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diff --git a/41126-0.txt b/41126-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cc3102d --- /dev/null +++ b/41126-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9680 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 41126 *** + + THE WOLF-CUB + + _A NOVEL OF SPAIN_ + + BY PATRICK and TERENCE CASEY + + _WITH FRONTISPIECE BY + H. WESTON TAYLOR_ + + BOSTON + LITTLE, BROWN AND COMPANY + 1918 + + _Copyright, 1918_, + + BY PATRICK AND TERENCE CASEY + + _All rights reserved_ + + Published, January, 1918 + + + + +[Illustration: "It is my officer, my parent!" whispered the young +policeman] + + + + +THE WOLF-CUB + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +When Jacinto Quesada was yet a very little Spaniard, his father kissed +him upon both cheeks and upon the brow, and went away on an enterprise +of forlorn desperation. + +On a great rock at the brink of the village Jacinto Quesada stood with +his weeping mother, and together they watched the somber-faced +mountaineer hurry down the mountainside. He was bound for that hot, +sandy No Man's Land which lies between the British outpost, Gibraltar, +and sunburned, haggard, tragic Spain. The two dogs, Pepe and Lenchito, +went with him. They were pointers, retrievers. For months they had been +trained in the work they were to do. In all Spain there were no more +likely dogs for smuggling contraband. + +The village, where Jacinto Quesada lived with his peasant mother, was +but a short way below the snow-line in the wild Sierra Nevada. Behind it +the Picacho de la Veleta lifted its craggy head; off to the northeast +bulked snowy old "Muley Hassan" Cerro de Mulhacen, the highest peak of +the peninsula; and all about were the bleak spires of lesser mountains, +boulder-strewn defiles, moaning dark gorges. The village was called +Minas de la Sierra. + +The mother took the little Jacinto by the hand and led him to the +village chapel. She knelt before the dingy altar a long time. Then she +lit a blessed candle and prayed again. And then she handed the wick +dipped in oil to Jacinto and said: + +"Light a candle for thy father, tiny one." + +"But why should I light a candle for our Juanito, _mamacita_?" + +"It is that Our Lady of the Sorrows and the Great Pity will not let him +be killed by the men of the _Guardia Civil_!" + +"Men do not kill unless they hate. Do the men of the Guardia Civil hate, +then, the _pobre padre_ of me and the sweet husband of thee, +_mamacita_?" + +"It is not the hate, child! The men of the Guardia Civil kill any +breaker of the laws they discover guilty-handed. It is the way they keep +the peace of Spain." + +"But our Juanito is not a lawbreaker, little mother. He is no _lagarto_, +no lizard, no sly tricky one. He is an honest man." + +"Hush, _nino_! There are no honest men left in Spain. They all have +starved to death. Thy father has become a _contrabandista_ And if it be +the will of the good God, and if Pepe and Lenchito be shrewd to skulk +through the shadows of night and swift to run past the policemen on +watch, we will have sausages and _garbanzos_ to eat, and those little +legs of thine will not be the puny reeds they are now. _Ojala!_ they +will be round and pudgy with fat!" + +The men of Minas de la Sierra were all woodchoppers and +_manzanilleros_--gatherers of the white-flowered _manzanilla_. Their +fathers had been woodchoppers and manzanilleros before them. But too +persistently and too long, altogether too long, had the trees been cut +down and the manzanilla harvested. The mountains had grown sterile, +barren, bald. Not so many cords of Spanish pine were sledded down the +mountain slopes as on a time; not so many men burdened beneath great +loads of manzanilla went down into the city of Granada to sell in the +market place that which was worth good silver pesetas. + +There are no deer in the Sierra Nevada--neither red, fallow, nor roe. +There are no wild boar. There is only the Spanish ibex. And what poor +_serrano_ can provision his good wife and his _cabana_ full of lusty +brats by hunting the Spanish ibex? He has but one weapon--the ancient +muzzle-loading smooth-bore. And the ibex speeds like a chill glacial +wind across the snow fields and craggy solitudes, and only a man armed +with a cordite repeater can hope to bring him down. + +Soon descended the mountains only men who had turned their backs upon +Minas de la Sierra and who thought to leave behind forever the bleak +peaks and the wind-swept gorges and the implacable hunger. Out of every +ten only one crawled back, beaten and bruised by the savage Spanish +cities and the savage Spanish plains. With those of Minas de la Sierra +who could not tear themselves away from their native rocks, these +broken-hearted ones continued on and with them slowly starved. + +It was not the will of the good God that Jacinto Quesada should have fat +pudgy legs by reason of his father's endeavors. Shrewd were the dogs, +Pepe and Lenchito, but they were not so shrewd as were the Spanish +police. Came a pale and stuttering _arriero_, a muleteer, up to the +village one day. To Jacinto Quesada's mother he brought tragic news. + +The men of the Guardia Civil had discovered poor Juanito as he was +unbuckling a packet of Cuban cigars from the throat of the dog Lenchito; +they had walked him out behind a sand dune; they had made him dig a +grave. Then they had shot down Lenchito; then they had shot down Juan +Quesada. And then the dog and the man were kicked together into the one +grave and sand piled on top of them both. + +But make no mistake, _mi señor caballero_ reader! The men of the Guardia +Civil are not abominations of cruelty. They are not monsters, brutal and +depraved. _Quita!_ no. + +There are twenty-five thousand men in the Guardia Civil; twenty thousand +foot and five thousand cavalry. By twos, eternally by twos, they go +through Spain, exterminating crime wherever crime shows its fanged and +evil head. + +Every Spaniard is potentially a criminal. An empty belly goads him into +lawlessness; his very nature greases his wayward feet. The Spaniard is +by nature sullen, irascible, insolently independent, lawless. He is more +African than European. Prick a Spaniard and a vindictive Moor bleeds. + +Then, whether it be his famishing hunger or lawless passion which has +caused him to rise above the law, the Spaniard, his crime writ in red, +flees from the police. Spain is a country of uncouth wilds. There are +the desolate high steppes and the savage mountains; there are the tawny +_despoblados_, which are uninhabitated wastes; there are the _marismas_, +which are labyrinthine everglades where whole regiments may lie +concealed. + +But also, in Spain, there are railroads and telegraphs, and a most +efficient constabulary, the Guardia Civil. And, were it not for +_Caciquismo_, all evil-doers would be speedily apprehended by the +Guardia Civil, tried under the _alcaldes_, and incarcerated in the +Carcel de la Corte or the Presidio of Ceuta. + +Caciquismo is not a tangible thing. It is a secret and sinister +influence. It is not the Tammany of New York; it is not the Camorra of +Naples. Yet it resembles both these corrupt edifices in its special +Spanish way. Its instruments are prime ministers and muleteers, members +of the _cortes_ and bullfighters, hidalgos and low-caste Gitanos. + +A _cacique_ may be only the mayor of a tiny hamlet; again, he may be +privy councilor to the king. Yet high or low, he is but one of the many +tentacles of a gigantic octopus which lays its clammy shadow athwart the +land. + +It is well known that Tammany, for reasons political or otherwise, +protected criminals. Well, even as did Tammany, so does Caciquismo. A +Spanish criminal may be captured, tried before a magistrate and all; but +if he be one in good standing with the caciques, never is he sent to the +Carcel de la Corte or Ceuta. The invisible eight arms of the gigantic +octopus uncoil and reach out, the thousand ducts along those arms open +to spew a flood of favors and gold, and magistrate and prosecutor are +bought and paid for, and the men of the Civil Guard who cannot be +bought, who are incorruptible, are in the Spanish courts betrayed! + +Therefore, the men of the Guardia Civil are most high-handed and cruel. +The criminal caught in the deed never reaches the Spanish jail. He is +shot down on the spot. Bigots for justice are the men of the Guardia +Civil! + +_Carajo!_ but there was wailing in Minas de la Sierra when came the news +of Juan Quesada's death. So many men had gone away and been murdered by +the police, and so few were left! Women who had been made widows in the +selfsame way as Jacinto Quesada's mother came to the hut and sought to +comfort her. But she would not be comforted. For three days she lay on +the earthen floor of her hut and beat her hands and her head against the +dust. Then she commenced vomiting and swooning like one sick unto death. + +They thought it was the cholera. The cholera was forever scaling the +high mountains and skulking into the village in the night. A man of the +village went for the doctor, Don Jaime de Torreblanca y Moncada. He +lived but a few miles from Granada, and the man had to go all down the +hills to summon him. + +Torreblanca y Moncada was what is called a "hard man." He was a grandee +by birth and breeding, a hidalgo of the old granite-jawed, eagle-stern +and eagle-haughty Spanish sort--the Cortes y Monroy sort, the Hernan de +Soto sort. He worshipped his ancient name, his high hidalgo blood. His +personal honor was to him more precious than life, more sacred than a +sacrament, inviolable, consecrated. + +When a young man, he had married a woman of race and beauty. She had run +off with a Gypsy picador. Don Jaime had put a Manchegan knife down his +boot and set off after them, vowing to follow them to the end of the +earth even, and to kill them both. But the train, in which the guilty +ones fled, had not reached Jaen when it was wrecked, and they both were +crushed out of all semblance to two sinful lovers. + +With composure and reserve, Don Jaime heard the news. He did not even +laugh harshly or curse God for robbing him of his revenge. Only grim, +quiet and morose, he returned to his dishonored house and to his baby +daughter that had been robbed, sacrileged, and orphaned. + +He was quite a rememberable-looking man. His hair had whitened quickly +in the years that followed; his skin, from exposure to wind and weather, +was a deep swarth; and his eyes were gray. Not many Spaniards have gray +eyes. The eyes of Torreblanca y Moncada were a clear, cold, agate gray. +All in all, there was about his appearance, especially the long aquiline +nose, the stony eyes and pointed white beard, something which seemed to +harken back to the days of ruffs and ready swords--the days of the +terrible Spanish infantry, the Armada, the Bigotes, the "bearded men" +the Conquistadores. + +The mountaineers of Minas de la Sierra knew fear of him and awe. For +them he had only a contemptuous eye and a bitter smile and a harsh +imperious way. They said he had a granite boulder for a heart. But he +was very tender with the sick. + +He was the sort of physician who looks upon his business of serving the +ailing as a sacred commission from on high. He was like one who had +taken Holy Orders with his doctor's degree. No Jesuit was more slave to +his oaths; no Jesuit worked with more zeal for God and the Society than +did Don Jaime for Humanity and Science. The most poverty-abased +_labrador_, the most filthy beggar, had but to summon him, and he would +arise from his table or his bed and ride across Spain to him who needed +healing. + +He was the only physician who would journey up the mountains to Minas de +la Sierra. It mattered not to him that there were long climbing miles of +perilous goat-paths along howling gorges; it mattered not to him that +the mountaineers never had money to pay him his just due. He was indeed +a "hard man," haughty as Satanas, and grim and dour. But even as his +personal honor was to him more precious than life, so was his +physician's honor a covenant with Jehovah, tyrannical and imperious to +command him. + +The old men of Minas were sitting under the cork-oak in the center of +the village when the hidalgo doctor came out of the hut of the sick +woman. + +"Is it not the great illness, Don Jaime?" asked one of the old men, old +Castro. He was thinking of the dread cholera. + +"No. She is merely sick with despair." + +"Ah, that is the great illness of Spain! All Spain is sick with +despair!" + +"Carajo! but you are right, my father!" answered the Senor Doctor in his +bitter way. "Spain despairs. And why not? Spain famishes. There is no +food for honest men to eat. And men turn dishonest, thinking by crime to +appease their gnawing bellies. They became contrabandistas, _salteadores +de camino_, _abigeos_, _ladrones_. And the men of the Guardia Civil take +them out on the mountainside and murder them. + +"Our forefathers," he philosophized, "were refugees from the fall of +Troy. Black was their national color; black for their lost cause. They +should put a black stripe with the red and yellow stripes of our modern +Spanish flag. A black stripe for despair." + +"_Bueno_, Don Jaime!" said the old men. One added: + +"We have not studied at Salamanca like you, but we know what we know. +Every night the hungry children cry themselves to sleep. Our own +porridge bowls are never full. We have seen our sons grow desperate. We +have seen them one by one go away. There was Benito, my youngest. He +became a contrabandista, and the Civil Guard murdered him. There was +Adolpho, the son of my sister Teresa. He also went the same way. There +was Santiago Reyes and Mateo Pacheco and Ignacio Parral. And now follows +Juan Quesada." + +"What would you?" asked the Senor Doctor, with sudden brutality. "The +Guardia Civil must keep the peace of Spain. And Spaniards must steal to +live. It is dog eat dog. It will always be dog eat dog while men are +Spaniards and Spaniards starve." + +He turned abruptly away and entered once more the hut of Jacinto +Quesada's mother. When he came out again, he said to the women clustered +about the door: + +"She is forever kissing the child Jacinto and moaning, 'My poor +Jacintito! What will become of thee, thou pale tiny one? My poor, poor +Jacintito!' + +"It is better that he should be taken away from her until she is herself +again. His presence here only deepens her despair. I will carry him with +me down the mountain to my _casa_ outside Granada and keep him there for +a time. I have not much--what Spaniard is rich?--but he will be fed +well; he will be given the same food as is given my own daughter, +Felicidad." + +"Ah, Don Jaime, you have the heart of gold!" cried one woman, her eyes +moist and tender. + +"The Mother of God reward you, and mend your broken heart, proud +Torreblanca y Moncada!" cried another. And the others would have burst +out in a full litany of praises, had not the Senor Doctor fiercely said: + +"Don't stand there making the monkey of me, you mountain jades! _Quita +de ahi! Pronto!_ Get the peasants' brat into his jacket and +_alpagartas_, and wrap him warmly in his shawl. I desire to get out of +this accursed hole as quick as possible. It smells bad, and I itch. The +place is lousy!" + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +In the great harsh fist of the hidalgo doctor Jacinto Quesada, who was +then ten years old, put his little trembling hand and went down the +mountains, and entered a new world. + +The _casa_ of Don Jaime was large, decayed, dingy, and full of lizards +that lived between the crumbling adobe bricks. But it seemed to Jacinto +Quesada a sumptuous palace. Besides the hidalgo doctor, there lived in +the sumptuous palace two old servants and a pretty little girl with +golden hair and legs round and pudgy as would have been the legs of +Jacinto, had his father lived and prospered. + +In the great rooms that were so bare with poverty, the two children +played together. The eyes of the little Jacinto, alert to see all in +this new strangeness, had noted a peculiar thing. One day he said to +Felicidad: + +"Do you love your father, the Senor Doctor?" + +The child knuckled her brow. + +"It is not the love," she said thoughtfully. "Don Jaime is a very grand +and haughty hidalgo; it is not his desire that I should love him. But I +fear him much!" + +Came a day when Felicidad was very naughty. She tore leaves from the +huge old sheepskin-bound books in the great gloomy library, and cut them +into paper dolls. It was Don Jaime's one delight to read and reread, in +the long hot afternoons, those yellow-leaved, richly illuminated +ancient volumes. Pedro, one of the old servants, informed the doctor of +Felicidad's naughtiness. The doctor's face went ashy; he shook all over +with rage. He brought out a short whip of horsehide, a _quirta_ such as +_vaqueros_ use. With the quirta he lashed Felicidad's legs and back +unmercifully. + +Her screams drove like knives into little Jacinto Quesada's heart. He +was but ten years old and he was much afraid of the terrible hidalgo. +But as the whip pitilessly descended again and again, and Felicidad +screamed and writhed in agony, a hot anger welled up in him; he became +desperate as only a child becomes desperate; he went mad. + +Screaming himself, he charged at the doctor and tore at his trousers +with his finger nails, and tried to leap up and upon him. The quirta +rose again and fell upon his head. Then he caught at the doctor's wrist +and sunk his teeth into it. With bulldog tenacity he hung on, until he +was beaten into insensibility, and his jaws forced open. + +Strangely, Don Jaime conceived a sort of liking for Jacinto Quesada +after that. He took to calling him The Little Wolf of the Mountains. It +became his wont to greet Jacinto, when he stumbled across him in the +great bare house, with a look of savage admiration and the words: + +"Ah, here is the wolf-cub! And how are the fangs to-day, hungry scrawny +one?" + +Upon a time, Don Jaime, his hand still in bandages, discovered Jacinto +alone in the dusky library, bent over a quaint old account of the +battles and triumphs of the swineherd Pizarro. + +"When did you learn to read, son of a mangy she-wolf?" asked the doctor +in great surprise. + +"When I was but five. My mother taught me letters. She is a woman of +honest birth and of education," answered Jacinto proudly. "When she was +a child, she was sent to the convent of Santa Ursola in Granada." + +"And what do you think of this swashbuckler, Pizarro? He robbed the +Indians of their golden suns and chalices and their silver bars, without +morality and without ruth, did he not? But--do you think him cruel?" + +The boy nodded his head slowly. Then with the oldish quaintness of a +book-bitten child, he explained: + +"I do think him cruel, mi senor don. But he would not have been Pizarro +had he been soft-handed and pitiful. He led three hundred and fifty +Spanish caballeros and four thousand Indians deep into the cordilleras. +About him were the millions of the Inca Empire. If he had been less +brave, less strong, less cruel, those many Peruvians would have swirled +about him like the waters of an ocean, and engulfed him and his poor few +Conquistadores. But he knew how to be most cruel. That was why he +conquered. That was why he was altogether the great captain!" + +When first he discovered Jacinto in his library, Don Jaime had been of +the mind to send him bundling, and to lock the door between the peasant +boy and his precious old books. Now he turned about abruptly, said +"Humph!" and went thoughtfully away. + +At last, came an arriero to take Jacinto Quesada back to Minas de la +Sierra. She stood beside the mule upon which Jacinto mounted, the +golden-haired little Felicidad, and held up her small fat hands for him +to kiss. The hidalgo doctor watched his departure from the dark of the +doorway. He looked after the great dust-cloud on the brown road for a +long time. + +"The Little Wolf!" he muttered in his morose way. "He was as famished +for knowledge as he was for food. He would have gone blind if he +lingered in my library much longer. To see him rip the entrails out of +Bernal Diaz's 'Cortes' and the Lives of Balboa, De Soto, Coronado--what +a joy! He has eyes of gold for seeing things clearly--for seeing beyond +good and evil. And he has a heart of fire, he has gusto, that Spanish +boy! _Pizarro was cruel, but he was great, he was magnificent, because +he was cruel!_ What a Spanish answer! + +"_Por los Clavos de Cristo!_ he will go far, that mountain brat! He will +be a great realist and philosopher like Cervantes. Or he will be a great +dramatist like Lope de Vega. Or a great poet or statesman. Or a great +captain like the Conquistadores whose lives he studied with such gusto +and whose strength he analyzed with such clear-sightedness!" + +Then Don Jaime smiled very bitterly. For the moment he had forgotten +that his Jacinto Quesada had been born a Spaniard of the people. He +swore a vile oath. + +"But no, he will be none of those things!" he said. "_Cascaras!_ I am +becoming an old driveling fool." + +Don Jaime knew that God smiles sardonically upon the Spaniard of the +people who seeks to rise in the world. He knew that, just as the United +States is a country of unlimited opportunities, just so is Spain a +country of opportunities limited and few. The Spaniard of the people, +strong with heart and gusto, has but two careers open to him. By those +two careers and those two careers only, can your ambitious Iberian +attain to fame and fortune, and stand greatly above his countrymen. + +"He will become a bullfighter, perhaps!" said Don Jaime. + +Every man and boy in Spain is an _aficionado_, a bullfight "fan," a +frantic bullfight "bug." The successful bullfighter, be he matador, or +murderer of bulls, or only a _peon_ of the _cuadrilla_, is given rich +food with which to garnish his belly; he learns how gold feels when it +is minted into money; his photographs are purchased by romantic +_señoritas_; and wherever he goes, he is followed by crowds of tattered +street urchins who studiously and hopefully ape his swagger. The whole +universe salves and butters him with admiration and envy; and he, the +popular _picador_ or the distinguished _espada_, is in many ways more +truly a king of Spain than is Alfonso the King. Jacinto Quesada, he of +the heart of fire and the great gusto, might become a bullfighter. + +But suddenly Don Jaime remembered that the little Jacinto was a boy of +the desolate mountains. He could never see the great bullfights of the +cities of the plains, those great bullfights so golden with glamor. +Hence never would be waked in him the ambition to become a bullfighter. + +"_Ea pucs!_" said Don Jaime with grimness. "Well, then! There is naught +for my Jacinto to do but to become a _bandolero_!" + +The bandolero sells no photographs of himself; he goes houseless in the +wind and rain; he bites upon gold coins but rarely; he is hunted +persistently by the Spanish police. And yet, from day to day, his deeds +have their place in the Hispanic newspapers; he is the hero of a +thousand household stories and ballads; the people give him the fat of +the countryside to eat; the people love him more even than once they +loved that greatest of all bullfighters, the negro Frascuelo! + +"Quita!" exclaimed Don Jaime, chuckling. "God forbid!" It had struck him +that he might live to the day when people would say in his hearing: +"Jacinto Quesada? Ah, he is good, he is brave, he is like the very God +Himself. Watch over him in the mountains, Mary, Queen of Angels! and +protect him from the Guardia Civil and from treachery!" And he, +Torreblanca y Moncada, the prophet who, years before, had seen his +vision, would laugh and they would wonder why he laughed. + +A bandolero is a Spanish highwayman, a Spanish Dick Turpin, a Spanish +Robin Hood. He is a man of a type altogether extinct in countries less +backward than Spain. In Spain the type has persisted for five hundred +years and still continues to persist. In Spain the type is obstinate, +ineradicable. + +José Maria was a Spanish bandolero. Diego Corrientes, he who was loved +by a duchess, was a Spanish bandolero. And Spanish bandoleros were Visco +el Borje, Agua-Dulce, Joaquin Camargo, nicknamed El Vivillo, and +Pernales, the blond beast of prey. The bandolero is the blight of Spain. +But countries that have been exploited by Spaniards are also affected +with the Spanish blight. A bandolero of Mexico is Zapata. And a Mexican +bandolero is Pancho Villa, too. + +One wintry gloaming of Jacinto Quesada's thirteenth year, there entered +Minas de la Sierra, a ruddy-haired, blue-eyed, burly man on horseback. He +was clad in weather-worn corduroys; a week's golden stubble was on his +broad, sunburned face; and his body smelled sourly of sweat. He guided +his horse with his knees and heels. In both hands he held half-raised a +Mauser carbine. + +The horse halted under the cork-oak, but the man did not dismount. He +sat looking slowly from right to left, from left to right, along the +village street. Presently he shouted: + +"Hola, _mis paisanos_! Why do you not come out to greet me?" + +With trembling and hesitation they came forth from their doorways. They +were like so many wary brown lizards stealing out from their rocks. They +formed a tongue-tied ring about the quiet horseman and eyed him with +awe. + +"I desire food," said he shortly. + +"It is our wish to serve you, _maestro_," said Antonio Villarobledo, +speaking for the rest. "You shall have the best of our poor lean +store." + +Then spoke up Carlos Machado, a showy and presumptuous man. + +"Come to my house with me. I have a stew of lentils!" + +"But I have a _puchero_!" another bid. "Come with me, _Gran Caballero_." + +Suddenly a woman who had been hiding in her doorway ran out into the +street, crying shrilly: + +"Do not listen to these selfish stingy Moors, maestro! Come with me--I +will kill a pullet for you, the last of my lot! Come with me, I beg you, +_caballerete_! To ask you to be my guest, I have the supreme right. My +husband was the last man of the village to be murdered by the Guardia +Civil!" + +Carlos Machado and certain others turned wrathful faces toward Juan +Quesada's widow. But she had, indeed, the supreme right, and they dared +make no objection when the corduroy-clad _cabalgador_ said most +heartily: + +"Well spoken, woman! I will go with you. Your husband shall not have +been murdered in vain and your pullet lived to no good purpose!" + +Then he laughed in the faces of the others and said with sudden +imperiousness: + +"Bring your lentils and your puchero to the widow's casa, mis paisanos! +My appetite is the most gorgeous appetite in Spain, and all you have +will not be too much for me. Besides you will do well to fat me up, you +Spaniards!" + +He dismounted and followed Jacinto Quesada's mother, giving instructions +to certain of the villagers as to how they should water and fodder his +horse. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +When his mother went out on the mountainside to catch and to kill the +last surviving chicken, Jacinto Quesada went with her both to lend her a +hand and to ask her a question. She held the pullet to the block and +Jacinto raised the axe. Then, the axe poised aloft, Jacinto asked: + +"Who is this rough burly man to whom the people do such honor?" + +"He is the great Pernales!" + +The axe descended; blood spattered the faces of the two; the head of the +pullet lay free from the body and still; the body flapped about in a +manner outrageous and vile. Said Jacinto, after a moment: + +"Pernales, the bandolero?" + +"_Si, si!_ Pernales, the bandolero, him hunted forever by the men of the +Guardia Civil!" + +"But why do not the men of the Guardia Civil murder him as they murdered +our poor Juanito?" + +"Art thou a dullard, child! Thy father was a mere contrabandista. Thy +father wished only to be left undisturbed by the police. He was a coward +at heart as are most Spaniards who turn dishonest that they might eat. +He suffered himself to be captured without a struggle; there was no +murder in his bowels!" + +She swept on with true Latin eloquence and fervor: + +"But this Pernales! The men of the Guardia Civil fear Pernales as they +do not fear men of your poor father's sort. He is muscled like a +leopard; he is long of arm; he is deep-loined; and the strength of him +is like the strength of the first Spaniard, Hispanus, the son of +Hercules. But there is more to him than mere body strength! He is +possessed of a strength above body strength, a strength beyond body +strength. He is strong in his soul! + +"He is strong to live; he is strong to conquer; he is strong to make men +die. The bandoleros are all like that. They are arrogant, imperious, +absolute. They are like our ancestors, the Cristinos Viejos, the Old +Rusty Christians, they who eradicated the Moors from Spain. They are +like our ancestors, the Celtiberians, they who bathed in the urine of +horses that they might grow hard and muscular, they who asked for no +quarter in battle and who gave none. + +"A man to be a bandolero must have entrails of iron. This Pernales is of +the right guts. He likes nothing better than to meet a policeman alone +in the hills and to fight him to the death. The men of the Guardia Civil +would capture and slay him if they could; but when they come up to him +on the high road, he turns and gives battle with laughter and taunt, +with ardor, strength, desperation, and ferocity! Never does he hesitate +or falter when comes the supreme moment--the moment when his weakness +says 'Be merciful!' and his strength says 'Kill thou, Pernales!'" + +His mother sped into the house, but Jacinto stood by the dripping block, +immersed in thought. + +Presently Jacinto Quesada sat on his little stool in the far corner of +the great fireplace and watched the bandolero eat. What huge teeth he +had and how white they were! Over each mouthful the whole broad face +worked, the lips and cheeks making a dozen grimaces, the jaws snapping +and grinding. + +Every little while, the bandolero mumbled from a full mouth some +question. He seemed much interested in the murdered Juanito. But it was +almost as though he considered poor Juanito's death a humorous mishap; +at certain of the widow's remarks he laughed roughly, and his laughter +stormed through the cabana like a wind through one of the boulder-strewn +passes overhead. + +An hour later he was astride his horse again and riding down the +goat-path that dropped away from Minas de la Sierra and wound through +the lower gorges. It is never the habit of the bandolero to linger in a +_pueblo_ or village longer than a very short time; most sensational and +brief and furtive are his visits. + +There was a fat and brilliant moon, that night. It was as though a snow +had fallen, the heads and shoulders of the mountains were so white. Down +into the dark moaning gorges, one could see a great distance. + +Pernales walked his horse very slowly, for the path led along the sheer +of a precipice. But while he kept a vigilant eye on the way ahead, ready +to throw himself toward the wall of the gorge should the nag stumble on +a loose stone, or shy from the path, and plunge screaming into +nothingness, Pernales continually cast wary quick glances toward the +crags and boulders overhead, and continually bent his ear back the way +he had come. It was almost as though he feared an ambush in that lonely +perilous place. It was almost as if, at any moment, he expected men of +the Guardia Civil to rise from behind every rock, and the command of the +Guardia Civil to sound in his ears: + +"_Alto a la Guardia Civil!_" + +He rounded a great rock that threatened to tear from its moorings down +into the winding gorge below. Abruptly he halted his horse and his +carbine came up. A long tense hush. Then suddenly he exploded: + +"Who are you that stands beside the way?" + +Came the answer in a child's thin voice: + +"Jacinto Quesada!" + +Minas de la Sierra was a long distance above and far back in the +sierras. With great surprise the bandolero recognized the child to whom +he had waved a hand and called a laughing "á Dios" some time before. + +"Are you alone?" The carbine still threatened. + +"See for yourself, maestro! But I am altogether alone." + +The bandolero rode nearer. When the horse shouldered up, the little +Jacinto was compelled to squeeze into the very crevices of the rock +wall, so narrow was the path. + +From his lofty seat on the big, rawboned black horse, Pernales looked +down at the son of the widow Quesada and measured, with his eyes, the +boy's extreme youthfulness and preposterous lack of strength and size. +Jacinto was only thirteen years old. + +What he saw altogether reassured Pernales. His blue eyes twinkled; he +smiled; he grinned, his lips working and twitching; and at last he broke +out in a frank and free burst of laughter. + +"Cascaras!" he roared, between guffaws. "How came you here, lively +little one? Have you the sharp hoofs of the ibex to gallop you from crag +to crag, across gorges and _gargantas_ and all? Or have you the griffon +vulture's wings that you may fly over mountains? You are no real flesh +and blood child! You are a sprite, a--" + +Jacinto Quesada, imperious with a great desire, brushed his bantering +words aside. Trembling with eagerness, he cried: + +"Take me with you, Pernales! I would be a bandolero, too! Lift me up +behind you on your horse, and I will go with you through Spain and be +your _compañero_ and your _dorado_--your golden one, your trustworthy +one! Take me with you, please, please, Pernales!" + +The bandolero did not credit his own ears. He was too astounded to +laugh. + +"Hola!" he gasped. "What is this now? You, my chicken, would be a +bandolero! And you came all the way down here to recruit with me! Por +los Clavos de Cristo!" + +Then soberly and slyly, for he was beginning to see good fun in the +little fellow: + +"But do you not know that it is a rule, a convention, of us good +bandoleros to ride alone? Solitary and single-handed, we are safer and +stronger than if a troop of cabalgadores surrounded us. There is no one +so swift and slippery and elusive as a bandolero who rides alone, and +no one so free from fear of treachery--he trusts no man and no man he +dreads." + +"True. You understand your business, I see," said Jacinto Quesada. + +He was only thirteen; yet he spoke slowly, with deliberation and +discernment and a great air of mannish profundity. He had got something +from Don Jaime's books, this mountaineer's bantling! + +"But there are times," he qualified, "when even the most superb +bandolero needs assistance in some serious and signal business. Have you +not yourself a _dorado_, a _camarada_, who rides with you on your +greater crimes, the Nino de Arahal? Certain folk have told me of the +Nino; they said he shared the glory of those enterprises which made +imperative a show of numbers and strength; do not tell me these folk +lied! I had hoped to dispossess this camarada and dorado of yours, this +Nino de Arahal, and to attain to the envied place down from which I +threw him headlong! + +"But the Nino," he added, arrogating to himself judicial authority--"let +us forget him! Za! he is only an insignificant frog! Your wish to ride +unhindered and alone, of that I would speak! Maestro, when I become your +dorado, we will ride together always, for we will commit only imposing +and glorious crimes!" + +Said Pernales softly: + +"But how would you dispossess the Nino de Arahal?" + +"I would pit against the huge gorilla's head of the Little One of +Arahal, my head of gold for thinking quick thoughts and audacious ones. +I would displace him and replace him by my natural superiority of brain. +But if that were not enough--Carajo! I would lock knives with him, I +would lunge and slash and rip and stab with my _navaja_, while he tore +and stabbed and slashed and lunged with his, until one or the other of +us gushed out his life through his wounds and was dead!" + +Then it was that Pernales laughed so that the very canyon roared and +rang. He rolled back his head; he clapped his hands to his stomach; he +opened his mouth to its widest stretch; and he guffawed so tremendously +that the horse beneath him staggered and almost overbalanced from the +wall. He was Olympian in his laughter. + +And why not laugh? Did he not see in his mind's eye the gigantic ruffian +nicknamed the Nino de Arahal locked with this stripling, this barefoot +child, this suckling babe? Za! The Nino would make ten of him! _Zape!_ +The Nino would swallow him at a mouthful! It was preposterous! It was so +funny, he cared not a peseta if he laughed himself to death! + +But suddenly, through his laughter, slid Jacinto Quesada's low-toned +words: + +"But if he were altogether too huge and brawny for me to murder in open +combat, then I would murder him in some hidden, treacherous way. +Treachery is the strength of the weak who are yet strong. If there be no +other way, the superior brain resorts to treachery for the superior +brain is invincible. While I am still weak of body, I will not disdain +to use treachery! + +"And, man, man, I warn you! Do not continue to laugh at me! You have +laughed quite enough at me, Pernales! Cease laughing this instant! +Quick! Straighten your face, or _Porvida_! the Manchegan knife I have +with me, I will use on your horse. I will rip open his belly; and he, +with you upon him, will go bounding off the path and fall head over +heels down into the abyss!" + +Instantly Pernales sobered. His face set into an emotionless mask; his +teeth clenched together with an audible click; his eyes became hard as +blue bright pebbles. Without seeming to do so, he looked down at the +child's hands; and true! there was in those hands a huge, flat-bladed +dagger, a dagger of La Mancha. The child was turning it over and over, +and studying it with a pensive interest. + +Deep within himself, Pernales laughed ironically at his own +discomfiture. He could not use the carbine. Without chancing the great +risk of sending his horse recoiling and reeling off the path, he could +not strike down the child with a blow of his fist! And the child had but +to turn aside his gun or dodge his hard fist, and crouch out of harm's +way beneath the horse's barrel. Then might he strike up with the dagger, +and the horse would make the breakneck plunge as surely as he would +scream when stabbed. + +"Jacinto Quesada," said Pernales bitterly, "you have caught Pernales in +a pretty deadfall! Use your knife; then go for the Guardia Civil and +guide a brace of policemen to where my body lies on the bottom of the +gorge, and there awaits you the money offered for my head! Cascaras! I +judged you altogether too superficially; I was too contemptuous!" + +Quietly Jacinto Quesada put the Manchegan knife back in his belt. + +"I forbear to strike," said he, "since you have confessed your fault. +Now, soberly and with due respect, give me your answer. Will you take me +with you?" + +A gleam of admiration lit the eye of Pernales. + +"Jacinto Quesada," he said, "you are no child. You have shown +resolution, force, finality; you are altogether masculine, altogether +_varonil_; you are a man! Therefore, as one man to another, I say: No, I +cannot take you with me!" + +Pernales now was very serious. + +"To be my dorado, it is not enough that you have a full-grown soul. You +must have a full-grown body; and your body is still the puny, soft-boned +body of a child. If you rode away with me, you of the weak body, your +strong soul might be sacrificed to the Nino de Arahal or the Guardia +Civil. And that--God forbid! + +"Let us look at this matter like two sensible Moors. Don Eduardo Miura, +let us suppose, has a young fighting bull of extraordinary promise. At +the _Tentaderos_ (the breeders' private bullfight, when the young bulls +are ranked according to their merit as fighting animals), this youngster +shows superb courage and astounding ferocity. But he is only two years +old; and five years old must be the age of Don Eduardo's animals before +he exhibits them in the Plaza de Toros. Does Don Eduardo make an +exception of this unique bull, does he allow him because of his +astounding ferocity to have a premature début in the bull-ring? Name of +God, no! Not even if he be as magnificent with meat as the most mature +seven-year-old! + +"Jacinto Quesada, quickly I have grown to love your strong soul--I have +grown to love your strong soul too much. And that is why I say, I cannot +take you with me. No! Porvida, no! But, if you are resentful, use your +knife and send me whirling down into the gorge. Proceed! I care not a +peseta what you do." + +Jacinto Quesada stood motionless as a rock, thinking deeply. Something +in the boy's downcast attitude moved Pernales to pity. + +"Do not despair, my fire-hearted, _arrogante_ little man," he said +presently. "I have said no; this time my no is absolute; but I shall not +say no to you, should I pass this way again when you are more fully +grown. Some day, I promise you, I shall again pass this way, and then if +you are still of the mind to be my dorado, you may join out with me and +we will murder the men of the Guardia Civil together, two sworn +compañeros. Meanwhile, grow brawny, grow brave, grow high-handed. There +will always be room in Spain for haughty resolute ones like you!" + +"I accept the promise given," said Jacinto Quesada. "And I do not ask +you to swear to return for me--a word is enough between men. Now, +knowing you will come back, I will compose myself and wait. A child is +impetuous and fretful; a man is implacable yet patient." + +"Son of the widow Quesada," returned Pernales magnificently, "on the +promise given and taken, let us strike hands! With a handshake, like two +true Spaniards, we will bind the bargain." + +Jacinto Quesada took his hand off the hilt of his Manchegan navaja and +gripped claws with the bandolero. A certain note of solemnity thrilled +through the moment. + +The bandolero started on. + +"Go thou with God, compañero!" said Jacinto Quesada. + +"Grow big, grow strong, thou!" said the great Pernales. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +Jacinto Quesada grew bigger, stronger. But he suffered more with +ambition than with growing pains. Ambition is the seed of greatness, but +the seed cannot germinate and bourgeon without giving agony and labor to +the soil in which it is nurtured. + +Pernales did not again pass that way. Three months had not intervened, +since the promise to return had been given, when the great bandolero was +murdered for the reward by a Gallego on a lonely hill-road in the +Asturias--shot through the head at forty yards. + +Now, if never could Jacinto Quesada ride with Pernales, then by the +Life! he would ride alone. + +When at last he attained to manhood, he went down the mountains, stole a +carbine and a horse, and became a bandolero errant and free. + +He had hands of gold, that fire-hearted Spanish boy, for sticking up a +troop of caballeros and their ladies out for a _merienda_ or a +bull-baiting on the parched plains about Madrid. And he had hands of +gold for sticking up a diligence full of notables in the savage defiles +of the Sierra de Guadalupe or the Sierra de Gredos or the Sierra de +Guadarrama. And he had courage and originality. Why, he was still a mere +novice as a bandolero, an apprentice hand, a _novillero_, when he took +it into that round, young, handsome and arrogant Spanish head of his to +way-lay and loot the Seville-to-Madrid Express! + +Spanish highwaymen, you must know, are not in the habit of holding up +passenger trains. To way-lay a lone muleteer in the mountains, to halt +and rob a party of itinerant guitarists and dancers, or to pillage the +_hacienda_ of a rich rural cattle breeder are the conventional things to +do. But to hold up the Seville-to-Madrid--it is unthinkable, it is not +the will of God! Spanish highwaymen prefer to do less spectacular deeds +and to live to see their grandchildren. + +In the province of Ciudad Real, the Seville-to-Madrid Express crosses +the river Zancura by means of a safe and modern steel cantilever bridge +built by Le Brun, a French engineer. And a half hour before it reaches +this steel bridge, the Seville-to-Madrid crosses another bridge, a +bridge over a small tributary of the Zancura which is dry three fourths +of the year. This bridge is not of steel; it is timbered. It was never +built by Le Brun; it is flimsy, weather-worn, and liable to give under +any unusual strain. It is called the Arroyo Seco Bridge. + +Here, where the Arroyo Seco lies like a great brown gutter across the +world, are the high _parameras_ of La Mancha. There are no more desolate +and lonely uplands in all Spain. Swarthy, sun-scorched and thirsty, they +torture the eye with dusty dun distances and prone dun lines. You would +think it an altogether unlikely place for a bandolero to stage a +hold-up. + +And here, a hundred yards below the Arroyo Seco bridge and close beside +the railroad track, waited Jacinto Quesada one hot, dry, windless +afternoon. He was seated upon a small sleek mouse-colored Manchegan +pony. He wore corduroy leggins, a sheepskin _zamarra_, and a Cordovan +sombrero that had once been white. His dress was that of the typical +Manchegan herdsman. He looked like any one of the hundred or more +vaqueros who lived the wild lonely life of the cattle country +roundabout. + +The Seville-to-Madrid showed in the southwest. Like a somber black snake +it crawled slowly forward--like a black snake laggard and heavy after a +great dinner of mice. + +Spanish passenger trains are altogether unlike American passenger +trains, for American passenger trains eat up distances like the brazen +cars of old Northern gods. The passenger trains of Spain are most +deliberate and slow. They halt for ten minutes at every wayside station, +for no better reason than to allow the passengers to alight, unlimber +their legs, and smoke the eternal cigarette. They are the very crawling +snails of the earth! + +Of course, the Seville-to-Madrid was an express, a through train. But +you may be sure she was no fast train except when viewed through Spanish +eyes. At fifteen miles the hour, morosely it crawled on. It neared the +waiting Jacinto Quesada and, fearful of the flimsy wooden bridge beyond, +slackened its pace to a painful glacier-slow flow. + +As the wheezing locomotive lumbered up, Jacinto Quesada, with knees and +one hand, held the shuddering pony motionless beside the track. The +other hand he raised aloft. Pointedly, his eyes turned to that upraised +hand; then to the locomotive's cab; then significantly, to the upflung +hand once again. + +The engine driver, one arm extended to the throttle, a blue-smoking +cigarette between his lips, leaned far out the cab and looked down at +the uplifted hand of Jacinto Quesada. In that significantly uplifted +hand of Jacinto Quesada was an unlighted cigarette. + +Now, an American engineer would have passed unheeding by, with perhaps a +curse for Jacinto Quesada as an arrant fool. Again, a French engineer +might have called back: "It is a pleasure!" and thrown down a paper of +matches. For, as it was plain to see, Jacinto Quesada was requesting, in +pantomime, a spark to ignite his hopelessly dead slim cylinder of +tobacco. + +But the Spanish engine driver did neither of those two things. It is not +that the Iberians are not as polite as the French; they are more polite +and altogether more ceremonious. Know you that in Spain, and also in +Mexico, it is considered something of an insult to proffer a man matches +when he requests a light of you and you yourself are smoking. It is as +though you consider him socially beneath you, when you proffer him +matches. + +The locomotive lumbered by. But the engine driver crowded forward on his +seat; his arms worked; the whistle shrieked. And the train groaned and +jolted, roared and banged to a full stop. + +Passengers telescoped themselves out of windows, some knocked all +a-scramble by the sudden halt, others pale and frightened. Those heads +that protruded from fortunate windows saw the engine driver clamber down +from his high turret, a lighted cigarette in his hand. And they saw spur +forward to meet him, the dusty vaquero, in his mouth a cigarette that +was dead. + +The vaquero flung himself from his pony. He and the engine driver drew +together. A hand of each met, became entwined. Their heads leaned close, +the cigarettes between their teeth touching ends. + +Suddenly the engine driver staggered away from the vaquero, his jaw +dropping, his cigarette falling unheeded to the ground. A huge +long-barrelled revolver in the hand of the vaquero was nuzzling his +umbilicus. + +"_Aupa!_" shouted the vaquero harshly. "Up!" + +Prodding his belly persistently, the vaquero followed him back, step by +step. The engine driver was suddenly enlightened. It was all a piece of +herdsmen's buffoonery, a monstrous practical joke! + +"Benito!" he roared, addressing his stoker in the cab above. "Benito, +look down! Here is a vaquero who thinks himself a _salteador de camino_, +a bandolero like the poor dead Pernales or that new man, Jacinto +Quesada! _Por los Clavos de Cristo!_ what a fool's idea!" + +Then to the vaquero. "Don't you know I have no time for horseplay, you +silly one, you buffoon, you? You are making yourself liable to arrest!" + +"I am the new man, Jacinto Quesada!" said Jacinto Quesada with +politeness and reserve. Then, "Aupa, aupa!" + +"Jacinto Quesada--Almighty God!" gasped the engine driver. Only he made +it, "_Todopoderoso Dio!_" and he groaned it out slowly. + +But with great alacrity he put up his hands. + +Then after a moment, stuttering with fright, he commenced objecting. + +"But caballerete--but Don Jacinto--" + +"What would you?" + +"But you cannot hold up the Seville-to-Madrid! No one ever holds up the +Seville-to-Madrid! And besides, you are alone!" + +"But I am not alone," returned Jacinto Quesada. + +Nor was he. Out of the Arroyo Seco, a hundred yards up the track, three +men as drab and dusty as he had poked their dishevelled heads. + +Shouted Quesada, "_Adelante_, mis dorados! The stew is ready, approach +the bowl! Forward, my golden ones!" + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +The Golden Ones approached at a run, showing in their hands carbines of +no recent fashion. They were rough-bearded fellows of impetuous courage +but of little skill or fame; reckless scapegraces whom he had picked up, +on the plains and in the mountains, to reinforce him in this most +pretentious and uncommon hold-up. + +After the consummation of the deed, they would go their ways and he his. +Like most Spanish _bandoleros en grande_, Jacinto Quesada preferred, +whenever he could, to keep his heels clean of confederates and +coadjutors; he preferred to hold himself aloof and solitary. However, +they were his compañeros for the nonce; for the nonce, they were his +dorados, his golden, his trustworthy ones. + +One of them clambered up into the cab after the fireman, Benito. The +rest, under the supervision of Jacinto Quesada, proceeded to turn inside +out the Seville-to-Madrid. + +Pretentious train robberies are forever much alike. Save that those +waylaid and despoiled were Spaniards, and Spaniards are eternally +themselves, and their souls glow frankly and incandescently out through +their bodies in everything they do, the hold-up of the Seville-to-Madrid +was like an American train robbery, like a train robbery anywhere. + +The mail coach was first disposed of. Then the highwaymen turned their +attention to the passengers. In a jostling, milling, frightened drove +on the open plain to the right of the stalled coaches, the passengers +were herded by the four taciturn workmanlike bandoleros. Then one by one +each passenger was led forward from the rest and searched for money and +valuables. + +Those who were cowardly, quaked and walked knock-kneed, their mouths +stuttering rapid prayers. Those who were courageous but overawed, +clenched their teeth in their lips, held their eyes pasted upon the +bandoleros, and did silently and with utter obedience that which they +were told to do. Those who were weak, wept. Few words were said, yet the +faces of all were as a loudly chanted litany of dreads. + +Jacinto Quesada took little part in the searching; he left that to his +journeymen. He stood aloof, his revolver in hand, his eyes studying +pensively, as they were put to the search, the demeanor of the brave and +the base. + +Many of the herded and driven and robbed wondered at this boy with no +vestige of hair on his smooth brown cheeks. They did not know him. They +thought Jacinto Quesada, he who had begun making such a great noise +through Spain, one of the bearded, black-visaged, older men. + +First to be led forward and made to deliver was a traveler for a +Barcelona manufactory. Then came two brokers who had been speeding about +Spain to make contracts on the grape, olive, orange, and apricot crops. +Then came a wine taster, one cork grower, and three cattle breeders; and +then a troupe of Gitanos, Gypsy musicians and dancers of the +metropolitan cafés. And these having been plucked in their proper +sequence, there was led forward a wisp of black-clad nuns. + +Jacinto Quesada stepped forward and took off his hat to the nuns. He +motioned that they should be brought back to their old places without +suffering the sacrilege of search, and he said, "Your pardon, Ladies of +God!" + +Then was led forward a foreign looking man, a globe-trotter who had been +traveling alone. He was big, broad-shouldered, fair-haired and as +smooth-shaven as any bullfighter. He was square of face, his jaw was a +round resolute knob, and his eyes were blue and hinted of being quick to +laugh. Struck by the foreign look of the man, Jacinto Quesada stepped +forward once again and, with an air of ingenuous curiosity, asked, "You +are a Frenchman, are you not?" + +It is a fact that most Spaniards mistake all foreigners for either +Frenchmen or Englishmen. And they never can distinguish between persons +of the two races. + +Answered the outlander, "I am neither, _muchacho_. I am what you +Spaniards call a _Yanqui_, a _Norte Americano_." + +"Cascaras! You are one of those who gave Spain such a great beating a +few years ago and robbed us of Cuba and the Philippines. Thorough and +impudent salteadores de camino, you Yanquis seem to me! But sometimes it +does a person or a country good to be beaten and robbed. Spain is the +better for having had her buttocks soundly spanked; and the Philippines +and Cuba--zut! they were ulcers on her flesh, and Spain is sincerely +thankful she submitted to the surgeon's knife, now that the thing is +done!" + +At the philosophical and rather elevated tone of the boy, the American +raised his eyebrows in surprise. Yet he had traveled in Spain some +months already, and he should have been used to Spanish logic and +Spanish eloquence. + +The race of the Cristinos Viejos is an old, old race, full of salt and +masculinity and knowledge that is not to be acquired in schools. In a +country where any peasant will argue or exchange racy jokes with Alfonso +and even slap him on the back in the ensuing hurly-burly of merriment, +where a hidalgo will eat with his coachman, and a beggar light his +cigarette from that of a bishop, how otherwise than the way Jacinto +Quesada talked, would a man of the people talk? + +So this was the notorious Jacinto Quesada, he whom all Spain had +commenced talking about! Smiling a smile of appreciation, the American +said: + +"I think you are very well right about the recent war. You Spaniards are +certainly long on common sense. But you are young to be a philosopher, +Don Jacinto." + +At least, that was what he tried to say. But he was speaking in Spanish +and he was not altogether at home in the idioms of the language. +However, Jacinto Quesada got his meaning. + +He felt pleased, did Jacinto Quesada, to be called a philosopher. With a +smile he remembered the ferocious way of thinking which had caused him, +when a child, to seek to be the dorado of the poor dead Pernales--that +savage philosophy which had finally moved him to become a bandolero. He +was not nearly so impetuous and fiery and bigoted a youngster as then; +he was more serene, more Apollonian, more pensively thoughtful. + +But the American was speaking. Thinking to be polite and, at the same +time, rid his system of a sally typically American in humor, he said, +"It is pleasant to meet a Spaniard like you!" + +Quesada caught the inference. He smiled, showing his clean white teeth, +and returned, "It is pleasant to rob you, senor!" + +And he added, struck with surprise that a man could joke while in such +an awkward and even perilous position, and startled by his surprise into +admiration and wonder: + +"To know you, caballero, is to know why your countrymen won the recent +war. You are a man of the great bravery; you are as brave as the very +God Himself!" + +Your American is forever afraid lest he be made the butt of irony and +ridicule, the target of satire and sarcasm. His very self-consciousness +indicates how vulnerable he is to others' opinions of him; and his +extreme reserve is only a cloak worn eternally to mask the weakness. +This particular American changed countenance as he had never changed +countenance when menaced by the bandoleros' carbines; he went white and +cold, his eyes flashed angrily. And sharply, he exploded: + +"Why do you say that?" + +"Because you do not recoil from the rough touch of my dorados; because +your eye fearlessly meets my eye; because you talk without falter and +without affected ease; because you act like a man who is a man!" +explained Jacinto Quesada with sincerity. And to clinch the argument, he +added, Spaniard-like, "I am utterly brave myself. Do you think I cannot +recognize men of my own kind?" + +The American fidgeted, blushed slightly, and smiled a very rueful smile. + +"But why, if I am so very brave," he countered, "did I not rebel and +kill some of you when your men herded me out on the prairie with the +rest, and then yanked me forward to pick my pockets? There is a Colt's +automatic in my hip pocket, but you'll notice I have not used it!" + +"A brave man is not necessarily a brave fool like the hidalgo don, +Quixote of La Mancha," returned Quesada shortly. "You Americans are a +sentimental race." + +Then, turning to one of the searchers, he ordered, "Relieve the Yanqui +caballero of the pistol that is such a temptation to him, Rafael Perez!" + +Presently, eager to have their turns and be done with the necessary +formalities, pressed forward a cuadrilla of bullfighters. A few of them +wore the ordinary street dress of men of the profession. They would be +known anywhere in Spain for bullfighters by their broad, stiff-brimmed, +low-crowned black hats and their black, tightly fitting clothes. + +The most of them were still in bull-ring costume, however. In the busy +months of the Taurine Season, when bullfights are almost daily events +and contracts must be fulfilled, the Brethren of the Coleta are kept +continually on the jump--rushing precipitantly from town to town, from +bull ring to railroad train and straightway again to bull ring--and they +have little or no time to change from bull ring costume into street +clothes and scarcely more time to spend in eating, sleeping, or doing +anything else than murdering bulls. Therefore, it is a habit with +bullfighters to railroad everywhere about the peninsula in full ring +regalia; and one often sees these athletes speeding, gorgeously clad, +over the desert _vegas_ or alighting at the depots of bullfight-crazy +towns. + +First to come forward was the espada, the dexterous with the sword, the +murderer of bulls, the man of death. + +Jacinto Quesada took one look at him, then with gusto cried, "Por los +Clavos de Cristo! if here is not the great Morales!" + +"_Seguramente_, yes, I am the great Morales!" returned the matador, +bowing in acknowledgment of the swift and hearty recognition. He wore +pink silk stockings, gold-braided green silk breeches, waistcoat, and +jacket, a white ruffled shirt, a crimson tie, and a black cap. He wore +the black rosette and ribbons of the matador in his _coleta_, his +queue--that long, thick, and sacred lock of hair all bullfighters wear +as the time-honored insignia of their ancient profession. + +He was not yet thirty. He was a little below the middle height. He had a +long body and short muscular legs. He was all iron and strength. And +his brown Andalusian face was the typical young bull fighter's face, +boyish, almost effeminate with its mild contours; a face made expressive +and pleasing by eyes soft, dark, thick-lashed and very brave; a face +that was the easily read table-of-contents of an honest, simple-souled, +intrepid man. + +Jacinto Quesada's eyes smiled, and his whole face beamed, as he looked +at him, for he recognized in this man whom he had long admired because +of his splendid courage in the bull ring a kindred spirit. + +"And how are the wife and the children, Manuel?" he asked. + +"Most excellent in health, thank you, Jacinto! And you? And your +family?" + +"Superb! But ah, Morales, what would I not give to be watching you +killing your bulls in the Seville bull ring at this moment, instead of +doing what I am--setting my dogs of ladrones upon you to rob you of your +hard-earned money! Say but the word, and you will be exempted from this +indignity!" + +"A thousand thanks; but no, I would rather not! It is too much honor!" + +"Too much honor for you, one of the three bravest men in Spain? You, +whom I have ridden fifty miles many times to see give the _suerte de +matar_, the stroke of death! Why, to sit in the sun and watch you +perform, I have ventured into Seville in disguise when the men of the +Guardia Civil were as thick about the bull ring as flea-bitten curs +about a camp of Gitanos; and I have counted the risk nothing!" + +"But if I am one of the three bravest men in Spain, as you say, who are +the others? Who is the second? Who is the third?" + +"The second! Can you not guess?" + +"Ah, _chispas_! yes. Yourself, Jacinto Quesada, of course!" + +"And the third?" + +The brow of the matador darkened with professional jealousy. Tentatively +he asked, "You do not mean the espada, Lagartijo, do you?" + +"No; I do not like Lagartijo's ceremoniousness and caution; I like only +_diestros_ of the good old charge-and-take-a-chance Sevillian school. I +mean that Yanqui traveler over there. He is like us two; he is an +iron-boweled man!" + +The bullfighter turned around and took a good look at the lone American. +Then he slapped his breeches and jacket and invited the bearded +salteadores to continue with the search. + +After the cuadrilla of bullfighters came a fat gray parish priest; then +several tourists from Central and South America; then a pretty flight of +rosy and demure young convent girls, bound northward under the vigilant +watch of two prim sallow _duennas_; and then a tall blond man with a +straw-colored mustache darkened and stiff with wax. + +It was palpable this man was no Spaniard. He was dressed with neatness, +even elegance. Strangely, his face looked much older than his lithe +athletic body. It was a sharp, clever face, but a peculiar ashy pallor +overspread it and, about the mouth, there were hard grim lines. The nose +was long, high-bridged, predatory. The eyes were slate-colored, small +and bright and furtive. They had a peculiar trick of drooping at the +outer corners, a trick that gave him a calculating and rather sinister +look. + +He had been traveling with his young wife, a very lovely slip of a girl. +Her turn was to come next. She stood at the edge of the muster of +people, looking after her foreign-looking husband with blue eyes oddly +eager rather than anxious. She was a golden-haired girl of the rare +Castilian blond type. She seemed made all of gold, ivory, and rose +petals. Among all those frightened people, she alone was without fear. +As she stood there, looking calmly about her, she seemed altogether the +innocent and trustful child; to all appearances she should have been +still in some Spanish convent, sequestered and secure--not abroad in the +world where there are bandoleros and even men of worse sorts. + +Her husband, the foreign-looking man, was about to be put to the search +when, aroused by something more than curiosity, Jacinto Quesada stepped +forward and asked brusquely, "You are a Frenchman?" + +"I am a Frenchman, _monseñor_." + +"And why, Frenchman, do you make signs with your hands to me?" + +With good reason Jacinto Quesada asked that question. Ever since he had +been singled out for the search, the Frenchman, looking everywhere but +at his hands, had been persistently making covert signals with those +hands. First he drew two fingers down across his left cheek; then he +made certain finger movements very like the word-spelling finger +movements of the deaf and dumb; and finally he stroked his throat and +Adam's apple with a certain lingering wistful care! + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +The pale Frenchman looked full at Jacinto Quesada, and suddenly his +small slate-colored eyes blazed like sunlight on ice. + +"Do you not comprehend of the signs the meaning?" he asked sharply in +tolerable Spanish. + +"No." + +"Nor that which I desire you to understand when I do this thing?" + +Impetuously he stepped forward and grasped, with his right hand, the +right hand of Jacinto Quesada. What followed seemed only a most ardent +handshake. Then he dropped Quesada's hand and stepped back, assuming his +old passive pose. And only Quesada knew that there had passed between +them another signal--he alone knew that the Frenchman, on gripping his +hand, had tapped the wrist of that hand with his index finger twice. + +Rumpling his brow, the youthful bandolero consulted with himself for a +space. Then, his face clearing, decisively he said: + +"No, Frenchman, your signals to me have no meaning. It is, perhaps, that +I am not of sufficient knowledge; I am only a poor Moor of Andalusia, +you know. But what is the message you wish to convey by your cabalistic +signs? I am curious, senor; tell me in honest Spanish and interestedly I +shall listen." + +The tall blond Frenchman laughed ruefully under his waxed mustache. + +"As you do not comprehend my signs," he said, "to explain to you the +meaning would do me little good, I fear." + +Returned Quesada, somewhat disappointed, "You fear rightly, Frenchman!" + +He made a slight gesture of the hand. Two of his dorados seized the +Frenchman and proceeded to subject him to a rough overhauling. The +Frenchman grimaced with impotent rage and, narrowing his naturally small +calculating eyes, watched the searchers' every move with covert anxiety. + +Brusque, precipitant, hasty was that search. Very easily might it have +been more studied and thorough. But a gold watch, a few Spanish gold and +silver peseta pieces, two rings set with diamonds and an emerald +scarfpin were taken from him before he was liberated by the searchers. +The rings and the scarfpin were not plucked from his hands and necktie; +they were found deep in his pockets where he had hidden them, thinking +perhaps, to smuggle them past the bandoleros. + +At that, the emerald scarfpin was but a very ordinary jimcrack and the +diamonds of the two rings, though huge and pretentious, had the +dishonest and glassy look of paste imitations. Though but simple Moors, +even as they called themselves, the bandoleros were not so ingenuous as +to be deceived by them; and they wondered greatly why he had concealed +them with such pains. Remarked sarcastically one of the searchers, a +certain Ignacio Garcia, addressing Quesada: + +"The elegant French rooster has but a thinly lined crop, maestro!" + +He grasped the Frenchman's elbow and swung him about-face. Then he gave +him a shove toward the group already plucked and gutted, shouting +harshly, "Away with you, you false jewel! Pronto!" + +The Frenchman hastened to merge himself into the background. Once his +face was turned away from the bandoleros, his pebbly eyes sparkled with +profound relief; they sparkled with inconcealable joy; and he smiled a +superior triumphant smile. + +"Who comes next?" asked Jacinto Quesada, without much interest. + +"The beautiful young wife of the Frenchman, maestro. She, with the mouth +that is a nest for kisses!" And Rafael Perez pointed her out. + +"And it please you, you may come forward, Senora Dona!" in a carefully +softened voice called Pio Estrada, another of the searchers. Strange, +but her youth and beauty and high hidalgo look had moved the man to a +ruffian's attempt at courtesy and gentleness. + +As she made to step forward, Jacinto Quesada turned his eyes upon the +beautiful golden-haired girl and, for the first time, gave her a special +and particular scrutiny. + +"Hola!" he gasped. "What is this?" + +He stepped forward a step, his eyelids narrowed, his eyes gleaming; and +he shot toward her a second look, piercing, probing. It was as though he +were shocked and aroused, puzzled and confounded. While he looked +eagerly and long at her, he muttered: + +"What a resemblance! But no--it is not a resemblance. She is she +herself!" + +He moved slowly towards her as though drawn thence by an irresistible +influence. Suddenly he called out a name! + +"Felicidad!" + +On the barren, windless plain to the right of the stalled carriages, +they were all gathered, the bandoleros with their carbines, the +travelers so like a herd of cattle in a _rodeo_. Those passengers, +already searched and robbed, were in a separate group; they were +sequestered from those not yet searched and made to deliver. No sound +came across the everlasting flats but the low incessant chitter of the +desert-loving wheatears, little fuzzy fat birds that live among the +mimosa and the thorny acacia and the stunted ilex of that ugly and +desolate Manchega veldt. Out from the main drove of passengers moved +bravely the golden-haired girl. And then, a name was called, and the +windless air became suddenly electric with drama. + +The Frenchman's young wife moved forward, seemingly unaware of Jacinto +Quesada's call, of his now devouring gaze. Well, suddenly and all on the +moment, she turned about-face and started swiftly for the stalled train! + +It was altogether unexpected. She was not the first of her sex to be +singled out for the search; she had seen nuns and convent maids and even +Gitanas treated by the bandoleros with a respect and courtesy that +amounted almost to reverence; and yet, at the last instant, alarm and +trepidation had overcome her, it seemed. She was hysterical, perhaps; +almost insane with terror. + +Be that as it may, her unexpected and erratic performance caused an +echoing panic to sweep over the other passengers. Even the bandoleros +felt the contagion. Cursing excitedly, two of them started to pursue the +golden-haired girl, while the third, Rafael Perez, standing near +Quesada, raised his carbine and screamed hoarsely: + +"Come back here, you outrageous minx!" + +The crowd, momentarily free from the dread of the bandoleros, had +commenced an insensate shouting and milling. Now, had Perez fired off +the carbine, the whole hold-up might have ended then and there for the +bandoleros in an inglorious headlong rout. The passengers, already out +of thrall to the salteadores, would have risen in tumultuous, +uncontrollable fury at this firing on a defenseless woman. + +But Jacinto Quesada rose to the crisis and saved the situation. Excited +though he was, he sprung toward Perez, tore the carbine from his hands +and, pointing it at the crowd, shouted imperiously to his men: + +"Back, you fools, to your stations! Guard these people. Shoot any that +break away! And don't mind the girl! I'll bring her back--I, and no one +else!" + +Presto! and the bandoleros were back in their old positions, their +carbines sweeping the crowd. The imminent danger of stampede was +dissipated. The discipline of dread again prevailed. + +Handing the carbine back to Perez, Jacinto Quesada started after the +girl. She had fled without aim, without purpose, he thought, like a +frightened doe that cares not where she flees so long as she flees from +the huntsmen. Her panicky flight would do little good, however; a sort +of trap was the stalled train, not a refuge and sanctuary. + +The girl was just about to open the door of one of the third-class +coaches and fling herself therein when, all at once, she cast back a +look, first at her tall blond mustached husband, then at Quesada. +Strangely, her glances seemed to have become preposterously mixed. It +was a look of dread and loathing she threw back toward her husband; and +a look of entreaty and beseeching she sent toward the pursuing +bandolero! + +With his long mountaineer's legs, Jacinto Quesada sprinted to the train. +Hardly had the door of the third-class carriage closed behind the +golden-haired girl than he was at that door. Open he flung it and in he +burst. + +"Felicidad! Felicidad, _querida mia_, my darling! It is I, +Jacinto--Jacinto Quesada! You have naught to fear from me. And if you +had told me that he, the Frenchman, was your husband, I would not have +robbed him. Porvida! everything taken already shall be given him back. +And as for you, dear Felicidad--" + +She had backed herself against the door opposite. Now she came forward +swiftly, her face paling and flushing, her lip a-quiver. It was not as +though she were glad with sudden recognition: it was as though she were +terribly agitated by some deadly fear. She said, in a dry expressionless +tone: + +"I heard your name mentioned by some passenger as we were bundled from +the train, Jacinto, and ah! how grateful to God I was when I first saw +you, almost half an hour ago, standing among those ruffianly ladrones! I +remembered the time you saved me from my father's quirta--and I needed +you so much more, now! + +"All this long, long afternoon I prayed that something would +happen--anything, anything! God of my soul! how I prayed! But even after +I discovered you and realized that, for our childhood's sake, you would +protect me, it took all my courage and strength to flee from the crowd +and conceal myself here, where I could speak to you and not be spied +upon or suspected by that evil, that terrible man!" + +Almost in a whisper were her words spoken, but they crashed upon Jacinto +Quesada's brain like exploding, detonating shells. He reeled back, +overwhelmed, staggered, knocked all to pieces. He gasped: + +"Por los Clavos de Cristo! what is all this?" + +"Ah, _Maria purissima_! He does not understand! But all, I shall tell +him!"--and swiftly, precipitantly, the girl went on: + +"This Frenchman. He calls himself Jacques Ferou. He was the only one +that was kind to me and even until two hours ago, I thought I loved him. +We were to be married in Madrid to-night--but now--" + +"Then he is not already your husband! Carajo! I thought--" + +"No; we but eloped this morning. And now, I would not continue on with +him; I would turn back! I am afraid--afraid!" + +"But tell me all from the beginning. Your words turn my brain to a +stew!" + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +Jacinto Quesada had known Felicidad's father, Don Jaime de Torreblanca y +Moncada; he had lived in the great, cold, dingy house near Granada; he +had tasted the secluded, lonely life of Felicidad. Therefore, she had +but to say a few sketchy rapid sentences and he comprehended the +beginning of everything. + +"Of late years, my father has become gradually poorer, Jacinto," she +said. + +Quesada nodded his head understandingly. Don Jaime had never refused his +physician's services to the poverty-stricken and wretched; and the +poverty-stricken and wretched were always becoming sick; and the +poverty-stricken and wretched seldom paid. Small wonder that Don Jaime's +fortunes had fallen into decay! + +"My father had no money put by to keep him in his old age; but he always +said he would sell those old beloved books of his when he became +incapacitated, by age, for a physician's arduous toils, or when bitter +necessity pressed him hard. You must know, Jacinto, that father's +ancient, yellow-leafed books are worth much, much money." + +She went on to explain. Learned men, famous men--some of them scholarly +descendants of noble families, others erudite plebeians with the right +to affix a dozen initials after their names--were always coming to Don +Jaime's house from the University of Salamanca and the Museo Provincial +of Seville to examine those books and to write historical treatises and +critiques from them. And it was not unusual to find one of these +bookworms, these bibliophiles, these _hombres del todo aficionado á los +libros_, making eager hints to purchase such of the precious dingy tomes +as they considered within their means. + +Some of the books had been possessed by Don Jaime's family for hundreds +of years; others he had come by through his godfather who was a famous +Spanish historian and very rich; and still others he had himself +discovered when doctoring ruined hidalgo families and the monks of +poverty-gutted monasteries; and he had taken these finds in place of +monetary fees. Naturally enough, therefore, he hated to part with any of +this great treasure in books. + +Fearing an old age of stony poverty, however, Don Jaime at last made up +his mind to put the books on sale. The money he might receive from +marketing the books he planned to invest in Argentine bonds. Three +months gone, he wrote to two great houses that deal in rare and valuable +books; the one in London, the other in Paris. + +Posthaste, two months since, came to the house outside Granada, the +buyer for the London firm. In far-away cold London, they had heard of +Don Jaime's collection, for there was not another collection of its like +outside of Spain. For two weeks the London book-buyer lived in the casa +with Don Jaime and Felicidad, cataloguing and pricing the books. Some +of the old quaint authors he rejected as of little worth, but others he +called "glorious Golcondas" and offered Don Jaime such a sum for them +that he was amazed, astounded. He had not expected to receive so much +money for the whole aggregate and total of his collection. + +"Three weeks ago, after paying my father a fortune in bank notes," +continued the girl, "the English book-buyer, Senor Havelock +Moore-Ingraham, went away, and with him, borne by a caravan of ten +mules, went the cream and richness of my father's library. + +"Then came to our house this Jacques Ferou. He said he had been sent by +the Paris house to whom my father had written. My father told him that +he was too late to bid, that all the books of value had been sold. + +"At that Jacques Ferou became very downcast; he said that his firm would +be much put out when they learned he had allowed the English company to +bag the hares while he played the laggard. And he begged very earnestly +for permission to look through the books, which had not been purchased, +in the hope that the English agent had overlooked a few volumes of +value, volumes that he might buy in order to save his face." + +Don Jaime gave him permission so to do. For almost a month he lived in +the great dusky lonely house. When he was not in the library poring over +the yellowed tomes, he wandered through the house, seeking sight of +Felicidad. When she had her daily "hour of balcony", he would leave the +casa and stand watching her from across the road, "playing the bear" in +a very serious and devoted manner. + +"I had never had a _novio_ before," explained Felicidad, "and his eyes +were so kind and sympathetic! It was very lonely in the great house with +just my father and the old whining Pedro and the old childish Teresa. +And he treated me with such consideration and reverence! + +"We used to meet often in the long dusky corridors, he kissing my hands +and telling me how beautiful I was, and I liking it, yet feeling fear of +him and all a-tremble, besides, lest my father discover us. And at +dinner time and all through the evenings, there he would be again, +talking with my father about 'rogue novels' and the chroniclers of the +conquistadores, and ever looking at me with the burning eyes of love. + +"Two days ago, my father spoke very harshly to me, threatening me with a +beating--he beats me even yet, you know. Old Pedro had told him that I +had a novio--that was why he was angered at me. But he did not as yet +suspect that my lover was Jacques Ferou. + +"Jacques was to leave our house for Paris in another week. I could not +resign myself to the old loneliness in that empty gloomy house; and I +would not suffer even one more time the indignity of a beating at my +father's hands. So two days ago I consented to run off with Jacques +Ferou and become his wife. + +"At four o'clock this morning, when it was still dark, I left my bed, +dressed, put a few things together, and went out on my balcony. Jacques +was waiting for me. He threw up a rope and I tied it to the iron +railing and let myself down into his arms. + +"Down the road a high-powered automobile awaited us. In it we raced +precipitantly away, for as you very well know, we had the outraged pride +of my terrible father to fear. Before seven o'clock in the morning, we +had fled almost as far as Jaen. Then something went wrong with the +automobile and it would go no farther; whereupon, Jacques sent a +_labrador_ into Jaen, who soon came back escorting a diligence pulled by +four horses. In the diligence we set off for Castro which is on the +railroad to Madrid. It was two hours before noon when we reached Castro, +and the train came at noon." + +They were on the Seville-to-Madrid that afternoon, when suddenly +Felicidad thought: + +"Has Jacques forgotten that he came to my father's house to purchase +books--has he forgotten his matter-of-fact business in his overmastering +love for me? He has neither paid my father for those books he selected, +nor taken those books he selected away with him. + +"I questioned Jacques. He laughed. He told me not to worry about his +business affairs. But I continued to worry; I felt already a wife's +interest and pride in my future husband's career; and I was much afraid +that his employers in Paris would be angered by his careless handling of +the whole transaction. + +"When Jacques saw that I was still put out about him, he laughed again, +this time heartily and long. Then suddenly he stopped laughing and, +looking hard into my eyes, said in a cold, challenging voice: + +"'Suppose I should tell you, _ma chérie_, that I am not in the employ of +a Paris book house; that my business is not at all that of a purchaser +of rare books; and that I care for rare books not a snap of the +fingers!'" + +Felicidad was thunderstruck and a little stunned. He saw the shocked +expression on her face and thereat commenced, with a cruel malicious +delight, to tell her other things. + +He had been to the United States, Mexico, Brazil, and Chile; he had been +to Egypt, Italy, England, and Sweden. He had been to Spain more than a +dozen times before. He had had many adventures. But, strangely, these +adventures were all adventures in crime. He had robbed cathedrals in +France and Spain of their valuable paintings and jewels and even of +their statuary. He had robbed museums and private collections of the New +World. + +He seemed to swell with pride, to grow with importance as he bared his +real self thus to her. With snobbish care, he explained to her how far +superior to ordinary criminals he was; he defined himself as one of a +limited and ultra-clever aristocracy of thieves. It was as though he +were showing a noble and praiseworthy side of himself hitherto +unrevealed; it was as though he had wooed a peasant girl, while +disguised in a most humble attire, and now lifted his vagabond's ragged +cap to reveal a prince's crown. He said he was a member of the "White +Wolves", an organization of French criminals who stole mostly from +churches. He said he was a member of many other exclusive criminal +fraternities. + +When from the lips of Felicidad, Jacinto Quesada heard this last, he +ejaculated: + +"Carajo! So that was why, before we searched him, he made such queer +signs to me--he was using thieves' signs, the signals of those criminal +brotherhoods to which he belongs. He thought I, as another thief, might +have some knowledge of that language of signs and that, out of a thief's +respect for a thief, I might exempt him from the ordeal of the search!" + +"Of what do you speak now--what signs?" asked Felicidad, bewildered. + +Jacinto Quesada explained. Then he said, "Proceed with your story, dear +Felicidad." + +Continuing, therefore, Felicidad told how Jacques Ferou, intent on +showing how consummately clever he was at all criminal business, and not +averse to filling his young wife with awe and fear of him, led up at +last to the business that had brought him to Spain and to the house of +Don Jaime de Torreblanca y Moncada. + +Once upon a time, he had indeed worked for the Paris book house whose +card he had used to introduce himself to the haughty hidalgo. He had +been hired by a very rich and very crazy bibliophile to get feloniously, +as it was beyond even the bibliomaniac's purse, a certain precious book +in the possession of the Paris firm; and the better to steal the ancient +volume, he had hired himself as a clerk to them for three months. + +Through another clerk still in their employ--a hunchbacked fellow whom +he had picked out, with a criminal's sure instinct, as a weakling +inclined to dishonesty and crime of a sort--he had secured Don Jaime's +letter offering the books for sale, before any one but his ally and +friend, the hunchback, had a chance to see it. + +Now, he knew a little about rare books; so he practiced talking about +books like a bibliophile and buyer; and very shortly, he started for +Spain. But he traveled slowly for a certain reason. + +When he told her this last, Felicidad asked him: + +"But for what reason did you travel slowly?" + +Jacques Ferou looked at Felicidad in a pity that, perhaps, amounted to a +contempt. + +"Why, you silly baby!" laughed he. "After all I have said, don't you +know why it was I traveled all the way from Paris to your father's house +in Andalusia?" + +"No!" + +At that, laughing the louder, he opened the top of his vest and put his +hand down beneath his shirt and undershirt. Presently, from under his +armpit, he drew out a small, mahogany-colored leather purse and let +Felicidad look into it. Within was a roll of bills, tightly wound and +compressed so that they took up but little space. Felicidad gasped with +fright and horror when she saw the color of the top bank note. It was a +bank note on the Bank of Spain for five thousand pesetas! Her father, +the terrible Don Jaime, had been paid by the English book-buyer in +five-thousand peseta bills! + +But Jacques Ferou was saying: + +"You know, your father mentioned offering the books to the English firm +when he wrote that letter to Paris. Therefore, I delayed my journey to +Spain so that I should not reach your father's house until the English +book-buyer had paid over the money for the purchased books and had left +with his purchases. Ma chérie, I came to Spain, not for books, but for +this. This is the money paid to your father for his books!" And he held +up the small mahogany-colored leather purse that had been Felicidad's +father's. + +Sometime since, when with cruel, malicious delight he had started to +tell her of his criminal operations, Felicidad had drawn away from him +in horror. Now she started up, crying out in supreme contempt: + +"So you stole all the money that was to keep my father in his old age! +Oh, you--you disgusting thief!" + +He saw then that he had been too open, too bold, too braggard. He tried +to quiet and soothe her with caressing hands, with kisses. But her lips +had become cold as ice, and they shrank away from his in profound +loathing. + +They were alone in the regulation separated continental coach. She tried +to tear herself from his arms and to throw herself from the moving +train. Death was all she thought of at first. By allowing herself to be +cajoled into running off with a creature who had no more decency than to +rob the father of his all, while he stole from him also his only +daughter, she had disgraced the high name of Torreblanca y Moncada. What +a blow this would be at the pride of the eagle-haughty Don Jaime! He +had never forgiven her mother for her desertion. Of a surety, never +would he forgive Felicidad! + +But even as Felicidad despaired and thought of death, there had come to +her the protector of her childhood days, Jacinto Quesada. And to him she +now appealed, saying with the ferocity of desperation: + +"The leather purse is still strapped under his armpit next his skin! Go +quickly and take it from him! You should have found it in the search; +then I would not have had to do as I have since done. That purse +contains the happiness of my father's old age. Tear it from that +yellow-livered Frenchman and return it in some way to Don Jaime!" + +With nervous eager hands she sought to hurry Jacinto Quesada from the +carriage. But he did not think to resist her, so glad was he to turn +from talk to action. Then, as he dashed impetuously away, she said in a +half-whisper, her voice breaking with sobs: + +"If God has intended that I should live on as the wife of a criminal, I +will suffer my fate in silence and patience, knowing that I, in my +waywardness, am alone to blame. But my father shall not be robbed of his +_buena ventura_--he shall not end his days in want and misery. +Seguramente, no! _Dios de mialma_, no! + +"I have dishonored Don Jaime--and Don Jaime most certainly will kill me +if ever he sets eyes on me again--but _no lo quiera Dios_! that I should +suffer this obscene crime against him to be committed! There is blood +and pride in me yet--I am yet a Torreblanca y Moncada!" + +Half-way to the muster of people, Jacinto Quesada halted to throw back +to her a heartening look and to call: + +"_Despacio!