The worst of it was that the chef was away. Don Ygnacio, who had served up these gigantic dishes for thirty years, and had the knack3 of them, was to-day in Dolores; and in charge of the range was a[258] fuzzy-faced lad of eighteen who had never turned a Guanajuato omelet in his life.
Guanajuato, you must know, is one of the oldest and richest silver-mining districts in the world. Founded over three hundred and fifty years ago, this picturesque4 Mexican city has produced more than a billion dollars in bullion5, and not tired yet. In 1527 a Spanish miner invented in Mexico the cheapest and simplest method yet known for reducing silver ores—the so called “patio6 process”—by which the great bulk of the silver of Mexico and Peru has been extracted for so many centuries. To this day the haciendas for patio reduction are among the most interesting features of the great silver camps of Spanish America. Each hacienda is a little walled city—with its strong ramparts, and corner towers loop-holed for muskets8; its huge sheds for the primitive9 ore-grinding; its pleasant offices and home for the administrador; its quarters for employes; its stables for hundreds of mules10; and its enormous stone skillets wherein the hugest omelets in the world are “cooked.”
Torta in Spanish America is the usual word for omelet. It is literally13 a “cake,” and “of eggs” is implied. But the miners use it specifically for the omelet of wet-ground ore seasoned with the necessary[259] chemicals to assemble the silver. In looks it is simply a stupendous mud pie.
In the hacienda of the Cypresses14 one of these omelets was even now cooking. Patient burro caravans15 had packed down from the wonderful old bonanza16 mine of the Valenciana enough cargas of that broken gray rock to make forty-six “heaps” of 3200 pounds each. The ore had been fed to the great trundling molina, whose ponderous17, upright, iron-bound wheel grudgingly18 followed the straining mules round and round its pivot19, crunching20 the rock finer and finer, till the particles sifted21 through the screen to the bins22 below. Thence it had been shoveled23 into the wet-grinding arrastras—thirty big stone tubs, around which the mules circled with their “whims,” dragging granite25 blocks which scrubbed the wet gravel26 into fine paste. Then the mud went to the great cajete (tank), where the surplus water was “wept away,” as they say; and finally to the stone-walled, stone-paved patio, to become a torta.
Almost anyone with eyes could crush rock, dry or wet; but when it came to sampling that precious mud, deciding precisely27 how much silver it carried to the ton and how refractory28 it was, and therefore just how much salt and just how much[260] mercury must be put in for seasoning29, why, then was no time for a greenhorn. Fifty thousand dollars is no joke, any way you look at it; and when you come to hunting for $50,000 by the invisible atom in a hundred and fifty tons of mud, it is as serious as anything well can be.
But Don Ygnacio had had to go, and with four of the trustiest servants, all armed; for in those days, a generation ago, the brigands30 were a fear on every highway of Mexico. And there was no one to leave in charge except Alberto, his nephew.
Luckily there had been time to set a recipe for the torta just turned into the pan. “So much salt and so much azogue,”[41] said Don Ygnacio; “that, I think, will suit. But watch it well; and if not, season it by the formula. Care, then, and much luck!”
Every day of the seventeen since then, Alberto had paced the flagging by the patio, and the passages of the great sheds where dry mill and wet mill were chewing their noisy mouthfuls for a new torta, now and again turning his eye covertly31 to the last room on the administrador’s porch, behind whose heavy door he had heaped the forty-pound bars of massy silver from the last omelet. The washing and concentration[261] and smelting32 he had superintended without much difficulty, and had seen that $49,000 worth of metal safely stored.
So far as the present torta went, his assays33 indicated that Don Ygnacio’s hasty estimate had been precisely right. But he certainly hoped the old manager would be back in time to decide if the usual eighteen days had been enough “cooking”—and, doubly, to fix the seasoning for the next omelet. And in all, it was a heavy responsibility for a boy who had studied a hundred tortas, but never been charged with one before; and it was to be noticed that his shoulders were not quite so miraculously34 square as on the first day, nor his chest so thick, now that he came down from the arrastras to the patio.
