“Very well, don Ruego,” dona Maria spoke up. “I have not been blind to your great abilities. You behaved like a real nobleman, a brave caballero and a true and honest protector of a defenseless woman. I admire you for what you have done and the way you did it.” She gave him a smile.
The fact was, of course, that he had done nothing in particular. He had been taken by surprise by the other captain, and with the help of a couple of mestizos had been tied to the tree, kicked in the ribs, and left to look at what was going to happen in the camp. Had it not been for the courage of dona Maria, he would now have to serve his former partner or hang from a tree.
Dona Maria knew this very well, but she ignored the truth and made him believe that she thought he had fought like a lion to protect her. This flattered him immensely.
Yet dona Maria had only begun to play her game to make sure of her safety for the rest of the march.
“Yes, as I said, don Ruego, you behaved like a true Spanish nobleman. When we are in the capital I shall reward you as you deserve. I shall give you—” she was about to say the mule with the whole pack on its back, but she recovered in time from this exaggerated generosity and continued: “I shall give you the right pack of that mule over there, and the Indians of your troop shall divide among themselves the left pack of that same mule. Those damned robbers, those funking mestizos, if they behave well from now on, shall each receive a bonus of one fourth of what the faithful Indians shall have. Of course, don Ruego, the horse you are riding, and the pistol and the rifle you carry, shall be yours as a token from me; and the Indians shall have their ponies and their pistols.”
“Muchas gracias, dona Maria, I kiss your feet,” Ruego said, kissing her hand, and then added: “May I, with your very kind permission, now go to look after the work?”
“You are handsome, Ruego. Do you know that? I never noticed that before.” She said this with a true feminine smile, looking at him with narrowed eyes. “Yes, you are handsome and very strong. Strange that I never noted you before, Ruego.” She gave him another smile. “Let’s talk this over, Ruego, when we are in the capital. You know this is no time nor place to talk of such things.”
Ruego snaked his body from his feet up as if he wished to wind himself into the form of a corkscrew; had he been covered with feathers one might have thought him a turkey at coupling-time.
“Look after the men and see that they are doing their work properly, don Ruego. You are now the mayordomo here and in charge of everything, the only man I can perfectly rely on.”
“Yes, dona Maria, por la SantIsima you can, by the Holiest Virgin you surely can, and once more, mil gracias for your kindness.”
Dona Maria turned round and went to her little tent. “What brains a man has!” she said to herself.
9
The mutiny was quashed. There was no other similar incident the rest of the way. Ruego did his part as dona Maria expected him to. Any new uneasiness among the men could now, with the help of Ruego, be quelled at its first sign.
Dona Maria had, in fact, never thought of any sort of rebellion in her own camp. There were other problems which she had taken into account. The nearer she came to more populated regions of the country, the less safe became the roads. Hordes of bandits, footpads, deserters from the army and from ships, escaped convicts, were practically everywhere. The power of the Spanish rule in Latin-America was inevitably breaking to pieces. Since this rule had been nothing short of dictatorship and tyranny, conditions were as they always and everywhere are when a dictatorship is nearing its inglorious end. Dictatorships do not and cannot allow people to think politically or economically for themselves, and so when a dictatorship is tumbling, people are in no way prepared to meet the changed conditions, and chaos is the result. Here authorities were so hard pressed from all sides and from all quarters that they no longer could cope with the growing unrest all over the country.
Day and night dona Maria lived in constant fear of being attacked, robbed, and murdered. Every mule and every pack on the backs of the animals had to be guarded. There were days when the whole train made hardly ten miles, and even these ten miles under difficulties which seemed impossible to overcome.
During this journey dona Maria lived through a period still more trying than that at the mine. There she could not remember any day when she had felt happy and safe. She had never felt sure of her treasures. Always in fear, always worrying, and at night plagued by nightmares and terrible dreams. She could not recall a night of sound and refreshing sleep. And during the daytime she was hunted by worries and fears even worse.