_ Softly!--gently! And watch, my Felicidad, how easy it is to +rob the robber!" + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +High overhead a bustard sailed on slow, lazy pinions, but below, across +the flat, tawny Manchegan plain, not a gust of desert dust whirled, not +a buck-rabbit bounded, not a cow or bullock lumbered. Hot and large, +empty and silent was the slow-crawling afternoon. + +Jacinto Quesada faced the herded people. He had been gone five minutes; +now, in visible trepidation, they awaited the upshot of his return. +Their eyes adhered stickily to his; they were utterly without voice. +Suddenly, he called, "Bring up and search the Frenchman again!" + +_Dios hombre!_ but the thing was swiftly done. The Frenchman's protests +went for nothing; he was mauled about, roughed and ruffed, fine-combed +and intimately worked over. Jacinto Quesada himself was lead-hound in +the second search. He it was who drew forth the small, mahogany-colored +leather purse from its nook of concealment in the fellow's armpit. + +Looking black as thunder, Jacques Ferou retreated once again into the +background of people. There situated, he gave vent freely to his +exasperation and fury, muttering savagely: "Name of a name of a name of +a name of a dog!" Also, many other choice French curses. But the more he +cursed, the more acrimonious and virulent he became. His face went +livid with stirred-up bile; his slate-colored eyes snapped in bitter +resentment; he bared his long white teeth in a passionate carnivorous +snarl of envenomed hate. + +But hate for whom? At first his hate was directed against no one in +particular. Because he had lost the purse, life had suddenly changed to +a more somber color and bitterly he detested the whole world! + +Then he turned his eyes upon Jacinto Quesada, thinking, for obvious +reasons, to concentrate his spleen upon him. Jacinto Quesada caught the +Frenchman's burning look and smiled contemptuously. That contemptuous +smile should have infuriated the Frenchman all the more; but strangely, +it did not! Somehow the Frenchman sensed that Jacinto Quesada was not +the prime mover in his downfall; and, his hate still at a loss for a +target to direct itself against, he took his eyes altogether off the +youthful bandolero. + +Then _Sacre Bleu_! who was that he glimpsed out of the ends of his +irises? Was it not Felicidad, his promised wife? She had made an +inconspicuous, an almost clandestine exit, from the third-class coach +wherein she had hid herself; and now she was furtively seeking to rejoin +the muster of people. Watching her, the Frenchman saw plainly that she +it was who had betrayed him to the bandoleros. And his whole malignant +rancid soul bunched and crouched in his eyes, and threw toward her a +look searing and scalding, a look of vitriolic vindictiveness. + +Ever since Felicidad had pushed him with impetuosity and precipitation +from the third-class coach, telling him to go quickly and tear from the +Frenchman the purse, Jacinto Quesada had been dominated by the will of +the girl, doing swiftly and with utter obedience that which she had bade +him do. He had worked in a white vacuum of action, without prejudice or +plan of his own, without forethought. Never did he doubt but that once +the mahogany-hued purse was taken from the Frenchman the whole wrong +would automatically right itself. And now--what should he do with the +purse? It would be some time before he could plan ways and means to +return it safely to Don Jaime. + +Of a sudden, then, to make matters more perplexing, Jacinto discovered +the Frenchman looking at Felicidad in that ugly and ominous way. At +that, he ceased worrying about the mahogany-colored purse; he shoved it +into an inside pocket of his sheepskin zamarra and straightway forgot +it. The question of its disposal was an insignificant matter; a greater +question bothered him. What should he do with the girl? + +As one wrestler closes with another, Jacinto Quesada closed with that +great question. The while he gripped and folded it in the doughy coils +of his brains, however, he did not stand quiet and pensive. Enough time +already had been lost. Loudly Quesada shouted orders. + +One of his supernumeraries, Pio Estrada, dipped down into the dry gutter +of the Arroyo Seco for the horses. The others, Rafael Perez and Ignacio +Garcia, fell to prodding the herded passengers with their carbines back +upon the train. Instantly the whole panorama took on a brisker look. At +haphazard, into any of the coaches which presented themselves, plunged +those boarding the train, not caring in what style they rode, or what +comfort, so long as they soon speeded away. + +Pio Estrada reappeared, leading by their bridles three hairy Manchegan +ponies. Another galvanic command from Quesada and, from the work of +bundling the passengers aboard the train, hurriedly the other two +salteadores detached themselves. They bustled about their ponies, roping +upon them the weighty sacks of mail and conglomerate loot, looking to +their curved bits and cinch-straps. With dispatch, everything was being +prepared for a nimble get-away. + +The last of the waylaid passengers were crowding back into the train, +the engine driver and his stoker were high in their cab once more and +busily engaged in getting up steam. It needed only the word of Quesada, +and the Manchegan ponies would be mounted, the train released on its +way, and the hold-up of the Seville-to-Madrid consummated. + +Still dodging the great question of the disposal of the girl, sparring +for time, Jacinto Quesada stole a look toward where he last had seen +Felicidad. He started and scowled. She and the Frenchman were together. +They were among those few not yet distributed through the various +coaches. + +As the laggards milled and pushed along the line of opening and closing +doors, along the line of compartments crowded and jammed, the Frenchman, +Jacques Ferou, had sidled near her. He had caught her by the arm. Now, +his tall athletic body bent forward sharply, his calculating eyes +narrowed to mere blazing slits, the nostrils of his high predatory nose +twitching and working, his whole ashy face working and grimacing like a +horrible mask of rubber, he was whispering into her ear! + +There was no mistaking the active threat in the man's attitude; there +was no mistaking the real and terrible fear in the girl's cowering pose. +She made to put up her hands as if to ward off blows; she trembled like +a tag of paper hung in the wind; and suddenly the cry that had chilled +in her throat at his first touch, burst up through the walls of her +lungs, and shrilled out in a terrified wail. + +Jacinto Quesada leaped, as though lashed, toward the two. The lumpy +problem was smashed, by that cry, into smithereens. The great question +demanded action. There was but one kind of action to do. + +Rafael Perez bulked up before him. + +"Give the word, maestro," said he, "and we shall signal the engineer to +start the train." + +"The word is given, then!" + +Rafael Perez made a semaphore of his arms. Another salteador farther up +the track repeated and relayed the signal. The locomotive whistle +shrilled shortly once, then the bell clanged and clanged with warning +insistence. + +As Quesada flung past Rafael Perez, he threw out the words: + +"Tell Garcia and Estrada to mount and make ready to start away, the +moment I give the command. You wait to hold my pony for me. As was the +plan, my pony goes unburdened by any of the sacks of stuff; but, though +it was also the plan, I will not linger behind to cover the get-away. I +have a new worry to trouble me. You lagartos will have to look to your +own safety. Should we get separated, you know the pass in the mountains +where we have planned to meet. Am I understood?" + +"Si, maestro!" + +With the emission of the waste steam through the chimney, the engine of +the Seville-to-Madrid commenced puffing slowly; the cars began +shuddering and groaning as though about to start. Jacques Ferou held +open the door of a second-class coach for Felicidad. But it was already +packed full of men and she hesitated to enter. + +"Come, hurry!" roughly ordered the Frenchman. "The train in another +minute will start. You do not wish to be left behind, do you?" + +"But this is not our coach! The coach we rode in thus far is up +forward." Almost it seemed as if the girl were sparring for time. + +"Enter, it is _no importa, señora dona_!" said, with kindness, one of +the men within--a man in a yellow bullfighter's costume, one of the +picadores of Morales' cuadrilla. + +"Yes, enter, please," spoke up another in a green costume, the great +Morales himself. "You are most welcome here, I assure you!" And he +reached down, seeking to help her climb aboard. + +"Quick, or the train will start without you!" cried another, the +blue-eyed American. Then in English, for suddenly the train had +commenced to bang back and forth, and he had become beside himself with +excitement: + +"Make haste, girl! The accursed slow freight is about to move. Gad! here +it goes." + +Just as the train puffed rapidly and, with a roar and a tremendous yank +started off, he crowded between the knees of the cuadrilla of +bullfighters, pushed aside Morales, and leaped through the door. +Staggering from the precipitant leap, he made toward the girl, intending +to lift and fling her into the moving train. + +A man came between them. + +"What do you do here?" cried this man sharply. "Back, into the coach!" + +The American recognized Jacinto Quesada. He tried to fling past him. A +huge long-barreled revolver showed in the bandolero's hand. + +"Back, you, into your coach!" cried Quesada once again. "And you, you +dog of a Frenchman! Quick! enter! or I will shoot you through the fat of +your breeches!" + +Swiftly the Frenchman went. He dashed after the moving coach, caught up +with it and flung himself headlong in upon the floor. Then he pulled +himself to his feet again, went over to the open door, and banged it +shut. + +The American did not budge. + +"But the girl!" he shouted. He drove at the bandolero. Quesada dodged +his fist. He reversed the revolver in his hand and swiftly crashed it +butt-first down upon the American's forehead. + +The American reeled back, stunned, falling. Quesada looked down the +length of train moving up toward him; he saw another open-doored coach +rattling near. Suddenly stooping, he tackled at the legs of the +American, lifted him bodily into the air, and flung him back upon the +floor of the open, moving coach. The American never knew how he boarded +that train no more than he would had he been a soulless sack of barley! + +All over sweat and panting deeply, Jacinto Quesada turned to Felicidad. + +"Come; I must take you with me," he said to her, "to my mother in Minas +de la Sierra. We will send back the purse to your father. We will tell +him the true story of events. Depend upon it, my Felicidad, he will +forgive you, he will relent. Until he does that, however, my mother will +take care of you, and I will be your guardian angel, besides." He could +not prevent a smile. And he added, "A sinful and thieving sort of +guardian angel, but one strong to protect you, you may be sure of that! +Come! Up on my horse!" + +He swung her up upon his Manchegan pony. Before her, he mounted. He dug +his heels in the pony's sleek mouse-colored barrel. They started away. + +"Hold tight with your little hands, my Felicidad!" he remarked. "It will +be fast riding for quite awhile." + +"Ah, thankfully I go with you, Jacinto!" she said, after a little, +despite the unevenness and hardship of their fast pace. "Jacques Ferou +whispered to me that he would show me, once we got to Madrid, how the +Apaches, the depraved criminals of Paris, treat those women who to them +are unfaithful!" + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +After lumbering slowly across the rickety Arroyo Seco bridge, the +Seville-to-Madrid swung eastward on its gleaming rails and pursued, +across the desert uplands, a course parallel to that of the bandoleros. +From the coach windows on one side, the passengers could see Rafael +Perez, Ignacio Garcia, and Pio Estrada fleeing across the parched and +tawny flat on their plunder-laden, loping Manchegan ponies. They were +speeding for the distant gray and purple mountains. + +A jump behind these worthies and rapidly overtaking them were Jacinto +Quesada and the golden-haired girl. Distinctly the passengers could make +out Felicidad and her kidnaper. And the sight was as a red muleta to a +Miura bull. + +A young bride stolen from her husband! A young girl abducted by +highwaymen! That was she behind the last of the retreating +bandoleros--see the flying green skirt, see the glint of her golden hair +in the sun! They were taking her off with them, carrying her away into +the savage mountains! Had there been no men among all those creatures in +trousers scattered throughout the train--no men to rise in their +masculinity and to sacrifice their lives if need be, but at all hazards +to prevent this abominable crime? + +Women screamed, and women prayed. Hideous visions rose before their +eyes; visions of the bandoleros in some craggy retreat shaking dice for +possession of the girl! One of the black-clad nuns fainted outright. + +On its gleaming rails, the Seville-to-Madrid swerved once again. With +distance, the fleeing horsemen grew small, smaller. They were little as +bounding rabbits; then they were little as low-skimming birds. And then +at last they lost themselves in the ocean of ilex and thorny acacia, the +dun immensity of sand. + +The Seville-to-Madrid had been under way for a full twenty minutes and +was nearing the steel cantilever bridge over the river Zancura, when a +man, lurching heavily and looking very sick, picked his steps slowly and +cautiously along the footboard on the right side of the train--that +footboard used by the train guards in going from compartment to +compartment of the many-coached continental-style caravan, collecting +tickets and locking the doors between stops. The man clung to door +knobs, window jambs and window sills. And gradually he worked forward +along half the length of the train. + +At last he had progressed to a second-class coach that resounded with +the voices of indignant and outraged men, that quivered and rang with +bass and baritone curses in both Spanish and French. When he had closed +in upon this coach, the man on the footboard smiled triumphantly, yanked +open the door, and flung himself within. + +For a space, it was not as though he had entered a crowded coach; it was +as though he had flung himself into a surf of rolling breakers. Masses +of words struck him with the velocity and flying weight of charging +masses of water. He spread his feet, braced his shoulders and chest to +the impacting masses of words, and waited. + +The pounding tumulting seas crashed over him; he held his footing; they +receded, drew back, ebbed away. Then, before the great _zipizape_ of +words could recommence, he held up his hands for silence. Silence was +given him. He said: + +"I am a Norte Americano, a Yanqui. In my country if a girl were kidnaped +by bandits, quite well I know what we Yanquis would do. But this is +Spain, not the United States. What are you Spaniards going to do?" + +"What can we do, Senor Americano?" asked one of the cuadrilla of +bullfighters, a banderillero by his dress. "We ask you that--what can we +do?" + +"Do not think it an everyday thing," spoke up the matador, Morales, "for +blossoming girls to be stolen by Spanish highwaymen and carried off into +the mountains. One reads about such happenings in the bizarre and +romantic novels of the elder Dumas; but one does not think to see such +things occur in real life. + +"You would search far in our country's history for a parallel to this +outrageous crime! José Maria. Diego Corrientes, Agua-Dulce and Visco el +Borje left our women severely alone. They were simple-souled men of the +people, risen against oppression. Even as would any humble and pious and +hardworking labrador, so these bandoleros en grande feared God and +public opinion. Right well they knew they could continue to exist as +outlaws only by reason of the favor of Spanish public opinion, not to +speak of the favor of God. And they set the fashion for future Spanish +outlaws. They made the conventions by which all bandoleros are supposed +to conduct themselves to-day. The bandoleros, just before this man +Quesada, honored those conventions. El Vivillo and Pernales committed no +crimes against Spanish women. + +"Senor Americano, you may have noticed that we Spaniards accord our +bandoleros a certain respect. Because they have been altogether +masculine, varonil, and yet treated our womenkind with the utmost +reverence, the bandoleros have wrung from us this esteem which amounts +sometimes even to love. + +"And even this Jacinto Quesada to-day! He treated me with great +consideration, chatting pleasantly about his love of bullfighting and +other very human things. And he struck me as being a bandolero of the +splendid good old sort--the José Maria, the Visco el Borje sort! Why, he +even asked after the health of my wife, Marta, and my two little ones! +But now! To find out that he is a renegade, a damnable turncoat from the +old bandolero code, an inhuman wretch, a despicable rapist--_Porvida!_" + +Morales' boyishly rounded face flamed with anger and with a great deal +more of shame. + +"In my country," said the American, "should a man abduct a girl, a posse +would be organized at once, the criminal pursued, brought to bay, and +made to pay with his life for the crime. The posse would be composed of +every rich man, poor man, beggar man and thief in the community, and it +would never rest until its work was completely done and the girl +brought safely back to her promised husband." + +Three of the bullfighters spoke up at once. + +"A posse? We have never heard of that!" + +"Well, I come from the western part of the United States, and if you +ever had lived there for even a short time, you could not be so +blissfully ignorant. When I say a posse I mean a _posse comitatus_, +which is a lawyer's term for the citizens who may be summoned to assist +an officer in enforcing the law. My father was a pioneer in the State of +California; he made his start in Inyo County mines and his millions in +Bakersfield oil wells; and many's the story he has told me of quickly +formed posses and their rapid, sure work. We would be forming a posse of +a sort, if we all agreed to go after this Jacinto Quesada and bring back +the girl." + +One of the two yellow-costumed picadores was on his feet, his swarthy +face ruddy with agitation and strong emotion. + +"Then, in the name of Spanish womanhood, let us do that!" he cried. "I, +Coruncho Lopez, the most superb picador in Spain, volunteer to be one of +the posse!" + +"And I, Alfonso Robledo, a banderillero as great as any!" + +"And I--" + +Suddenly, those about to volunteer became tongue-tied; the whole +cuadrilla of bullfighters looked sheepish and confused. The youthful +matador, Manuel Morales, had stepped before them, on his face a cold and +contemptuous scowl. + +"You are the peones of my cuadrilla," he said brutally, "and I am your +maestro. You will do exactly that which I order you to do and nothing +else! But, perhaps, you have forgotten the strict laws of discipline of +our profession?" + +Shamefaced and abject, the whole cuadrilla replied at once, "Forgive us, +maestro. We await your orders." + +Morales seemed to feel better after that. With the easy magnificence of +a matador and maestro, he turned to the American. + +"Senor Americano," he said, "I have become a successful and renowned +espada only after years of hard work and vigilant heed to the duties of +my profession. And now that I am the great Morales, I am as much a slave +to my fame as any of my peones is the slave to me. In his offices in +Seville sits my manager, the Senor Don Arturo Guerra, signing contract +after contract; and these contracts I must fulfill, or lose much money +and much prestige with the _presidentes_ of bull rings and with the +_aficionados_. Therefore, I must be discreet, circumspect, and full of +forethought. + +"Senor Americano, these peones have no franchise to speak for +themselves. They are but my thoughtless, irresponsible children. If I +did not rule them with a hand of iron, they would be off on a thousand +wild escapades in a month! But one of them, just now, said a very +splendid thing. 'In the name of Spanish womanhood,' he said, 'let us +form of ourselves a posse!' + +"Carajo! I am discreet, circumspect, and full of forethought as the +great Morales should be, but my heart tells me those words are good +words! My heart leaps with eagerness to be pursuing the despicable +Jacinto Quesada in the name of Spanish womanhood! + +"What are contracts! What is money! What is prestige, fame! Senor +Americano, join out with me, and we will chase this scoundrel up and +down the peninsula until we have bayed him down and brought back the +girl! If you wish it, I will command my whole cuadrilla to come with us; +but it is my own wish, that we two go alone and unencumbered. This same +Jacinto Quesada who stole the girl called me one of the three bravest +men in Spain. And he named himself as the second most brave man, and you +as the third! Let us go then, we two brave men together! Two such as we +are equal to a posse of a dozen common men!" + +The blue-eyed American looked a little uncomfortable; he did not quite +know how to take the matador's flamboyant words. But he answered, +heartily enough: + +"Sure I'll join out with you! My name is Carson--John Fremont +Carson--and here's my hand on it! But better take the whole cuadrilla +along with us. We two may be as wonderful as you say we are, but just +the same, numbers count, and every man can do his little bit to get back +the girl. And now--" + +"In this posse I am included, too, of course!" + +It was the Frenchman, Jacques Ferou. He, the one to all outward +appearances most injured and aggrieved by Jacinto Quesada's outrageous +conduct, had played little part in the proceedings up to this moment. +But now, his tone was very peremptory and harsh, and he looked as if he +meant business. + +"Of course!" + +"Por los Clavos de Cristo! we can't leave you out!" + +The American produced a pencil and notebook. + +"And now," he said, "to arrange the details. There will be horses +needed, and provisions and guides and--" + +"It will be mules in the mountains," said one bullfighter. + +"Manchegan ponies are cheap," said another. + +"We will need Mausers and revolvers, too," said a third. "We cannot +conduct a man-hunt without weapons." + +"But how will we finance the expedition?" asked the practical Frenchman. +"Myself, I have not a franc, what you call a peseta. And I have no means +of replenishing my rifled pockets!" + +"Ah, then, it is for me to finance the expedition!" cried the matador, +Morales. "I will telegraph to Seville when we get off at the next stop, +and so much money will be sent me by Don Arturo, my manager, that you +will be surprised, astounded! It is just that I should do this--I and my +bullfighters make up the bulk of this troop; I am the most rich of you +all." + +"I don't know about that," said the American dryly. "Please allow me to +go halves with you." + +"Ah, I had forgotten; you Americans are all as rich as Monte Cristo. You +and I will share the expense, then. We get off at the next stop and make +our start after this Jacinto Quesada, do we not?" + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +The two were Spaniards. They wore the uniform of the Guardia Civil, and +they rode hairy, vigorous little police ponies. They had been in the +saddle since daybreak, persistently pushing southward. The cobs were +dog-weary but as steady-paced as machines of clockwork; the men were +hunched of shoulder, heavy-headed, their faces coated with a gray-brown +powder of dust. + +They drew rein atop a naked hummock in the immensity of sand and ilex +and thorny acacia. At the hip of the younger and taller of the two was +slung a pair of binoculars. The one, and then the other, trained these +glasses upon the rolling, everlasting veldt and swept the horizon round, +their scrutiny long, patient, and searching. + +All the long morning and the longer, more dreary afternoon, they had +seen upon the endless despoblado only half-wild cattle and half-wild +asses, and an occasional high-soaring falcon or an ugly, three-foot-long +eyed-lizard. And this time was not the first time they had paused to +peer through the binoculars; they had paused often, and then continued +on without remark. Now, however, as he put back the glasses in their +leather sheath, the younger policeman rather bitterly said: + +"There is no one abroad upon La Mancha. Not even a solitary salteador de +camino hiding out from us of the Guardia Civil." + +"Yet I tell you, Miguel--most surely are they out there somewhere!" +returned his compañero; vehemently dissenting. "How could they have +attained, so soon, to the Sierra Morena ahead--I ask you that!" + +Touching their ponies with their barbed heels, they enterprised once +more upon the long traverse. There was a terrible sun that day, a sun +African in the ferocity of its passion. The sun glare tortured their +eyes. It caused their lacquered three-cornered police hats, made of +shiny patent leather, to reflect and flash like the mirrors of a +heliograph. The men sweated until they were as dry as cinders and could +sweat no more. + +In the more subdued glare of the late afternoon, the two came at length +to the brown rolling foothills toward which they had been making +throughout the whole hideous day. The foothills billowed away, in +undulations rising even higher and higher, until finally they became +part of a distant and purple alpland of massive and lofty peaks--the +exalted spires and crags of the Sierra Morena. + +As their jaded ponies took doggedly the initial rise, the younger and +taller of the two policemen--he called Miguel--drew from his breast a +yellow paper on which was mimeographed a copy of a typewritten telegram. +He commenced to read aloud. + + The great Manuel Morales--his full cuadrilla--an American, the + Senor Don John Fremont Carson, and a Frenchman, name unknown. It is + especially important that you discover news of the American, + Carson; he is a millionaire and of high social position in his own + country. Both the American Ambassador and the Bank of Spain desire + to ascertain his whereabouts, his reason for carrying such a large + sum of money upon his person, and his purpose in setting off into + the wilderness. The Bank of Spain is also much interested in the + well-being of Manuel Morales, for he also withdrew a large account + by telegraph before disappearing from sight. + + The nine men left the Seville-to-Madrid at Alcazar de San Juan, + four days ago, secured horses and enough provisions to last them a + week and, traveling together, rode southward towards the Sierra + Morena. They were well-armed, having bought carbines and automatic + pistols from the Jewish cacique of Alcazar, Dicenta. They told no + one their errand. They took no guides. + + You of the Guardia Civil, find them and give them escort. Report + all information to me--Echegaray, _Ministro de Gobernacion_. + +He looked up now, the young smooth-faced policeman who had been reading, +and turned his handsome head to gaze back over the long monotony of +purgatorial desert. It was the words, scribbled in ink in a strong hand +and added like a postscript or annotation to the telegraphed +instructions, which he went on to read aloud now: + + They are somewhere in Ciudad Real or Jaen. The country they are + traversing is lawless and sparsely-populated, a country infested + with ladrones, among whom the most notable is the notorious + Quesada. + + Spain will never forgive us if any harm should come to the great + Morales. And we must answer to the American Ambassador should this + John Fremont Carson be not safeguarded. The Constabulary will + please give its most careful attention to the search.--Alvarez, + Captain-General of the Guardia Civil for the District. + +Putting the yellow paper back in the breast of his tight blue jacket +faced with red, the younger policeman, Miguel, rode on up the slope +beside his compañero?--a squat, fiercely mustached and apelike fellow. + +"Pascual," he asked presently, "would you know that magnificent one, +Morales, should you meet him face to face--" + +"Seguramente, yes! Have I not watched him murder a thousand bulls?" + +Then, thoughtfully, the apelike one added: + +"Once we chance upon their spoor, once we scent them from afar, it +should be a most simple matter for us of the Guardia Civil to run down +these fools-errant of Manuel Morales. We know these plains and +foothills; they do not. And they are a large troop and must make a great +to-do of noise and dust whenever they move about. It is not as though we +seek a bandolero riding alone, friend Miguel. A bandolero riding alone +is a very fox to catch!" + +"Ah, that Jacinto Quesada!" ejaculated the other with boyish enthusiasm. +"Is not he the crafty lizard, the sly tricky one? He has given us more +work to do than any twenty other lawbreakers in Spain. If Morales and +his fools-errant--as you call them, Pascual--conceal their movements +but half so well as does he, we will be chasing will-o'-the-wisps for +the next hundred years! But, by the way, Pascual, could you describe +Jacinto Quesada to me?" + +The older man pondered. + +"That is most difficult," he said at length, chewing in a ruminating +manner one end of his black mustache. "He is of the Sierra Nevada, this +Quesada; he is not a native of La Mancha. Few men hereabouts could +describe him, I think; he does not go abroad much to fiestas and wedding +feasts, since he took to the highroads, you know. And the few folk that +have met him since he became a bandolero have been too frightened to +note well what he looked like. But I have been told by a paisano of his, +a serrano of the Sierra Nevada, that he looks very much like me, +myself!" + +That last was said with downright pride. The policeman, Pascual, did not +even take trouble to conceal his vain pleasure in the thought, his +flattered conceit in himself. He sat a little straighter in the saddle +and, with self-conscious braggadocio, fingered his black mustache, +looking about him fiercely the while. + +He was squat, broadly uncouth of shoulder, prognathous jawed--an ugly +apelike sort. There was something bestially predatory in the simian look +of him which the black mustache rather heightened than detracted from. +He did not resemble any of his immediate progenitors who had been men of +Aragon and Guardias Civiles every one. More he resembled, perhaps, +certain Miquelets and reclaimed brigands from whose loins his line had +originally sprung. He did not look at all like Jacinto Quesada! + +The youthful Civil Guard eyed the apelike Pascual a moment, and then +derisively laughed. + +"That is strange," he said, with a sneer. "Certain Gypsies of my +acquaintance have seen Quesada in the mountains and on the plains. +Outlaws such as he often repair to the Gitanos when hard-pressed, you +know; the Gypsies look upon them as blood-brothers, for the Gypsies are +all thieves. And it is strange, Pascual, but these Gypsies of my +acquaintance have told me that _I_ was the living image of Jacinto +Quesada. He is very young, they say, little more than a boy even, and he +is tall and smooth-shaven and handsome, indeed, very much like me!" + +Youthful, tall, smooth of face and very handsome was, indeed, that +policeman called Miguel. He was lean, supple and gallant looking as a +sword of Toledo. + +"Fools and children tell the truth," returned the apelike Pascual, +quoting an old Spanish proverb. Then, barbing it with a sting of his own +making, he added: "But Gitanos, never!" + +Surlily, he rode on ahead, the while the other slid down from his horse +and ran in pursuit of his shiny leather police hat which was tumbling in +a quick succession of flip-flops down the hill. He had knocked it from +his own head inadvertently when, while talking, he had raised the +binoculars to his eyes for another look back over La Mancha. + +After a short erratic chase, Miguel retrieved his recalcitrant +headgear; but, strangely, he did not return immediately to the saddle. +Instead, stooping low, he stood motionless near the place where he had +picked up the hat, peering down as at a nugget of gold half hidden in +the dust and grass. Then, becoming altogether inexplicable in his +actions, he went scurrying off up the slope at a tangent, his body bent +far forward, his head turned toward the ground, and his face sharp and +pale with excitement and expectancy. + +"Caspita!" he was heard by Pascual to mutter. "Caspita!"--"Wonderful! +Wonderful!" + +Every so often, he halted and stooped lower, crouching almost to the +very ground. It was as though, each time, he discovered something of +sober interest to him and paused to examine that something. + +Pascual followed him with puzzled and astounded eyes. At last, as the +curious performance persisted, he called out, "_Dios hombre!_ what ails +you, man?" + +His face flushed, his eyes smiling with triumph, the youthful and +handsome Miguel came back to the spot where he had started his +mysterious shadow-dance up the hillside. + +"Pascual Montara!" he called. "This way, quick!" + +As the other trotted his pony over, he pointed a finger to the ground +before him and said, "Do you see that which I see, Pascual?" + +"Seguramente, yes." + +"What is it, then?" + +"Carajo, Miguel! it is only a handful of grass, plucked and left in a +tiny hillock by some one." + +"Bueno! But who plucked it, then, and left it in a heap upon the +ground?" + +"_Zut!_ How should I know? Who is it plucks grass, anyway?" + +The young policeman seemed to take joy in the rôle of Grand Inquisitor. +He smiled a superior smile and moved on a few feet, and then again +halted. + +"And this--what is this?" he demanded, pointing before him once more. + +"You buffoon, you--what game are you playing with me? It is only another +hillock of plucked grass, as any fool can see!" + +"And this?" The Grand Inquisitor had moved on another couple of yards. + +"I shall call it a mountain, an it please you better. The Devil take you +and your little hills of grass, Miguel Alvarado!" + +"And this?" Once again the policeman with the superior smile had moved +on up the hillside. But this time he did not point at any hillock of +dead herbage. + +"That? Why, that is only a cross made by two sticks that have fallen by +chance one upon the other." + +"Which way does the longest arm point, Pascual?" + +"Straight up and down the slope." + +"_Muy bueno!_ I have pointed out everything to you, then. Chew upon what +you have seen, Spaniard!" + +He returned to his horse, mounted and started on. The apelike Pascual, +his face a study in curiosity, drew alongside. + +"You have asked me a lot of questions, Miguel Alvarado," he said. "Now I +will thank you a thousand times if you will explain your great mystery +away." + +"Great mystery--za! It is only because you are a lunkhead that you +perceive any great mystery here. There are Gitanos encamped in the hills +ahead, that is all!" + +"Did those hillocks of plucked grass spell out that for you?" + +"Yes; and the crossed sticks, also. The hillocks and the crossed sticks +are the Gypsies' trail--what they call their patteran. They leave them +in their wake that their brethren, who have lagged behind, may be guided +by them to the meeting-place." + +"_Y pues?_" grunted Pascual. "Well, and what of that? It is a matter of +no moment to me. But hola! why turn your horse to the right?" + +"I am going to the camp of the Zincali. They may have word of these men +we seek. Should they have seen Morales and the rest upon the plains, or +even have heard of their presence abroad, they will tell me such news as +they have by chance acquired. Do not come with me, Pascual Montara, if +you do not wish to." + +Now, it is against all orders and precedent for one of the Spanish +constabulary to go where his fellow goes not; the men of the Guardia +Civil hunt forever in braces. The apelike Pascual grumbled, but loyally +he followed his arrogant and imperious camarada. + +Their horses topped the rise and, suddenly taking heart, entered briskly +a tiny _barranca_ set transverse between the hilltops. It was only a +long gully or dingle, but it was cool and reposeful with wild olive and +algarroba trees, white buckthorn, holly and arbutus. Through gutters +strewn with moss-overgrown boulders, edged with rhododendrons and +overarched by oleanders, raced down the whole length of it a glad, +loud-chattering run of water. + +Sighing their delight, the two surprised and pleasured policemen rode +under an upstanding and ancient wild olive at its portal and plunged +into the secret, beautiful place. Instantly a great flutter of +butterflies of all sizes and colors lifted in spangled clouds about +them. + +"But the Gypsies may be a great way ahead in the hills!" grumbled +Pascual filled with a hasty but mighty desire to linger in this +barranca, smoking cigarettes and dreaming the moments away in the cool +of some shady tree. + +All on the moment, the youthful Miguel Alvarado was off his horse again. +They were following a narrow, barely discernible trail up the canyon's +deep long alley; along this trail he now ran, leading his pony by the +bridle and looking ever to the left side. Soon he paused and looked back +at Pascual Montara. + +"The Gitanos have pitched their tents just beyond the first turn above," +he announced. + +"Hola! Have you seen more of their sign writing in grass-ricks and +sticks?" + +"Si, Pascual. Look well at the forked rod set upright in the soft loam +to the left of the trail--one prong is broken off, the other points to +the right. I knew, if it was here, it would be found to the left of the +trail. It is a signpost only set up to guide night travelers. The +Gitanos erected it here no more than an hour, or an hour and a half +ago." + +Pascual grunted noncommittally. But the younger man seemed possessed of +a strange and febrile excitement. + +"Let us bathe our faces and heads in the runlet," he suggested urgently. +"It would be an error of strategy if we failed to look as gallant as +possible when we ride into the camp of the Zincali. Besides, the Gypsy +girls may not be overclean themselves, Pascual, but greatly they admire +a Busno--a White-blood--with a face freshly laved and as handsome as +yours or mine!" + +"Za! The Gypsy wenches are all jades and strumpets!" + +But he went, this surly Pascual Montara, and bathed his head in the +brook. Puffing prodigiously, he mounted and rode on beside the other. +Miguel Alvarado looked altogether the gay and haughty cavalier after his +ablutions. Pascual could not help eyeing in admiration his camarada's +lean, clean-cut youthful profile, his smooth, brown, handsome face. +Alvarado's cheeks were tinged with red, his eyes bright and sparkling as +though with some concealed but hopeful expectancy. + +"You bristle with eagerness, senor caballero of my soul!" remarked +Pascual slyly. + +Miguel Alvarado shrugged his shoulders, but did not answer. Suspicion +growing in his glance, the apelike one continued to eye him. Then, as +if he were accusing his camarada of something rather to be ashamed of, +he said pointedly: + +"It is because Gypsies are so near, that you burn and bristle--is it +not? You are enamored of them; they captivate you with their uncouth +glamors; towards them you are drawn, eh? + +"Ah, I understand now, Miguel, that which heretofore has made you seem +mysterious in my eyes--your trick of reading cabalistic signs written in +chalk on the stonework of bridges and the adobe of posadas and +_providencias_; your trick of reading hillocks of grass and crosses of +sticks placed beside the road; and your trick, too, of ordering your +pony about in the thieves' Latin of the Gitanos. You are like so many +other Moors of Andalusia, Miguel Alvarado. You are one of _Los del +Aficion_--Those of the Predilection! I have guessed rightly, have I +not?" + +Miguel Alvarado shrugged his shoulders once again, and smiled his +superior smile. Lightly, he remarked, "The Gypsy wenches are like +she-leopards, soft and caressing of movement, but free and bold of eye. +I cannot resist the lure in their golden glances." + +The other snorted and spat disgustedly down into the watercourse. He +drew a little away from Miguel Alvarado. After that, he rode on, through +the gathering dusk, very much in the manner of a man companioned by one +possessed of a demon--full of a certain respect but also full of reserve +and caution. Scarcely could you say he became more at his ease, more the +boon compañero and dorado. Was not the man he rode with one of Those of +the Predilection? + +In Spain, especially in Andalusia, there has long existed a large class +of men given over utterly to a zest for Gitanos, their ways of life, +their dances and their songs. These admirers of the Gypsies cannot shake +off the fascination; they follow after the wandering Roms like the +slaves of an evil eye; they cultivate the Cales, the Black Men of Zend, +wherever met; they delight to watch the strange obscene dances of the +Gypsy maids that are like nothing so much as writhings of snakes in an +ecstasy of desire. These men are Those of the Predilection. + +In the hushed and golden gloaming, they came at last, those two of the +Guardia Civil, to a turning of the narrow canyon and then, beyond, to a +Gypsy camp set in an opening among the trees. The brown tents were +patched with rags of a hundred hues, and strings of rags, slovenly +washed and as variegated, hung drooping and gathering smoke between the +ridgepoles and the trees. + +There were seven dusty dun wagons in a wide circle, and great huddles of +gaunt and hungry dogs lazying about, and horses, foals, and burros +coming and going at will among the trees. From the limbs of the trees +dangled all manner of saddles, traces, and other odds and ends of +harness. There were three fires sending black smoke and dancing sparks +up into the lines of washing and the overarching greenery; and there +were a dozen men and women, and three times that many children, postured +about the fires and beneath the wagons. + +"Alto à la Guardia Civil!" bellowed thunderously Pascual Montara, +thinking to give the Gypsies a start with this dread call of the police. + +The men about the fires did not move. The golden-skinned sloe-eyed +women, stooped above the pots and kettles, looked up idly. Only the +rabble of children seemed affrighted; they scurried away, those +tousle-headed, chocolate-brown, ragged brats, some of even five and six +years old stark naked, and hid themselves in the black insides of the +wagons. + +A young man, his shirt open to the waist, a yellow _faja_ or scarf wound +about his middle, was busily engaged with winding a battered accordion. +It was outlandishly sweet under his hands. Nearby, a Gypsy woman of +seventeen nursed a new-born bantling, her breast uncovered. A slim young +girl leaned against the trunk of an algarroba, pensively brushing the +calf of one nut-brown leg with the toes of the other. A man, tall, +massive and nobly upright of port, got up from beside one of the fires +and advanced slowly toward the two policemen on the edge of the +clearing. + +A red kerchief tightly bound his head, and he wore the leather slop of a +blacksmith. He had a short, curly grizzled beard. What with his gigantic +body, herculean shoulders, monolithic throat, and haughty, savagely +beautiful head, he looked like some Byzantine emperor of the old Roman +strain. He was sixty, but he had every appearance of being under +forty-eight. + +Even as the colossal one approached, Miguel Alvarado caught sight of the +slim young nut-brown girl under the algarroba tree. He went deathly +pale. He clutched at his throat, devouring her with his gaze. His eyes +were like two hot pulsing embers. + +"Go forward to meet this man, Pascual Montara," at length he stuttered. +"His name is Pepe Flammenca. He is a Gypsy count and lords it over the +clan encamped here. Find out what he knows of Morales and the others. +Question him shrewdly; he may know much!" + +Without realizing that Miguel Alvarado was not to follow, Pascual +pressed forward obediently. Meanwhile, the other policeman turned his +horse in between the trees, skirted the clearing, and approached the +spot where the Gypsy girl stood. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +Dismounting, Miguel Alvarado stepped swiftly to the girl's side, threw +his arms about her shoulder and waist, and drew her back among the trees +and out of sight of those about the fires. She did not scream; she did +not seem affrighted in the least. Only when he strove to kiss her, she +put a slow but determined hand upon his forehead and pushed away his +impetuous lips. + +He forebore to combat her for that which she would not give. Crushing +her to him, he whispered triumphantly, "Ah, my Paquita, maiden of my +soul! Did I not say rightly, when I said we should meet again?" + +Evidently she had not been quite certain whom he was until he spoke. For +now, she writhed free from his arms, her face contorted with loathing +and wrath. + +"So you come sweethearting again, you vile louse of a Busno! Si, +seguramente, si--we meet again! But I met with hunger when I was a +child, and I met hunger often since, and I like hunger the less at each +of our meetings. The same with the cholera! The same with you!" + +A cold and haughty tower of ivory, she faced him. Her face was superbly +royal with high disdain. + +"Go away at once or I will set our scavenger curs on you! Have I not +warned you before this never to approach me with your treacle words of +love, your kissing lips that turn my blood to vinegar, your caressing +arms that make my skin shudder and creep? Go away, you itch, you +ringworm! You are not a man; there is nothing masculine, varonil, strong +and savage about you. All you can do is to moon and coo and sigh; you +are a sot ever thirsty for love; you are a soft, shapeless blubber of +passion! And how can you come near me when you know you are one of the +order of men who murdered my brother for poisoning a few poor pigs and +for stealing a few poor horses?--you, a man of the Guardia Civil, the +enemy of my clan and race since time out of mind; our blight, our +scourge!" + +Beneath the bite and lash of her words, beneath the scorching fire of +her scorn-filled eyes, a lesser man than Miguel Alvarado would have +shriveled into a smoking black cinder. But never he. Folding his arms +across his chest, he waited in a dramatic silence while the wrack and +tempest swept over him. Then, slowly, theatrically, he raised his arms +above his head, and uplifted his eyes, and addressed himself to the +serene heavens--under the circumstances, the obvious and altogether +Spanish thing to do. + +"Senor Don Dios!" he apostrophized solemnly. "My soul leaps like a flame +with love for her--I love her unto death. And she repulses me! What +shall I do?" + +Go away and leave her victorious in her disdain? Not Miguel Alvarado! + +When Pascual Montara finished questioning the Gypsy chieftain and +hetman, and came seeking his compañero through the trees, he found them +together still--the hot-blooded young policeman and the lithe Paquita of +the nut-brown legs. Miguel Alvarado had progressed some way with his +bitterly contested love-making. But she still shrugged away from him +when impetuously he approached too close. + +Having left his horse in a distant quarter of the clearing, on foot +through the gloaming came Pascual Montara; and, glimpsing the girl in +the shadow of the trees, he halted dead and eyed her with wonder and +admiration. She wore a printed calico dress of deep vermilions and +flaming saffrons, and a grass-green scarf was wound, in the Gypsy +fashion, among her ink-black tresses. There was a string of copper coins +upon her bosom and a bangle of copper coins upon one wrist. Her dress +came but little more than half-way down her bare, symmetrical and richly +polished legs, and it was open at the throat to show glimpses of her +small brown breasts and of the swale between. + +Letting Miguel Alvarado talk as he willed, she stood watching him out of +slow gloomy eyes. His elocution was fluent, full of zest, soul-moving; +his words were gorgeous, magnificent, glowing with color and music. One +moment he called her a baggage, a jade, a wanton, a thing of ugliness, a +soiled and tawdry wench. The next, he called her a virgin most pure, +most chaste, most admirable, and endowed her with every beauty and charm +ever conceded by a lover's tongue, appraising separately and in sequence +her features, her contours, her color, the texture of her skin, the +fineness of her hair. With bold, splendid splashes of color and +enunciation, he lifted her up, up from the degradation and the mire to +which he so lately had debased her, and put her upon the apex of the +world, erecting her upon a pedestal above all other women, his words a +coronation, a canonization, and an apotheosis. When he had done, she +raised a little brown hand to her mouth, and yawned prodigiously. Then +she turned away. + +Pascual Montara came forward, loudly rattling the fallen leaves with his +feet to apprise Alvarado of his nearness. + +"Let us be on our way," he said. "I have questioned this Pepe Flammenca +and others of the Gypsy bucks, questioned them as though I were Fray +Tomas de Torquemada himself! They know less of the men we seek than do +sucking infants of sin. Come, Miguel Alvarado! It grows dark, and you +will forget your duty to the Guardia Civil if you linger long here!" + +Young Alvarado flashed an angry look at him. Then, suddenly getting in +hand, he shrugged himself calm and said: + +"Morales and the rest have not been here, eh? Well, let us clear our +heels of the filth of this vile-smelling place before dark, then." + +Without another word, he turned his back upon the girl and went seeking +his pony among the trees. A sibilant, softly called Gypsy word, repeated +twice, and the horse came clattering through the underwood toward him +like a well-trained dog. + +He mounted. Pascual Montara had gone striding across the clearing to +retrieve his own animal. The girl lingered under the trees, standing as +he had found her, her back against the trunk of an algarroba, the toes +of one nut-brown leg scratching the calf of the other, her eyes pensive. + +"My Paquita," said Miguel Alvarado, sidling near her on his horse, +"there is an ancient and massive wild olive far down at the gateway to +this barranca. And it looks like a tall and handsome cavalier waiting +for the moon to rise that he may have a meeting with some Gypsy girl who +is his beloved." + +She looked slowly up at him, then away. + +"My Paquita," he persisted, "you have seen this wild olive, have you +not?" + +She did not answer him. + +"My Paquita," he said again, "you are a Gitana. Tell me; you are wise in +reading nature; will there be a moon clear of clouds to-morrow night?" + +She slipped away from the trunk of the algarroba and started off toward +the clearing. Suddenly, she paused and looked back over one shoulder. +She answered his questions in the order asked. + +"The wild olive is well-known to me, and there will be a fine moon +to-morrow night. But there will be no meetings at the wild olive between +you and me. I have no appetite for your caresses and kisses; I would +hate you, did I not think too little of you. You are only a cinder in my +eye! I have kept myself a virgin all these years for some man more bold +and brutal and magnificent than you!" + +Pascual Montara had mounted his horse and was waiting in growing +impatience. + +"Hola, mi compañero!" he called. "What is keeping you?" + +Trotting his horse out into the open space where were the three fires of +black smoke and dancing embers, Alvarado joined him. Together the two +policemen rode away up the shadow-haunted alleys of the steep and narrow +barranca. + +With a great gusto, the Gypsy bucks assaulted their evening meal. They +had no need of plates nor forks. Three wolfish circles of men swiftly +formed about the three steaming pots, which had been taken off the fires +and left standing upon the grass. The pots contained the ubiquitous +national dish of Spain, the puchero, that most savory of stews. Into the +pots the Gypsies dipped with their navajas--those long, wicked-looking +clasp-knives--and with their fingers. + +It was like a grab-bag. In that puchero one could not know what variety +of meat or vegetable one might pluck forth. The Gitanos went at the +business of eating with a singular moroseness; they were like glum and +voracious animals. When any secured a chunk of meat too large to be +swallowed in one desperate mouthful, it was torn into more reasonable +pieces by hands and teeth, or sawed into lengths by the ever ready +navajas. + +The women and children waited wistfully apart. It was not for them to +sit and eat until the last of the males had done. They were the weaker, +and they must take thankfully that which was left them by the strong. + +One by one, the bucks got up from about the pots of puchero, licking +their lips and reaching for papers and tobacco. The three fires had +decayed and become mere hillocks of embers. The men formed new and more +indolent circles about these, smoking lazily, their eyes dull and +complacent with eating. Chattering like famished sparrows, their voices +sharp with eagerness, the women and children fell hastily upon the +remnants their men had left. + +It was about this time that a party of cabalgadores, riding hard, passed +the massive wild olive that stood at the dingle's gateway like a +_sereno_, like a metropolitan night policeman at the corner of a dark +and narrow street. Keeping steadily on, they rode through the obscurity +of the corridorlike reaches of the barranca, and swiftly drew near the +opening among the trees and the camp of the Gypsies. + +Soon they glimpsed the red of firelight through the underwood, and +caught snatches of the shrill chattering of the women and children. +There was an undertone of music from the camp, the soft reedlike notes +of an accordion, and suddenly a man's voice began chanting "The Song of +Juanito Ralli": + + "The false Juanito, day and night, + Had best with caution go, + The Gypsy Cales of Yeira height + Have sworn to lay him low. + + "Throughout the night, the dusky night, + I prowl in silence round, + And with my eyes look left and right, + For him, the Spanish hound, + That with my knife I him may smite, + And to the vitals wound. + + "I'll wash not in the limpid flood + The shirt which binds my frame; + But in Juanito Ralli's blood + I'll bravely wash the same." + +The strangers halted in the concealing underwood, drawing close +together. Words passed in whispers; then the group of five separated. +Three of the party moved slowly and quietly away through the trees; the +other two waited, motionless as rock. + +At length, the feat in strategy was successfully accomplished. In each +of four sectors of the palisading circle of foliage and shadows which +surrounded the opening among the trees, there waited a man, silent and +watchful, a carbine ready in his two hands. No one of the four +dismounted, but suddenly one rode briskly out into the clearing. + +"Who is this?" cried Pepe Flammenca, starting up. "Not another +policeman!" + +"No, lo quiera Dios!" quietly returned the horseman. "God forbid, no!" + +He halted his horse half-way to the groups about the fires. The Gypsy +fellow with the open shirt and yellow sash had abruptly quit singing and +playing the accordion. The very children were frightened into large-eyed +silence. + +"Ah, you are one of the _Errate_, one of the Blood!" exclaimed +Flammenca. "It is a Zincalo that speaks, a Romano, a Cale. Is it not, +_hombre_?" + +"God forbid that too!" the horseman laughed shortly. "Approach, Pepe +Flammenca, and see for yourself whom I am." + +There was in his voice a certain imperious note. The gigantic Gypsy +count moved slowly forward. He peered at the brown youthful face +beneath the broad-brimmed felt. + +"Jacinto Quesada!" he whispered sharply, falling back a step. He looked +over his shoulder at his Roms scattered upon the grass. They had heard +his sharply sibilated whisper; and an echo of that whisper had passed +over them as each repeated the name and sat up, dramatically moved. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +"What do you do here, Quesada?" asked Pepe Flammenca. + +Quesada ignored the question. + +"Tell me," he said, "how long have you been encamped in this spot?" + +"Four of our wagons have been here a fortnight. But three that had been +delayed on the way joined us in this spot only this afternoon. I and my +daughter, Paquita, came with the vanguard." + +"There is a singular troop of cabalgadores somewhere upon the plains," +remarked Quesada, studiously regarding him. "They are nine--all +strangers to the countryside. They are led by a man known from end to +end of Spain, the redoubtable espada, Manuel Morales. Two among them are +outlanders; the one a Frenchman, the other an American. + +"I seek news of them, Count. Perchance you may have encountered them in +traversing the high parameras of La Mancha? Perchance you may have +entertained them with a puchero in your encampment here?" + +"Neither have I bespoke them nor have I had sight of them," returned +Pepe Flammenca with great certitude. + +"No? But of course not! It is only four days ago that they first +enterprised abroad. However, the wagons of your caravan that just came +up to-day will surely have some word of them. These cabalgadores of +Manuel Morales are an uncommon looking lot; some of them are outfitted +in the full ring regalia of bullfighters; and the bright reds, greens +and yellows of their costumes have caused the vaqueros and herders, who +chanced across their path, to become puzzled and amazed and +extravagantly talkative. Then, too, they bristle with Mausers and +Mannlichers, and are heavily weighted with bandoleers in which +cartridges are as thick as teeth in a man's mouth. + +"Small wonder, Pepe Flammenca, that tongues have wagged and legends been +fabricated--Morales and his men are nine of the most outlandish +cabalgadores ever seen in these parts; they are nine Quixotes, as +fantastic looking and out of place upon La Mancha as was the Ingenious +Gentleman himself! Myself, I had word of them borne me across the wastes +by a dozen different arrieros, and by the hard-riding horseboys of +certain innkeepers of my acquaintance. + +"It is strange, but I, and I alone, know on what business they ride. But +then, I am the man they seek--I, Jacinto Quesada! But, Count, you are +not making any inquiries among the men of the three wagons that joined +you to-day. Do so at once!" + +"There is no need, Don Jacinto. Already I have asked questions of them." + +"But, man, you have not budged a foot! Carajo! do you think to trifle +with Jacinto Quesada?" + +"God forbid, no!" returned the gigantic Gypsy hastily. "But I speak the +truth, Senor Quesada--already have I made inquiries among my men for +news of this Morales and his cabalgadores. Don Jacinto, it may surprise +you, but others have been here no more than an hour ago seeking news of +this selfsame Morales and his fantastic troop. They were two men of the +Guardia Civil and--" + +"Hola! Two Guardias Civiles? And no more than an hour ago? When they +left you, which way did they ride?" + +"Right on up the barranca--towards the mountains--and they did not stop +for food." + +Jacinto Quesada, keeping the Gypsy chieftain transfixed with his eye, +raised his voice so that it carried all through the clearing and even +out to the shadows beyond: + +"Carajo! they were here, eh? Two Guardias Civiles--and they went right +on up the barranca!" + +At once and silently, two of the cabalgadores waiting in the shadows +moved off up the dark defile. It was as though they were play-actors +hidden in the wings of a stage, and the loudly shouted words of Jacinto +Quesada were to them an awaited signal, a cue to be immediately obeyed. + +"What do you desire of us, Don Jacinto?" asked Flammenca of Quesada, +without seeming to notice his change of voice. + +"Food." + +"Sit down and eat. You are most welcome." + +"Do you think Jacinto Quesada will be satisfied with your leavings and +the leavings of your brats and wenches? Besides, there is not enough +stew left to satisfy my stomach. I have the appetite of three men." + +He looked at Flammenca a long moment, then added, "And again, I have a +following of four cabalgadores who will be here shortly. Their stomachs +must be well garnished. They have ridden hard and steadily these last +four days." + +"Any you bring with you are most welcome here, Senor Quesada, my friend. +Are not the Gypsies forever the friends of outlaws?" + +"One of those who will come will be a lady, a gentle highborn lady--" + +"Tell her to come forward out of the shadows, man! Why keep her waiting +outside the clearing because of your foolish distrust of us? We Gypsies +mean no treachery by you or yours, _ley tiro solloholomus opre +lesti_--you may take your oath on that!" + +The two men looked at each other for a long minute. Then Jacinto +Quesada, in perfectly good grace, turned his head and called, "Forward, +my Felicidad!" + +She came forth, the golden-haired girl, riding a tobacco colored mare of +the small but hardy Manchegan breed. She looked very proud and highborn +and lonely, as she walked her horse slowly toward them. + +"You are safe from all harm here, _madama_," said Flammenca, bowing low. +"Rest yourself and soon you will eat. My own daughter, Paquita, will +serve you. We are your good friends even as we are the good friends of +Jacinto Quesada." + +Very courteously, he helped her dismount. + +Just then sounded, very suddenly, the hoot of the eagle owl. It came +from up the barranca. As it vibrated sharply between the steep high +walls of the canyon, Flammenca turned and looked at the young +bandolero, cocking his ears the while. Quesada, in the act of +dismounting, paused also and listened. The sound came again, a singular +bird note, not much the ordinary hoot of an owl, but more a growl and +something of a gruff scream. + +Pepe Flammenca strode quickly to Quesada's side. + +"The men you sent up the canyon after the Guardias Civiles have +returned, I see," he said. "Call them in! You are overwary of me and my +people, Don Jacinto. Such caution is commendable in most circumstances, +but not when you deal with the Zincali. Trust us, Quesada; we will not +betray you! Have we not for hundreds of years been outlaws hunted like +wolves? Do you think the men of the Guardia Civil look upon us as their +allies? We of the Zincali are thieves, and we honor you for being a +greater thief than we. No reward the police of Spain can offer would +make us prove false to you and yours!" + +A long silence followed. Again Jacinto Quesada looked steadily into +Flammenca's eyes and strove to read the soul of the man. + +"Very well!" he said at length. He raised his carbine aloft and fired it +into the air. + +Briskly his three dorados, Rafael Perez, Ignacio Garcia, and Pio +Estrada, rode into the clearing. It was noticeable then, in the light +from the replenished fires, that no one of them was laden with the +plunder from the hold-up of the Seville-to-Madrid. The chances were that +they had left the telltale sacks of mail and conglomerate loot in the +posada of some protecting cacique, or buried them between the concrete +feet of some windmill, or cached them between the boulders in some gully +in the foothills. + +The three dismounted. With gratification they shook out their +saddle-cramped limbs. Jacinto Quesada led his own horse and that of +Felicidad over to one of the wagons and picketed them to a wheel. As he +did, a nut-brown chit of a girl came and stood before him. + +"You are that arrogant and absolute one, Jacinto Quesada!" she asked +with rising inflection. + +Jacinto Quesada nodded without speaking. The Gypsy girl looked at him in +a way that gave him a singular feeling. Boldly she measured him with her +eyes, appraised him. Her glance was at once inquisitive, prying, +annoying, and yet ardent and approving. She had, too, the strange slow +stare peculiar to persons of the Gypsy race, that fixed uncouth look +that makes one feel much as if one were being hypnotized by a serpent. + +"You are very young to be a bandolero," she remarked, half to herself. + +Once again Quesada nodded without speaking. + +"You are altogether unlike the bandoleros I have seen." + +"It is the deed, senorita," said Quesada. "The deed makes us +bandoleros--not the length of our limbs nor the cast of our faces." + +"But you are very handsome!" she said. "You are as handsome as the very +Hyperion himself!" + +Surprised at the ardor with which she said these words, Quesada looked +at her with a more curious interest. Small but oddly statuesque, a +superbly shaped figurine in her close-clinging calico dress of glowing +vermilions and blazing saffrons, she stood with head ecstatically +upraised toward him, her dusky eyes radiant with admiration. She +thrilled a little toward him, her olive bosom undulating deeply and +slowly. + +"Who are you, child?" he asked. + +"Paquita. I am the daughter of Pepe Flammenca." + +Without comment, he made to return to the group about the fires. But she +stayed him with a hand upon his arm. + +"Tell me," she asked, panting with eagerness; "have you murdered many +men on the mountains and on the plains?" + +"Carajo, no! No man have I killed as yet, though I have battled with +many," returned Quesada, wounded in his manhood. "I am but a simple +Moor, not a ferocious beast that lusts to slay." + +"But you are magnificent with pride and courage!" + +"I love the fierce ecstasy of the running fight, the hand-to-hand +skirmish! But there is little cold murder, know you, in my bowels. Now, +leave me, _ninita_!" + +Impatiently, he thrust her hand from his arm and started away. But she +put herself before him, and once again uplifted her face and bathed him +in the gaze of her ardent eyes. And she cried, her voice tremulous with +a kind of passion: + +"Don Jacinto, I have never before met any one like you! You are bold and +imperious, you are savage and mighty, but you are not weakly cruel! And +ah, you are handsome--handsome as the very Hyperion himself!" + +She suddenly burst into tears and fled away. Quesada looked after her, +perturbed, amazed, and sorely puzzled. Her conduct was altogether +inexplicable. But the underwood hid her from further sight. He shrugged +his shoulders as one who should say, "She is only a Gypsy, poor thing!" +and returned to the fires. His meal awaited him. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +After they had garnished their stomachs with the puchero, they sat +brooding around the three fires, the girl, Felicidad, and Jacinto and +his three ruffians. The Gypsy lad with the shirt open to the waist and +the yellow sash brought out his battered accordion again and played upon +it for their entertainment. + +He made it scream and exult obscenely; he made it lament like a fallen +angel. He made it sing wild and wanton songs of Gypsy love; he made it +chant of Gypsy treachery and Gypsy chiromancy. When you heard its +uncouth and haunting assonances, you believed in the Evil Eye, the +_Querelar nasula_; in the _Hokkano Baro_, the Great Trick; and even in +the _Chiving Drao_, that sorcery by which the Gitanos cause horses to +become sick and glandered, and swine to die as suddenly as if poisoned. +In short, you believed all you ever had heard of the strange doings of +the Zincali! + +The hours fled by. Those about the fires grew sleepy. One by one, the +Gypsy wenches withdrew into their tents. Then the girl Paquita spoke to +Felicidad and led her away. They lay down to sleep that night--the +highborn young lady and the girl of common Gypsy clay--in a certain +wagon of the Gitanos. To that wagon came Jacinto Quesada and his three +dorados, a short time later, and upon the open sward before it, threw +themselves, their ponchos wrapped around them to protect them from the +night cold and dew. + +After breakfast next morning, Quesada talked long and earnestly with +Pepe Flammenca. + +"You had best remain in camp, at least this morning," advised the Gypsy +count. "Up above, there is going to be a great _monteria_, and there +will be many men upon the mountains. Some one may see the Senor Don +Jacinto and report it to the police." + +"It is good, friend Pepe. And the other matter?" + +Flammenca called aloud in the Gypsy _gerigonza_. Instantly followed a +scene of extraordinary liveliness and interest. Flammenca, Quesada, +Perez, Ignacio Garcia, and Estrada sat cross-legged on the grass. +Flammenca's Gypsy lads led before them, first the horses of Quesada and +his dorados, and then the three- and four-year-olds attached to the +Gypsy caravan. There was a great chaffering; the various points of the +horses were appraised enthusiastically and with minute care. It was an +impromptu horse fair. Wherever found, whether in Spain, England, Russia, +Hungary, or the United States, the true Gypsy is an expert _chalan_ or +horse trader. + +When all the bargaining was over, Quesada and his dorados discovered +they had not got off second best. They had acquired five new horses, +unfatigued and glossy coated after a fortnight in the barranca. Their +own jaded animals had come into the possession of Flammenca and his +bucks. + +"It would please the young lady who rides with us," said Quesada to the +Gypsy chieftain, "if she could change her attire for something more +suited to the saddle." + +"My Paquita will attend to the matter," returned Flammenca. "Let them go +together into one of the tents and find out whether their clothing be +fit to barter and whether their two pretty shapes are mates." + +The girl, Paquita, had been hovering about Jacinto Quesada all the +morning. At breakfast, she had anticipated his every desire, waiting on +him with silent devotion. Continually she kept her great dusky eyes upon +him, following him everywhere he went with a gaze abject and doglike in +its utterness of adoration. + +Now, Quesada drew forth a packet of tissue papers and a pouch of +tobacco, of a sudden and altogether unexpectedly, she stooped above him +and seized the papers and tobacco from his hands. Looking fixedly into +his astonished eyes, she rolled a cigarette, wetting the edges with her +lips. Then she handed the _papelito_ to him, made a long obeisance, and +turned away. + +Her father chuckled and gave her the word to take Felicidad apart and +find her fit riding clothes. She withdrew, looking over her shoulder at +Quesada with passionate Gypsy eyes. + +Sometime later, she and Felicidad came out of the tent into which they +had vanished, and Felicidad wore a brown jacket and a brown bisected +riding skirt, both rather the worse for wear, and Paquita was completely +attired in Felicidad's green traveling dress. The Gypsy girl looked very +charming in the more conventional attire, what of her nut-brown skin +and dye-black hair against the contrasting green. + +She walked about the clearing with the grace of a she-leopard, +continually smoothing the tight, revealing skirt over her hips, and +rearranging and patting her hair which she had put up in imitation of +Felicidad. Preening herself thus, she smiled often in a frank and +childlike pleasure in herself. But there were no men about to admire +her. + +Quesada's dorados had gone behind the wagons to currycomb and further +polish their new horses. The Roms, every last dishevel-headed and +swarthy-faced lad, had left the camp immediately after the conclusion of +the horse trading. Led by Pepe Flammenca, they had stalked silently up +the barranca, their Mausers and Mannlichers couched tenderly in their +arms. + +They were bound for the heights above the barranca. There, in the +tag-end mountains of the Sierra Morena, a great monteria, or mountain +drive, was under way that day. Senor D. Pablo Lario de Quinones was the +host. He was a rich Catalan who had made his millions in the cork +industry. He had purchased two or three of the mountains for a sporting +estate, and in one of the higher passes he had erected a shooting box. +It was the only habitation within miles, for he had ousted the few +native mountaineers from their landholds. + +Among his guests for this particular monteria were many Spanish +notables, high and mighty ones of Letters, the State, and the Church, as +well as several foreign ambassadors and their attachés. The Duke of +Fernan Nuñez, the Duke of Medinaceli, the Marquis of Viana, the Conde +de Agrela, the Marquesa de Manzanedo, Colonel Barrera and Senor D. I. L. +de Ybarra were among the crack guns invited. + +Lario de Quinones had his own pack of _podencos_, or hunting dogs--a +_recoba_ of about forty dogs. But, as is the custom of the sporting +gentry of Spain, certain of his guests--the Duke of Fernan Nuñez, the +Conde de Agrela, and Colonel Barrera--had brought with them their own +packs of podencos and their own huntsmen, to reinforce De Quinones' pack +and make the drive a more stupendous affair. + +Now, Pepe Flammenca and his Gypsy lads were arrant trespassers on the +hunting grounds of the grandees. Should the mountaineers who served as +beaters and extra huntsmen come upon them in the brushwood, they would +thrash them unmercifully and drive them out of the mountains at the +points of their guns. But Pepe Flammenca and his bucks were hardened and +desperate poachers. It was their plan to skulk along the line of the +drive and to hide themselves in thickets near the _armada_ or firing +line of gentlemen sportsmen; and should a wounded stag come bounding +toward their places of concealment, it would be most swiftly killed and +most swiftly borne away to their camp. + +A head or two of game would not be missed, nor a rifle report away to +one side cause much sensation in all that great to-do of the monteria. +To drown the sound of the poachers' guns, there would be the baying and +tinkling of bell-carrying dogs, the trumpeting of huntsmen upon their +_caracolas_, the shooting of blank cartridges to announce that some +game-beast had been jumped, the crashing of beaters through the thorny +cistus, and the running reports of magazine rifles along the _rayas_ or +open rides. + +After the poaching Gypsies had gone on their quest, Quesada sauntered +down to the brook. Here, where an arcade of oleanders shaded a tiny +white beach, he seated himself upon a huge stone above a pool. He busied +with watching the trout in the riffles and with spying upon two water +shrews that swam beneath the surface of the slack water, and dipped and +dived, seeking everywhere for food. For something like half an hour, +these velvety-black little creatures engrossed Quesada's attention. +Then, as pebbles tinkled down near at hand, he looked up to see the girl +Paquita coming down the bank. + +She seated herself beside him on one end of the stone, swinging her bare +brown feet above the pool. + +"You have not said that I look very pretty in this green Spanish dress," +she said at length. "But that is your thought, is it not? It would not +be difficult for me to be the proud and aristocratic lady, eh, man? But +I would rebel if I must wear shoes! I think my sun-burnt little feet are +prettier naked as they are!" + +Quesada smiled and continued to smoke his cigarette. + +She leaned her body against the bole of the tree behind, and clasped her +hands behind her head, and thoughtfully regarded him. After a time, she +said: + +"Tell me, caballero of my soul--tell me, have you ever loved a Gypsy +girl, a brown, soft-cooing maiden of the Zincali who was sugar and wine +to kiss, and velvet and Filipino silk to caress?" + +No, Jacinto Quesada had not. + +"It is not too late, intrepid one, to make amends! Any Gypsy wench would +be most glad to have you for a lover. Even a Gypsy count's daughter, +even the loveliest Gypsy maid in all the Spains, would not be too proud +to cling to your kisses, Busno though you be! Don Jacinto, +I--I--Paquita--could love you, and no trouble at all!" + +Persistently, he watched the water shrews in the runlet. + +"Am I not prettier than she?" + +"Of whom do you speak?" + +"This highborn lady, this slow-blooded and cold aristocrat--she who is +as pale as a sickly lily, as slender and ungraceful as a growing +boy--this Felicidad!" + +"I would not say she is too slender, Paquita; I would not say she is too +pale! It is only that her sort of beauty does not please you, because it +is not the Gypsy kind with which you are familiar." + +"It is not that, Don Jacinto! I have seen her unclothed, I have seen her +costumed only in her alabaster skin. There she stood in as much +loveliness as the Senor Don Dios had thought fit to give her. And I +looked her up and down with a woman's eye. _Chachipe_! the wench had +nothing of fascination and beauty about her that I have not! She is +young, yes, and soft, yes, and smooth of skin, and somewhat gracefully +shaped. But she is at least three years older than I, and she is no +more a woman, no better rounded. My breasts are as fully blossomed and +alluring! My--" + +"Paquita, you are indiscreet!" + +"Indiscreet? I, a Gypsy girl, indiscreet? Don Jacinto, we Gitanas are +never indiscreet! A kiss or two, an errant arm about the waist, or a +hand upon the breasts--what of that? An uncovered bosom, a shapely leg +bared to the knee--there is little evil in that. But if you venture too +far, if you touch upon our honor, thinking that we and honor to each +other are strangers--Tate! you will find a dirk has nosed its way +between your ribs!" + +She laughed mockingly, showing her fine white Gypsy teeth. + +"Am I indiscreet in speaking as I did about this girl of the Busne? Did +I not undress and dress her with my own hands?" + +"But you need not tell these things to me. I think her beautiful to +death!" + +"Oh, you cannot love her!" + +"Love her? I do not know." + +"Ah, but if you once turned your eyes upon poor wistful me--chachipe! +you would soon know whether you loved me! I would make you hunger for me +like a famished wolf, I would make your blood race and burn! When I +danced the jota, or the Romalis, or merely moved languorously about, you +would suffer all the thirsty bitterness of hell, all the exalted sweets +of heaven!" + +Jacinto Quesada looked away. + +"But I do not desire to love you, Paquita." + +"Si, si; but ah, if you only would! Could you not love me only a +little--you who are so proud and courageous, you who are so strong and +absolute?" + +Jacinto Quesada turned his head and plunged his austere glance into her +deep yearning eyes. + +"Paquita," he said, not coldly, but without any weakness of pity, "it is +because I am strong and absolute that I cannot love you. When your eye +caresses me with its look, your tongue with its subtle flattery, my +masculinity rebels at the thought of being wooed by a woman; I am +revolted, sickened! Fling your soul with the same impetuosity and +passion to some Gypsy lad, and he may love you; but I--no, never I!" + +She groaned aloud, knowing full well that he spoke a primitive truth. +But she could not help yearning toward him, her face bloodless with +desire. + +Said he, "If you would but flee away from me, or shudder when your +glance meets mine, or even treat me with disdain and coldness, perhaps +then--who knows? But I must be the predatory one, the seeker, the +stalker! Else I cannot love." + +He made as if to rise. But before he could get upon his feet, she leaped +up and bent above him and kissed him full upon the lips. Then swiftly +and blindly she fled. + +Once she had gone, Quesada did not bestir himself. He sat gazing +morosely into the limpid tarn below his rock. + +From a great distance, from away up in the mountains, there dropped down +vaguely to his ears the ringing note of a pack of hounds in full cry. +Came also, every little while, the bark of rifles remote and far. +Quesada gave no heed to these sounds. All through the morning, the +mountain airs had wafted through the barranca vagrant notes of this same +refrain. + +Very suddenly, however, Quesada heard, from much nearer at hand, the +voices of men shouting and hallooing. He heard his own name called. The +voices drew nearer. The shouting men were in the barranca itself; they +were noisily proceeding through the rattling underwood. He heard them on +the path above his nook by the pool, still calling his name. He did not +lift his voice in reply, nor even turn his head. But suddenly, from the +bushes within touch of his hand and right behind his head, a voice spoke +out, sharply, peremptorily: + +"Aupa, Don Jacinto! There is no time to be lost. Already they are +entering the gateway to this barranca!" + +Looking over his shoulder, Quesada saw, no more than a yard in the rear +and peering through a hole in the bushes, an uncouth disheveled face +like the face of a satyr or faun--the Gypsy-eyed, bronzed, and +grizzle-bearded face of Pepe Flammenca. + +"Of whom do you speak?" asked the bandolero. + +Answered Pepe Flammenca; "Of Manuel Morales and his fantastic +cabalgadores!