In this quarter-acre mud omelet the beating and the cooking went on together. A score of barelegged men and grown boys waded35 thigh-deep in the mess, driving their mules (blindfolded, poor beasts, to protect their eyes), and holding down the drag-boards, to mix the mercury and its prey37.
It was close to noon. In five minutes the wading38 mules would be done with their exhausting day’s work of six hours. Alberto walked down toward the well-tower beside the patio, and something drew his eyes to[262] an overgrown lad slouching behind one white mule11 at the edge of the mud. Poor dullard! It was one thing to wade36 in mud at eighteen cents a day, and quite another to manage mud which was worth a comfortable year’s salary per ton.
“S-s-t!”
Alberto started. Surely it could not be! Well, it was! This perambulating mudlark was actually “s-s-t”-ing to him!
“Care!” whispered the Indian lad, as Alberto came alongside the stone curb39. He looked only at his mule, hauling at the tired beast and scolding it for some imaginary offence, and between his objurgations dropping whispered “asides.”
“Arre, ill-said brute40! (Young Excellency, the bandits!) For how long must I enshow thee to walk well? (And some of those in the hacienda!) Miserable41! For what is the rein12? (They are making to rob—to-night!) Arre, lazy-bones!”
The stolid42 face had not once changed; and now that another driver approached, he went sus-ushing off through the mud with never a sidelong glance.
Alberto felt himself grown suddenly pale; but he was no fool. He glanced at the intruder. It was a new man from the country—a tall, powerful fellow with a huge scar[263] on his cheek, shifty eyes, and a beak43 which had already earned him the nickname of Narigudo—“Big Nose.” He in turn sent a sly, sharp look first at the young Indian ahead, then at the young manager. The latter was already walking quietly toward the well-house.
The silver bell in the old belfry clanged noon. The waders, of two legs and four, clambered out from the mud. In a moment blindfolds44 and harness lay on the flagging, and the mules, suddenly optimistic, went braying45 and scampering46 out through the great gate to bathe and drink by the highway in the little stream which has carried more precious burdens, doubtless, than any other brook47 on earth.[42] A moment later there was a more deafening48 clatter49, as the hundred mules from the mills came gallopading down the flags in a very avalanche50. They would have to work six hours more; but they knew the noon hour. Resistless as a charge of cavalry51, they swept around the corners and out of the gate in a jam which seemed sure to kill some of them.
Alberto had laughed a thousand times at this daily avalanche; but now he saw it with far-off eyes. He dipped his hand in a[264] bucket of the pump-wheel and bathed his head, wherein a thousand or more little prickles snapped. It was enough to make anyone’s brain crackle—robbers all about, accomplices52 in the hacienda itself, nearly fifty thousand dollars in the room at the head of the corridor, and he alone!
This boy had been carefully reared. He was unused to danger and to responsibility; and now he was fearfully scared. And yet—well, he had inherited something from the men who conquered that wilderness53 so many centuries ago.
In five minutes the young administrador was making his rounds as usual, now and then stopping to pick up a sample of ore and examine it with great apparent interest. Among the groups of laborers54 he passed at lunch he felt, with a little shiver, that some eyes were on him even more sharply than they are always on the administrador’s back; but outwardly he gave no sign, as he figured away at very much the toughest problem he had ever dreamed of.
Suddenly he struck his head, and turned and walked down to the patio. In full view of the men he took a careful sample from the mud omelet here and there, scrutinized55 it critically, and carried it off to the assay-room. In ten minutes he was out again;[265] and walking up among the laborers, he said: “A holiday for all, this afternoon. For to me the torta looks to be cooked, and Don Ygnacio should be here to-night, who will know. Go, then; but at dawn again.”
