"Señor," answered the man with every sign of contrition, "if I did this it was because terror and madness possessed me, and most humbly do I beg your pardon for the deed, and for any angry and foolish words that I may have spoken before it. Señor, you saved my life, and my heart is filled with gratitude towards you, who have thus repaid evil with good. I know that you have heard an ill report of my father, and, to speak truth, at times when the liquor is in him, he is a bad and violent old man, yet he has this virtue, that he loves me, his son, and all those who are kind to me. Therefore, in his name and my own, I pray that you will forget the past and accept of our hospitality for some few days, or at least until you have recovered from your fatigue and we can furnish you with arms and horses to help you forward on your journey."
"Certainly we desire to buy mules and guns," answered the señor, "and if you think that your father will be able to supply these, we will avail ourselves of your kindness and pass a night or two at his hacienda."
"Señor, the place is yours and all that it contains," Don José answered with much courtesy; but as he spoke I saw his eye gleam with an evil fire.
"Doubtless," I interrupted, "for I understand that Don Pedro Moreno is famed for his hospitality. Still, in accepting it, I venture to ask for a promise of safe–conduct, more especially as, save for our pistols and knives, we are unarmed."
"Do you wish to insult me, señor?" Don José asked angrily.
"Not in the least, señor, but I find it a little strange that you, who two nights ago refused to sit at meat with 'a dog of an Indian,' should now be anxious to receive that same dog into your home."
"Have I not said that I am sorry for what is past?" he answered, "and can a man do more? Gentlemen, if any evil is attempted towards you in my father's house, I will answer for it with my life."
"That is quite sufficient," broke in the señor, "especially as in such an event we should most certainly hold you to your bond. And now tell me how far is the hacienda from this spot?"
"If we start at once we should reach it at sundown," he answered, "that is on foot, though it is but three hours' ride from the house to the mouth of the river."
"Then let us go," he said, and ten minutes later we were on the road.
Before we went, however, we bade a warm farewell to the sailors, and also to the alcalde of the village, all of whom were somewhat disturbed on learning that we proposed to sleep at Santa Cruz.
"The place has an evil name," said the alcalde, "and it is a home of thieves and smugglers—only last week a cargo that never paid duty went up the river. They say that Don Pedro was fathered by the devil in person; may the Saints protect you from him, lord!"
"We have business that takes us to his house, friend," I answered; "but doubtless it will be easy for you to keep yourself informed of what chances in that neighbourhood, and if we should not appear again within a few days, perhaps it may please you to advise the authorities at Campeche that we are missing."
"The authorities are afraid of Don Pedro," answered the alcalde, shaking his head, "also he bribes them so heavily that they grow blind when they look his way. Still I will do the best I can, be sure of that, and as an Inglese is with you, it is possible that I may be able to get help if necessary."
Our walk that day was long and hot, though we had nothing to carry except the clothes on our backs, all our possessions, having been lost in the ship. At noon we halted, and, the heat being great, ate some food that we had brought with us, and slept two hours in the shade, which sleep was most grateful, for we were weary. Then we rose and tramped on, till at length we came within sight of this hacienda, where, though I little guessed it at the time, I was fated to spend so many years of my life.
Walking through a large milpa, or corn field—that in front of the building which is now planted with coffee–bushes—we reached the gateway and entered the courtyard, where we were met by many fierce dogs which rushed upon us from all sides. Don José beat back the dogs, that knew him, and, leaving us under the charge of some half–breeds, he entered the house.
After a while he returned again and led us through the passages into the dining–hall, which, as you know, is the largest room in the hacienda, and in former days served as the refectory of the monks. Several lamps were hung upon its walls, for already it grew dark, and by their light we saw five or six people gathered round a long table waiting for supper, which was being laid by Indian girls. Of these men it is sufficient to say that they were of mixed nationality and villainous appearance. Turning from them we looked towards the far end of the chamber, where a hammock was slung from the beams in the roof, in which lay a man whom a handsome girl, also an Indian, was employed in rocking to and fro.
"Come and be introduced to my father, who expects you," said Don José, leading the way towards the hammock. "Father, here is that brave Englishman who saved my life last night, and with him the Indian gentleman, who—did not wish to save my life. As I told you, I have offered them hospitality on your behalf, feeling sure that they would be welcome here."
At the sound of his son's voice Don Pedro awoke, or pretended to awake, from his doze, and bade the girl cease swinging the hammock. Then he sat up and looked at us. He was a short stout man of about sixty years of age—so short indeed that, although the hammock was slung low, his legs did not touch the floor. Notwithstanding this lack of stature, Don Pedro's appearance was striking, while his long, carefully brushed white hair gave him a venerable aspect.
Other beauties he had none, however, for his cheeks were flabby and wrinkled, his mouth was cruel and sensuous; and his dull eyes, which were small, half opened, and protected from the glare of the lamps by spectacles of tinted glass, can best be described as horrible, like those of a snake. Looking at him we could well believe that his reputation was not exaggerated, for he bore the stamp of evil on his face. Still he bowed with much courtesy and addressed the señor in Spanish.
"So you are the Englishman who saved my son here from the sinking ship," he said in a slow, powerful voice, peering at us with his fish–like eyes from beneath the coloured glasses. "He tells me that you rowed back to the side of the foundering vessel merely in order to fetch him. Well, it was a brave deed and one that I should not have dared myself, for I have always found it hard enough to keep my own breath in me without attempting to preserve that of other people. But as I have seen several times, you Englishmen are peculiar in these matters, foolhardy indeed. Señor, I am grateful to you, and this house and all within it is at your disposal and that of your companions," and he glanced with genuine affection at the coarse beetle–browed man beside him, who was gnawing one end of his moustache and staring at us out of the corners of his eyes.
"Tell me," he added, "to what do I owe the honour of your presence?"
"To an accident, Don Pedro," the señor answered. "As it chances, the ruins of this ancient land interest me much, and I was travelling to Palenque with my Indian friend, Don Ignatio, when we were so unfortunate as to be wrecked near your hospitable house. In our dilemma we accepted the invitation of your son to visit you, in the hope that you may be able to sell us some guns and mules."
"Ruins, Señor Strickland! Decidedly you Englishmen are strange. What pleasure can you find in hunting about among old walls, built by men long dead, unless indeed you seek for treasure there. For my part I hate the name of ruins, for I have always suffered from a presentiment that I should meet my end among them, and that is bad to think of. Bah!"—and he spat upon the floor—"there, it comes upon me again, suddenly as a fit of the ague."