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +"We chanced to look down from a great rock on the mountain above," +explained Pepe Flammenca, as swiftly he and Quesada returned to the +clearing, "and we saw them moving across the broad sallow face of the +plain, like slow-crawling sticky flies. For quite a time we watched +them, wondering if they would come this way. They approached across the +high plains, making straight for the entrance to this barranca. They +ascended the hills, and then I returned alone to warn you that they +would be here shortly. My lads continued on without me. They will skulk +along the fringe of the Senor Don Pablo's great monteria, and I am +willing to swear they will not come back empty-handed." + +"You counted the cabalgadores--there were nine?" + +"Seguramente, yes. And the noses of their carbines flashed like leaping +trout in the sun. And two wore scarlet, two yellow, and another green. +The green one was Morales himself, yes?" + +Quesada nodded shortly. + +"They did not ride with impetuosity, you say; they rode painfully slow? +We have still time then, friend Pepe, to make a clean get-away before +they climb through the barranca. With but fifteen minutes' grace I will +guarantee to show my heels to the fleetest caballeros in all the +Spains!" + +They entered the clearing. Before one of the tents of many colors sat +Felicidad like a golden-headed queen. A little court of scantily clad, +brown-limbed Gypsy toddlers were ringed about her, engaged in lisping +the songs of the Zincali for her entertainment. The verses sounded very +strange coming from those soft baby lips; for the words were all of +love, ardent and free, of murder and revenge, and of theft and +treachery. + +His amber Moorish eyes liquid and softly glowing, Jacinto Quesada halted +a few feet off, and watched her and listened. A tousle-headed urchin of +nine, his only uniform an abbreviated and airy shirt, stepped forward +and chanted, with gusto, "The Laws of Romany": + + "O never with the Gentiles wend, + Nor deem their speeches true; + Or else, be certain in the end + Thy blood will lose its hue. + + "There runs a swine down yonder hill, + As fast as e'er he can, + And as he runs he crieth still, + Come, steal me, Gypsy man. + + "To blessed Jesus' holy feet + I'd rush to kill and slay + My plighted lass so fair and sweet, + Should she the wanton play. + + "Thy sire and mother wrath and hate + Have vowed against me, love! + The first, first night that from the gate + We two together rove. + + "The girl I love more dear than life, + Should other gallant woo, + I'd straight unsheath my dudgeon knife + And cut his weasand through; + Or he, the conqueror in the strife, + The same to me should do. + + "O, I am not of gentle clan, + I'm sprung from Gypsy tree; + And I will be no gentleman, + But an Egyptian free." + +Felicidad looked up and flushed to a carnation color under the ardor of +his eyes. Then, looking away, she asked, "What is it, Jacinto?" + +"Come, my Felicidad! The sun is already high in the sky; it will be +thirsty-hot on the upper slopes of the mountains. Let us mount and +ride." + +Pepe Flammenca had gone through the underwood seeking Rafael Perez, +Garcia, and Pio Estrada; he found them out behind the wagons, busily +engaged in currycombing and burnishing their new horses. Now he returned +with the three at his heels, himself and two of Quesada's dorados +bearing a raffle of harness in their hands and saddles on their +shoulders, and the third leading by their halters the five barebacked +animals. + +At once and swiftly, Quesada's ruffians commenced to cinch the saddles +upon the horses. Despite haste, the work was done most efficiently. + +Quesada called Pepe Flammenca aside. He had become possessed of a new +idea. He and the Gypsy chieftain put their heads together. Then Quesada +called Rafael Perez over to them with a beckon of the hand. Perez, too, +joined in the low-whispered zipizape of words. An impudent and fantastic +intrigue was plotted out, then and there, by that assorted trinity. As +they separated again, Jacinto Quesada asked with sudden doubt: + +"Will it be very difficult to change the appearance of Perez?" + +"Not for Pepe Flammenca! Am I not of the Zincali? We of the Zincali can +make a young horse seem old and decrepit, and an old horse show as much +fire and hauteur as an unbroken stallion! And chachipe! we can change a +black horse to white, and a piebald one to the color of tobacco! It is +very simple, Don Jacinto, for the Children of Egypt." + +"If you can make me pleasing to look at," chuckled Rafael Perez, "you +will do wonders!" + +Then he and Pepe Flammenca went together into the tent of the Gypsy +chieftain, a more imposing tent than the others. His horse thereupon was +led back behind the wagons and its harness hung upon the limb of a tree. + +"Let us not tarry now. Aupa, you!" commanded Jacinto Quesada. + +At the command, Pio Estrada and Ignacio Garcia flung themselves upon +their horses. Quesada stood beside the horse of Felicidad and made a cup +of his hands. The golden-haired girl put her little foot in the cup and +was lifted into the saddle. + +Then Quesada walked over to the tent of Pepe Flammenca to say a final +word to Rafael Perez. Unaided by a mirror, Rafael Perez was shaving +himself with care and yet with extreme haste. Pepe Flammenca sat +cross-legged at his feet, mixing a dark stew of pigments in an +age-blackened calabash. + +"I go, Rafael Perez," said Jacinto Quesada, poking his head under the +flap. "I abandon you to your vices, and to Manuel Morales and his +cabalgadores. Be prudent and discreet and sagacious, for henceforth you +must enterprise single-handed and under cover. And may God go with +thee!" + +"And with thee, Don Jacinto of my soul!" + +Quesada came back and threw himself astride his horse. "Adelante!" he +commanded. The three men and the girl Felicidad filed slowly, on +horseback, out of the clearing. + +As they proceeded up the shadow-haunted alleys of the barranca, their +pace quickened. At a smart trot they were approaching the upper end +when, all at once, they were confronted by a girl who lingered beside +the way. It was Paquita--Paquita with a pink rhododendron in her +blue-black hair. + +"You here, Paquita?" Quesada blurted. He was in the lead, and the girl +disclosed herself with such surprising suddenness that she seemed a +spirit conjured up in a blink of the eye. + +"I waited here to say farewell to you, senor caballero of my heart," she +replied. He made to push by, but she put her hands on stirrup and leg, +yearning close. And panting with eagerness, she cried: + +"Take me with you, Don Jacinto! For love of you I will give up wandering +and all my other Gypsy ways! We shall have a cabana hidden somewhere in +the mountains and secure from the Guardia Civil, and there you will +repair to be made blissful by me! Take me with you, or I shall sicken +and die, for I love you so ardently that I am consumed by fires within!" + +"For shame, girl! I am a Busno--I am of another race!" + +She got on tiptoe and clasped her bare arms about his waist and clung +tenaciously, passionately. + +"Leave me behind then, but first--kiss me! Taste of my lips, they are as +sweet as the sweetest! Wrap me in your arms so that I suffocate! Then +kill me, if you will! Gladly would I die under your hands--death is +better than to be disdained by you!" + +Quesada, appalled by the strength and ferocity of her passion, drew +away. He felt shame before Felicidad. His face aflame, he cried angrily, +"I will have nothing to do with you!" And he started on again. + +Very suddenly, then, her whole look changed. The ardent light fled from +her eyes; forlornly her hands dropped to her sides; her slim girlish +figure drooped and wilted. Most woebegone and piteous was she to see. +And her voice a plaintive, fluttering sob, she called after him: + +"Little caballero of the handsome face, there is a great tree at the +entrance to this barranca--a wild olive that stands alone and waiting +like a young bandolero who attends in patience until the coming of +nightfall and his brown Gypsy love. There will be a fine moon to-morrow +night." + +"It is of no importa!" said Quesada, without looking back. "There shall +be no more meetings of you and me. Go thou with God!" + +The girl quivered beneath the scorning words like a flame harshly blown +upon. But suddenly she pulsed rigid; a heat sharp as pepper, bitter as +bile, violent as the sun, coursed through her veins; her face grew ashy +and drawn, her dusky eyes glittered like a cat's. Like a cat she was +then, like a beautiful she-leopard wounded into a barbarous and terrible +ferocity. + +"Go thou!" she screamed--"Go thou with Satanas, the foul-smelling, the +gangrened! You are not a man; you are a putrescent sore, an ulcer, a +leprosy! I hate you, I loathe you, and I will have your life taken from +you some day!" + +She ran after him, shrilly screaming her rage. She was a virago, a +witch-woman! She picked up a stone and flung it after him. It struck the +horse of Felicidad upon the withers. She picked up more stones and flung +these. And a thousand vile curses she flung also. Coming thus from a +woman's lips, they were worse than an abomination of sound; they were a +pollution, a hideous obscenity. + +Even Quesada's ruffians were appalled. For himself, Quesada was most +glad that the horse of Felicidad was the one struck by the first stone. +In a panic, it galloped away. She was soon out of earshot. + +They hurried after her. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +Not at once did the girl Paquita return to the camp of the Gitanos. Her +low broad brow clouded with sullen anger, her dusky eyes somber and +morosely smoldering, she clambered swiftly down the rocks of the +watercourse. In the precipitancy of her descent, in the headlong hurry +and indecorum with which she moved through swale and sunlight and +between boulders and clumps of rhododendron, there was yet something of +cold decision and steadfastness to purpose. She came out, at last, on +the tiny beach of white sand beside the pool. + +A red cloth on a rock caught her eye. She snatched it up and clenched it +to her heart. It was the head-kerchief of Jacinto Quesada. When but +lately he had sat and gloomed on that boulder above the pool, he had +dropped it from his pocket and gone off unawares. + +She replaced the red headcloth upon the boulder. It lay there in a +crumpled crimson heap, and it pulsed a little as its folds eased out. It +looked like a dying heart. + +From some recess in her bosom, the girl Paquita drew forth a small +moleskin sack on a string and shook its contents out upon the top of the +rock. There was a looking-glass, smaller than the palm of her small +brown hand. There was a flint and a bit of steel. There was a chunk of +lodestone, the magnetic iron-ore which the Gypsies of Spain call _La +Bar Lachi_ and which they claim is possessed of a thousand magical and +miraculous properties. There were, also, a half dozen other uncouth +Rommany charms and talismans. + +She propped the hand-glass upright against the crumpled head-kerchief. +She fell to her knees before it. With an unwavering and strangely +intense gaze, with a stark contemplation, she stared into the eyes +reflected from the mirror. + +Five minutes, then ten snailed painfully by. The process of +self-hypnosis went on. She was like one transfixed by a hooded cobra. +Her body grew gradually rigid, and her breathing ever deeper and slower. +At last she seemed not to breathe at all. Her eyes vacant and numbly +fixed, she rose slowly to her feet. + +She crossed the tiny beach of clean white sand. She stooped with a +fluent graceful flexure at the brim of the pool, filled her hands with +wet sand, and slowly pressed and molded that wet sand into an uncouth +little image of a man. + +The diminutive effigy she deposited upon the beach, setting it upright +on its vaguely defined and overbroad feet. A second time, she stooped at +the water's edge, filled her hands with sand, and again packed and +shaped that wet sand into a squat little figure. Only this time the +effigy bore a crude but easily perceived resemblance to a woman. + +She deposited the one image on the beach beside the other. She gathered +dry leaves and scraps of tinder-rot and made two little piles of them, +each before a tiny figurine. She returned to the boulder, swathed the +lodestone in the red headcloth and, lodestone and cloth in hand, bore +them back across the beach. And everything was done with extreme +slowness, with acute and painful deliberation. She was like a +somnambulist in a walking sleep. + +She fetched the flint and the steel from the boulder. She could execute, +it seemed, only one errand at a time. She dropped to her knees above one +of the tiny piles of dry leaves and tinder-rot, and busied herself with +the flint and steel. So soon as the one leafy hillock commenced to burn +bravely, she translated its flame. The other little bonfire cackled with +a like eagerness and gusto. + +Stepping back from her uncouth little idols and tiny sacrificial fires, +she undid a catch here and another catch there, and her shoulders and +then her hips emerged from the green gown, and the gown fell in a +swishing billow about her brown bare feet. Clad only in her olive-pale, +satin-smooth and satin-glowing skin, she stepped out of the atoll of +green cloth and commenced a slow and strange dance there upon the sands. + +It was not a dance voluptuous or obscene. It was a solemn dance of +statuesque attitudes, and flowing flexures, and ceremonious pauses. Very +like was it to some ritualistic dance of the sacerdotal dancing boys of +the Cathedral of Toledo. And yet there was in it a taint of sorcery and +demonolatry. + +She stooped at the water's edge to dip therein her hands. Dancing on, +she shook a few drops of water from her finger tips down upon the +flames. Smoke arose, a gust of smoke for each trinity of drops. The +while her eyes remained fixed and vacant and she danced slowly, she +chanted a sort of weird incantation in the gerigonza of the Zincali. + +Her voice was very low and came as with great effort. This was the +rigmarole she chanted, translated from the Romany, which is descended +from the Sanskrit and which it much resembles: + + "To the Mountain of Olives one morning I hied, + _Three_ little black goats before me I spied, + Those _three_ little goats on _three_ cars I laid, + Black cheeses _three_ from their milk I made; + The _one_ I bestow on the lodestone of power, + That save me it may from all ills that lower; + The _second_ to Mary Padilla[1] I give, + And to all the witch hags about her that live; + The _third_ I reserve for Asmodeus[2] lame, + That fetch me he may whatever I name." + +[Footnote 1: Mary de Padilla, a notorious witch of Medieval Spain and +mistress of Peter the Cruel of Castile (1333-1369).] + +[Footnote 2: Asmodeus, an evil demon. Appears in later Jewish traditions +as "king of demons." Also Beelzebub and Apollyon. Familiarly called the +genius of matrimonial unhappiness, or jealousy.] + +The rhythm of that solemn dance grew ever more sprightly. Her languor +dropped from her like a discarded shift. Faster and faster her brown +bare feet beat the sands. She leaped ecstatically in air. Suddenly the +dance ended in a whirl of exaltation. Then, for a long minute, she stood +like one petrified, like a statue sculptured in onyx, her brown arms +upflung, her face uplifted and sublimated. And in the voice of a +demoniac, she screamed: + +"Oh, _el buen Baron_! O Asmodeus the Lame! Send an evil upon the +arrogant head of the stripling Quesada, he who tore the heart from my +virgin breast and then ground it beneath his heel as though it were a +ball of dung! Accursed was the salt placed in his mouth in the church +when he was baptized, the vile Busno! He is too disdainful of me, too +contemptuous! Send a black evil upon him and his, O Asmodeus! O +Apollyon! By the three black little goats and the three black little +cheeses, I invoke you! + +"Humble him, break his heart of arrogant cold granite by making those he +loves most fondly fall into fevers and die like flies in a frost! Send +an evil of hideous disease upon those about him! Make those about him +fall ill of horrid discharges and cramps of the stomach; then weaken +them by causing them to vomit a gray pasty whey; then turn their bodies +to blue and purple, and then let them die within twelve or twenty-four +hours! + +"Break his spirit as my father breaks the spirit of a proud black +stallion, O Asmodeus the Lame! Do this for thy handmaid and votaress, do +this for Caste Sonacai, known to the Busne as Paquita, the child of +Flammenco Chorolengro, hetman of the clan of Barolengro and count of the +people of Zend!" + +You must know that the Gypsies of Spain practice a magic of two kinds. +Their magic of the first kind is compounded of pure bunkum and fraud. +Always in public do they practice this charlatanry and upon gullible +Gentiles whom they hope to hocus-pocus and swindle out of a few pesetas. +When they tell a buena ventura, or fortune, by crossing the dupe's palm +with a piece of the dupe's gold, this is the sort of arrant nonsense +they practice. The Hokkano Baro, the Great Trick, is another of their +thieves' devices. The Ustilar Pastesas and the Chiving Drao are still +others. In not one of the swindling tricks mentioned do they use any +true clairvoyancy or authentic warlockry; it is all sleight-of-hand and +humbuggery. At this kind of magic the Gypsies laugh loudest themselves. + +Those who in public practice magic in order to hoodwink others, always +practice in secret another sort of magic which they consider the true +magic, and in which they devoutly believe. This is dogma. Did not the +priests of ancient Egypt make magic in public to the cat-headed god +Bast, the bull Ptah, and the lioness Sakhmi whom they despised as images +of stone and machinery, but to whom they salaamed that the ignorant +rabble might continue to be hoodwinked? And did not those same priests +make magic in secret to the one true God? Thus with the Gypsies. In +secret they practice another and second kind of sorcery which they +believe in with a fanatic faith! + +And that was the kind of magic the girl Paquita practiced in secret down +on the tiny beach by the oleander-arcaded pool. Her execration solemnly +concluded, the beautiful and youthful dealer in the warlockry of the +Roms became again a hot wind of action. Swiftly she ran to the pool, +filled her cupped hands with water, and as swiftly came back again. + +The fires had died down into twin nests of coals. She cast no water upon +them. What water she carried in her cupped hands, she threw upon that +little sand image which resembled a man. + +Without pausing to watch the havoc she played with her handiwork, she +repeated the action, this time throwing water upon the little effigy +which looked vaguely like a woman. Then, her midnight-black hair falling +about her face and her dusky eyes burning from beneath the obscuring +oily threads with a strange sibylline fire, she crouched on her brown +bare heels before the two sodden hillocks of sand. + +Now, when standing upright, the two little images of sand had seemed +mated divinities, bound together by a common majesty. In their downfall +and watery ruin, however, one might say that they had become +antagonized; there was that in the way they fell which suggested a +coldness between them, a rift, a void. In melting and crumbling, the two +watersoaked little images had fallen gently away from each other. + +Paquita got up and shook back the hair from her face. Her face was +flushed, her eyes glowing with glad triumph. She laughed long and +arrantly. + +"It is written in the sands!" she exclaimed. "She will never have +Jacinto Quesada for her bridegroom. It is written; it has been shown to +me! Never will those two lie down together on the bed of marriage! And a +plague--even that hideous plague I asked for--shall come upon them; a +plague of low fevers and cramps of the stomach; a plague that shall +color their bodies blue and purple!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +Hypnosis is an abnormal cerebral state that soon wears off. As one who +wakes from a sleep or a spell, the girl Paquita now stretched her arms +wide, blinked her eyes, and looked swiftly over her shoulders and this +way and that. + +Then slowly, her head bowed in thought, her brow knotted in a little +puzzled frown, she walked to where lay rumpled on the sand her +ocean-green Spanish gown. She slipped into it, returned, stamped into +the beach the debris of the two images and then clambered up the rocks. +She left the watercourse behind, and neared the camp of the Gitanos. + +As she came through the trees that palisaded the clearing round, she +heard her father's voice and answering voices that she never before had +heard. She hesitated a moment, then crept forward quietly, almost to the +edge of the line of trees. Her body hidden by a bush, she parted the +screening foliage with her hands and looked out as through a little +window. + +Her father, Pepe Flammenca, known to the Gypsies as Flammenco +Chorolengro, stood face to face with an oddly attired stranger and with +him busily talked. The fantastic stranger was hardly thirty. He was a +little below the middle height, had a long body and short muscular legs, +and seemed all iron and strength. + +He wore the black rosette and ribbons of a matador in his coleta, his +queue--that long, thick, and sacred lock of hair all bullfighters wear +as the time-honored insignia of their ancient profession. His brown +Andalusian face was the typical young bullfighter's face--boyish, almost +effeminate with its mild contours. Upon his hands he wore riding gloves. +Over the shoulders of his short, gold-braided green jacket were slung +bandoleers crowded with cartridges. On a belt about his waist hung a +revolver and a sheathed knife. The pink silk stockings that clad his +legs were almost concealed by a pair of riding-boots of Cordovan +horsehide. + +Addressing Pepe Flammenca, he said, "A hundred times, in the last four +days, we have lost our way on the plains. And now we are about to +assault the defiles and goat paths of the Sierra Morena. We must have a +guide. You know the mountains; agree to guide us at your own price!" + +Behind him, standing in various attitude of attention, was a whole +background of men in oddly assorted costumes. When he spoke, they all +nodded assent like a Greek chorus, and remarked, "Si, si!" Evidently, +the young matador was their spokesman. + +"I cannot," Pepe Flammenca answered; "I must stay here. I am the chief +of this clan and must remain with my own people. But there is another +Gitano somewhere about the camp. To replenish our stock of wild meat, +the others went early away, but he and I stayed behind to look after the +horses and foals. With my permission, he can guide you. He knows the +Sierra Morena thoroughly. I will call him." + +Pepe Flammenca turned round, cupped his hands about his mouth and +bellowed, "Aguilino!" + +Came forth from behind the wagons, another man whom Paquita had never +laid eyes on before. + +He was clean-shaven, and brown as a mulatto. He wore the corduroy +leggings of a Gypsy and a red-striped shirt, and in true Zincali +fashion, his head was wrapped tightly with a red kerchief. Where his +left eyebrow once had been, was a hideous yellow scar that curved down +as far as the cheek bone. What with his harsh and evil features and his +mulatto-mahogany skin, this yellow scar gave him an altogether +villainous look. In his left hand, he held a currycomb. + +As the man approached, Pepe Flammenca turned to another of the strangers +and remarked: + +"When you first accosted me, after dismounting, you asked me for news of +the bandolero, Jacinto Quesada. Three times you asked me, and three +times I gave you the same reply. I was most truthful, but you were not +assured. You showed me a hand in which lay five gold coins. You thought +I had clenched my tongue between my teeth for some good reason, and the +sight of the red metal would make me loosen it. But even your tempting +golden Alfonsos did not cause me to lie. I have not seen Jacinto Quesada +in months, I repeat. I have had no word of him in months. Of his recent +movements I know nothing. + +"But question this buck of my clan, this Aguilino! You will be assured +of my honesty, then. I desire that. I know one of you to be Manuel +Morales, the greatest matador in all the Spains, and I desire Manuel +Morales to be convinced that Pepe Flammenca is no teller of lies." + +"I am convinced already, my friend!" interposed Morales at that. "Your +last words convince me." + +But another of the strangers, a foreign-looking hombre, proved more +cautious. + +"We will do what you say and question this man," he agreed in stilted +and strongly accented Spanish. "But first let us find out whether this +Little Eagle of yours will guide us through the mountains. That's the +most important business." + +The man with the foreign accent was big, broad-shouldered, fair-haired +and as smooth-shaven as any bullfighter. He was square of face, his jaw +was a round resolute knob, and his eyes were blue and very steady in +gaze. He was garbed in a dark sack suit of rather formal cut, a pair of +tan riding boots and a peaked Manchegan sombrero; and heavily equipped +with a belt of cartridges, a carbine and a Colt's automatic. It was the +American, John Fremont Carson. + +The nine fantastic looking cabalgadores closed about the ruffianly +Aguilino. They listened eagerly while Carson spoke to him in low +persuasive tones. At length Aguilino commenced nodding his head, saying, +"Si! I agree. Si! I will go with you." + +The tall Frenchman with the waxed mustache, Jacques Ferou, whispered +triumphantly in Carson's ear, "We have our guide. Now let fall the name +of Jacinto Quesada!" + +But the man Aguilino did not recoil at the sharp and sudden mention of +the bandolero. + +"Seguramente, yes; I have heard of him often. On the plains and in the +mountains. He is a most celebrated man. No, I have never seen him in the +flesh. Nor have I word of his recent movements. You say that he must +have passed this way either in the dark of last night or in the gray of +this very morning? Ah, senores, you do not know how many barrancas there +are that gutter these foothills! You do not know how like a shadow this +man Jacinto Quesada is--how like a fox that skulks and dodges and keeps +always his distance from the habitations and bivouacs of men such as we! +Jacinto Quesada come to our camp and break bread with us? Ah, senores, +senores, that would be too much honor!" + +The nine men exchanged glances of disappointment and dismay. They had +been altogether off in their guess. Jacinto Quesada had not stopped in +passing to hobnob with the Gypsies. He had not passed that way at all. +The cabalgadores felt themselves like beagles who mill around and bark +in vain braggadocio. Jacinto Quesada had shaken them off his heels. +Neither sight nor smell of their game had they. + +At this disheartening stage, suddenly from the forest a nut-brown girl +in a green dress came out and stood before them. She was round limbed +and delicately graceful as any nymph or naiad of the glens and +waterfalls. Her dye-black hair hung loose upon her shoulders; two spots +of hot crimson burned on the roundness of her cheeks; and her eyes +pulsed like fiery opals. She seemed all aflame with some strong emotion. +In a throaty shaking voice, she cried out: + +"My father lies! This Aguilino whom I have never seen before--he too +lies! Jacinto Quesada has been here, in this very spot! He came to this +barranca in the dark of last night--he and three dorados and a tall +ungraceful wench, pale as a sickly lily! They were given food, they were +given shelter for the night. Then went away but two hours ago. They went +on up the canyon!" + +A sharp gust of wind shrilled through the barranca, rattling among the +trees overhead. The sky seemed suddenly to darken, the day to grow +colder. Pepe Flammenca snarled aloud, between bared fangs, in the +gerigonza of the Gypsies which the strangers did not understand: + +"You horrible flea, you maggot of the dung, you vile daughter of an +unfaithful mother! Into my _tan_ and say not another word! For every +word you have said, you shall pay with ten lashes of greenhide across +your bare back!" + +The cabalgadores could not know what he said, but they sensed the threat +shaking his voice. No one spoke or made a move. The girl looked at her +father a moment with eyes like cold gloomy mountain lakes, then moved +slowly toward the large tent of the hetman. Her lips were set in a +disdainful and a triumphant smile. + +About the clearing and above her head, the trees shook and swayed as in +an agony. Three great drops of water fell with the weight of leaden +bullets and made slow stains upon her green gown. The dog-grass, vetch +and darnels of the clearing lifted up and seemed to drink the air. A +storm was approaching. Leaves whirled about like a hundred excited +birds. + +Of a sudden, the girl Paquita paused near the tent to turn her head and +fling back the words: + +"I have not lied! Though my father will beat me for it, I have told the +truth! I hate Jacinto Quesada!" + +"Say another word, thou child of a witch-woman and a demon!" sibilated +Pepe Flammenca in the Gypsy gerigonza, "and I will kill thee with my +bare hands!" + +The girl Paquita entered the tent of her father, there to await him and +his whip of greenhide. + +Suddenly and with great gusto, it began to rain. Great drops of water, +lead-gray and heavy as shot, pelted down. The cabalgadores sought the +cover of the trees. But the trees afforded little shelter, as the rain +volleyed this way and that at the will of the gusts of wind, and each +drop seemed to hold a whole cupful of icy water. In a trice, the men +were wet to the skin. + +Pepe Flammenca motioned them to the tents. Manuel Morales, Jacques +Ferou, and the American, Carson, found themselves together beneath the +same protection of canvas and vari-colored rags. + +"What do you think?" asked Morales. + +"That she spoke the truth," returned the Frenchman. "She had on my +Felicidad's green traveling dress. Jacinto Quesada has indeed been +here." + +"But will that great bearded Gypsy beat the girl?" anxiously asked +Carson. + +The tall Frenchman shrugged his shoulders. + +"The Zincali are a strange people, _mon Americain_!" said he. "And, +besides, she said he is her father. Would you interpose between a father +and his daughter?" + +Carson subsided into a gloomy silence and looked about the tent. + +"But this guide, Aguilino," continued Ferou. "He lied to us, Morales. +Should we trust ourselves to his guidance?" + +"What would you?" returned Morales in Spanish fashion. "We must have a +guide in these mountains, and there is no one else to hire. Surely, this +Aguilino is better than no guide. We will watch him, we nine men, and +above all, we will go on." + +The American motioned them into silence. He nodded over his shoulder +toward the rear of the tent. Behind them, they saw a naked child asleep +on a blanket between two dogs and an old hag of a Gitana crouched in a +corner, her eyes alive and fixed unwaveringly upon them. + +The men remained wordless but they did not sit down. The smell of +unwashed bodies and much-used body blankets of a sudden breathed into +their nostrils. The tent was filthy. All at once, the three wished +themselves out in the sweet, clean, if wet open again. + +"What these folk need is education," whispered Carson in Morales' ear. +"Education can do everything!" + +"Education, si!" returned Morales in the same manner. "But what they +need more is some one with a lion heart, a great golden arrogant heart, +to lead them in the fight, to lead them up!" + +Jacques Ferou said nothing, but as he followed them out into the open, +he smiled his calculating and very superior smile. + +Outside, the very mountains above seemed to have melted away into opaque +sheets of driving water. The earth was sliding in brown streams from +under their feet. The barranca boomed like a thousand drums beaten by +mad Arabs. + +To make himself heard above the booming of the rain, Jacques Ferou +cupped his hands about his mouth and screamed into the faces of the +others: "Let us go back. Sacre, we are soaking water here!" + +"No!" returned the others, and they grimaced in disgust. But the rain +fell with such outrageous passion that it was unendurable; there was +naught to do but return within the tent. + +Driven to it, they sought the shelter of the tent once again, but found +it now a very poor shelter beneath that onslaught of rain. It leaked +like a Japanese paper umbrella. And all the time the trees ran with +heavy tears, and the rain flooded down with a tumultuous booming and a +morose persistency. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +That night, after the storm ceased and a spell before the moon rose, a +man of the Guardia Civil rode across hills sweetened by the rain, and +came in a roundabout way to the ancient wild olive at the portal of the +barranca of the Gitanos. Here he dismounted and waited like one keeping +a tryst, smoking innumerable cigarettes and kicking up the soft loam +impatiently. He was Miguel Alvarado. + +At length and on the sudden, he heard sounds as of some one coming +toward him down the canyon through the dripping leaves. He hearkened a +moment, then lifted his voice in a rich but gentle baritone: + + "Loud sang the Spanish cavalier, + And thus his ditty ran: + God send the Gypsy lassie here, + And not the Gypsy man." + +She came to him from out the trees, the wench Paquita. She was clad in a +dress of vermilions and yellows, those vermilions and yellows now +bedusked by the soft light of the night. In her hair was wound a green +scarf. And, as she approached, she sang the answering quatrain: + + "At midnight, when the moon began + To show her silver flame, + There came to him no Gypsy man, + The Gypsy lassie came." + +Impulsively he ran to meet her. They were like shadows that merged +together and became one. They trembled, they swayed; they swayed as the +wild olive swayed in the wind of the night. They kissed long and +ardently. Then she drew herself away, throwing her head back and holding +him off with arms rigidly extended. + +"Ah, Miguel, my caballero of the impetuous lips," she sighed, "I could +love you with all my heart and soul, but for one little thing!" + +"Carajo! what is that?" he asked, his voice sharp with anxiety and +eagerness. "Have I not always been the most adoring and tender of +lovers--aye, and the most voracious and headlong, too? Did I not hurry +pellmell for this meeting, the moment you sent word to me by that Gypsy +brat? What have I done to make you think dismally of me? How have I +displeased you? Tell me; I burn to know!" + +She suddenly drew herself to him and clung there once again, kissing his +lips and fondling his head with her hands. He shivered in every limb. He +moaned in an ecstasy of delight, and pressed her to him with such +impetuosity and gusto that it seemed as if his arms would break her body +in two. + +Beneath the ardor of his greedy embrace, the girl Paquita shuddered and +went very pale in the gloom. A scream rose in her throat but she +smothered it, unborn. Across her shoulders, under her gaudy gown, were +red raw furrows where her father's greenhide had bitten and seared her. +But she made no outcry, she gave no sign, though she was as one who has +been tortured horribly and then given up to the iron caresses of a +terrible, crushing machine. + +His arms relaxed somewhat after a little, and she lay upon his neck and +whispered: + +"It is not what you have done; you were always the perfect lover. It is +what you are. You are a policeman, one of those feared and hated and +despised by my clan. I feel shame in loving a man of the Guardia Civil; +there is something in my Gypsy blood that makes me feel that shame. It +is the uniform you wear, the things that it symbolizes." + +"We Guardias Civiles are the bravest of Spaniards. We are most brave and +mettlesome men, every one!" returned the young policeman slowly, seeking +to marshal his arguments in order. "Most Spanish girls are quick to love +us if only because of our smart uniforms and gallantry and daring. And +it is as natural for me to be a policeman as it is for you to be a +Gitana. My father is a sergeant of the police; he has been in the +Guardia Civil for thirty years. And all my male ancestors have been +Guardias Civiles back to the long-ago, when they were bandoleros and +outlaws who grew tired of being hunted and became Miquelets." + +"But if you were more like your ancestors, the Miquelets--ah, then I +could love you body and soul!" breathed the girl Paquita. And she went +on very softly: + +"Last night, there came to our camp in the barranca an outlaw, a +salteador de camino. He was strong, he was magnificently strong, and he +had a long absolute jaw and bold, proud, imperious eyes. About him, like +an odor, hung the reek of the imposing and cruel and terrible things he +had done. + +"It is natural for us Gitanas to love an outlaw; we Gitanas are outlaws +to the core, ourselves. And he was as arrogant as a Bourbon prince, or a +sheik of Barbary, or an Andalusian sun on a noonday; but he looked at me +only with the eyes of contempt, granite eyes. I made the fool of myself +by flinging my body and soul at his feet. He--" + +"Cascaras! what was his name?" cried Miguel Alvarado sharply. It was as +though a knife had been plunged into his side and twisted this way and +that. + +"He was the glorious bandolero, Jacinto Quesada!" + +"Jacinto Quesada! That swollen toad, that strutting mountebank in rags +and tinsel, that upstart, the zascandil! Por los Clavos de Cristo! and +you flung yourself at him?" + +"But he is altogether the arrogant and brave man, altogether the savage +and magnificent one!" + +"Carjo! he is only a mountaineer's brat. We grew up on opposite slopes +of the same mountain of the Sierra Nevada. His clodhopper of a father +sold firewood to the sweet mother of me! He is uneducated; has no +resource or originality. And he lacks entrails as well as brains! I am +more varonil, I tell you; more impetuous with headlong daring than he. +Were there a man such as Miguel Alvarado in the shoes of Jacinto +Quesada, there would be things done, I wot! But I will show you what is +what. I--" + +"Yes, yes, you will show me--how, when?" + +But to the ears of Miguel Alvarado the wind had borne sound of the to-do +raised by an approaching horse. He hearkened to that pounding and +clattering, looking down the sweep of foothills below the barranca. He +saw nothing just at once. But the sounds became more distinct, drew +nearer. Those sounds leaped toward them in great panther leaps. + +Suddenly a man on horseback came bounding over the hogback of a hill +right below. He wore the tight uniform and the businesslike look of a +man of the Guardia Civil. His policeman's three-cornered hat of shiny +leather shimmered in the light of the newly risen moon. With the +velocity and abandon of a French dragoon, he galloped full tilt up +toward the barranca. And as he came, he shouted: + +"Hola, Miguelillo!" + +"It is my officer, my parent!" whispered the young policeman, and he +swore softly in disappointment. Then, with the absolute obedience of +only a Spanish son, he shouted back: "Here I am, Don Esteban, my father! +What do you want of me?" + +The sergeant of police came up like a driving pillar of sand and +dismounted while his horse was in full charge. Swinging his quirta, he +advanced swiftly upon the pair. There was in him no sign of the weakness +of age. He had a short, knife-sharp white beard, and a face as lean and +haughty as a griffon vulture's. From his tricorn hat still hung down, +behind his head, a sun shield of white linen cloth. + +"Come away with me!" he ordered peremptorily. "I have word that Jacinto +Quesada is in the mountains near the Pass of Despenaperros. While +there's work to do for Spanish policemen, I'll not have you playing the +bear for the entertainment of any senorita in Spain, no matter how fine +the moon!" + +He peered into the soft shade beneath the wild olive. + +"Aha, the maiden is with you, I see! But, zut! this is bad. She and you +alone in this abandoned glen--has the girl no thought for what the +people of her village will say of her?" + +"The girl is a Gitana!" spoke up Paquita proudly. + +"A Gitana! Blood of Christ! my son keeping tryst with a Gitana! Have you +no respect for your Christian mother, you ungrateful whelp? Have you no +pride in your policeman father and in your ancestors that have been +keepers of the peace of Spain for a hundred years? Have you no thought +of the uniform you wear?" + +The father was severely angry. + +"This is disgraceful, this is vile, Alvarado, my son! A Gitana, eh! Come +away with me, at once. Come away, and no more words with this wanton +Gypsy wench, or I shall lay my quirta across your back!" + +The imperious old man turned on his heel, strode away, and leaped with +one lithe strong spring upon his horse's back. Miguel Alvarado turned +from the girl and moved reluctantly toward his own horse. He feared his +father too much to disobey him. He feared his father as he feared +neither God nor the Devil. He knew his father would beat him without +qualm or ruth at the first word or look of defiance or rebellion. + +Man-grown though he was, he could prove to you an acquaintance with his +father's rawhide quirta by merely baring his young body to the waist. +Spanish family life is the most solid and wholesome thing about Spain. +Spanish sons and daughters respect and revere those who gave them life; +they have been taught respect and reverence at the ends of whips. In the +same manner, Jehovah made the Israelites love him; and who, through all +the years of the world, have been more faithful to God than the stern +race of Jews? + +"I will be here, at this wild olive, ere the waning of three nights. At +midnight of the third night, meet me, Paquita, virgin of my soul!" +whispered Miguel Alvarado, bending down from the saddle. + +"You will tell me then what you will do?" she whispered in return. "You +will tell me then, will you not, my caballero of the impetuous lips and +the great courage? I will remain chaste as gold, pure as a sacrament, +for you, caballerete!" + +"I will prove to you that I am not unworthy of your great love, my +little one. This Jacinto Quesada--za!" + +He thundered away after his proud and haughty parent. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +Up from the misty profundities of the Llanos de Jaen climbed, like slow +obstinate flies, the nine fantastic cabalgadores of Manuel Morales. +Also, their guide, Aguilino. They were all afoot. With them, up the +altitudes of the pass, yearned seven pack mules, heavy and swollen with +great panniers of provisions. + +The nine Quixotes and their scarred wolf of a guide had put two weeks of +frugal living and heartbreaking toil between them and the barranca of +Pepe Flammenca and his unwashed Gypsy clan. Right off, they had lost one +horse and then another. The beasts had taken headers off mountainsides. +They had consulted with their guide, the man Aguilino. He gave them to +understand that horses were considered of very little worth in both the +Sierra Morena and the Sierra Nevada. For a caravan of asses, they +succeeded in bartering their horses with the arrieros, or muleteers, +going down. + +Now, after two weeks, they had at last won through the rolling torrent +of mountains called the Sierra Morena. They were inching themselves up +the long perpendicular miles of the windy gorge of the Llanos de Jaen. + +The Llanos de Jaen is very narrow. One would think one could hurl a +peseta across it, until one tried. Were it not for the chasmy gap of the +Llanos de Jaen, the Sierra Morena and the Sierra Nevada would be one +tremendous chain of mountains. + +Half-way up, a mule stumbled in turning the flank of a precipice and +took the leap, screaming like a soul thrown headlong to Hell. The nine +Quixotes clung to the rock wall and felt sick to their stomachs. The +mule seemed falling for a thousand years. They did not dare to look down +and see it strike. The mule was the one the guide Aguilino had been +leading. Perhaps a shove from him had sent it on its way to death. +Again, perhaps not. + +High above, upon the top of a glassy and steep _risco_ or overhanging +rock, a man had moored himself with a short rope of horsehide. He was +Jacinto Quesada. But he did not look the bandolero of the plains. Garbed +as he was in alpagartas or rope sandals, the better to grip the +precipitous ascents, and in sheepskin zamarra and long shawl as +protection against the cold, he looked the true mountaineer. + +With the vigilant application of an eagle eying its meat circling all +unaware beneath its lofty eyrie, Quesada had been watching the men climb +laboriously up the sheer of the pass. Now, as the mule fell to its +magnificent death, he nodded his head in approbation and remarked to +himself: + +"Rafael Perez has finally set to work, I see! That is the first poor +mule. But the whole seven must be disposed of, before Morales and his +men journey far through the Sierra Nevada." + +The nine Quixotes did not know Quesada was perched there, far above +them. Long ere they crawled up to the overhanging rock, he had +disappeared completely. Yet they felt sure that somewhere beyond, among +the snowy crags and moaning canyons of the Sierra Nevada, Quesada was +pursuing his way with the girl Felicidad. + +A day prior, just before leaping the Llanos de Jaen and coming out of +the Sierra Morena, they had stumbled, in a hollow of the hills, upon a +mud choza that had the gloomy aspects of a hiding place for bandoleros +and moonshiners. The peasant and his wife who lived in the hut had said +no to all their questions. No, they had not seen Jacinto Quesada. No, +they never had heard of him, they lived so far away in the mountains, +senores. Don Jesu, they would not know him from the great Morales +himself! + + +But their half-witted son, a tall, shock-headed, ungainly lad, was +struck by the appearance of the cavalcade and especially by the +colorful, if oddly assorted trapping of Manuel Morales. Poor lad, he had +never before seen such glorious caballeros. + +As the disheartened men had made to lead on their mules, he had crept to +the offside of Morales' beast and there, hidden from the view of his +father, he had engaged in a quick, fearful pantomime. + +"What is it?" queried Morales. + +Vehemently the feeble-minded lad had pointed on ahead, on toward the +Llanos de Jaen and the Sierra Nevada beyond. + +"He has gone that way!" he whispered. "Si, Jacinto Quesada himself and a +girl white as the snows that fall in these hills. He passed here two +days since. Into the Nevadas, into the Nevadas, he has gone, senor +don!" + +Morales believed him, believed him even more implicitly than if his mind +had been sound. Despite the dubious looks and shakes of the head upon +the part of the guide Aguilino, all the cabalgadores agreed that the +poor feeble-minded fellow would be incapable of perpetrating a +deception. With energy and ardor they had pressed on. + +Now, as they won to the bare-fanged wind-shrieking altitudes of the +pass, Morales and his men felt dizzy; their stomachs churned, their +heads were like gas-filled balloons. Sheerly below them dropped the +narrow, profound gutter of the Llanos de Jaen. It seemed composed of +three parts rock, standing on end, and seven parts air, giddying around +in a stew. They drew their eyes away. They felt as if they would like to +leave off clinging by their finger nails and slip down into the abysmal +void. + +They sank down upon the uneven spaces of a granite spire that was as a +needle for slimness. Into the north rolled away, like a gray sea of +mist, the massive ramifying Sierra Morena. To the south and ahead bulked +up, even more imposing of port, the lofty altitudes of the Sierra +Nevada. It was like some long and magnificent staircase, its lower steps +of mica schist overgrown with gum cistus, rhododendron, and broom, its +top a dazzling flow of snow. Crags and peaks, jungled windy cuts, +rock-bound alpine lakes, creamy knobs, and sharp obelisks saw-edged the +sublime blue like the teeth of some titanic rake. The white melting +heads of old Muley Hassan and the Picacho de la Veleta looked but a jump +away, and yet with the mighty distance, the pink and purple of +rhododendron, the white and pink of trailing arbutus and the green of +gum cistus and broom seemed all of the same hazy blueness. It was a +stupendous, overpowering jumble of cathedral mountains, colossal +mountains, awful mountains. + +"The Sierra Nevada has a scowling look," remarked Manuel Morales. "We +may thank the good Dios humbly and gratefully, if we come triumphant +through those solitudes and steeps." + +"We must not lose another mule," said Jacques Ferou. "There are no red +deer in the Sierra Nevada, nor wild boar, nor even mongoose. Is it not +so? The panniers of provisions are our only salvation." + +"And the mules may be eaten, too, when we're hungry enough," added +Carson grimly. "I've eaten worse meat in my day in Death Valley, +California." + +Aguilino the guide heard the remarks without a quiver of his scarred +eye. + +Late that afternoon, John Fremont Carson halted his mule on the eyebrow +of a cliff and the caravan crowded together at imminent risk of one or +more going overside. His beast had gone suddenly lame, Carson said. It +was standing on three legs, gray head drooping, and attempting every +little while to put down its fourth leg. + +"Carajo! The cattle must be shot!" said the guide Aguilino at first +glance. "The contents of its panniers can be apportioned among the other +mules." + +"Nothing doing," said Carson shortly. "We can't afford to lose a single +mule." + +"You are right, monsenor," agreed Jacques Ferou. "In the Sierra Morena, +the cabanas of the mountaineers were far between and few, and we +succeeded in keeping our strength only by killing our meat as we went. +Here, this Sierra Nevada seems as empty of men and wild meat as the +deserts of French Algiers. We must save all our panniers, all our +mules." + +"Let me see the lame foot!" spoke up Manuel Morales suddenly. As are +most bullfighters, Morales was wise in horseflesh and its kindred +species. He crouched, took the hoof between his knees and examined it +carefully. All at once his head snapped up. + +"You lagarto, you lizard, you sly trick one!" he shouted at the guide. +"What Gypsy trick is this?" + +He showed the mule's hoof to the others. Slightly protruding from the +inside of that hoof was the head of a nail. It had been driven straight +into the quick. + +"Come, you flea!" commanded Morales. "Get me a pair of pincers, a hammer +with a claw--anything which will grip this nail and help to draw it +out." + +The guide, glad enough to hide his discomfiture, hurried away. But in a +moment he returned with empty hands. + +"Senor, we have no pincers, pliers, hammer--nothing of the kind!" + +The American blurted out an oath. + +"Think you can stump us, eh?" he said collectedly in English. And he +borrowed the revolver of Jacques Ferou, broke it, and emptied its six +chambers. + +"My automatic hasn't the leverage of your gun," he remarked to the +Frenchman in explanation. + +With the steel finger guard of the revolver he sought, as he spoke, to +get a grip on the head of the nail. But the nail had been driven in so +far that its head just barely protruded from the surface of the hoof. +There was no room beneath the nail-head for the slim steel of the finger +guard. + +Manuel Morales shouldered him away. Taking the hoof again between his +knees, he dug at the head of the nail with his bare fingers. It seemed a +preposterous thing to do, but he worked with a gnawing persistency. The +mule shivered in every member, and made hoarse, almost human sounds of +pain. Suddenly it screamed. Morales, his round face dark with blood and +shiny with sweat, his body hunched all in a knot, slowly drew out the +nail between the vise of two strong bullfighter's fingers! + +"Now we will go on," said Carson. + +"And no more of your Gypsy tricks, you lagarto!" Morales warned the +guide. + +Aguilino ignored the threat. + +"The hole is spurting black blood," he said. "Let me make a poultice to +stop the bleeding." + +He gathered a handful of the stick leaves of a gum cistus which grew in +the crevices of the cliff wall, chewed them in his mouth, then spit the +cud into his palm and pressed it over the ragged hole left by the nail +in the mule's hoof. + +Yet, for all the appearance of doing good, he seemed to handle the +painful leg with unwarranted brutality. The mule, snorting in agony and +anger, recoiled sharply from him toward the brink of the path. Before +the others could realize that anything untoward was in motion, before +ever they could leap forward to save the beast, he pressed his head and +shoulders against the burdened animal and it tottered on the crumbling +edge of the cliff, then went over, turning round and round like an empty +wine cask, banging its panniers against the rock faces, kicking the air +with frail legs, and screaming all the while frightfully. + +Manuel Morales caught the guide as he almost followed into the void. +With his two strong arms, the matador lifted him bodily into the air and +held him over the miles of emptiness. + +"You snake in the grass!" he swore. "We will see now with how much grace +you take the leap yourself!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + +The guide did not squirm. He could not squirm. He was stiff with terror +of the misty abysmal depths below. Yet, somehow, he managed to stutter: + +"Heart of God, senor, don't! You will lose yourselves--in these savage +mountains--without me to guide you! You will all starve to death! +Maestro, for the love of Mary the Pitiful, don't, don't!" + +There was something of truth in what the guide said. Morales put him +back upon the path. But he said with bitterness and brooding menace, "We +will lose no more mules. You will see to that, eh, my trustworthy man?" + +Aguilino worked more cleverly after that. + +In the dusk of the following night, Turiddu, the mule led by Morales +himself, went over a cliff, almost dragging the matador along. There was +no use blaming the guide, Aguilino. He had not been near the doomed ass +during the long morning and the longer afternoon. + +Besides, twenty times that day the beast had come within an ace of its +eventual finis. Since dawn, it had conducted itself in a contrary and +restive manner; it had shied without seeming cause, reared and plunged +forward in sudden frights, caracoled and beat the path with its hoofs, +and whinnied, snorted, and shaken its head as though unaccountably +irritated. It seemed a mule spirited and unrestrainably stimulated by +an overfeeding of oats; a mule intoxicated, possessed of a demon! + +What had befallen Turiddu in the shadowy darkness of the prior night, +Dios sabe! Yet the Gypsies have a jockey trick which might explain the +whole mystery. When selling or bartering mules and borricos, they drop a +tiny nodule of quicksilver into the long ears of the beasts. + +Have you ever suffered a drop of water in the ear and been unable to +move a hand to flick it out? The nodule of quicksilver is as irritating +as that. It is wet and never still. It frets the mules and causes them +to liven up their paces and seem more mettlesome. + +Morales and his cabalgadores watched the guide with deep but +indefensible suspicion. Vexedly they wondered and worried. Finally, in +the next few days, they were provoked into savage anger when three more +mules took it upon themselves to act unconventionally, and then die in +fits, one, two, three. + +These mules were thoughtful and discreet to a degree. They did not leap, +screaming, off the walls of the mountains. They expired in their tracks +and therefore saved to the nine Quixotes the panniers strapped over +their spines. + +Morales and his men became, all at once, coldly furious. The third mule +in dying, coughed up a round, compactly pressed ball of pointed +black-green leaves. Some one in the company had forced handfuls of +oleander leaves down the throats of the three mules! + +Now, the leaves of the oleander are extremely poisonous to man and +beast. Horses and kindred cattle have an instinct which warns them +against eating the shrub. But man who has no strong instincts, often +dies poisoned by the oleander's juices. It is related that several +British soldiers during the Peninsular War cut and peeled some oleander +branches to use as skewers for roasting meat over the campfires. Of the +twelve men who ate that meat, seven died. + +Even a creature as asinine as an ass knows enough to avoid the pointed +black-green leaves. Most mules would rather starve than even smell of +the plant. Yet, during the nights that preceded their untimely +taking-off, some one in the company had forced handfuls of the poisonous +leaves down the throats of the three mules. + +For hours before the death, each mule had coughed. Also, each mule had +simpered, simpered like a convent girl. Simpered is a strange word to +use in such a case, but it describes exactly the way the mules had moved +and worked their lips in a try to rid their stomachs of the deadly +leaves. + +Of the whole caravan of seven mules that had trotted so bravely out, +there was left now but one sorely burdened ass. The nine cabalgadores +weighted the surviving beast with some of the provisions from the backs +of the three poisoned mules; they encumbered their own shoulders with +the rest; then they continued doggedly on, thinking to kill the last +mule for meat, once the provisions upon their backs and in the panniers +were completely exhausted. + +That night they bivouacked in a stony and savage ravine, and built two +small fires, and hugged them close. It was very cold. An icy mountain +fog or _neblina_ had crept down like a clammy gray ghost from the windy +passes and frozen snowfields far above. One could not see much farther +before one through the thick mist than the nose upon one's face. + +They wrapped their ponchos about them and shivered in the damp. A cavern +of snarling wind-echoes and of eddying, dark shapes was the steep +ravine. Down the length of it, the fog marched like an endless caravan +of ghostly, silent, gray mules. The two fires, robust enough and +certainly well attended, seemed as pale and anæmic and cold as two +incandescents in the black heart of a mine. + +Without the fling of the twin fires, a man in sheepskin zamarra, +alpagartas and voluminous mountaineer's shawl sat cross-legged on a +large boulder and watched the men bulk before the flames, and move back +and forth, and lie down, keeping close together for warmth. He did not +seem to feel the icy chill of the fog; he did not seem to fear +discovery. And yet, should the fires leap up and burn voraciously +because of some knot braided with pitch, he would be disclosed most +surely to the men about the flames. + +For days, however, he had been with them and never once had chance +betrayed him to the men he watched. He had clung to a risco above them +when they had climbed like slow obstinate flies out of the profundities +of the Llanos de Jaen and plunged into the gargantas and barrancas of +the desolate Sierra Nevada. He had hung upon their flank as a wolf hangs +upon the flank of a gang of deer; as a podenco, or hunting dog, hangs +upon the flank of a sounder of wild boar. While they ate, he had +lingered near and, with a rare and pensive curiosity, had watched them +slowly but surely exhaust the linings of their mules' panniers. + +Suddenly, from the boulder on which he sat as quietly as another rock, +he lifted up his voice in a long, thin, bestial ululation. Such a somber +and unearthly sound is made only by the Spanish she-wolf when, standing +above the den of its brood, it gives tongue to a thousand old memories +and desires. + +One of the recumbent figures about the fires lifted himself upon an +elbow and, his face sharp, hearkened intently. Again, from the boulder, +uprose the steely cry, mournful as a wail sent spearing aloft from +Purgatory. From his elbow, Aguilino the guide lifted himself to his +feet. + +"When you hear the she-wolf give tongue," he answered to the inquiring +looks of the others, "you may be sure that its den and runways are near. +The young fat cubs make fairly good meat. I will go out into the +darkness, hearkening to the cries of the bitch, and if I am lucky, I may +locate the brood for you. God willing, we will have an oteo, a +wolf-drive, at dawn to-morrow!" + +He walked out of the radius of the firelight and went stumbling through +the shadowy gloom. As he brushed through the white buckthorn, arbutus, +and holly which sprouted in the more generous soil between the boulders, +those about the fires could hear a swishing and snapping, and a +regular-spaced crackling from the rich mould under his walking feet. +Then all crackling and rustling ceased, and the night was darkly still. + +Aguilino halted at the foot of the boulder. The man in the mountaineer's +shawl dropped down beside him. + +"Rafael Perez," he said, "to-morrow you must murder the last mule!" + +"But, Don Jacinto, I dare not! Three times already have they threatened +my life, and they regard me forever with the most savage of looks. The +others I do not fear so much, but that magnificent one--I tell you I +fear Morales so that I shudder at each of his glances. The man looks +murder. Believe me, Don Jacinto, he would shoot me like a dog should I +make but one more move!" + +"Then I must finish that last mule myself. To-morrow, above the Pass of +the Blessed Trinity, where the three roads converge into one, I will +send down a boulder to crush out its life." + +"Ah, that is better, senor don! They cannot blame me if a little rock +falls from the heights, while I walk with them through the gap. But how +much longer must I endure their scowling looks, maestro? My life is not +worth a peseta while I linger with that company." + +"They continue to eat, do they not?" said Quesada significantly. + +"Si, but it's no fault of mine. Don Jacinto, how could I dare send more +than three mules toppling off the mountain walls? You yourself, maestro, +told me to resort to the oleander leaves. Remember, it was in that +little talk behind the granite crag? But the oleander leaves did not get +rid of the panniers of the three poisoned beasts. These Quixotes fill +themselves from those panniers without stint, especially the Frenchman. +They will continue to eat for a few days--" + +"Hola, the Frenchman has an appetite, eh?" + +"Seguramente, si! But when shall I quit the distasteful presence of that +terrible Morales?" + +"To-morrow at dusk, if you will have it." + +"A thousand thanks! But what excuses shall I give, Don Jacinto?" + +"Say to them that it is not the will of God that you go farther!" + +"Carajo, they will shoot me for it!" + +"Que, que! What of that? They will only cheat the Guardia Civil of +another black rogue!" + +Little comforted by the words of consolation, grumbling and shaking his +head morosely, Rafael Perez, alias Aguilino, returned to the bivouac of +the nine fantastic ones. The other, who wore the garb of a serrano, +hurried away through the foggy darkness, his head bent and brow +thoughtful. + +The following day, as slowly they climbed one of the three roads which +led into the mournful Pass of the Blessed Trinity, a huge boulder came +bounding down from the granite heights, viciously leaped by John Fremont +Carson's head and, having been deflected by a rock above, missed the +last mule by a good dozen yards. The guide Aguilino swore in his chest, +and no one heard him. + +As the sun rose to its meridian, the vertical rays, reflected from the +stony bare-fanged walls, gave off an intense heat, and the party halted +in a hollow that lay brown and lean between two mountains. The men +squatted down to partake of a light noontide repast, and it was then +that Rafael Perez approached Morales. + +"Caballero of my soul," he said fearfully, "I can go no farther with +you!" + +"Disparate!" exclaimed Morales, jumping to his feet. "What nonsense is +this! Hola, Ferou and you, Carson; the treacherous knave desires to +abandon us!" + +The Frenchman and American crowded up. + +"But he cannot!" objected Ferou. "We will not let him!" + +"What reason have you for refusing to go farther?" asked Carson, turning +upon the guide. + +"Senores," replied Aguilino with feigned humility, but no little +trepidation; "it is not the will of God!" + +"It is not the will of Jacinto Quesada, you mean!" bit out the American +with quick penetration. + +Aguilino shrugged his shoulders expressively. + +"Senores," he whined, "there are no churches in these mountains, and men +of the good Dios come but seldom here. In these mountains, the will of +Jacinto Quesada moves stronger than does the will of God!" + +"Ah!" exclaimed Morales, with sudden understanding. "So that's it, eh?" +And his youthful face cold and grim, he lifted his automatic pistol and +shoved it beneath the nose of the guide. + +"Smell of its maw, my good hombre!" he commanded metallically. "Now tell +me whose will you will obey!" + +Aguilino grimaced like a frightened monkey. + +"Heart of God, Senor Don Manuel, I will stay, I will stay!" + +They went on through the hollow in the northern hills. And Aguilino +shook his head. + +"It is that terrible Morales," he mumbled to himself. "Don Jacinto does +not know him. Twice has Don Jacinto failed me this day." + +They went up a dark green corry that looked like the hiding place of +savage wolves. It was a narrow bridle path, a mere tunnel hewn out of +solid rock and overarching foliage. The afternoon drew into twilight; a +dim fresco held beneath the plait-work of lentisk, oleanders, and +clinging briar; and then, all at once, the corry topped its rise and +began descending, plunging down abrupt rock faces and zigzagging about +the mountainside like the spiral of a corkscrew. It made the spine +tingle to think that one false step in the darkness might precipitate +one into the unseen murmuring stream far below. + +They camped, that night, in a dell at the foot of the corry, not far +from the constantly crashing stream. When they sprawled out to sleep, +Morales and John Fremont Carson drew close on either side of Aguilino +and carelessly dropped a leg across his legs, one from the right, the +other from the left. + +But they slept too well, those self-appointed bodyguards. What with the +fatigue poisons that had been gathering in their joints and muscles +during the long toilsome day and the many days which had preceded it, +they could not hope to bat one eye in sleep and keep the other warily +winking at the mat between. Quickly they became like logs of wood, +incapable of feeling and enterprise. And in some black cavernous hour of +the night, Aguilino crawled out and away. + +They awoke in the chill dawn, and looked about them with red-rimmed +eyes, and spoke together in husky whispers. Without a guide, they were +like the fabled babes in the wood. They were lost completely in those +gray, echoing, savage mountains. + +They breakfasted glumly and, with lightened packs upon their shoulders, +went on. Now before them stalked no Gypsy guide; before them stalked an +emaciated and bony specter that looked back to grimace every little +while, and to beckon them on--the specter of Starvation! + + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +High on a shoulder of the Picacho de la Veleta, one late afternoon, +stood Jacinto Quesada. It was very cold, and his mountaineer's shawl was +drawn tightly around his throat and knotted about his middle. About and +above him frowned the crags and snow spires and sinister precipices of +the sierras; below, splitting the mountain like a great clean knife-cut, +was a deep, winding pass. + +Quesada was morosely engaged in watching the peculiar antics of a number +of men in a cove or pocket to one side of that pass. + +Inset in the pocket, under a thatched pointed roof, was a rudely carved +figure of the Saviour hanging from a cross. The sacred effigy was +fashioned of some white pine, with a crown of black horsehair and dabs +of red paint, in hands and crossed feet and side, to depict bleeding +wounds. It was a homely and stark symbol, a shrine famous in the +mountains as the Christ of the Pass. + +But the men, despite that poignant reminder before them, were not +kneeling in prayer to Heaven. They were squatting among the huge +boulders in the ragged prickly gorse, their heads lolling on their +chests, and their words, when they talked, coming in disjointed, +never-finished sentences as if they were wearied and needed sleep. + +They were the nine fantastic cabalgadores. They were starving. For three +days not a morsel of food had passed their lips. Theirs had been a +complete fast from organic solids. That noon, at a mountain burnlet, for +the last time they had drunk copiously of water. It had served to keep +up their ebbing strength. + +Now, however, they were suffering all the distress and tortures of +hunger and thirst. Their stomachs yearned, but the gastric juices were +dry; their heads ached and at times felt heavy as shot, and at other +times, light and dizzy. They had been compelled to sit down. They were +still too low in the sierras to come across the tracks of snow-capering +wild ibex and thus appease their famished stomachs. They were suffering +an agony, hopeless and cruel. + +Starvation excites the imagination and causes giddying eyes to see +illusions. It was thus with John Fremont Carson, the American. Come of +light-headedness and fretted nerves, he had thought, all through that +third day, that as they walked along they were companioned by a strange +man who walked with them, now on one hand, now in the brush on the +other. + +Pausing for minutes to think, losing the line of thought, beginning and +never finishing his statements, yet somehow he communicated his fancy to +Morales. The matador nodded; he also had seen the shawl-wrapped gliding +figure. But the Frenchman pleaded ignorance of any such illusion. + +Of a sudden now, as they squatted about the shrine, aware only of the +ceaseless gnawings of their stomachs, from up the road came the crash as +of a falling bounding stone. It was as if some one, moving along the +cliff above their heads, had dislodged the stone from underfoot. + +"It is he," said Carson, and he thought he added: "The unknown man." But +the words died unsaid on his parched lips. + +Morales nodded and continued to nod, his head wagging loosely like that +of a mechanical toy. After an appreciable interval, he said, "He is +prowling about us like a hungry wolf." + +The tall, blond, mustached Frenchman seemed the strongest of all those +once-strong men. He pulled out his large-calibered revolver. With none +of the hesitancy of feebleness, he said: + +"I shall go forward. I am the only one that can walk and see straight. +If this unknown man is truly skulking about, I shall find out what he is +doing up there ahead." + +He left the pitiful cluster of men. Without any signs of dizziness or +staggering, he walked between the boulders which bestrew the path. Bent +sharply forward, revolver in hand, he disappeared around a turn of the +road. + +Abruptly, from beside the road and very near at hand, came then, loud +and distinct, the sharp snapping of shrub twigs. The men squatting +before the shrine looked about dully. Out of the gorse and bramble +beside the road stepped the man whom they had seen following them all +that day. He wore heavy rope sandals, sheepskin zamarra, a long serape +and pointed mountaineer's hat. He was Jacinto Quesada. + +Weakly the famished men reached for their weapons; but he smiled with +friendliness and commiseration, and sat down among them. + +"There is no need of force, senores," he said. "I am here of my own free +will." + +The starving men looked at him as they would at a ghost, hardly able to +credit their eyes. As he spoke, Morales reached over and touched him on +the arm. + +"My soul!" he exclaimed, the excitement of the discovery stimulating his +undermined energies. "He is real--Jacinto Quesada himself!" + +"You are starving, senores," said the bandolero, "or else you would +never doubt that it is I. But I prolong your agony. Eat; I have brought +you food!" + +From beneath the voluminous folds of his shawl, he produced a bota or +skin of wine and an osier basket containing cold sausages of meat, a +chunk of goat's cheese, and some cornbread. + +The famished men clawed the stuff from his hands. They were too hungry +to pause for politeness or to think of thanks. They did not even stop to +realize how incongruous it was that he whom they had been relentlessly +pursuing should come to them now of his own accord and bring them that +which they so direly needed. They thought only of appeasing the gnawings +of their stomachs which had sharpened and become suddenly overpowering +at the sight and smell of food. + +They crammed fistfuls of food into their mouths and gulped the whole +fistfuls almost without chewing. They ate without wait for words or +breath, ravenously, like lean voracious wolves. But after a little, the +American halted, a stout piece of bread to his lips. He looked at +Morales with eyes that were livening with quickly returning energy. + +"Jacques Ferou!" he breathed. + +"Si," exclaimed Morales, also pausing between a mouthful. "The +Frenchman!" + +"The Frenchman?" repeated Quesada, and he laughed bitterly. "Ah, he is +well able to take care of himself; he is a very lizard for living on! He +has not been starving like you. From the back of that last mule, ere I +shot it from across the canon and caused it to drop off the cliff, he +filched a loaf of bread. His distress has been even more severe than +yours because he tempted his stomach without wholly satisfying it; but +by nibbling secretly for the last few days at this bread, he has been +enabled to keep fairly strong." + +The men, their tissues, muscles, and nerves, undergoing rapid repair +because of the nutriment they had taken into their systems, looked +astounded and a little incensed. + +"But why did he not share with us?" asked one, Baptista Monterey, a +short thick-set banderillero in the ordinary tight-fitting black clothes +of the profession. + +"The man is a French crook, a member of the clever criminal society of +White Wolves," explained Quesada with marked patience. "From what +Felicidad has told me about him, I have come to understand the workings +of his evil mind. I know what he is about. You appreciate, senores, that +Don Manuel and this Americano, Senor Carson, both withdrew large sums +from the Bank of Spain, and that the residue of these sums is still +upon their persons. Jacques Ferou has made up his mind to get this +money. The man is avid for money. He means that you all should die, and +that he shall survive you!" + +"But he must be starving now," objected Morales. "The bread could not +last forever." + +"It lasted until yesterday evening," rejoined Quesada. "And this morning +he accidentally cut his hand on a projecting rock. I was watching from +the brush to one side. He sucked the blood from the cut, and that +further strengthened him. It is odd, mis caballeros, but a man can live +for many days by taking his own blood into his system. It is better even +than water." + +"But now," persisted Morales. + +"Would you care to see what Ferou is doing now?" + +They nodded with an awakening show of eagerness. + +"We will bring him food anyway," said Carson. + +Packing the now flabby bota of wine and the few sausages and bits of +bread and cheese which remained, they went on up the road between the +boulders at the heels of the stalking bandolero. Twilight was +thickening. They rounded the bend and there, where the road slanted down +into a ferny depression, they made out before them, seated a-straddle a +fallen tree, the Frenchman, Jacques Ferou. + +They watched in a kind of bewilderment. The Frenchman's gray-coated back +was toward them, and he was bending down over the trunk. He appeared to +be working with his hands at the trunk and carrying those hands, every +so often, to his mouth. But it was all very vague in the thick twilight. + +"Chispas!" exclaimed Morales in perplexity. "What is he doing there?" + +"Eating the wood-grubs in that rotten tree!" + +The men ejaculated in wrathful resentment. Said Carson: "So that's why +he left the camp alone!" + +"Si; the French pig!" from Morales. "And he would not tell us of even +this distasteful means of satisfying our hunger and preserving our +lives!" + +"Despacio!" warned Quesada in a low tone. "Softly, gently, senores. Let +us not disturb him, but go back alone. I have a deal more to tell you +about this man. I should prefer that he would not be near to hear." + +They rounded the bend and made down the road toward the shrine. As they +went, Morales and Carson looked at one another. Then, without haste and +very grimly, each reached into the osier basket on the American's arm +and passed out among the men the remainder of the food. + +The moon rose over the hills as they approached the shrine, and a random +shaft, plunging down the pass, lighted the white figure and bleeding +wounds of the crucified Christ with stark and ghastly effect. The men +squatted among the boulders in the ragged prickly gorse. + +"Senores," began Jacinto Quesada, "ever since you entered these +mountains, I have been close to you. Every move you have made, I have +watched; every unfortunate circumstance which befell you, I have +caused. I rolled the boulder down the cliff which was meant for your +last mule. I shot that last mule, three days ago, from the other side of +the box canon. The day before that, I commanded the guide to leave you. +You did not recognize Aguilino; you thought him a Gypsy; but he is my +dorado, Rafael Perez, who helped rob you on the Seville-to-Madrid!" + +The men murmured their surprise at the revelation. + +"But why," ejaculated Morales, "why, Senor Quesada, did you do all +this?" + +"In order that I might show you Jacques Ferou in his true light. Once +you were starving, I knew the innate selfishness of the man would out. +Then, if I could make you believe me in the matter of the Frenchman, I +knew you must believe me in my whole story. Listen, senores, and I shall +tell you the reason why I snatched and fled away with the girl." + +Quickly then, Quesada sketched to them the story told him by Felicidad. +He ended: + +"You see, senores, I did not actually kidnap this old friend of my +childhood. It was her wish. I merely took her away to save her from a +worse evil, this filthy one, Ferou!" + +Strong now with the meal he had eaten and strangely elated over the +story he just had heard, the matador sprang enthusiastically to his +feet. + +"Senor Don Jacinto!" he exclaimed. "You are a bandolero of the splendid +good old sort--the José Maria, the Visco el Borje sort! I knew it, +caballero of my heart! You are a true Moor, chivalrous and brave!" + +Carson, with the canniness so characteristic of the American, was not to +be so easily convinced. True, for the salt that he had eaten, he was +under obligation to Jacinto Quesada. He appreciated that obligation and +was thankful to the bandolero for what he had done for him and the +others. But what he appreciated, probably in fuller mete than did any of +the others, was that Quesada was a man, clearheaded, far-sighted, +judicious, and acutely adroit. + +Quesada had convicted himself, by his own word, of robbing them of their +mules and guide in order to bring them into a state of starvation. Once +they were enfeebled by hunger and thirst, he had come to them with food. +Naturally they were grateful. And it was while their hearts were warm +with gratitude toward him that he had related the past incidents in a +new phase, incriminating one of their number, the Frenchman, and very +plausibly explaining his reasons for running off with the girl. He had +sowed suspicion and dissension among them, what time he had placed +himself, in the matter of Felicidad, in a good if not heroic light. It +all seemed an ingenious, well-calculated, and bold plan. + +"But," objected Carson, "but may we not see the girl? Not that I doubt +you, Senor Quesada," he added with almost Spanish politeness; "but we +have come all this way to help Senorita Torreblanca y Moncada and it +would greatly please us, now, to see her and to know that she is safe." + +"My native village of Minas de la Sierra," said Jacinto Quesada, "is +only a night's journey farther up the Picacho de la Veleta. There +Felicidad is staying in the cabana of my mother, and to there I shall +be glad to guide you. Yet I warn you, senores!" He paused ominously. + +"What is it?" asked Carson sharply. + +"Something wrong with Felicidad?" from Morales. + +"Yesterday," said Quesada, "my mother died. She had long grieved for my +father, but we fear it was not grief alone which killed her. We fear, +senores," and his voice lowered--"we fear cholera!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + +The cabalgadores started in horror and a kind of personal fear. +Explained Quesada with grave composure: + +"In this autumnal season of sudden weather changes, it is forever +scaling these hills, the cholera, and skulking into the pueblos in the +night. When the rain sweeps down, muddying our water and making howling +torrents of the dog trails, we cannot descend the sierras for the fruits +of the plains; we must subsist on our few scanty vegetables; and the +impure water and the poor, changeless diet bring on the plague. When the +sun breaks through the squalls and fogs, the abrupt alteration of damp +and dry stony heat aggravate the conditions. Therefore, whenever one of +us dies in this season and there is no doctor to tell us exactly why +that one died, we instantly think of the cholera. + +"It was thus in my mother's case. The only doctor near here who will +journey up these perilous goat paths and moaning gorges to help the poor +serranos, is the hidalgo doctor, Don Jaime de Torreblanca y Moncada, a +grandee of Spain and Felicidad's own father. We sent one of the +villagers for him, but he was away looking for Felicidad and for his +stolen money. And my mother died. It may be nothing, senores; it may be +the dread cholera; but at least, mis caballeros, I have warned you." + +Questioningly, almost with haughty challenge, he looked at Morales. The +matador hesitated. He glanced at his cuadrilla. Whether because of the +privations they had suffered, or because of the pale light from the +chance moonbeams, or because of an inconcealable revulsion and dread, +the faces of the bullfighters looked blanched and sharply haggard. The +matador turned for moral aid to the American. + +Carson was engrossed in a perplexity of thought. Was this but an +obstacle suddenly contrived and cunningly put in their way to cause them +to take the bandolero's word on its face value, without seeking further +to ascertain the facts about the girl? Quesada had left himself room to +crawl out. It might be nothing, he had said, or it might be a noxious +pestilence. It could always prove to be nothing. + +"We will risk the chance," decided the American with determination. "We +will go with you to your barrio." + +There was a noisy rustling and crackling of the gorse as the men +scrambled afoot. Well, suddenly above the noise, from the +foliage-embowered darkness up the road, exploded a voice of command: + +"Throw up your hands, you Jacinto Quesada!" + +It was the voice of the Frenchman. He stepped into the moonlight. Tall +and blond, his ashy skin drawn tight with virulent resolution over his +hawklike face, his slate-colored eyes showing bright as an animal's, he +pointed his large-calibered revolver at the bandolero. + +Quesada obeyed with quick dispatch. Yet he found occasion to whisper to +the others, "I have told you the truth, senores. I am altogether in your +hands." + +Whether they should intervene just then or allow things to take a +certain limited course, the American and the matador were uncertain. How +much had the Frenchman heard? Did he know that he himself was accused of +crime, of thievery and abduction, and of worse than crime--failure to +share with them while they were enduring the intolerable pangs of +starvation? Was this but a bold move to retrieve favor in their eyes? +Carson and Morales decided, all at once to wait. + +Never removing the menace of the revolver, slowly Jacques Ferou drew +near. + +"Carson," he instructed with biting command, "you search him. He has my +roll of five-thousand peseta bills!" + +Plainly then Carson realized that the Frenchman could not have overheard +Quesada's history of that money. This was but a presumptuous and +shameless attempt to recover the doctor's bills! + +"He hasn't your money, Ferou!" objected Carson with promptitude and +energy. "He just has told us that he turned those bills over to +Felicidad, whose dowry they were." + +It was, of course, a lie. Quesada had explained quite definitely, in the +course of his story, that he was holding the purse against an occurrence +he dreaded. He knew, with a fearful certitude, that Doctor Torreblanca y +Moncada must soon hear where his disgraced daughter had found refuge; +and then would he come, stony of eye and agate of heart, to wreak +vengeance upon her. Quesada intended to produce the bills, at that +trying moment, in the hope that their appearance would have the effect +of mitigating the awful anger of the haughty Don Jaime. + +But the Frenchman, not having overheard any of Quesada's recital, +swallowed the bait in blissful ignorance. + +"Is that so?" he queried with a lift of his blond eyebrows. He leaped +into a sudden and importunate impatience. "Let us go, let us go to my +fiancée!" he urged. "Oh, I must see Felicidad!" + +Said Morales very coldly, "Jacinto Quesada is just about to lead us to +his native pueblo where the girl is domiciled." + +"But I trust him not! How do we know that he will lead us aright; how do +we know that it is not all a lie? Blue devils! he may have the very +money on him now and be but leading us into a snare! Here you, Quesada! +Keep up your arms! I will search you myself alone!" + +But Carson stepped between. + +"Senor Quesada has offered to guide us to his village," he said, "and +Don Manuel, his cuadrilla and I have signified our willingness +implicitly to trust him. You must abide by the decision of the majority. +Ferou, put down your gun!" + +The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders. It was wise to obey; there were +two and more against him. He stuck the weapon in his coat pocket. + +But Quesada shook his head. + +"I will trust him not, this Frenchman, senores. My offer was to you. If +the Frenchman is to go along, he must go along unarmed." + +"_Mais non, mais non!_" expostulated the Frenchman, lapsing in his +agitation into his native language. + +"_Pues y que?_" asked Morales sharply. "Why not?" And he snatched the +revolver, with the words from Ferou's pocket. + +The Frenchman seemed of a temperament to blow hot and cold by turns. He +recovered almost immediately from his first fears. He shrugged his +athletic shoulders. A man like a gutta-percha ball he was, resilient, +full of elasticity, rebounding when struck. Behind Morales' back, slyly +and covertly he smiled his calculating and very superior smile. + +Now, following the striding long-legged figure of the bandolero, the +nine cabalgadores pursued on and upward through the moon-shimmering +night. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + +On the great rock at the brink of the village of Minas de la Sierra +where, years before when he was yet a very little Spaniard, Jacinto +Quesada had stood with his weeping mother and watched his father hurry +down the mountainside on an enterprise of forlorn and fatal desperation, +a boy in cotton knee breeches and bare brown legs, despite the mountain +cold, stood waiting like some statue carved in basalt. + +Behind him, into the dull gray wash of sky, the Picacho de la Veleta +lifted its craggy head; off to the northeast bulked snowy old Muley +Hassan, Cerro de Mulhacen, the highest peak of the peninsula; and all +about, just brightening with the chill light of dawn, were the bleak +spires of lesser mountains, shadowy defiles, dark and moaning gorges. +Nothing moved in the leaden, glacial, desolate reaches save an immense +lammergeyer that hovered on slow wings over its high eyrie like some +black dragon of morbid fancy. + +Presently, out of the gloom of a lower gorge, the shapes of men emerged +into view and began mounting the fiber-line of goat path which curved +and twisted and wound up to the barrio like a convoluted snake. It was +Jacinto Quesada, leading the nine cabalgadores, weary from the long +climb through the night. + +The boy began crying out at the sight. It is an odd fact that sounds +high on mountains lose in volume, but gain in distinctness and carrying +power. The cries of the boy that were more like the bleating of a +helpless ewe beset by wild dogs, dropped down to the men in the gorge. + +"Oh, Jacinto, caballero of my soul!" he shrilled. "The mother of me, who +waited in her last illness upon your own good mother--God rest her +soul!