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The cavalier adventurers were aware of its object though two of them, Baraja and Oroche, had no very clear understanding upon the matter. The fumes of the mezcal were still in their heads, and it was with difficulty they could balance themselves in the saddle. They were sensible of their situation, and did their best to conceal it from the eyes of the chief.
Wrapped as usual in his ragged cloak, Oroche appeared to have the true inspiration of an artist: since he could thus elevate himself upon the wings of music, above the vulgar consideration of the toilette, or the cleanliness and comfort of the person. A bottle of mezcal, already half empty, stood upon the table.
"As God lives," cried Oroche, "I should be happy to find some occasion of sacrificing private interests to the common good." "But is there such a man?" inquired Diaz, "and who may he be?" "It's a long story," replied Cuchillo, "and its details concern only myself but there is such a man." "Carajo!" exclaimed Oroche, "that is enough; he should be got rid of as speedily as possible."
"And you could never learn the names of these brave, generous, and devoted men?" asked Dona Rosarita. "Not at the moment," continued Gayferos; "only it appeared strange to me, that the youngest of the three hunters spoke to me of Don Estevan, Diaz, Oroche, and Baraja, as though he knew them perfectly."
The careful cutting, however, went for nothing; and once more the sum he had staked was swept into the pocket of his adversary. All at once Cuchillo flew off into a passion, scattering his hand of cards over the table. "Who the devil wants your music?" cried he to Oroche in a furious tone, "and I myself, fool that I am, to play in this fashion only credit when I win, and cash whenever I lose."
Cuchillo, as he drew near the tent, arranged his countenance and threw back his long hair as though the wind had blown it about in his rapid flight and then entered the tent like a man out of breath and pretending to wipe the perspiration from his forehead. Oroche had glided in with Diaz.
Oroche coolly took up his mandolin which at the interference of Cuchillo he had laid aside and, like a bard of ancient times was, preparing to accompany the combat with a chant, when Diaz suddenly interposed between the two champions.
"How?" hastily inquired Don Estevan. "The bird has flown: the young man is no longer about the place." "Gone!" exclaimed Don Estevan. "And you have let him escape?" "How could I hinder him? This brute, Baraja, as well as Oroche, were both drunk with mezcal; and Diaz refused to assist me, point-blank.
This last magnificent exploit seemed to end the battle; some arrows flew harmlessly around Diaz, who was welcomed back with shouts of triumph by his companions. "Poor Benito!" cried Baraja; "may God rest his soul, I regret even his terrific histories." "What is still more to be regretted," interrupted Oroche, "is the death of the illustrious Cuchillo, the guide of the expedition."
But Cuchillo did not desire to have a partner in the deed who could claim a share in the promised reward, he was determined to have the twenty onzas to himself; and this it was that induced him to leave Baraja and Oroche behind him. His design was well conceived, and might have been executed to his satisfaction.
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