# Vagabond life in Mexico/Assassination of the young Spanish Noble

CHAPTER V.
Assassination of the young Spanish Noble.
On returning to the town, I inquired which of the three or four hotels in Guanajuata was the cheapest, convinced that it was only in one of that description that the Biscayan was to be found. I was right in my conjecture, for the first person I met on alighting in the court-yard of the posada was Don Jaime de Villalobos. He was just going out when I presented my self suddenly before him, and I had scarcely dismounted ere he pressed me in his arms, according to the manner of his country. For my part, I listened with interest to his adventures after our separation. He told me that he had arrived at Guanajuato almost four days before me, and that his utmost wishes had been realized. A priest, who had been gained over by the relative of Donna Luz, had married them without difficulty, and since that time his young wife had been ​hidden in a convent, where he saw her every day, until he could take such steps as would allow them to leave Mexico. One circumstance only caused him a little alarm: he believed that he met in the streets, the night before, one of the servants who was in the train of his wife's father at the venta of Arroyo Zarco.
"But as I fancy that I see every where the appearance of spies and robbers," he said, gayly, "it is more than probable that I am deceived, and that they are seeking me at a greater distance than where I really am. And you," added he, "have you laid your hand on Don Tomas Verdugo yet?"
"No; and, from all I have learned about him, I am more anxious to avoid him now than I was to meet him before." And I recounted my adventure in the ravine with Florencio Planillas. "Your cloak," I added, "served me a bad turn, for it is similar to one that the informer against Florencio wears, one Remigio Vasquez."
At the name Don Jaime turned pale, and cried,
"What! was it Remigio Vasquez that the scoundrel had in mind to shoot? and do they accuse him of a crime which he never contemplated? Ah! my presentiments have not deceived me."
"Why?"
"Remigio Vasquez is the name I bear here."
​"No," he said, "Luzecita waits me at the convent. Not to go to see her would plunge her into the deepest grief. No one can escape their destiny."
We talked together a short time longer. As he insensibly lapsed into a gloomy mood, I tried to jest with him upon our actual position.
"As for me," I said, "I shall be more prudent than you. I am going to bury myself in the deepest mine I can find, and it will be a terrible thing if this horrid Verdugo meets me eighteen hundred feet below ground."
We separated, Don Jaime to the convent, and I to visit one of the most easily accessible mines in the neighborhood. As I was crossing the square on my way to the outskirts of the town, I fancied I distinguished the well-known face of Florencio Planillas at the door of a pulqueria. Delighted at having this opportunity of undeceiving him as to the intention of Remigio Vasquez, or rather Don Jaime, I went up to the door, in spite of the repugnance I have for these Mexican cabarets, where both men and women sit drinking that abominable liquor prepared from fermented pulque. Whether Florencio had seen, and wished to avoid me, I know not; at any rate, he disappeared into the shop. The life of Don Jaime doubtless depended on the interview I was going to have with Florencio. I stepped over some drunkards, quite intoxicated, who were lying, clothed in rags, across the doorway, and entered the pulqueria. What a fantastical appearance met my eye! The walls were covered with frescoes of the most incredible nature, representing ancient grotesque personages, pictures of ​drunken brawls, of murder, of love, of giants, dwarfs, and cavaliers, accompanied with the most startling devices, and all surmounted with this clinching inscription: (Hoy se paga, manana se fia) Pay now, credit afterward. Large open vats, filled with a milky liquor, from which exhaled a horrible smell, were placed all round the room, and the publican was busily engaged ladling it out with a calabash for his customers, among whom I soon recognized Florencio.
"Ah! Señor Cavalier," cried he, advancing with the glass in his hand, "allow me to offer you—"
"No, I am not thirsty; but I have some good news for you."
I tried then to tell him that he had been falsely informed when he had been told that the person who was trying to dispossess him of his mine was Remigio Vasquez. It was a long time before I could make the obfuscated drunkard understand the purport of my visit, and undeceive him with regard to the Biscayan.
"You see that I am delighted," cried he, when he had at last made out the meaning of my words.
"For poor Remigio's sake?" I said.
"No, for my own sake. I don't fear his information," he replied, with a drunken frankness; "but if that change my intentions regarding him, Remigio Vasquez's affair is not a bit improved. I mean to say (and, swallowing what remained in his glass, he seemed to be trying to collect his thoughts) I mean that it is capital for— for—"
"For whom?" I exclaimed, losing all patience.