That was an end of lunch, of course. The men sprang up with “Infinite thanks, sir!” and were already making for the gate, except Narigudo and four others, who mumbled56 over their last enchilada, instead of throwing it away, and looked first at their mates and then at one another.
“Who gave thee a candle in this funeral?” Alberto retorted, coolly. “Answerest thou to the owner whether there be loss or gain?”
Narigudo said no more, but rose to follow his comrades as Alberto disappeared in the office. When the boy emerged, five minutes later, the place was deserted58.
Rather simple, after all! Only five traitors59, apparently60; and for the present they were gone. Now, just to lock and bar the big gate, and think what next.
In much more comfortable mind after bolting the only entrance to the walled hacienda, Alberto strolled up to the great shed, and halted a moment by the big trundle-mill,[266] pondering. So far, so good; and now what? Leave the place locked, and ride up to the city to warn the authorities?
A sound that you might hardly call a sound, so faint was it, startled his tense nerves; and as he wheeled the blood went from his face. Fifteen feet away, barefoot, Narigudo stood in the door of the ore-shed, with an ugly smile.
“Young Excellency,” he drawled, insolently61, “you have locked me in. Give me the keys to go!”
At this Alberto found his voice. “In this hacienda,” said he, steadily62, “it is accustomed to obey the administrador, and not to command him. I will let you out when I go to the gate.”
“Ah, it’s the administrador, is it? Then give me the keys before I eat an administrador!” The tone had changed from insolence63 to rage, and the angry fellow sprang forward.
Alberto wavered in his tracks, and then straightened with a snap. The key of the bullion-room? Never!
He plucked the heavy keys from his belt and flung them fiercely, just as that big hand clutched his shoulder. Narigudo hurled64 him against the wheel-post with a curse, and sprawled65 forward in a desperate[267] effort. But the keys, just eluding66 his fingers, clanked down into the deep drain.
“Only wait!” he roared. “I shall have it just the same, and you shall pay the trouble!”
He plunged67 into the opening with a backward glare that made Alberto’s heart stand still. It was no use to run—he was locked in, too. Just to wait to be murdered!
But then the boy leaped forward with a new light in his eyes. A big wooden trough stood there—uptilted upon one face. There was a muffled68 bellow69; but he hunched70 his shoulder to the mass, and inched it forward, and sank upon it with a queer, sobbing71 laugh. A fine trap for the big rat!
But he had forgotten the difference between a strong boy’s strength and a powerful man’s. His seat heaved under him; clearly, if his weight were removed, Narigudo could lift it. The fellow had all his mighty72 back in play, and seemed like to overturn his prison door, jailer and all.
Alberto could not even groan73. It was impossible to stay here, as great dangers were to be guarded against elsewhere. But he saw plainly that he could not get far before Narigudo would be out, and——! There was no weight nearer than the ore-sacks, and he dared not desert the trough long enough to[268] go half-way to them. In a nightmare of terror he crouched74 on the trough, trying to make himself heavy, and praying to all the saints.
Suddenly he gave a wild shout. The whim24! There stood the great vertical75 wheel; its pole, ten feet away, was two feet from the ground. If—! Thank God, there was no ore in its path!
Alberto leaped up, dancing noisily on the trough. He sprang to the floor and back, ran off two strides, and rushed upon the trough again. Now his head was clear as a bell.
In another dash he seized the ponderous pole and wrenched76 at it with all his force. The mill creaked and gave an inch or two. Back he pounced77 noisily upon the trough, and back again to the pole for another mighty tug78; and again, and a dozen times again. Each time the reluctant wheel groaned79 a few inches forward upon its circle, and now the end of the pole barely overlapped80 the end of the trough.
All was quiet below. The prisoner, puzzled by these crazy antics overhead, was waiting for a clew to what it all meant. Now, indeed, he began to heave again; but Alberto, braced81 backward on the trough, was slowly, surely dragging the pole in.[269] Another fierce jerk, and his task was done. The great horizontal stick overhung the very middle of the trough.
