have said the worst. But as the blessed Virgin knows, I thought that I was when I first came. In that, at least, I am innocent.
“The story that I told you and moth—your mother, was all true, so far as concerned myself. I was raised among your uncle’s band of Jarochos, and taught to consider myself an orphan. Who or what my parents were, I could never learn. They either did not know, or would not tell me. As I grew older, I learned how wicked were the ways of my comrades, but I could not resolve to leave the only friends that I had ever known, and still continued with the band. But I did not join them upon their plundering excursions, and managed to live fairly by selling the game I killed, or its hides. Then, as I told you, when I returned from one of my excursions, I found our captain, or your uncle, lying wounded unto death; and then he told me who I was, giving me the letter to carry to your mother and whom he swore was also my parent. God help me, I did not dream that a dying man would so perjure himself, and I believed all that he told me!
“You know how I was received, and that your mother was struck by my resemblance to your dead father, even before the letter was opened. But I can not dwell upon that now—now that I have lost it all. Then came the note that so astounded me, when I left you here, to meet the writer, who was none other than the lieutenant of the band to which I had belonged. I met him, and then, for the first time, I learned the plot of which I had been made the instrument.
“He told me that I was not your brother; that he was dead, and showed me a letter from your uncle saying as much. He then offered me my choice. Either to pay two thousand onzas each year, and he would be silent, otherwise he would expose the imposition to Senora Canelo. What could I do? That which was right, you say; but I could not. Holy Mother, forgive me, I promised the villain that I would submit to his demands, and in that was my sin, or part of it.
“The other was in receiving the caresses of you two—ladies, that belonged to a relation—not to me, the impostor. But my punishment was begun, even then. How could I look you in the face, and know, that if you only realized what a wretch I was, in reality, that you would as soon place to your lips a plate of red-hot iron, as to have kissed me. Can you guess how the words, ‘mother—sister,’ choked me as I was forced to utter them. But that was not all.
“When I found that you were not my sister, the love that I had thought a brother’s grew stronger and more painful, until I found that I loved you as only a man can love once in his lifetime. God knows how I strove to subdue it, and crush it out from my heart; but could I? Ah, no; it grew from day to day, hour to hour, until it became my master. It showed me the crime that I had contemplated, and at last I resolved to confess it, and then fly from the spot where I had been so happy, but I must again make miserable!” concluded the young man, as he covered his face with his hands, and wept the bitter tears of one whose soul is rocked with agony.
For a few moments Luisa set as if petrified, so sudden and unexpected had been the shock. But then the wild look passed from her eyes, and as they dimmed, her hand stole slowly along and rested upon that of him whom she had believed her brother. As he felt the light touch he shrunk away, as if it had been a serpent, and exclaimed:
“Stay, Luisa; do not touch me!”
“Felipe, do you remember what you said a while since? Here is my hand,” whispered the maiden, as she again touched his hand with hers.
“Luisa, think what you do. If I take your hand, remember that it is for ever; as that of my wife!” cried Felipe.
“Still I say, take it, Felipe—must I say it? I love you!”