"Ah! caramba, for our intimate friend, the respectable Don Tomas Verdugo, as your lordship styles him." ​And the miner was not slow in telling me that the bravo would receive a considerable sum from the injured father, as he had been told, to avenge the insult offered to his outraged family.
"And where is Don Tomas?" I inquired of Florencio. "I am sure that I can undeceive him as well as yourself."
"I think I know where he is at present," replied Planillas.
"Well, why do you wait here? Let us set out immediately in search of him."
"I would like well enough to be off; but, you see, I can't quit this place without paying my score, and I have not a single tlaco about me."
"That needn't detain you. Call the publican."
"Truly," said Florencio, with much effrontery, "yesterday evening you partook of my hospitality; if you clear my expenses to-day, we shall be quits."
The publican immediately appeared, and I inquired how much Florencio owed him. The miner tipped him the wink, and the other immediately said, "Two piastres." This was far too much, and the drunken scoundrel would very likely gain a piastre and a half by it; but time was precious. I yielded, and we hastened in pursuit of Don Tomas. Unluckily, the tottering legs of my companion but ill seconded my efforts, and I was obliged to proceed very slowly. In this manner we traversed a considerable part of the town. Every now and then the drunken rascal stopped before a house, saying he was within, but he was invariably mistaken. We at last stood before a dark, steep, wet alley, at the end of which you saw the dusky light which issued from a garden.
"Are you sure you are right this time?" I asked ​anxiously of Florencio; "for time is passing, and poor Vasquez is in danger of his life."
"He is there, assuredly," stammered my companion; "for I could never forgive myself if I had arrived too late, and any misfortune (here his eyes became bathed in maudlin tears) were to happen to Don Tomas. Such a worthy man as he is, too!"
After this burst of sensibility, which failed signally in its object, Florencio plunged into the lane, and I remained alone, for I thought that we could no longer proceed together. I walked about in the street, a prey to anxiety easy to comprehend, counting the minutes, which seemed centuries, and expecting every moment to see this Don Tomas, who had not been out of my thoughts for so many days, appear before me; but time passed, and he did not make his appearance. An hour was spent in this manner, and at last I decided on going to the house myself. I walked through the dark alley, entered the garden at the other end, and the first thing I saw was a man stretched on the ground. This was the unhappy Florencio, who was snoring as if he would burst his nostrils, and had forgotten every thing in his drunkenness. I retraced my steps, resolving to trust to myself only; but it was a long time before I found myself in a part of the town I knew. I got to my hotel with some difficulty. Cecilio met me at the gate.
"Ah!" cried he, on seeing me, "what a dreadful misfortune has happened! The young cavalier that you met this morning had a quarrel fixed on him by a passenger in the street, and they have carried him to his own room. He is dead, there's no doubt of it."
Such an occurrence is so common in Mexico that no unusual stir was visible in the hotel as I mounted ​the stairs to go to Don Jaime's room. The poor young man, uncared for, untended, appeared to be sleeping the most tranquil sleep of all, upon a bench of stone, with a bloody sheet thrown over him. The fresh air which struck his face as I lifted the cloth caused him to open his eyes, over which the glaze of death was already stealing.
"I know who you are," he said;" it was you who succored me when I was in want, and you will remain by me till the last, I am sure. Thank you."
The Biscayan gave me his clay-cold hand.
"My hand is burning hot, is it not? A few minutes ago she pressed it between both of hers. Good God! what will she say when she never sees me again?"
"Never fear," I replied. "Tell me where I can see Donna Luz."
The Biscayan whispered her address into my ear.
"Now," replied he, "it is useless. My hours are numbered; she will come too late! When I am gone, don't tell her that she was the cause of my death. Inform her only that my last thought was of her."
Some rambling, unconnected words now escaped from the poor Spaniard his mother's name, his country's, and his dear wife's, for whom he had paid the penalty of his life. While the exterior world was gradually fading from his eyes, the sweet and holy impressions of childhood, the first imprinted on the heart of man, and the last to leave it, still threw a few bright beams athwart the thickening darkness of his thoughts. All at once, turning himself to me, he exclaimed, in a clear, distinct voice,
"You will go and see my mother, won't you? Be it a year after this, or even ten. Say this to console ​her, that I died worth millions, but not that I breathed my last on such a bed as this."