The boy rose with an effort and leaned against the wheel. A wan82 smile came on his lips as the trough rose with a jerk—just three inches. Then it thumped83 against the pole and went down with a bang. The trap was locked, and Alberto never stopped till he sank breathless on the office steps.
It was already turning dusk; there was no time to lose. Muskets plenty were in the armory84, but Narigudo had the key. However, there was one gun in the office, and Alberto loaded it with nervous fingers. Then he climbed into the loop-holed turret85 which overhung the gate, and crouched, waiting. But another thought seemed to come, for he chuckled86 and ran down the court. When he came back to the tower, twenty minutes later, the stables were empty, and so was the office drawer from which Don Ygnacio distributed cohetes on the eve of a feast-day. On the other hand, a hundred sleepy mules were huddled87 in the entrance, with a rope stretched taut88 behind them, and back of the rope a great many little heaps of small, red cylinders89.
At nine o’clock there was a faint tap at the gate. “Narigudo!” someone whispered;[270] and in a moment, louder and impatiently, “Narigudo! Art thou asleep? Open!”
Alberto almost laughed. Then he drew back his shoulders and said, sharply: “Not a shot till I say the word! As for you, stupids, you see the gate! And your Narigudo—he is well boxed up!”
There was a quick scuffling below. Evidently the bandits had run back under the bottom of the tower, puzzled by this turn of affairs. For half an hour there was a trying silence; then a sudden rush, and something smote90 the gate with a tremendous crash.
“Not yet!” cried Alberto. “Wait for the word!”
But the robbers were not to be fooled. If there were really defenders91, they would have fired before now; and again the battering-ram made the great gate tremble.
Alberto’s finger itched92 on the trigger. Should he shoot? Before he could reload, they might have the gate down. And then——?
He leaned the long musket7 against the wall and crept down into the courtyard just as the thunderous crash came again. Evidently the gate was beginning to give.
Another smash, and a leaf of the gate began to creak with that ominous93, growing[271] creak that goes before a fall. Just then there was a little flash in the courtyard, and a queer s-s-sizz-sizz, pop! bang! Bang! B-b-b-b-ang! The gate reeled and fell outward, and with the roar of a landslide94 a hundred terrified mules burst through the gap, trampling95 and scattering96 like chaff97 the knot of bandits gathered to burst in.
And then from far up the cobble-paved highway came a stentorian98 yell, and pistol shots, and a new clamor of iron hoofs99. Two minutes later Don Ygnacio and his men swept into the courtyard, where a collapsed100 young hero lay beside a vast litter of bursted firecrackers.
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1
sniff
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| vi.嗅…味道；抽鼻涕；对嗤之以鼻，蔑视 | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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knack
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| n.诀窍，做事情的灵巧的，便利的方法 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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bullion
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| n.金条，银条 | |
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patio
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| n.庭院，平台 | |
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musket
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| n.滑膛枪 | |
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muskets
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| n.火枪，（尤指）滑膛枪( musket的名词复数 ) | |
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primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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mules
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| 骡( mule的名词复数 )； 拖鞋； 顽固的人； 越境运毒者 | |
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mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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cypresses
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| n.柏属植物，柏树( cypress的名词复数 ) | |
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caravans
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| （可供居住的）拖车（通常由机动车拖行）( caravan的名词复数 )； 篷车； （穿过沙漠地带的）旅行队（如商队） | |
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bonanza
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| n.富矿带，幸运，带来好运的事 | |
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ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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grudgingly
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pivot
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| v.在枢轴上转动；装枢轴，枢轴；adj.枢轴的 | |
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crunching
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| v.嘎吱嘎吱地咬嚼( crunch的现在分词 )；嘎吱作响；（快速大量地）处理信息；数字捣弄 | |
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sifted
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| v.筛( sift的过去式和过去分词 )；筛滤；细查；详审 | |
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bins
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| n.大储藏箱( bin的名词复数 )；宽口箱（如面包箱，垃圾箱等）v.扔掉，丢弃( bin的第三人称单数 ) | |
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shoveled
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| vt.铲，铲出（shovel的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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refractory
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| adj.倔强的，难驾驭的 | |
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seasoning
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| n.调味；调味料；增添趣味之物 | |
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brigands
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| n.土匪，强盗( brigand的名词复数 ) | |
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covertly
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| adv.偷偷摸摸地 | |
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smelting
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| n.熔炼v.熔炼，提炼（矿石）( smelt的现在分词 ) | |
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assays
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| n.化验( assay的名词复数 )；试验；尝试；试金 | |
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miraculously
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| ad.奇迹般地 | |
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waded
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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wade
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| v.跋涉，涉水；n.跋涉 | |
