Western Classics - Andy Adams Edition (19 Books in One Volume). Andy Adams
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court that I may prove my innocence."
"No! sentence has been passed upon you. If you hope for mercy, it must come from there," and the chief pointed heavenward. One of the band led out the arch-chief's horse, and with a parting instruction to "conceal his grave carefully," he rode away with but a single attendant.
As they led Don Ramon back to his blanket and replaced the fetters, his cup of sorrow was full to overflowing. Oddly enough the leader, since sentence of death had been pronounced upon his victim, was the only one of the band who showed any kindness. The others were brutal in their jeers and taunts. Some remarks burned into his sensitive nature as vitriol burns into metal. The bandit leader alone offered little kindnesses.
Two days later, the acting chief ordered the irons taken from the captive's feet, and the two men, with but a single attendant, who kept a respectful distance, started out for a stroll. The bandit chief expressed his regret at the sad duty which had been allotted him, and assured Don Ramon that he would gladly make his time as long as was permissible.
"I thank you for your kindness," said Don Ramon, "but is there no chance to be given me to prove the falsity of these charges? Am I condemned to die without a hearing?"
"There is no hope from that source."
"Is there any hope from any source?"
"Scarcely," replied the leader, "and still, if we could satisfy those in authority over us that you had been executed as ordered, and if my men could be bribed to certify the fact if necessary, and if you pledge us to quit the country forever, who would know to the contrary? True, our lives would be in jeopardy, and it would mean death to you if you betrayed us."
"Is this possible?" asked Don Ramon excitedly.
"The color of gold makes a good many things possible."
"I would gladly give all I possess in the world for one hour's peace in the presence of my family, even if in the next my soul was summoned to the bar of God. True, in lands and cattle I am wealthy, but the money at my command is limited, though I wish it were otherwise."
"It is a fortunate thing that you are a man of means. Say nothing to your guards, and I will have a talk this very night with two men whom I can trust, and we will see what can be done for you. Come, señor, don't despair, for I feel there is some hope," concluded the bandit.
The family of Don Ramon were uneasy but not alarmed by his failure to return to them the day following his departure. After two days had passed, during which no word had come from him, his wife sent an old servant to see if he was still at the ranchita. There the man learned that his master had not been seen, nor had there been any drovers there recently. Under the promise of secrecy, the servant was further informed that, on the very day that Don Ramon had left his home, a band of robbers had driven into a corral at a ranch in the monte a remudo of ranch horses, and, asking no one's consent, had proceeded to change their mounts, leaving their own tired horses. This they did at noonday, without so much as a hand raised in protest, so terrified were the people of the ranch.
On the servant's return to Agua Dulce, the alarm and grief of the family were pitiful, as was their helplessness. When darkness set in Señora Mora sent a letter by a peon to an old family friend at his home on the river. The next night three men, for mutual protection, brought back a reply. From it these plausible deductions were made: —
That Don Ramon had been kidnapped for a ransom; that these bandits no doubt were desperate men who would let nothing interfere with their plans; that to notify the authorities and ask for help might end in his murder; and that if kidnapped for a ransom, overtures for his redemption would be made in due time. As he was entirely at the mercy of his captors, they must look for hope only from that source. If reward was their motive, he was worth more living than dead. This was the only consolation deduced. The letter concluded by advising them to meet any overture in strict confidence. As only money would be acceptable in such a case, the friend pledged all his means in behalf of Don Ramon should it be needed.
These were anxious days and weary nights for this innocent family. The father, no doubt, would welcome death itself in preference to the rack on which he was kept by his captors. Time is not considered valuable in warm climates, and two weary days were allowed to pass before any conversation was renewed with Don Ramon.
Then once more the chief had the fetters removed from his victim's ankles, with the customary guard within call. He explained that many of the men were away, and it would be several days yet before he could know if the outlook for his release was favorable. From what he had been able to learn so far, at least fifty thousand dollars would be necessary to satisfy the band, which numbered twenty, five of whom were spies. They were poor men, he further explained, many of them had families, and if they accepted money in a case like this, self-banishment was the only safe course, as the political society to which they belonged would place a price on their heads if they were detected.
"The sum mentioned is a large one," commented Don Ramon, "but it is nothing to the mental anguish that I suffer daily. If I had time and freedom, the money might be raised. But as it is, it is doubtful if I could command one fifth of it."
"You have a son," said the chief, "a young man of twenty. Could he not as well as yourself raise this amount? A letter could be placed in his hands stating that a political society had sentenced you to death, and that your life was only spared from day to day by the sufferance of your captors. Ask him to raise this sum, tell him it would mean freedom and restoration to your family. Could he not do this as well as you?"
"If time were given him, possibly. Can I send him such a letter?" pleaded Don Ramon, brightening with the hope of this new opportunity.
"It would be impossible at present. The consent of all interested must first be gained. Our responsibility then becomes greater than yours. No false step must be taken. To-morrow is the soonest that we can get a hearing with all. There must be no dissenters to the plan or it fails, and then — well, the execution has been delayed long enough."
Thus the days wore on.
The absence of the band, except for the few who guarded the prisoner, was policy on their part. They were receiving the news from the river villages daily, where the friends of Don Ramon discussed his absence in whispers. Their system of espionage was as careful as their methods were cruel and heartless. They even got reports from the ranch that not a member of the family had ventured away since its master's capture. The local authorities were inactive. The bandits would play their cards for a high ransom.
Early one morning after a troubled night's rest, Don Ramon was awakened by the arrival of the robbers, several of whom were boisterously drunk. It was only with curses and drawn arms that the chief prevented these men from committing outrages on their helpless captive.
After coffee was served, the chief unfolded his plot to them, with Don Ramon as a listener to the proceedings. Addressing them, he said that the prisoner's offense was not one against them or theirs; that at best they were but the hirelings of others; that they were poorly paid, and that it had become sickening to him to do the bloody work for others. Don Ramon Mora had gold at his command, enough to give each more in a day than they could hope to receive for years of this inhuman servitude. He could possibly pay to each two thousand dollars for his freedom, guaranteeing them his gratitude, and pledging to refrain from any prosecution. Would they accept this offer or refuse it? As many as were in favor of granting his life would deposit in his hat a leaf from the mesquite; those opposed, a leaf from the wild cane which surrounded their camp.
The vote asked for was watched by the prisoner as only a man could watch whose life hung in the balance. There were eight cane leaves to seven of the mesquite. The chief flew into a rage, cursed his followers for murderers for refusing to let the life blood run in this man, who had never done one of them an injury. He called them cowards for attacking the helpless, even accusing them of lack of respect for their chief's wishes. The majority hung their heads like whipped curs. When he had finished his harangue, one of their number held up his hand to beg the privilege of speaking.
"Yes, defend your dastardly act if you can," said the chief.
"Capitan," said the man, making obeisance and tapping