The Bandolero; Or, A Marriage among the MountainsReid, Mayne
History
The Bandolero; Or, A Marriage among the Mountains
Reid, Mayne
Mexico -- History -- 19th century -- Fiction
"_Mil demonios_!" screamed the bandit, now for the first time
recognising me. "_Carajo! you_, it is! You, my saintly friend, whose
devotions I had the pleasure of witnessing, and the pain of disturbing,
in the Cathedral of La Puebla! May I ask why I am honoured by this
early call--in a mansion so remote from the ordinary walks of life?"
"Come, Captain Carrasco," I replied, "if such be your title. I don't
intend to lose time in talking to you. I call upon you to surrender,
and at once!"
"And suppose I don't choose to take it in that way, what then?"
"You need expect no mercy."
"From you, caballero, I have no idea of asking it?"
"You have need, then, unless you desire to die. You have no chance of
escape--not the slightest. I tell it you in all seriousness, and
without thought of triumph. My men are stationed, so as to command
every path that leads from the place. They are all armed with rifles
and revolvers."
"Listen to reason!" I went on almost entreatingly, having now become
convinced of the mistake I had made, in doing what might drive the
brigand to desperation. "Give up your captives, and I promise to spare
the lives both of yourself and your comrades."
"_Ay, Dios_! how generous you are! Ha! Ha! Ha! Is that all you can
promise, noble captain?"
"No--not all," I answered, stung by the taunting speech. "Something
more. If you reject the terms offered, I promise that in ten minutes
from this time your soul will be in eternity, and your body hanging from
the branch of yonder tree!"
I pointed to one of the pines that stood conspicuous on the cliff.
"What, so soon?" was the cool rejoinder. "It will take you more than
ten minutes to force an entrance into this citadel of ours. Don't
mistake it for a _jacale_. Though our fortress be of wood, it is
stronger than you suppose, senor captain."
"We can set fire to it!"
"Ah! you won't do that. I've no fear of being burnt up, or smoked out,
so long as I am in such goodly company."
The sneer with which the speech was accompanied goaded me to frantic
rage--at the same time that it made me feel my impotence to carry out
the threat I had so boastingly pronounced.
"We shall not need to set the house on fire," was my reply; "we shall
get at you without that. My men are provided with axes. They are
backwoodsmen, and know how to use them. It won't take us ten minutes to
break open your door."
"Open it!" interrupted the robber, "and one half of you will never live
to stride across the threshold. Those who do, will be witnesses to a
scene which I know, noble captain, _you_ won't love to look upon."
"What scene?" I involuntarily asked, as a horrid fancy flashed across
my brain.
"A woman--a beautiful woman--with a poignard in her breast! By the Holy
Virgin, you shall see _that_!"
I felt as if a dagger had been plunged into my own. I knew it was no
idle vaunt. There was a terrible firmness in the tone of the brigand's
voice that told of his being in earnest.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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