--my own pobre mamacita is sick! Last night, her stomach turned +upside down on her, and to-day her skin is blue and cold! Save her, Don +Jacinto of my heart; save her to me, and the Holy Mother of God will +kiss your brow with fortune!" + +"Hush, Gabriellito!" said Quesada tenderly, when he came up in the van. +He gathered the boy to him, under one arm, and turned to the others. His +young smooth brown face was priestly with pain and somberness and a +great pity. In a grave voice, he said: + +"There can be no mistake, senores; it is indeed the dread cholera! Like +the great black wings of that lammergeyer of the air, it has closed down +about my poor pueblo." + +A little clatter of sound came from a yellow run of water as it +trickled, after the old Moorish fashion, down the village street through +an open stone gutter. In Minas de la Sierra, clinging like a +cragmartin's nest to a ledge of the Picacho de la Veleta, there was +naught else of sound or movement. + +No old men mumbled endless talk in the cold sun beneath the cork-oak in +the center; no shawled manzanilleros strode by with panniers of the +white-flowered manzanilla upon their backs. From the scanty forests +above came no sound of woodchoppers, no steely ring of axe on pine. +Tightly closed were the wooden hatches which shuttered the windows of +the mud-and-thatch cabanas. Within, no light from the great open +fireplaces cleaved the darkness. There was no laugh or squeal of +children. + +Gabriel, the village lad, unable to restrain his nervousness and deep +fear, hurriedly led them to the mud choza where his mother lay dying. It +was very dark within. Strings of pimentos hung drying from the low +rafters. There was a bed on either side of the cold fireplace. On one of +the beds the woman was prostrated under a heap of rags. + +All sap seemed to be drained from her body. She was withered and +dark-hued as a burnt match. Carson stooped and felt her wrist. The +pulse-beat was an almost imperceptible flutter. Quesada spoke gently to +her and, with brave effort, she answered in a whisper that was as the +gasping of a wind through one of the boulder-strewn passes above. That +was the _vox cholerica_. She was in the second and usually fatal stage +of malignant cholera. + +They left the boy lamenting softly at the bedside of his mother. + +"She is a widow," said Quesada, "and all he has left in the world." + +Their fears a hideous certitude now, grimly they went through the dying +village. In a nearby hut, they found an old white-haired man altogether +dead. His muscles were oddly contracted; one arm was turned round, the +palm of the hand out and hanging over the edge of the cornshuck tick. +As very often happens after death through cholera, his body was not only +still warm, but rising in temperature, burning up. + +It seemed poignantly lonely in there with the solitary dead. They +stumbled out of the sour darkness. + +"That was Antonio Villarobledo," said Quesada; "a man who has long lived +alone. He was almost a father to me when I was a boy." + +Everywhere they went in the barrio, everywhere in the cold clay cabanas, +Death had stalked before them on bony rickety legs, a chill damp on his +forehead, his emaciated fingers picking at the coverlets of the sick, +shutting their eyes to desire and despair. A great illness was on the +serranos--a foul plague that caused them to double up with stomach +cramps and vomit a gray pasty whey; that turned their skins to blue and +purple and swatted them off, like flies, within twelve and twenty-four +hours. + +It was the scourge the nut-brown Gypsy Paquita had foreseen on the +little white beach in the barranca. But surely she could have had no +hand in bringing it about! Quesada had explained that the plague lifted +its fanged and evil head wherever the water was impure, and there were +errors in diet, and the atmosphere changed abruptly from damp to sudden +heat and back again. + +Yet the wonder remains how the Gitana even could have predicted it. To +be sure, cholera was forever sweeping the high hills. Was her magic on +the white beach, then, only a natural supposition, a bit of logical +deduction and reasonable ratiocination? Or did it partake of something +more, something uncanny, impious and pagan--some real and diabolical +warlockry? Dios hombre only knows! + +But John Fremont Carson, the American, thought that he understood the +reasons for the plague. + +"What these folk need is education," he remarked thoughtfully to +Morales. "Education can do everything!" + +It was identically what he had said amid the squalor and squall in the +Gypsy camp. + +"Education, si!" returned Morales, even as he had on that occasion. "But +what they need more is some one with a lion heart, a great golden +arrogant heart, to lead them in the fight, to lead them up!" + +Jacques Ferou said nothing; but again, despite the pitiful agonies and +shocking horrors about them, he had the flinty hardihood to smile his +calculating and very superior smile. + +They came at last, in the course of their rounds, to the cabana where +Quesada's mother had died and where the girl, Felicidad, now was living. +They discovered her sitting up on the straw-matted bed, looking more wan +than ever, a hot sweat beading the roots of her golden hair, her white +febrile fingers gripping the side of the tick, and her whole ivory and +gold form shaking like a mountain aspen with retching seizures. + +Quesada cried out hoarsely in shocked and fearful astonishment. He +sprung toward her. But a cramp seemed to bind her right arm; she let go +her clutching hold on the side of the tick, and fell back. Tenderly the +bandolero tucked a pillow under her rich-crowned head and pulled over +her a wolfskin from the nearby couch. + +They came out into the brisk clean air of the morning. Like a blow, +dismay had struck dull the light in each man's eyes. Said Quesada +simply: + +"This is the first stage of autumnal cholera. God grant that she may +recover!" + +"What measures do you take to relieve the sufferers, to counteract the +disease, to wipe out the plague?" the American wanted to know. + +"There is little that we can do, Senor Carson. Up here in these hills +only the simplest remedies are available to our use. When a man is +burning up inside and calls for water, we give him water--" + +"From that cesspool there?" And Carson indicated the open yellow rivulet +coursing down the center of the uneven street. + +"It is all we have. Our fathers built that stone channel, ages ago, in +the days of the Moor. What would you, Senor Americano? The nearest +stream, other than this, is far down the goat path in the lower gorge." + +"Go on," said Carson with unintentional brusqueness. "When a man +disgorges--" + +"We tell him to put his finger down his throat and to keep straining so +long as a particle of undigested food shows. When his stomach is sick +and worn from bowel evacuations, and wretched with intestinal pains, we +put a plaster of hot mustard over his abdomen as a counter-irritant, or +we rub his abdomen with penetrating turpentine. There is turpentine in +the few pines that remain in the dank hollows of these hills." + +Carson nodded rather abstractedly. It was as if his mind were divided +between listening to Quesada and developing along a certain line of +reasoning. The others stood close about and heeded in perplexed wonder. + +"From the turpentine, also, we extract a form of aperient oil which, +when taken in large doses, aids purging." + +"And the ejecta?" suggested Carson. + +"Oh, we cover that over with earth, or throw into a pit, or cast down +the cliffs. When a man faints, we pour sour wine or raw mountain brandy +down his throat. And if he would eat, we milk our goats and we brew up +soups." + +"But you do not use opiates to allay pain and halt the discharges?" + +Quesada shook his head. + +"Only Doctor Torreblanca y Moncada knows how to handle that. Ah, would +to God that the haughty Don Jaime were here! He has a heart of blood for +all the iron of his manner. And he has hands of gold for calling the +dying back to life!" + +"But why is he not here?" + +"I have told you, senor. The bitter old man is away looking for +Felicidad and for his stolen money. But Don Juan," he added eagerly, +with sudden inspiration, "perhaps you are a senor doctor, too! You +Americanos know so much!" + +The American flushed with quick sharp modesty. For a breath, mentally +but deeply, he accused himself of having talked too big. He felt almost +as if he had been bluffing. Then the ardor and hunger of Quesada's hope +struck him. He shook his head sadly. + +"I wish I were," he said with regret and genuine longing. "But all I +know about cholera and such plagues, Jacinto, is what I learned in +hygiene at college. I know, for instance, that what you folk do is all +right, but not enough. You do not go in for segregation of the sick, hot +baths, or opiates. You do not positively destroy all soiled clothes and +rags. You bury the noisome excreta in the same ground through which +flows your water supply, or you cast it over a cliff as a +spawning-ground for flies. I shouldn't wonder but you bury the +infectious dead!" + +"That is according to our religion," said the bandolero simply, as if +mouthing an irrefutable answer. "The men of the good Dios have +consecrated a certain space of earth and there our dead sleep in the +bosom of the Church and the Espiritu Santo." + +Carson shrugged his broad level shoulders in a sort of helplessness, +then asked, "Where is this cemetery?" + +"Above--" + +"Where it may infect the water ere it reaches you! Oh, you have no +sanitation here! This is as bad as India!" He looked up and down the +uneven street, at the huddle of cabanas to either side, in incontainable +disrelish and vast pity. + +"Senor Carson," said Quesada impulsively, "you and Don Manuel and his +cuadrilla have done a wrong in pursuing me. Down before the shrine of +the Christ of the Pass, I showed you how sincere were my motives in +carrying off Felicidad, how great a wrong you had done me in becoming +sleuth-hounds of chase. But now that you are here, there is opportunity +to right that wrong. We need your aid imperatively! Help me, Senor +Americano!" he exhorted impassionately. "Help me and my poor serranos +with what you know! Save Felicidad and the others! Down the pestilence!" + +The American retreated a step before the fervor of his plea. + +"But I don't know, I don't know enough!" he protested deprecatingly. +"I'd understand how to clean up this barrio, of course; but in handling +the disease, I'd have to work all from memory, vague memory! I'm not a +doctor--" + +"Don Juan," interposed Morales, valorously stepping into the breach, +"Senor Quesada has well said that we did him a great wrong in thus +hounding him; here is a pressing opportunity to right that wrong. It is +an act of Christian charity to aid the poor serranos. They are dying off +like flies in a frost. They need you. Help them, Senor Carson; help +them, and my cuadrilla and I will be yours to command! Whatever measures +you find necessary to rid this pueblo of its scourge, that will we +undertake to carry out!" + +"And I," exclaimed the bandolero, with an ardor deeper than any +eagerness, "I will go down these mountains to the casa of Torreblanca y +Moncada outside Granada. Don Jaime is almost my foster father; I lived +in his house once, and I know every nook and cranny of it. From the +remnants of the hidalgo doctor's library, I shall secure, to aid your +memory, some medical book containing a full exposition of cholera. I +shall read it and then bring you--" + +"You can read?" + +Said Quesada with a restrained but natural touch of pride, "My mother +taught me letters when I was but five. My poor mother attended, when a +child, the convent of Santa Ursola in Granada." + +With no less zeal but more earnest calmness, he went on: + +"What medicines the medical book tells me you shall need, I shall get +for you from the chests and racks of the senor doctor. I shall leave +word with old Pedro or the childish Teresa that, immediately Don Jaime +returns, he is to come up here. All we ask, Senor Carson, all we expect, +is that you do what good you can until the hidalgo doctor himself +arrives. Mediante Dios, you can do much!" + +Intense longing, a hungry expectancy trembled beseechingly in the eyes +of each man. They felt suddenly inferior to Carson, dependent on his +knowledge, in sore need of his aid. He could not kill that earnest hope +and sincere, almost pitiful trust in him. With characteristic decision, +he exclaimed. + +"By gad, I'll do it!" + +And in Spanish fashion, Morales added, "With the help of the Dios +hombre!" + +The Frenchman, listening avidly to all, only smiled once more his +calculating and very superior smile. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + +Even as his father had hurried down the mountainside many years before, +even so Jacinto Quesada wended his descending way, that morning, on an +enterprise of forlorn desperation. He was bound for the casa of +Torreblanca y Moncada outside Granada. He did not wait to borrow one of +the village mules which the serranos used to sleigh their cords of pine +down to the lower torrents and to carry their panniers of white-flowered +manzanilla into the towns of the plains. His long mountaineer's legs +were swifter to move and even more tireless than the slow hoofs of any +stupid borrico. His descent proved far more rapid than had been the +arduous climb of the nine cabalgadores. + +He came, in the noontide, to the boulder-strewn, gorse-whelmed pocket of +the Christ of the Pass. He paused neither to rest nor to eat. In the +moon of that evening, he found himself in the forested dell at the foot +of that dark green corry which snaked over a shoulder of the sierras. +Here in the night, almost a week before, Aguilino the guide had deserted +Morales and his men. + +Quesada turned aside from his decurrent course. He broke through the +moon-filtering brush of the dell. He waded the nearby frothing and +echoing mountain stream. All the while, louder than the splash and chop +of the boisterous rivulet, he ululated shrilly in the mournful manner +of the Spanish she-wolf. + +Presently, from the underwood beyond, came an answering call. It was a +singular bird note, not much the ordinary hoot of an owl, but more a +growl and something of a gruff scream. It was the hoot of the eagle owl. + +Quesada pressed forward. He came out, a moment later, upon a tiny +clearing, saffron in the moonlight. To one side stood a log hut, its +chinks plastered with adobe. Crowded in the open doorway were three men. +They were his dorados, Ignacio Garcia, Pio Estrada, and Rafael Perez. + +To judge from this, Perez had not fled so far, after all. The other two +must have recently come up. Perez lacked altogether now the yellow scar +that had so hideously distinguished Aguilino the guide. + +Quesada showed no surprise. It was as if he had thoroughly expected to +find them there. + +"Hola, mis dorados!" he called, as he stepped into the clearing. "Bring +forward one of your nags." + +"But the booty!" objected Rafael Perez, whilom Aguilino. + +"Si; the sacks of mail and jewels and money!" + +"Do we not go forward to the cache now," asked Garcia, "and split the +loot between us?" + +"Disparate! I have no time. The plunder is cached with our cacique, +Dionisio Almazarron, in the foothills of the Sierra Morena. Go you +there, you three, and take it all. But alto! first get me one of your +cobs to ride down into Granada." + +No one of the three men moved. Said Pio Estrada in an odd voice: + +"Ah, you do not care for this little treasure, eh, maestro? Times have +been good to you in Spain. Don Jacinto has taken to enterprising abroad, +single-handed, and accomplishing marvelous and audacious feats. It is +true indeed that Don Jacinto is brave, brave as the very God himself!" + +Quesada did not understand the significance of the words, but there was +no mistaking their intent. There was that in the tone of Estrada's voice +and in the fact that the men still stood unmoving in the doorway, in +sullen disobedience to his command, which spelled sedition and revolt. +Slowly from his holster, Quesada lifted his huge long-barreled revolver. + +"My golden ones," he said quietly, "you do not hear well in the +moonlight. Would you understand better the detonation of a pistol?" He +smiled, showing his clean white teeth. + +The grim jest of his words, the set of his long jaw, the gleam of eyes +and teeth and steely revolver, had a decided effect upon the men. Like +cats frightened away by the Spanish scat, zape! they stretched their +legs around the cabin and out of sight. + +Within a trice, they were back, each leading a wiry rough-coated pony. +Quesada selected the most mettlesome and leaped into the deep saddle. + +"Rafael Perez," he instructed, turning partly round, "you shall remain +here. Let the others go for the loot. You watch the road. Men of the +Guardia Civil will be riding the hills. When I pass here again, in +returning from Granada, I shall hoot like the eagle owl and you will +answer in the manner of the wolf bitch. Let me know, then, if any +policemen come this way. By this time, the affair of the +Seville-to-Madrid must be loudly bruited abroad in Spain. I should not +wonder if some two Guardias Civiles will ride over this corry in an +attempt to capture me in my own village." + +Perez grunted in ill-concealed distaste of the task. Ignacio Garcia +spoke out. + +"There are many other things loudly bruited abroad in Spain, these days, +maestro mio!" + +Quesada swung completely around in the saddle to face the sullen trio. + +"Carajo! Do you think to trifle with Jacinto Quesada! What is all this +muttering going on here?" + +Garcia shrugged his shoulders noncommittally and a bit fearfully; the +erstwhile Aguilino remained taciturn and lowering of dark brow; but with +a strange audacity that was almost insolence, Estrada ventured: + +"Oh, you will soon learn, Don Jacinto of the high hand!" + +Quesada cursed them angrily for the whelps of dogs; then swung round in +the saddle, dug his heels into the horse's flanks, and headed full-tilt +through the brush. Once back in the trampled band of heath and brambles, +which was the road through the dell, he sped the nag at a gallop up the +dark green corry. + +But topping the rise and dropping down on the other side, he reined in +the cob the better to reconsider the sullen manner and incomprehensible +words of his trio of dorados. + +"The knaves have been bitten by some foul plan," he surmised. "It is not +that they intend to rob me of all share in the booty. Seguramente, no! I +told them they were welcome to the entire lot. Something else is afoot, +God knows what!" + +Coming out of the mournful Pass of the Blessed Trinity, some time later, +he took that one of the three roads which diverged most sharply from the +course pursued by the cabalgadores in climbing up. After a good time +more, he rode through the myrtle and orange trees of the Alpujarras and, +following the Darro, slanted down toward the Moorish city of Granada, +gleaming white on the sides of the hills. + +A few miles outside the city, upon the great hasped door of the +crumbling adobe casa of Torreblanca y Moncada, Quesada knocked +echoingly. After an appreciable space, the little mullion window in the +door was opened, and an old white-haired man peered out with bright +eyes. He was Pedro, the butler. + +"Ah, Mother of God!" he exclaimed, a strange quavering note in his +voice. "It is Jacinto Quesada about whom all Spain talks!" + +"I bring news of the little Felicidad." + +"God grant it is good news!" + +"Good and bad. She is safe in my native pueblo, but she is sick. She is +sick of the same disease that killed off my own poor mother only a few +days ago. It is a plague, Tio Pedro. The whole village is sick with the +dread cholera." + +The old servant ejaculated in horror. + +"It is the hand of God, Jacintito!" he went on with warning +sententiousness. "It is a scourge of God striking down those about you +because of the terrible vile things you have been doing, these last +nights, throughout the peninsula. Take heed, Jacintito mio; take heed +ere it is too late, and all you love are dead!" + +There was something in the old man's words which sounded startlingly and +disagreeably reminiscent of the three dorados, their sullenness, their +mutterings. + +"Disparate!" exclaimed Quesada. "What nonsense is this? Just tell me, +tio; is Don Jaime still away?" + +The white head nodded energetically behind the mullion window. + +"Si; seguramente, si! Ever since that affair of the Seville-to-Madrid, +the senor doctor has been scouring the plains and hills of La Mancha for +his stolen daughter and all his money. Ah, Don Jaime is indeed a hard +man. God pity Felicidad when he finds her!" + +"I come," said Quesada brusquely, tiring of the old man's continual +whine--"I come to get medicines from the hidalgo doctor's chest in order +to combat the pestilence. Once Don Jaime returns, you will tell him of +our plight." + +Came abruptly the grating of hastily drawn bolts; the heavy door swung +in. + +"You know the house; it is yours," said old Pedro with true Spanish +hospitality. + +The bandolero entered the gloom of the corridor. + +"I shall go to find Teresa," added Pedro, as he re-bolted the door. "We +shall kneel, and say prayers for the repose of your mama's soul, and for +the quick recovery of the little nina, Felicidad, and the other sick +ones. When the senor doctor returns, I shall tell him all that you said. +And when he rides away up the steep goat paths to your barrio, we shall +plead with Mary, the Compassionate and the Compassionating, that his +granite heart may soften with pity for his little daughter...." + +As he left the whining voice of the old butler behind him and went +through the long echoing dusky corridors, an orientation took place +within Jacinto Quesada. Back through the years he went; back to the day +when, a scrawny little mountaineer's bantling, he had put his puny hand +into the great harsh fist of the hidalgo doctor and come down the +mountains to the decayed, lizard-haunted, and dingy casa. + +No longer was the muggy mansion the sumptuous palace it had seemed to +his ten-year-old eyes. And yet every spacious poverty-bare room that he +passed and glimpsed was quick and instant to him with memories. They +were memories all of one sort. Memories of a pretty little girl with +golden hair and legs round and pudgy as his own would have been, on that +time, had his father lived and prospered. Unconsciously he found himself +pausing in the gloom as if to catch a note of her rippling and +infrequent laughter. + +The shadowy library seemed never so vast nor so gloomy as now. Most of +the huge old sheepskin-bound books were gone. The voids in the tall +cases, rapidly gathering dust, were as poignantly reminiscent as the +empty chair of one that has died. + +The bandolero went round the walls until he came upon that which he +sought. It was a yellow-leaved volume, lettered in Gothic type, that was +yet not so old. It contained much data on the various forms of cholera, +its causes, symptoms, stages, treatment, dissemination and prevention. + +Running his eye down the columns of print, Quesada discovered that he +would need to carry many drugs, preparations, and aperient and +astringent medicines. At that rate, the ancient volume would prove an +added burden. Quickly he decided to tear the descriptive pages from the +volume. They were all that was desired. + +But of a sudden, he was arrested in his vandal task. Nothing real and +tangible halted him; only it seemed to him that the screams of a child +were driving like knives into his heart. He remembered, then and all at +once, that long-forgotten day when Felicidad, innocently naughty, had +torn some of the richly illumined pages from the rare old books, and cut +them into paper dolls, and been lashed unmercifully with a short whip of +horsehide by her father. + +He saw himself, a lad of ten years, rendered desperate by her screams as +only a child becomes desperate. He saw himself charging at the terrible +hidalgo, screaming like a little animal, tearing at the doctor's +trousers with his finger nails, trying to leap up and upon him. He felt +the fall of the quirta upon his head. It was acutely stinging as in +reality. His jaws snapped together; they snapped together just as they +had snapped, in that dim past day, upon the doctor's wrist. And a grim +satisfaction tingled the edges of his locked teeth. It was for all the +world as if, again, his teeth had sunk into flesh! + +"Ah, you son of a mangy she-wolf!" sounded in his brain. "How's the +wolf-cub to-day?" + +He looked quickly about him. There on the wall he saw that which he had +not noticed before. A painting of the doctor--Don Jaime himself, his +hair whitened by years and by sorrow, and his gray eyes glinting out +from his deep swarth face like remote stars in an intolerant heaven. + +"Todopoderoso Dio'!" groaned Quesada, shuddering. "Pity Felicidad indeed +when he finds her!" + +With a kind of desperation, in one jerk he tore the desired pages from +the book, then hied himself quickly out of the room. + +"It is a haunt of ghosts!" he said almost superstitiously. + +He entered the doctor's laboratory. Here, from chests and racks and +trays, he collected the relieving and remedial agents praised in the +torn pages--opium pills, preparations of starch and laudanum, ammonia, +salt, powdered aromatic chalk, astringents and laxatives. Down in the +cellar, he secured some cobwebbed bottles of old brandy and clear wine. + +He made several trips to his shaggy pony, picketed outside in the road. +He secured what he had gathered in the canvas packs slung from the +saddle. He left without once meeting the aged Teresa or again bothering +the butler, Uncle Pedro. + +He returned up the hills through the passes and green corries. He shoved +the horse ahead at a persistent canter, yet such was the grade and such +the growing leg-weariness of the cob that slow days were consumed in the +journeying. At last, in the dim fresco of a certain nightfall, he found +himself back in that forested dell where he had commanded Rafael Perez +to remain on guard. + +But no chill ululations answered his imitations of the hoot of the eagle +owl. He rode through the brush and across the stream. Back in the +clearing, the door of the log cabin was swinging forlornly in the rising +wind; within, was only dark obscurity and emptiness. Rafael Perez had +fled with the other two! + +Once again Quesada recalled the sullen manner and incomprehensible words +of the trio when he last had met them. He shook his head gloomily. + +"Something surely is afoot!" he murmured. "They mutter against me, they +disobey me with impunity. The dogs of ladrones, they may have turned +traitor! Instead of keeping an eye on the road, Perez may have put the +Guardia Civil on my track. Porvida, it will go hard with them if such +proves true! They'll never live to get the reward. Dios hombre, I swear +it!" + +His temper sharpened and embittered by the discovery, he vented it in +harsh kicks against his pony's flanks. The wearied nag extended itself. +By late dawn, Quesada rode into the gorge from which the goat-path +looped up to the empested village. + +Presently, as they wound through the gorge, unusual signs of alertness +began to show in the tired cob. He lifted his head, pricked up his ears. +He was just about to neigh when the bandolero, on the watch, leaned over +and clamped his hand tightly upon his nostrils. From ahead, on the +instant, breathed into Quesada's ears the neigh of recognition of +another horse. + +The bandolero leaped from the saddle. With one hand firm on the muzzle +of the pony, the other on the butt of the long-barreled revolver +protruding from his holster, tensely he stood waiting and hearkening. + +Into his nostrils drifted the acrid smell of a wood fire. He heard a +clipping staccato sound as of some one chopping faggots. He saw, some +hundred feet ahead, a thin whitish smoke voluting up from the green tops +of the pines and alders, and merging into the fog cloak above. There was +a camp of men in the gorge. + +His vague suspicions of the three dorados congealed into quick and firm +convictions. + +"It is the Guardia Civil," he surmised. And he swore; "By the Nails of +Christ!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + + +Quesada led his horse back around the bend and out of sounding distance. +He picketed him behind a feathery smoke-plant up the side of the gorge. +Then he stole forward toward the camp. + +He caught now, as he drew near, the clatter of tin as of men preparing +breakfast, the tempting aroma of coffee, and the hot sizzle of frying +meat. Creeping through the underwood on hands and knees, silent as a cat +of the wilds, he came to where he could peer through an entangle of +white buckthorn and genista, and out into a trampled space about an +alder tree. + +There were two men in the trampled space. They wore the blue, +red-trimmed uniform of the Guardia Civil. + +The one holding a blackened frying pan over the small blaze of faggots +was facing toward Quesada. His uniform but poorly fitted his squat frame +and broadly uncouth shoulders; it showed palpable signs of having been +slept in the night before. His heavy-jawed, black-mustached face was +sweating copiously from the hot nearness to the fire; he had tossed his +tricorn police hat off his unkempt head and into the weeds behind; he +looked, forsooth, more the type of brigand than ever did Quesada +himself. He was the apelike gendarme, Pascual Montara. + +The other, with back toward Quesada, was busying about the wiry, +coarse-haired ponies to one side. He was a tall man, his uniform as trim +on his military figure as if he had not spent the night on the ground, +and his polished three-corner hat set snugly on his head, white linen +sun-shield behind, in thorough preparation for the day's work. As he +currycombed and brushed the ponies, there was visible on one sleeve the +red-braided chevron of a sergeant. + +"Hola, Don Esteban, mi sargento!" called Pascual at the fire. He put the +frying pan down upon the trampled grass and lifted the coffee pot from +its bed in the coals. + +The tall man turned about and, in full view to the peeping Quesada, came +striding toward the fire. His hair, closely clipped, showed white +beneath his hat; yet there was in him no sign of the weakness of age. He +had a short, knife-sharp white beard, a face as lean and haughty as a +griffon vulture's. He was Sergeant Esteban Alvarado, father of the lover +of the Gypsy Paquita, Miguel Alvarado. + +The two men squatted cross-legged upon the ground opposite each other, +and ate and drank in silence. But Montara, munching prodigiously, kept +continually shaking his ugly head. Finally he said: + +"Seguramente, yes! It is the wild-goose chase." + +"Pascual Montara," said the old man severely, "your talk shows you +unfaithful to your duty." + +"Duty, za! It is my head I use, Don Esteban. Did not the Americano tell +us last night, from the great rock above, that the village is in the +throes of the cholera? We cannot go into the barrio for fear of taking +the disease, and they will not leave the pueblo for fear of spreading it +about the countryside. + +"We have done our duty, mi sargento. We have found the American, the +great Morales, and his whole cuadrilla. They are safe. And they can +please themselves when they want to come down. Valgate Dios, it is not +in our instructions to drag them into civilization by the hair of their +head!" + +"Muy bueno. But it is in our instructions to capture and kill Jacinto +Quesada--" + +"Who is not in Minas de la Sierra. I tell you, Don Esteban, that +Americano does not lie. This is Quesada's native barrio, true; but he is +no friend of Jacinto Quesada. Jacinto Quesada robbed him in that affair +of the Seville-to-Madrid; for weeks he has been pursuing the Wolf +through the sierras. He says Quesada is not in the village." + +The sergeant chewed his meat in silence. It was a dour silence, as if he +refused to argue, yet was not convinced by the logic of the other. +Beneath it, there seemed an undercurrent of imperial anger. + +Opening his mouth wide as he ate, Montara looked at him sharply, from +under black bushy brows. + +"Must I argue as I did last night?" he asked aggressively. "You say that +we have them all bagged, including Quesada, in this eagle's nest. But I +say Quesada is not there. He has not been up in this barrio for months. +He has been swinging like a pendulum back and forth across the two +Spains. My soul, he is like ten men for being in more places than one. +If he were up here, how can you account for that affair of the +Despenaperros over three weeks ago?" + +"I must admit that," qualified the old man condescendingly. "My son +Miguel and I were stationed in the Pass at the time. Miguelito said he +was sure it was Quesada who stuck-up the automobile and beat to death +the rich Englishman. The Englishman's pale wife described the bandolero. +It was indeed Quesada. But that outrage, coming on top of the hold-up of +the Seville-to-Madrid, must surely have caused the outlaw to seek refuge +in his village." + +"But it didn't, Don Esteban. You've heard of that happening in the +Alameda of Valladolid on a night two weeks ago. While the people, bent +on enjoying the open-air cinema, were all gathered on the grass in the +hot night, he appeared before the large white sheet and, pointing two +guns at them, brazenly called out that he was Jacinto Quesada. Then, +while the members of the civic orchestra were playing some outrageous +gypsy tune in obedience to his command, he slipped quietly away. I +cannot account for it myself. He gathered no gold from the crowd. But +sacred blood! it was bold." + +"It was too bold for me to believe," objected Alvarado, shaking his +head. "Tut, it is but a story of the people. They are forever building +wonderful adventures and sentimental romances about these hungry dogs of +bandoleros. One would think that the wolves were gentlemen and fine +heroes, and we of the Guardia Civil only ratty red-eyed ferrets!" + +Pascual vehemently nodded his heavy head. + +"I know, I know!" he agreed heartily. "It is no longer any honor to +wear the uniform of the police in Spain. But what think you now of my +argument, Don Esteban? Need I recite that shocking affair of the Plaza +de Toros of Seville? The glamorous Moors of Spain do not make up stories +about their bandoleros robbing brave matadors in the House of God. It is +a lizard's trick. Since Quesada stuck-up the popular espada, Lagartijo, +in the bullfighters' chapel of Seville, all Spain has been stunned by +the sacrilege. And that was but one short week gone--" + +Jacinto Quesada drew back from the entangled buckthorn and genista. His +brow was ruffled as a mountain stream. So this was the meaning of his +dorados' sullen insinuations! Come to think of it, even old Pedro down +in Granada had been struck aghast at sight of him whom he had known from +a boy. + +"Ah, Mother of God!" old Pedro had exclaimed, a strange quavering note +in his voice. "It is Jacinto Quesada about whom all Spain talks!" And he +had added, upon hearing of the plague: "It is the hand of God, +Jacintito! It is a scourge of God striking down those about you because +of the terrible vile things you have been doing, these last nights, +throughout the peninsula!" + +Some unknown was sticking-up persons on the road and in far-off +alamedas, and then, with bluster and insane braggadocio, announcing he +was Jacinto Quesada! The fool had cold murder in his bowels! He had +killed a foreigner, an Englishman. He slayed like a ferocious beast or a +crazed man. And he had abused the sanctity of the chapel of the +bullfighters in the Plaza de Toros of Seville. The thing was unheard of. +It was sacrilege! + +"By the wounds of Christ!" swore Quesada softly. "The fellow is odious +and detestable. And all his vile ordure is flung at my head. The +creature is braiding a noose for my neck!" + +Out in the trampled space about the alder tree, the sergeant's voice had +risen with a peremptory note. + +"Do not stay here, Pascual Montara! It is against all the code of the +Guardia Civil, but zut! ride away without me, and you please. I stay +here. Understand, hombre; I stay here! Every wolf has his lair, every +bandolero his home. This barrio above is Quesada's home. In a week or a +month, he must return here. I shall wait that week or that month. He can +come only this way. When he comes this way, by the Life! I shall rid +Spain forever of his baneful presence!" + +Jacinto Quesada stole back around the bend to his picketed horse. From +behind the cantle of the saddle, he removed those canvas packs which +contained the drugs, preparations, and liquors he had gathered at the +doctor's casa. He unwound the reins from about a branch of the sumach +bush and tied them loosely to the pommel of the saddle. He broke off a +hairy flower stalk from the smoke-plant. Then, with an eye to quietude, +carefully he led the pony down the brushy side of the gorge. + +Once in the dust-coated road which wound through the bottom of the +gorge, he faced the pony down the way he had come and inserted, under +the brows of the saddle against the spine, the setule of flower stalk. +Immediately the animal, irritated out of his weariness, began fidgeting, +flicking his tail, snapping his head round on either side, baring his +long yellow teeth and crinkling again and again the skin of his back. + +Quesada stepped to one side. With his open hand, he struck the horse a +resounding thwack upon the rump. The pony leaped forward, the bristle of +flower stalk painfully rubbing his spine. Ere he could recover from the +shock of the blow and pause to lessen the aggravating pricking under the +saddle, Quesada snapped out his revolver and discharged it in the air +behind him--bang, bang! Exasperated and thoroughly frightened, the horse +fled precipitantly down the road. + +While the winding gutter of gorge detonated with the hoof-clatter of the +racing horse and while the rock walls flung back and forth, like +sounding-boards, the sharp metallic explosions of the pistol, Jacinto +Quesada bounded up the brushy side to where, behind the feathery +wig-plant, he had flung the canvas saddlebags. + +He was none too quick. Like a louder echo of the echoes sounded up the +gorge, of a sudden, the crang of a carbine; then the thundering hoof +beats of horses careering down at full tilt; and then the voices of men +lunging up in the dread challenge and command of the police: + +"Alto a la Guardia Civil! Halt for the Civil Guard!" + +Quesada crouched behind the whitish-green thicket of sumach, and waited +tense as a trigger at half-cock. + +Around the bend up the road drove into view like a lean racing terrier a +wiry rough-coated pony, hoofs pounding in a quick rataplan, barrel low +to the dust, and ears flattened sharply back. Upright in the saddle, a +carbine across the hollow of one arm, was the tall sergeant of police, +linen sun-shield flying straight behind like a white guidon snapping in +a wind. + +"Don't shoot, Montara!" he called back from an eager keen-edged face. +"Don't shoot till you see the hair on his neck!" + +"Shoot his horse!" answered a roaring shout. "Carajo! In all our lives, +we may never get another such chance at Jacinto Quesada!" + +Around the bend, like a screaming projectile, lunged another pony, neck +extended, nostrils blowing red, and the ugly policeman Montara standing +a-tiptoe in the stirrups. Montara was like some wild Arab in a mad +display of horsemanship. He swayed back and forth; he waved the carbine +in one long apelike hand. Carried away by the lust of the chase, he +shouted repeatedly from his blood-darkened countenance: + +"Alto a la Guardia Civil! Alto, alto! Alto a la Guardia Civil!" + +Ponies and riders plunged behind a huge brown boulder down the road and +out of sight. Quesada snapped up. Active as an ape, he slung the canvas +packs over his shoulders and leaped down the brushy side of the gorge. +What time the stony defile echoed and reechoed with the distance-dimming +clangor of pounding hoofs and turbulent shouts, he sped, on his long +mountaineer's legs, up the convolutions of the goat path to the +empested barrio. + +The crang of a carbine suddenly spearing aloft from down the gorge +caused him to halt on the great rock at the brink of the village. He +looked back. He smiled somberly. + +"That will be my poor horse," he remarked. "He has halted for the +Guardia Civil!