# Vagabond life in Mexico/Remigio Vasquez

Remigio Vasquez
CHAPTER I.
There is one peculiar charm in the towns of Mexico, and that is the perfect straightness of the streets, along which the eye wanders till the point of sight terminates in the blue hills of the country. In Mexico especially I was never tired gazing upon the mountains which bound the horizon upon all sides. On the east I seemed to hear the murmur of the Pacific, and on the west the hoarse roar of the Atlantic sounding from behind these mountains. The first of these oceans reminded me of one of the most adventurous epochs of my life; and I never could forget that the second washed the shores of my native country. I never looked in that direction without feeling a kind of regret and sadness, which often merged into feverish anxiety. In this state of mind, I grasped at every thing which could afford me a pretext for quitting Mexico. I hastened to shake off the sluggishness which began to weigh upon me, and to abandon my self anew to the dangers and emotions of a wandering life a sure remedy against home-sickness.
One evening, on reaching home, I learned that a stranger had called during my absence. The unknown had said that his business with me related to a matter of life and death; but, when asked to leave his ​name, had obstinately refused to give it. He happened to say, however, that he was living at an inn, the Meson de Regina and had gone away expressing great annoyance at not finding me, and promising to return the next day. The strange air of the visitor, the numerous questions he put, the care that he evidently took not to allow his face to be seen by arranging the folds of his blue manga over it, and the large hat which shaded his eyes, combined to give to this visit a mysterious character, which acted very strongly on my imagination. When alone in my chamber, I called to recollection every one whom it might possibly be, but in vain, and I waited anxiously for the next day, which might probably unriddle the enigma; but the morning passed, the day advanced, and the unknown had not made his appearance. I resolved to go to the Meson de Regina; and, having got a description of the stranger, set out for the inn.
Although situated in one of the most central streets in Mexico, the Meson de Regina is only distinguished from other inns on less frequented roads by the greater number of travelers who are always coming and going. There is the same range of stabling, the same barrenness of furniture, the same absence of every comfort. I called for the huesped. In any other country it would have been an easy thing to find out the name of the unknown, whose costume I could describe to the most minute details, but it is very different in a Mexican hotel.
"Do you fancy," said the huesped to me, "that it is my business to ask the names of those who frequent my house? I have something else to think of, I as sure you; but as for the person you are inquiring after, he set out, not half an hour ago, for Cuantitlan, as ​his servant, who accompanied him, informed me, and, if you are a swift horseman, you may overtake him, if you are so very desirous to know his name."
"What was the color of their horses?"
"Iron-gray and peach-blossom."
A ride of some hours before dinner could not but be salutary. Before setting out in pursuit of the stranger, I went home in order to ask some more questions of Cecilio, my valet, about my visitant. This lad had been already several years in my service, and his round chubby face, with an air at once hypocritical and simple, reminded me strongly of Ambrosio of Lamela in Gil Blas. As I expected, he gave me a very unsatisfactory description of the unknown. I then disclosed to Cecilio my intention of setting out immediately for Cuantitlan, ordering him at the same time to saddle our horses with all speed. Cecilio tried to convince me that, in an affair of so delicate a nature, it were best if I went alone, but I reiterated my order, and he left the room to execute my commands. As I was going to travel in the country, I donned my Mexican costume, and went down into the court in all haste. I remarked, without surprise, that my serape had been attached to the back of my saddle. My pistols were in their holsters; and I also carried a lance with a scarlet pennon, heavily shod with iron, which I was accustomed, when traveling, to have fixed to my right stirrup. A sabre hung from Cecilio's saddle-bow, and a tolerably well-packed valise was fixed to the croup of his horse. I asked him why he was making such preparations, as we were only going out for a short ride; but his only answer was, that the environs of Mexico were infested by robbers.