I bowed in token of assent, and Don Jaime employed the little strength that was left him in telling me where to find his house, near Vergara, in Biscay. I promised to fulfill this last request. A vague, meaningless smile now played upon the dying man's lips, that moved only in a prayer he put up in which his mother's name was mentioned. These were his last words. I wiped away the foam that covered his lips with a corner of his cloak, and closed the eyes, which were wide open and staring. At this moment some body touched me on the shoulder. I turned about. A man whose entrance I had not noticed stood behind me. By his staff I saw he was an alcalde.
"Well, Señor Cavalier," said he, "you would give something, I know, to have satisfaction for the death of this young man. I am convinced you would; be calm the eye of justice sees it all."
"When it is too late," I said, in a low tone.
"Is he a friend—a relation—a brother perhaps?" asked the alcalde.
I knew Mexican law too well to allow myself to be taken in by this appearance of compassion and interest, and said nothing.
"Well, I am waiting for your declaration," pursued he, with an engaging air.
"My declaration, Señor Alcalde, is this" (and I inwardly asked pardon of the corpse lying before me for the lie I was about to utter): "I declare that I don't know, nor ever have known, this young man." ​The disappointed alcalde was not long in leaving the room.
"Ah! Señor Cavalier," said the huesped, who had witnessed the whole scene, "you are a foreigner, it is true, but you did not come into the country yester day."
I pretended not to comprehend the compliment he had paid me, and threw a last glance at the poor Biscayan. His face wore that aspect of serenity and peace which often appears on men who have died a violent death. A quiet smile played upon his lips. Though only commenced a few days before, the short connection I had had with Don Jaime was now closed. As regards the mysterious link which bound me to Don Tomas, that was not broken for some time after ward.
A year had passed since the death of the Biscayan. I had quitted Mexico. Besides the promise I had given Don Jaime, a less romantic motive, one quite personal, led me into Spain. The embers of the civil war were then fast dying out. The diligences which plied between Bayonne and Madrid, and the towns between those cities, had stopped running in consequence of the Carlist bands which infested the Basque frontier. I reached Bilboa, and it was only at great expense that I could procure a pair of horses and a guide. This man, who was to leave me at Vergara, from whence I could reach St. Sebastian, had himself served in the Carlist ranks. From Bilboa to Vergara is almost thirty miles. Throughout this wide extent of country, the people in the villages, fearing invasion, had emigrated in bands, and the road, dangerous even at its best, would have appeared very long without the stories of my guide. We arrived at Vergara at night​fall; the townsmen were fast deserting it. A Carlist band had announced its arrival. My guide could go no farther, his pass not permitting him to leave the town. A league farther on the horses would be seized and himself arrested.
"I must leave you," he said, "but I am very sorry for it. I know my old comrades well; and may the holy Virgin keep you from falling into their hands."
"My nationality protects me," I exclaimed; "I fear neither Carlist nor Christino."
"Your being a Frenchman will not avail you, for— for— for—" The good man, hesitating for a while, added, "For you will probably be hung off hand."
This did not startle me much; I knew, if my life were in peril, I should find a secure retreat in the house of the mother of poor Don Jaime, who had once been a Carlist officer. The mountaineer, who could not account for my coolness, shook me by the hand and said,
"You are a brave fellow, by heavens! and I hope they will shoot rather than hang you."
​The castle seemed deserted. I knocked at the door. Some seconds elapsed, and a woman, clad in black, appeared. I desired her to announce to her mistress that a stranger had arrived from America, and was the bearer of some important news.
"Alas!" replied the woman, "the poor lady died six months ago, and I am looking for her son every day."
"He is dead too!" I exclaimed.
I then learned that, some time before my arrival, the mother of Don Jaime had been presented with a considerable sum of money. As no letter had accompanied the remittance, she concluded that the unknown benefactor must have been her son. This sudden change in her fortune had a fatal effect upon her. When on her death-bed, she had ordered the money to be laid out in rendering the castle worthy of the residence of its young master, and had died thanking God that he had allowed a gleam of prosperity to shine at last upon the old race of Villalobos.
I had fulfilled my promise, and did not remain long at the chateau. It is needless to add that, contrary to the warning of my guide, I finished my excursion without meeting even the shadow of a Carlist band or Christino detachment.
* ↑ The sap of the aloe, which is first as sweet as honey, but by fermentation becomes stinking, sour, and heady.
* ↑ By professing relationship, or even acquaintance, with one who has fallen by assassination, you render yourself, in Mexico, bound to defray the expenses of justice.