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prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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wading
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的现在分词 ) | |
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39
curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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41
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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42
stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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43
beak
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| n.鸟嘴，茶壶嘴，钩形鼻 | |
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44
blindfolds
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| n.蒙眼的绷带[布等]( blindfold的名词复数 )；障眼物，蒙蔽人的事物 | |
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45
braying
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| v.发出驴叫似的声音( bray的现在分词 )；发嘟嘟声；粗声粗气地讲话（或大笑）；猛击 | |
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46
scampering
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| v.蹦蹦跳跳地跑，惊惶奔跑( scamper的现在分词 ) | |
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47
brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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48
deafening
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| adj. 振耳欲聋的, 极喧闹的 动词deafen的现在分词形式 | |
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49
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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50
avalanche
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| n.雪崩，大量涌来 | |
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51
cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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52
accomplices
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| 从犯，帮凶，同谋( accomplice的名词复数 ) | |
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53
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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laborers
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| n.体力劳动者，工人( laborer的名词复数 )；（熟练工人的）辅助工 | |
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55
scrutinized
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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56
mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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traitors
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| 卖国贼( traitor的名词复数 )； 叛徒； 背叛者； 背信弃义的人 | |
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60
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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61
insolently
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| adv.自豪地，自傲地 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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sprawled
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| v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的过去式和过去分词)；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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eluding
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| v.（尤指机敏地）避开( elude的现在分词 )；逃避；躲避；使达不到 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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bellow
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| v.吼叫，怒吼；大声发出，大声喝道 | |
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hunched
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| （常指因寒冷、生病或愁苦）耸肩弓身的，伏首前倾的 | |
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sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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vertical
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| adj.垂直的，顶点的，纵向的；n.垂直物，垂直的位置 | |
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wrenched
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| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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pounced
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| v.突然袭击( pounce的过去式和过去分词 )；猛扑；一眼看出；抓住机会（进行抨击） | |
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tug
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| v.用力拖(或拉)；苦干；n.拖；苦干；拖船 | |
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groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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overlapped
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| _adj.重叠的v.部分重叠( overlap的过去式和过去分词 )；（物体）部份重叠；交叠；（时间上）部份重叠 | |
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braced
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| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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thumped
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| v.重击， （指心脏）急速跳动( thump的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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armory
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| n.纹章，兵工厂，军械库 | |
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turret
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| n.塔楼，角塔 | |
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chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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taut
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| adj.拉紧的，绷紧的，紧张的 | |
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cylinders
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| n.圆筒( cylinder的名词复数 )；圆柱；汽缸；（尤指用作容器的）圆筒状物 | |
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smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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defenders
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| n.防御者( defender的名词复数 )；守卫者；保护者；辩护者 | |
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itched
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| v.发痒( itch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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landslide
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| n.(竞选中)压倒多数的选票；一面倒的胜利 | |
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trampling
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| 踩( trample的现在分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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chaff
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| v.取笑，嘲笑；n.谷壳 | |
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stentorian
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| adj.大声的，响亮的 | |
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hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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