We set out. The travelers we were in pursuit of ​could not be more than an hour in advance of us, and the unusual color of their horses would aid us in tracking them easily. I flattered myself that if we pushed on we could overtake them without difficulty in two hours, and if that were beyond our power, a couple of fresh horses would not take long to cover the six leagues between Mexico and Cuantitlan. I thus set out with the intention of returning before sunset. The difference of speed, however, between my horse and that of my servant, forced me to slacken my pace. Two hours had already rolled away without catching the slightest glimpse of the man I was in quest of, and the spire of Cuantitlan had not even come in sight. I almost feared that the inn-keeper had sent us the wrong road, when some muleteers, returning to Mexico, told me that they had met two horsemen, one mounted on an iron-gray, the other on a peach-blossom. We reached Cuantitlan in a short time, and I was directed to the hostelry where the two horsemen had stopped. I had not been long in coming hither, and was at last soon to know what I was burning to learn. I went to the inn which had been pointed out to me, and my foot had no sooner reached the ground than I began questioning the huesped with the air of one who is sure of finding what he wants.
"Are your horses tired?" said the host, when I had finished.
"No."
"Well, that's something, for the travelers only entered my house for refreshment and then left, and it will be fresh horses alone that can overtake them."
And the host, who interested himself as much, if that could be, with the horsemen that passed his house as with those that lived within it, turned his back upon ​me with the politeness peculiar to his class. I vaulted again into my saddle. A quarter of an hour more, thought I, would explain to me a certain defiant raillery which Cecilio had taken little pains to suppress. To my great mortification, however, the time rolled away; night was coming on, and the shades of evening were falling insensibly around. Night at last fell; and I would have given up this long-protracted chase, had not wounded self-esteem goaded me as much as curiosity. A solemn silence brooded over the road we were pursuing. Sometimes I stopped, fancying I heard before me the stamp of horses' feet, and then redoubled my pace with ardor, till the unbroken stillness which reigned around showed that I had been under a delusion. Still, the certainty of being on the traces of the unknown kept up my spirits, for, from Mexico to the place where we now were, not even a bridle-path joined our road. All the probabilities were in my favor. However, after a six hours' ride we required rest, and a twelve leagues' gallop rendered a halt necessary for our horses. It was, besides, time to set about looking for a place to put up, for in Mexico there are two requisites for getting into an inn; the first is, that the inn please the travelers; and the second, that the hour and the travelers please the inn-keeper. Luckily, I was not long in discovering a light in a cabin standing by itself, toward which we spurred our horses. Our host informed us that two horsemen had passed his house about half an hour before we came up, but the night was so dark that he could not distinguish the color of their horses. As he was sure that they must stop a short way off to pass the night, we decided to stay where we were till dawn, hoping to over take them on the following morning. I considered ​that if we were off before sunrise we could easily make up for lost time. Unfortunately, Cecilio did not rise next morning till late, and the sun was high in the heavens ere we found ourselves on the road. I had, however, gone too far to recede, and, besides, I had now a definite aim to pursue. Cecilio did not view the case in the same light as myself, and it was with a slight feeling of despair that every now and then he informed me of the number of leagues we had traveled since we left Mexico. But, though seen by so many people, the travelers seemed to slip from me as if by magic at the very moment I was flattering myself that I had overtaken them. I had already passed through the rocky defile of the Cañada, and had left behind me the hacienda of St. Francisco. During my journey I had inquired at every rancho, and at all the ordinary halting-places, and every one concurred in saying that two mounted travelers, one on an iron-gray, the other on a peach-blossom, could be only a short distance in advance.
"These two travelers are surely a brace of devils," said Cecilio, sadly, "or two great criminals at least, as they seem to stop to rest nowhere."
Without replying, I continued my route, for I did not wish to have the worst in this contest, and a kind of phrensy began to take the place of my former curiosity. For the second time since leaving Mexico the sun set behind the hills that lay before us, and still there was no hope of attaining the object of our journey. Our horses, jaded by a ride of twenty hours, were beginning to be fatigued; and it was with a lively satisfaction that I perceived, by the last gleams of departing day, the red walls of the hacienda of Arroyo Zarco.