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + + +To Jacinto Quesada, returned after an absence of over a week, the +village of Minas de la Sierra wore an inexplicably strange appearance. +Gone utterly--mud and thatch and wooden shutters--were the chozas in +which the widowed mother of the mountain boy, Gabriel, had lain sick and +the white-haired Villarobledo had died. Where the huts had stood were +now only empty spans. + +Before the other huts had been built a covered wooden flume, as for the +carrying off of sewage. Down the old Moorish gutter in the center of the +uneven street coursed a clear quick stream with cold reflections and +tiny gurgling noises that seemed to tempt one to drink. + +Otherwise, nothing stirred in the chill morning sunlight. No serranos +stood in the low doorways of the cabanas or hovered about the cork-oak +tree in the center of the barrio. The village seemed a village of the +dead. + +Quesada hastened across the street, muddy and slippery from the heavy +fog of the night prior. As he did, of a sudden from the direction of the +little whitewashed chapel, there drifted down to his ears a continuous +moaning and groaning. It sounded bodiless and unearthly in the thin air +of that high altitude. + +He knew thereat. Carson, the American, following out his scheme of +sanitation, had segregated the sick. The tiny village chapel had been +converted into a hospital. Within in the painful obscurity, behind those +apertures that were now screened against flies with flimsy calico, men +were moving back and forth on solemn and fearful tasks. + +Quesada made his way into the cabana where he had left Felicidad. +Inside, in the gloom, he found John Fremont Carson visiting the girl in +the course of his rounds. + +Propped by a pillow, the golden-haired girl was sitting up in the bed. +Her cheeks were still white as ivory; but there was a brave new light in +her blue eyes. She was convalescing. Carson was holding for her, with +kind concern, a bowl of vegetable soup, thin and easily digestible. + +Looking over the American's shoulder, she was the first to discover the +bandolero. With glad and genuine effusiveness, in a voice that yet +showed husky traces of the vox cholerica, she cried: + +"My soul! It is Jacintito come back to us!" + +The American got quickly afoot and shook hands warmly. + +"Have you brought the stuff?" he greeted solicitously. + +"Seguramente, si!" smiled Quesada. "And we may thank the bueno Dios that +the senor doctor, from long tending to cholera cases, had every little +thing we needed!" + +He unslung, with the words, the swollen canvas bags from his shoulders +and placed them upon the leaf-stuffed couch to one side. + +With care and deep concern, Carson fingered and opened the many boxes, +bottles, and preparations. It was as if each were some priceless jewel. +He made odd little sounds in his throat, expressive of discovery and +relief and infinite joy. + +"Here are the pages, Senor Carson, which will tell you all about the +cholera. The book was too heavy for me to carry; I had so many other +things; and therefore I tore these pages out bodily." + +The American nodded and shoved the torn pages into a pocket of his coat. + +"And my father?" exclaimed Felicidad. Perhaps to her, as had happened to +Quesada himself, there was something poignantly reminiscent in this talk +of tearing pages from one of the rare old books of the hidalgo doctor. + +"He is still away," answered Quesada vaguely. + +The American looked up sharply from uncorking one of the cobwebbed +bottles of wine. + +"You left word?" + +Quesada nodded constrainedly, as if against his will. He could not say +Don Jaime must soon follow him up the mountains. He could not look at +the girl. He feared overwhelmingly for Felicidad, once her father should +arrive. He was afraid lest his Moorish eyes might betray him. + +Carson mixed a narcotic of the wine and a pinch of opium, and proffered +it to the girl. + +"It will relieve internal distress," he explained, "and induce +strength-building sleep." + +They came out into the open--the bandolero and the American. + +"How many dead?" queried the former. + +"Only three. Villarobledo, of course; a seven-month-old baby; and the +widowed mother of the lad, Gabriel. She died two nights ago." + +"Not so bad," commented Quesada hopefully. + +"No; but we got fully twenty sick, all stages. I must get these drugs up +to them. They're suffering pitifully. On the way I can show you a bit of +what we have done, and tell you the rest." + +He indicated the open stone bed of the old Moorish flume, as they +followed it up the uneven street. + +"Notice how clear the water is? That comes from our nitration system. Up +above, at the top of the village, we deepened the channel in one spot. +We put a layer of large stones on the bottom of the pit, above that a +stratum of pebbles, and on top of all, a coating of fine sand. The +water, seeping through those straining layers, is purged of all foreign +substances, thoroughly purified." + +The bandolero nodded his comprehension. They made on. + +"Morales and his men have proved as good as their word. With their +hands, they cleaned the scum from every inch of that stone flume. Manuel +himself is simply fine, a prince!" Carson added with that touch of +familiarity which denotes the warmest appreciation. + +"Then we made two cut-offs from the flume," he continued. "One supplies +that box-channel near the houses to expedite the carrying-off of sewage. +The other is in the nature of a floodgate leading into a hole, deep as +your neck." He smiled faintly. "Many's the time I've made a sluice of +this order, when I was mining for gold out in California, but never +before for this particular purpose." + +"And what purpose is that?" + +"Well, when somebody goes cold and collapsed from the cholera, we lift +the floodgate and let the water flow into the hole. Meanwhile, we heat a +bunch of stones in the coals of a fire. We throw the stones into the +water and then, when the bath is at the proper temperature, we lower the +patient gently into it. Hot baths usually give relief. In the case of +Gabriel's mother, they helped to prolong her life. After the bath, we +massage the limbs thoroughly to circulate the blood and take out the +kinks of the cramps." + +"You have been working most arduously, Senor Carson," said Quesada. + +He was looking keenly at the American. Traces of fearful toil and many +sleepless nights showed in Carson's face. His once square countenance +was thinned into bony angles; there were heavy pouches under the eyes; +and the eyes themselves were no longer merry, but severely, crisply +blue. + +With uneasy characteristic modesty, the American fidgeted at the canvas +packs in his hands. + +"Oh, yes; a trifle," he admitted reluctantly. "We've all been pretty +busy. We had to shovel two infected cabanas over the cliff. The stream +through the gorge carried the debris away. We've burned every rag and +soiled bit of clothes and bedding in the pueblo. I tell you, I was +mighty glad to help out in that task!" + +He took the canvas packs in one hand and felt in his pocket, with the +other, for the torn pages Quesada had given him. He ran his eyes quickly +over the printed words. Presently he looked up. Quesada had not spoken +in that spell of time. He noted now a little frowning knuckle on the +young bandolero's forehead. + +"You are worrying, Jacinto!" he said, sharp as an accusation. + +Quesada was startled. + +"Dios hombre!" he exclaimed. "It is but the truth." + +"But why? The plague? Felicidad or her father?" + +Quesada shook his head morosely. + +"It is none of these things, God forgive me, Don Juan. It is that I am +worrying selfishly about Jacinto Quesada alone. When you mentioned the +stream through the gorge carrying away the debris of the two infected +cabanas, it set my mind back. I thought of the two policemen down in +that gorge. Don Juan, they are waiting for me!" + +"It is not that Jacinto Quesada is afraid, surely!" + +"Carajo, no! I fear these Guardias Civiles no more than I fear the +plague, and you know, senor, I do not fear the plague. The Wolf of the +Sierras has become too long used to death to be afraid to die. But, Don +Juan, I fear what these men say. They would kill me for crimes I have +never done. It is not just, my friend, to be hounded for acts you never +perpetrated. They would kill me for the crimes of some other man, a +sneaking masquerader, a loathsome, brutal, sacrilegious creature! Mother +of God, I worry because I do not understand!" + +"Worry is poison," said the American dogmatically. "Every moment you +worry is as if you poured a glass of poison into your system. Jacinto, +do you want to make yourself liable to the scourge?" + +It was a grim warning. Quesada shook his head vehemently. He could not +answer. A scream as of intolerable agony precluded, for the moment, +further speech. They were nearing the dingy, whitewashed, thatch-and-mud +chapel of the village. On the heels of the awful scream, saddening their +ears continuously, now breathed a dull low monotone of pain. + +They entered the sick bay. On either side, down the whole length of the +chapel from doorway to wooden white-painted altar, was a raised platform +of pine slabs with a slight pitch toward the central passageway between. +Swathed in blankets side by side on the platforms, doubling up with +cramps in arms and legs and abdomen, groaning in acute anguish, or lying +fearfully still in stages of collapse, were fully a score of sick and +dying--men, young and old; girls in their teens and mothers of families; +and one little tad of a boy. He was the lad, Gabriel, who had announced +the plague when first the party of cabalgadores had gained the village. + +Quesada discovered a difficulty in breathing; he felt his head reel. The +air was close and offensive with sweaty bilious odors and the sharp +pungent smell of turpentine. He noted two candles burning wanly upon the +dingy altar. + +Carson had left him to go from sufferer to dying with the balm of his +new-found drugs. When Morales came forward to greet him, the bandolero +remarked: + +"Those candles there, friend Manuel! They add to the stifling closeness +of the place." + +"They are a symbol of our religion." + +"I know; but there is no real need of them here. They waste the precious +air." + +Morales smiled slowly. + +"You and I would not need the reminder of the orthodox wax candles, +Jacinto; but these serranos lack spunk. They believe they are doomed to +die, and die just to prove it. The burning candles typify the living +presence of the Lord. Their yellow flames hearten some to fight to live; +others suffer and die more patiently in their wan presence--" + +A hoarse exclamation upon the part of Quesada interrupted the matador. +Quesada had noted, among the blanketed patients, one of Morales' own +cuadrilla, the banderillero, Alfonso Robledo. Shocked and violently +agitated, Quesada gripped the matador's arm. + +"But this man! How comes he sick? He is a bullfighter, a banderillo, a +strong man, muscled like a leopard, stout of heart!" + +Said Morales grimly, "The pestilence respects neither strength nor +weakness, race, profession, nor creed." + +One of the cuadrilla attending the sick, the picador called Coruncho +Lopez, paused in his labors to remark: + +"Robledo is ill through contagion. Two nights ago, the mother of the boy +Gabriel died. Alfonso and I carried the body down through the village to +the lip of the gorge. Her clothes were infected." + +"Oh, mia mamacita!" wailed the lad, Gabriel, from his corner of the +sick bay. "Now I am all alone in the world and sick to die!" + +The bandolero turned to him. + +"Hush, nino!" he said tenderly. "You have still Jacinto Quesada to look +after you!" + +The boy quieted. Gratefully he looked up at the salteador with black +eyes that smoldered in deep-sunken pits. When Carson, in the course of +his rounds, offered him a preparation of cornstarch and milk to +alleviate the pangs of his stomach, he swallowed it readily. + +"It is not safe to use opium in any form in the cases of children," +explained the American to Quesada. + +There was a sudden stir behind them. Coruncho Lopez, the picador, who +had been nursing the sick, was taken with an unexpected and brutal +seizure. He held his stomach and doubled up. In intense agony, he +moaned, "Water, water!" + +Carson hurried out to draw fresh water. In the short wait the disease +made astonishing progress on the man. His muscled frame jackknifed with +acute cramps. By the time Carson returned with the water, his face had +darkened to a purple hue, and the skin wrinkled up as if it would crack. + +They sat him upon the edge of one of the platforms, but he fell back. +His body was all at once cold. He was in the asphyxial stage, all +animation suspended, no beat of pulse, apparently dead. + +Carson held an open bottle of ammonia beneath his nose. It had no +effect; the man was not breathing. He forced brandy down his throat, but +the picador lay still and chilly cold. He was dead. + +Thus, swift and silent as the pounce of a condor, strikes the terrible +cholera! + +It was almost impossible to believe that the man was dead. Only an ace +of time before, he had moved about, so valiant to aid, so tender to +nurse. Death had come too cruelly abrupt. It was appalling. + +Carson looked about in the sudden and apprehensive silence. He did not +note the tall athletic form of the Frenchman darkening on the moment the +doorway. His blue eyes were blunted, somber with gloom; his rugged face +was very gray. + +"That proves it," Carson said. "This man got the plague from carrying +out the contagious body of that boy's mother. There'll be no more +carrying of dead bodies down the cliffside to cast into the stream. It +isn't right to us to have to bear the infected dead so far; it isn't +right to the serranos in the hills below that their stream should float +diseased bodies and make them liable to the epidemic. With this death, +we'll change our methods. We'll cremate the bodies, immediately below +here, on the great rock of the village!" + +Mutterings of dissent, abhorrence, and strong condemnation went up from +the men of the cuadrilla who were assisting in the hospital. Even some +of the convalescing and slightly sick rose up in their blankets to +express disapproval and fearful apprehension. Their religious scruples +were shocked, outraged. Cremation was to them contrary to the practices +of their religion. + +They did not know that the tenets of their religion--like the tenets of +any professedly divine religion, or the statutes of any confessedly +human law--were capable of drastic and remarkable innovations under the +stress of necessity. They believed that their system of sacred services +was without elasticity, firm and inexorable. + +They were only ignorant. Never had most of them heard of +pronunciamientos, papal bulls, nuncio rescripta which, when it was not +only fit, but expedient and profitable so to do, had changed, remolded, +or altogether cast out certain rites and dogmas. They were not so much +devotedly pious. They were hidebound, superstitiously fearful. + +Jacques Ferou, halted in the doorway, observed all with his +slate-colored, calculating eyes. Slowly he smiled his superior and +peculiar smile; then turned away and made for the cabanas which still +sheltered well men. An insidious drama was afoot. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + + +Carson paid no heed to the mutterings all about him. Alone and +unassisted, he swathed the body in a new clean blanket. + +"That will stop communication of the disease from the body to the +bearers," he said. He surveyed the group about him. "Now, who will carry +out the dead?" + +The men looked at one another. No one stepped forward to volunteer. + +Jacinto Quesada, standing in the background, sensed immediately, then, +to what a stage things had come. He elbowed through the throng. Quietly +he picked up the blanket-swathed figure. + +"Senor Carson," he said, as he turned around, the form of the picador +held before him in his arms; "you are doing the correct thing. Cremation +is the sanitary expedient." + +The American thanked him with his eyes. He followed Quesada out the +doorway. They went down the uneven village street. The men of the +cuadrilla trooped after. From the cabanas on either hand serranos, +stirred up by the insidious Ferou, crept out like wolves stretching +forth from their dens. + +Carson never looked back. He could hear the men muttering behind him; he +realized some dark scheme was pulsing in their brains; yet he never +looked back. He strode, at the head of all that muttering milling +throng, down the street toward the rock. + +As they neared the rock, suddenly he swung about. The men stopped, +huddled back from him. + +"Get wood!" he shouted. "Anything inflammable!" + +The men shoved forward, crowded together, and eyed him with furtive, +wily eyes. No one moved to obey. + +"Go ahead, Don Juan!" shouted a voice from behind. "I'll collect the +wood!" + +It was Manuel Morales, proving bigger in the emergency than any +superstitious dread. A deep-throated muttering went up from the men. But +his quick courageous action had robbed them, for the moment, of that +focus of interest, anger, and insubordination which leads to mob +violence. + +Carson swung round to start on again. As he did, he saw that Quesada, +behind his back, had deposited the dead burden upon the muddy ground and +was stooping and cupping up water from the old Moorish flume to quench +his hot thirst. + +"Stop!" he cried, his voice chill with warning and terrible dread. +"Jacinto, you are in a sweat! Don't you know that copious drinking of +cold water while in this condition is one of the direct causes of +cholera!" + +Quesada stepped back, momentarily aghast. The sweat quickened and poured +from his brown youthful face. Suddenly he laughed. + +"It is no importa," he said, with returned calmness. He strode on under +the weight of his gruesome burden. + +Carson followed at his heels and, at the heels of the American, +straggled like so many famished wolves, the men of the cuadrilla and the +serranos of the pueblo. + +Quesada was in haste to deposit the body upon the rock. He felt a +strange dizziness in his head. He did not want to admit it, yet he +feared it foretokened an attack of the pestilence. At this crucial time, +he did not want the dizziness to show in his actions. That would +evidence the plague. And were the men to note it, they would think it +the hand of God striking him down for aiding in the cremation. It would +precipitate them into some insensate and ferocious act. + +He held himself severely erect. There were spots dancing before his +eyes, yet he made out that one of the cuadrilla, a short thick-set +banderillero named Baptista Monterey, had stepped forward from the mob. +The banderillero, his ordinary black street clothes rendering him +inconspicuous in the mob, had been standing quietly alongside the tall +blond Frenchman. It was Ferou himself who had shoved him forward. The +man spoke. + +"You cannot burn the body, senor caballero of my heart! Cremation is a +desecration of the earthly vessel of the soul. It is against our +religion!" + +"Jacinto Quesada himself has given you the reason for the need of it," +returned Carson coldly. "Cremation is the sanitary expedient." + +"But the body belongs to the Espiritu Santo! You cannot--" + +"What is this, Baptista Monterey!" came a new voice, an astonished and +wrathful voice. + +Quesada found himself unable to see its owner. An opaque blackness was +fogging his eyes. But he knew that the voice belonged to Manuel Morales. + +"Put down the wood, Manuel!" he heard Carson say. There was a strange +note in the American's voice, a grim metallic note. "Go away. Get more +wood, Manuel. Leave me alone. They tell me I cannot burn the dead. They +are rebellious. I'll show them!" + +Quesada gripped himself that he might bear on. There was a rushing and +pounding of blood in his ears. The voices seemed fainting low and dim +with distance, as if the speakers were drifting away from him. + +"Senor Carson," feebly he heard Morales say, "this is your affair, but I +am stanchly behind you. When you took up this task of cleansing the +scourge from the barrio, I said that Manuel Morales and all his +cuadrilla would be yours to command. It is so; they _are_ yours; they +must obey you! I go away; I leave them to you. Do with them what you +will. Teach them!" + +Like the noise of a remote waterfall came to Quesada's ears a muffled +crash. It might have been the sudden casting upon the rock of a bundle +of faggots. He only knew, of a sudden and all at once, that he was +reeling. The water he had drunk seemed turned to liquid fire; his +stomach was burning up, his whole tottering frame was burning up! + +As from far away, he heard a shout. He could not see. + +"Heart of God--look! Jacinto Quesada! He is falling! He has got it, he +has got it!" + +Quesada felt himself pitching forward and falling, falling, falling as +if from one of the cinder-gray precipices of the sierras. A rush of +sound boomed in his ears: + +"It is the hand of God! Aupa, aupa! It is a divine sign that we are +right! Porvida, men! Down the sacrilegious Americano! Sweep him from the +rock! Kill him, kill him! He must not burn our dead!" + +A tremendous sound seemed to burst the membranes of the bandolero's +ears. Perhaps it was the report of an automatic. At any rate, as if a +bullet had thudded on his own frontal bone, he felt a sudden dazzling +crash against his forehead. He had banged down upon the rock! + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + + +John Fremont Carson stood upon the great rock at the brink of the +village and surveyed, above the ugly snub nose of his automatic, the +surge of men before him. One shot from that automatic had garroted the +rebellion. At his feet sprawled the short thick-set form of Baptista +Monterey, a tiny flaming crater in his right temple where a +steel-jacketed bullet had found his life. + +Behind Carson lay Jacinto Quesada, stricken and spread-eagled from the +plague. The men stood staggered and cowed before him, fascinated with +fear and deep awe. + +"Quick, one of you!" exploded the American. "Carry Quesada to the sick +bay!" + +There was a sudden stir among the apprehensively huddled men. The tall +gray-suited Frenchman stepped forward, + +"Allow me, monsenor." + +With a gentle concern, astonishing from him, he rolled the long-legged +form of the bandolero snugly in his serape and then, staggering under +the weight, leaden with unconsciousness, started off up the uneven +street toward the chapel. + +Carson flourished his automatic. + +"Pronto!" he yelled. "Into your huts, you serranos! You of the +cuadrilla, back to your work in the hospital!" + +The men dispersed like a foggy neblina under the rays of the sun. + +Ferou was some distance ahead of the cuadrilla as it tramped, bowed of +head, back up the street. Carson and Morales remained on the rock, +busying with the fire which would cremate the remains. There was no one +to see. + +The Frenchman seized the opportunity. With one hand, he reached under +the long mountaineer's shawl that swathed Quesada's body; he reached +into the inside pocket of the sheepskin zamarra. He drew forth a small +mahogany-colored leather purse. That purse had once been his own. + +Without bothering to open it, he thrust it into a pocket of his gray +tweed suit. He knew. Within, in that small mahogany-colored leather +purse, was the tightly wound roll of five-thousand peseta bills he had +stolen from Don Jaime de Torreblanca y Moncada! + +When Carson hurried up, a short spell later, to tend to Quesada, Ferou +was awaiting him in the hospital, apparent anxiety upon his ashy-hued +face. + +"Monsenor Carson," he said deferentially, "to-day must have taught you a +lesson. It is not wise that these bullfighters and serranos should be +armed. They might rise again. I would some advice give you. Collect all +the arms in the barrio and keep them under your own hand." + +The suggestion met with accord from the American. Readily he could see +its precautionary value against future rebellion. + +"Just a little, and I'll be finished doing all I can for Jacinto; then +I'll be with you." + +Together they made a round of the cabanas. They requisitioned ancient +muzzle-loading smooth-bores, Mannlichers, Mauser carbines, revolvers, +old-fashioned pistols, and guns with muzzles wide as the mouth of a +French horn. In Quesada's choza, where Felicidad slept and hourly gained +strength, they found a modern smokeless breech-loading hunting gun, a +cordite repeater. + +They were tireless and microscopically thorough in the search. Despite +the mutterings and scowls of the serranos, they seized every instrument +which might be used as a weapon of offense. They collected Manchegan +knives, navajas, razors, and even alpenstocks and shovels. Against the +cork-oak tree in the center of the pueblo street, they made a heap of +the conglomeration. + +They had circled back to the hospital, and Ferou had entered to disarm +the members of the cuadrilla therein, when Carson, following at his +heels, made a sudden clutch at the jamb of the door. + +"Hola!" exclaimed Morales, just then coming up behind from the cremation +rock at the brink of the pueblo. "Sacred blood, what's the matter, Don +Juan!" + +Ferou slewed swiftly round. Both men, the one within, the other without +the chapel, eyed the American in the doorway. There was a strange, +almost hopeful expectancy in the slate-colored eyes of the Frenchman; in +the dark thick-lashed eyes of the matador a terrible voiceless dread. + +Carson drew himself up. It was a visible effort. His angular face looked +grayly haggard; his lips were drawn tight over his teeth. + +"It is nothing," he said slowly. "I feel a little faint, that's all. I +guess the excitement of this morning has upset me. It will soon pass +off." + +"You must lie down, mi camarada," said Morales gently but firmly. "You +have not slept in two nights--since the night when that boy's mother +died, and last night when Robledo of my cuadrilla slapped under. You +need rest. You have been doing the work of three men, of thirty men, +tending Felicidad, doctoring in here, directing and administering to +all. You must lie down." + +The American made to stagger through into the sick bay; but Morales +stopped him with a steadying hand upon his shoulder. + +"Not here," he advised softly. "We are overcrowded already. Besides, for +you to lie in this atmosphere, would make you more liable to the plague. +Come to Quesada's cabana. Felicidad is feeling quite strong to-day. +There is an unused couch there. Felicidad will see that you want for +nothing." + +"But Quesada--" + +"I will take care of him. Jacinto is a brave man; he has the will to +live. Everything in my power I shall do, Don Juan, to see that he does +live." + +With one shaking hand, Carson fumbled in his pocket. He finally drew out +a number of yellow printed leaves that had been torn from a book. + +"Here are the instructions of what to do," he said wearily. + +Morales took the yellow illumined pages. His honest Andalusian face was +grave with an intenseness of sincerity. + +"Senor Carson," he said almost formally, "everything you have done, I +will attempt to do. You may rest easily in the knowledge and conviction +that I am carrying forward all that you planned. Your methods have +proved good methods. There have been deaths, true; but never, in an +epidemic of cholera, have I known so few deceases, so many recoveries. +Steadfastly, with fortitude and without deviation, with a stout heart +and an iron hand, I shall put through your modern sanitary methods. +Senor, I will even cremate the dead!" + +It was enough. Guided and aided by the matador, Carson stumbled down the +uneven street toward Quesada's cabana. The Frenchman looked after the +two, through the chapel doorway, and smiled his calculating and very +superior smile. + +When Morales returned, Ferou pointed out the heaped-up scramble of +weapons under the cork-oak tree and explained what he and Carson had +been about. + +"If the Senor Americano thought it a good plan," said Morales with +promptitude and decision, "I will go through with it. My word has been +given in promise. Whatever Don Juan started, that shall I attempt to +finish." + +He entered the hospital. Within, what remained of his cuadrilla were +watching and nursing the sick. They were now only three. Of the others, +the banderillero, Baptista Monterey, had been killed in the rebellion on +the rock; Coruncho Lopez, the picador, was dead from the plague; and +another banderillero, Alfonso Robledo, was still numbered among the +blanketed patients on the platforms. + +"Here, you peones," said Morales to the three. "Take off your guns and +knives! It is the order of the Senor Carson." + +The bullfighters darted quick glances at one another. They were nervous +and suspicious. Why did the matador want them to disarm? What did he +purpose doing, once he had them unarmed--punish them for their +participation in that morning's rebellion? They feared to disobey the +matador, yet they feared more the intent behind the command. They +hesitated. + +"Shed your own weapons, Don Manuel," suggested the insidious Ferou in a +whisper. "Then the men will understand that it is a general order which +applies to all, without favoritism." + +"Dios hombre!" exclaimed Morales, growing irritated. "Must I coax my +peones to obey the command of their own matador?" + +"It is not that, Don Manuel. These men are only poor silly Spaniards who +do not understand. They are afraid of your reason for thus asking them +to disarm. If you discard your weapons, they will realize there is +nothing to fear. They will follow suit. And you will have set the peones +the example, like a true matador!" + +"Disparate!" ejaculated Morales. "What nonsense!" But just the same, +realizing that it was the simplest way to attain the end in view, he +removed from about his waist the belt on which were suspended a revolver +and sheathed knife. + +Readily then the three bullfighters emulated his example. And Jacques +Ferou carried all the weapons to the pile beneath the cork-oak tree. +Outside and beyond eyeshot, he saw fit to indulge, once more, in his +exasperating smile. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + + +Chill and damp took turns about with rock-glare and sudden heat to aid +and abet their deadly ally, the cholera. Thick neblinas, dank mists, and +wispy rains cloaked the sierras, night and morning; the noonday sun +broke through and refracted its rays with intense heat from stony gorge +and crag; easterly gales or levantes swept down from the pinnacles and +drove all away with dense snowstorms, abrupt and blinding, violent and +icy; and all the while, inside the four mud walls of cabana and chapel, +the barrio continued to retch and writhe in the grasp of the vomit. + +Felicidad was showing signs of slow but evident improvement. Within the +hospital, there was hope for Quesada's recovery, but imminent danger of +a relapse and speedy death. + +The bandolero was languishing in the third reactive stage of malignant +cholera. There had come to him a surcease of the agonizing symptoms. No +longer was there any want of pulse; his skin had returned to its almost +normal hue; his body was once more warm. It was too warm. He was burning +up with a kind of typhoid fever that kept him on his back and affected +his brain. + +He had weird dreams and horrible vagaries. Always was he the hounded +victim of a terrible mistake. Pursued relentlessly by two beagles of the +Guardia Civil, he saw himself, in one fancy, seeking sanctuary in a +monastery. Under the irrevocable seal of confession, his past crimes +were forgiven him. He went from monastery to seminary where he achieved +in all piety the sacrament of Holy Orders. + +Garbed in black chasuble, he imagined himself saying Mass, one day, when +a tall, lean-faced, white-haired sergeant of police entered. As he +turned from the golden pyx, containing the Host, and raised his arms in +a Dominus Vobiscum, straight through the lungs the policeman shot him. +Like Thomas à Becket of old, he pictured himself falling wounded to +death upon the stainless cloth of the altar! + +Carson was suffering, meanwhile, all the agonies he so often had +witnessed and so intrepidly had tried to assuage. He had caught the +cholera. The excitement of that crucial time upon the rock had +over-stirred and heated him, and made of his body a hot forcing place +for the virulent micro-organisms of the plague. + +Ere he could be removed from Quesada's cabana to the sick bay, he was +enduring all the intolerable tortures of purgatory. With that firm +unshakable courage of the great-souled woman, Felicidad had offered, +then, to watch over him and to nurse him back to life. + +Alone of all the directing geniuses, only Manuel Morales and Jacques +Ferou were left upstanding upon their two feet. Even the three +bullfighters, who had been so helpful to aid, were stretched out on the +platforms in the hospital, sick and wretched and wholly impotent. + +The work had settled down to a fearful routine. More than once Morales +fairly cleared the hospital of healed and dead, only to find, as he +breathed a sigh of relief, that new cases were falling and filling the +sick bay to overflowing and pouring out into the cabanas. There had been +some hundred souls in the pueblo. There still lingered fourscore. + +There came a day when the boy whose mother had died and who had wailed +in a corner of the chapel, sunk through a slow process of harrowing +ravages into the algid stage of the scourge. Morales carried out the +little fellow. The boy was chattering with subnormal cold. Morales +immersed him in the steaming bathing pool. + +Later, returned to the sick bay, in making an incision with a penknife +to inject into one of the boy's lesser veins a solution of salt, the +knife slipped beneath the matador's grasp and cut his own hand. He gave +the cut no attention. He did not even bother to bind it up. Coming out +into the open, to lift the lower floodgate which would allow the +infected water to sluice out, he plunged the wounded member full into +the hot pool. + +He was surprised but no whit frightened when, an hour later, a painful +throbbing began to chase up and down his arm from that open gash in his +hand. He attempted quickly to close the cut by packing it with a little +salt. Then, shrugging his shoulders with incomprehension, fearlessly he +sought to forget about it. He busied himself doling out to his many +querulous patients copious doses of aperient and astringent medicines. + +By nightfall, he was stretched in the hospital, prostrated from the +plague. The change in him was at once inconceivable and appalling. The +man that in the morning had been so strong with firmness of spirit, +fortitude of soul, and a large enveloping tenderness of heart, was now +cramped with griping, unendurable pangs and as weak of pulse, voice, and +body as an old, old man. + +From having served so many sick, Morales knew what he needed. He called +for a mild opiate. + +Jacques Ferou approached the end of the platform. Save for two +convalescing serranos with matted hair and irregular features who were +now acting, perforce, as nurses, Ferou was the only able-bodied man in +the hospital. + +The Frenchman watched the sufferings of the matador with small, bright +slaty eyes. The trick of the eyelids, drooping at the outer corners, +lent him a calculating sinister aspect. He curled one spike of his +straw-colored mustache. + +"I will give you the opiate, monsenor, but you must pay for it! You must +pay five hundred pesetas!" + +Morales attempted to sit up. But he could not sit up. + +"Wounds of Christ!" he gasped in a husky whisper. "What is this--a fancy +or some mistake of my ears? Has the disease touched my brain? Tell me, +tell me, Senor Ferou!" he almost supplicated. + +"It is neither the mistake nor the fancy," returned the Frenchman in +coldly even tones. "It is merely that you are a rich man, Monsenor +Morales, and that you can afford to pay. These others are only hungry +serranos and underpaid bullfighters. Even Quesada there, with his +feverish imaginings, is but a poor hounded thief. He has no money." + +As if he were about to smile at some choice recollection, the nostrils +of his high predatory nose twitched, the hard grim lines about his mouth +momentarily widened and deepened. But he did not smile. In a voice that +sounded to the matador like pulsing chill points of steel, he went on: + +"But you, Monsenor Morales; you withdrew a large sum by wire from the +Bank of Spain. It was when we first started on this little expedition, +and it was so much money we were indeed astounded. Dicenta, the Jewish +cacique of Alcazar de San Juan, cashed that order for you in many peseta +bills. Most of those bills you still have on your person. I could take +them away from you with a little force; but I prefer to give you their +value in narcotics, medicines, and soups. Sacre, monsenor, life must be +worth more to you than any money, eh?" + +The black eyes of the matador, deep-sunken from the quick ravages of the +disease, blazed up at Ferou as if they would sear and brand his ashy +face. Slowly as he looked, clamping his strong white teeth together with +the effort, Morales straightened out his contracted right arm and felt, +beneath the blanket, for the revolver at his waist. + +An astounded look that changed in a rush to one of stupefied dismay +staggered his eyes. The revolver was gone! There was not even sheathed +knife or belt! + +Ferou watched the matador's eyes, his lids continuing to droop with +pitiless analytical scrutiny. Significantly he tapped the heavy +revolver that hung at his own belt. And he laughed, a thin chill laugh. + +"You forget, monsenor. I am the only man armed in the barrio. It was at +my suggestion that Senor Carson went about disarming the serranos. It +was at my whisper, when your cuadrilla hesitated to shed their weapons, +that you angrily threw off your own belt and gun. I have hidden them +all!" + +He threw up his sharp cinder-hued face in an accession of pride. Just +as, on the Seville-to-Madrid, he had acted with Felicidad, so now he +seemed to swell with pride, to grow and strut with importance, as he +bared thus his real repulsive self to Morales. + +"Monsenor," he exclaimed, "you do not know me; but the French police +have long dreaded me as an adept and fearsome criminal. I am a White +Wolf of Paris. I use my brain. I do not conceive and carry forward a +plan in the one breath. I lay strings long in advance, and then, when +the time is fit and proper, parbleu! I jerk. + +"Ah, you understand, I see! It is thus now. I am ruler here. I am the +only man armed in the village. What I say--" + +Came an abrupt and alarming interruption from down the slant of the +platform. Quesada sat rigidly up. His forehead pouring sweat, his eyes +stark in his head, his hands clutching his chest, in a frightful voice +he cried out: + +"No, no! I never did it. Kill me if you will, but by the Life, you must +believe me! It was some other man ... some other man!..." + +His voice fainted away. With the exertion of shouting, with the fear of +his grisly fancies, his face darkened with congested blood. Completely +exhausted, he fell back upon the platform. + +It was as if the interruption had come to strengthen the argument of +Jacques Ferou. Overwhelmingly thereat Morales saw how powerless he was. +Quesada was out of his mind; John Fremont Carson was on the rack of the +plague; even the peones of his cuadrilla, who obedient to his command +might have aided him, were stretched out on either hand, sick and +helpless. The matador was completely at the mercy of the Frenchman. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + + +One of the uncouth serranos bent over Quesada. To mitigate the fever, he +poured some concoction down his burning throat. + +Morales' tossing head came to an abrupt stop on the pillow. A sudden +hope bourgeoned in his distracted eyes. He was like a man falling down a +cliffside, clutching madly at an adnascent shrub. His eyes glowed from +their deep sockets like pulsing coals. Here was help in his hour of +need. His eyes seemed fairly to devour the serrano. + +Ferou, watching all, bent sharply toward him. + +"But you forgot again, monsenor!" he whispered. "You have burned their +dead! You have transgressed the teachings of their religion, walked +roughshod over all their superstitious dreads. They are my men, heart +and soul! + +"Ah, Morales, I have told you, I lay the strings of my plots long in +advance! It was I who gathered these serranos and egged them on at that +rebellion on the rock. I have whispered to them in the long nights. They +believe all your sanitary methods are tricks of the devil which have +aided, rather than lessened the ravages of the plague. The fact that the +cholera has stricken you and Quesada and Carson is to them as a sign +from on high. With the death of you three, they look for the lifting of +the scourge. Sooner than aid your recovery, they would poison you!" + +A fit of retching, sudden and violent, seized Morales. Ferou moved away. +When Morales recovered from the griping vice of the fit, the Frenchman +was proffering a cup of some darkish mixture to the convalescing +banderillero on the matador's left hand. + +"Here, Alfonso Robledo," he said quite loudly. "Drink this narcotic, and +you will sleep like a babe. It is only fine old brandy with a pinch of +opium." + +It was just the mild form of opiate Morales craved. Ferou looked over at +the matador with the words. He was tormenting Morales with the +afflictions of a Tantalus. He went down the lane between the platforms, +most solicitously dosing each sufferer in turn. + +Behind the Frenchman's back, surreptitiously, the banderillero Alfonso +Robledo proffered his opiate to Morales. Morales shook his head. + +"I thank you a thousand times, my son," he said in a feeble husky +whisper; "but it is not right that I should rob you of that which your +debilitated system needs. We are both sick men." + +"But I am recovering, growing stronger hourly. Maestro, you have just +slapped down!" The banderillero became quietly yet earnestly +impassioned. "Ah, it breaks my heart to see my brave espada so weak! I +want to help. Should you die through sacrifice to me, I will not care to +live! I am only a peon of your cuadrilla; you are the great matador. My +loss will not be felt! Take it, take it, please, Don Manuel of my soul!" + +Morales hesitated. But only for a trice. + +"No," he decided with heroic stubbornness. "This Frenchman can't have +so black a heart. Seguramente, no! He is but teasing me to test my +caliber. If I must, rather than rob you, Alfonso, I shall pay the hawk!" + +"Eh?" broke in the thin nasal voice of Ferou. Unaware, he had returned +and overheard Morales' words. "And you have changed your mind, Don +Manuel? You are willing to pay? That is good! Now let me see; what was +it you wanted?" + +"I think your joke a little cruel, Senor Ferou. I would have you give me +a mild opiate." + +"Ah, yes; brandy and an opium pill. That will cost you now just one +thousand pesetas! This wait, which you think such a cruel joke, Monsenor +Morales, has cost you precisely five hundred pesetas more!" + +The man was altogether inhuman. + +"You hawk, you vulture of the slime, you blood-leech!" execrated Morales +in a furious voice that shook through his lungs like a hoarse wind. "I +shall rot in hell before ever I put one centesimo into your filthy +claws!" + +The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders. His face was stiff and livid with +restrained bile. + +"I leave you now, Don Manuel," he said with acid politeness, "to visit +that other Eldorado, Senor Carson. Perhaps mon Americain won't think so +much of his peseta bills. And who knows? Perhaps the great espada will +also change his mind by the time I return!" + +At the door, he turned and called out bitingly to the two sullen +serranos: + +"You will see, mis paisanos, that Monsenor Morales, who burned your +dead, will want for everything and get nothing! When he changes his +mind, one of you may come for me!" + +He smiled toward Morales his peculiar aggravating smile; then, twisting +the spikes of his straw mustache, swaggered out the doorway. + +There was a soft thud up near the altar at the end of one platform. The +mountain boy, Gabriel, had rolled off upon the ground. On discolored +hands and knees quaking from the disease, he came creeping with stealthy +quietude and laborious feebleness down the passageway. Half-tilted +between rigid teeth, he held a tin cup containing a preparation in wine +of powdered aromatic chalk. + +He had achieved half the length of the runway when, on the sudden, one +of the serranos discovered him. The fellow roughly swung the boy up +under one arm. The contents of the tin cup was spilled. The boy began a +frenzied squirming and kicking. In a tumult of febrile revolt and +piteous pleading, he wailed: + +"Let me go, let me go to him--to Don Manuel of my heart! He is good, he +is brave, he is like the very God Himself! He is sick only because he +helped me and the knife slipped! Ah, Diego Lerida, I have known you +since I was born. Won't you let me go, won't you let me give him +something to ease the pain? He did the same for the wife of you, ere the +good Dios called her. Only a little chalk, Tio Diego, only a little +chalk and wine. + +"No? You won't let me go! Then may Satanas claim you for a gnat of a +dunghill--you and all your vile spawn! And may the Christ and His +Compassionate Mother bring hope and health to my own brave espada--" + +Came a hoarse shout from Morales: "Hola, my brave little golden one! I +drink to you, Gabriellito!" + +And accepting the lesser of the two sacrifices, Morales lifted from +between the banderillero and himself the cup containing the partly +finished brandy, and quaffed it down in one great draught. + +He was none too soon. With an oath of commingled surprise, anger and +dismay, the second serrano leaped forward and lunged at the matador. He +only succeeded in knocking the empty cup from Morales' hand. + +Save then for the feverish Quesada and those who slept under the +influence of narcotics or the cold pall of death, the whole sick bay +chortled with nightmare hoarseness at the frustrated and suddenly +apprehensive serranos. + +The hours snailed by. While Manuel Morales tossed and mumbled in painful +slumber, the mountain boy watched him steadily from down the lane of +blanketed figures. There was in his unblinking, deep-socketed eyes that +highest emotion one can exercise toward another human being. Morales had +called him his dorado, his brave little golden one! In his eyes was a +reverence that amounted to venerating love, wistful adoration! + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + + +It was a strangely assorted trio. Over the lip of the great rock on the +brink of the village of Minas de la Sierra extended the athletic +shoulders and sharp ashy face of Jacques Ferou, lying flat on his +stomach. Below in the gorge at the foot of the corkscrew goat path, +straining their necks backward and looking up, were the two Guardias +Civiles, Pascual Montara and Sergeant Esteban Alvarado. All three were +deeply absorbed in a distance-spanning conversation. + +"That Americain lied!" the Frenchman was shouting down with heated +earnestness. "Jacinto Quesada is himself in this village. He has been +sick with the great illness and with a mad fever, too; but this morning +his head is once more his own, and he is repairing rapidly in strength. +He is here, I tell you!" + +"Muy bueno!" shouted back the old sergeant with glad resolution. "We +will come up for him immediately!" + +"Non, non, mi sargento! There is the pestilence to fear, and there is +also my revolver which barks no, no!" + +"What would you, then?" asked sullenly that apelike one, Montara. + +Now, so thoroughly were the trio engrossed in the matter of words, that +their minds were completely monopolized and all other perceptions were +excluded from their senses. They did not hear the clatter of a horse's +hoofs approaching up the gorge. When that clatter abruptly ceased, their +unheeding ears received no sensation of change or difference. + +They did not know that, five yards behind the policeman, concealed from +above by the leafy branches of pines and alders and from the guardsmen +ahead by a thick underwood of tall buckthorn and entangled genista, a +horseman had halted and now, leaning his two hands upon the pommel of +the saddle, was observing them attentively. + +He was quite a rememberable-looking man. His hair was white; his skin +from exposure to wind and weather was a deep swarth; and his eyes were +gray. Not many Spaniards have gray eyes. The eyes of Don Jaime de +Torreblanca y Moncada were a clear, cold, agate-gray. All in all, there +was about his appearance, especially the long aquiline nose, the stony +eyes and pointed white beard, something which seemed to hearken back to +the days of ruffs and ready swords--the days of the terrible Spanish +infantry, the Armada, the Bigotes, the "Bearded Men," the +Conquistadores. + +He strained his eyes through the greeny plait above him. Suddenly, as he +glimpsed the man sprawled on the great rock, his narrow face blanched as +if gutted of blood; a look of savage ferocity leaped into his eyes; and +his hand strayed back to the heavy horse pistol slung from the saddle. + +But abruptly his reaching hand stopped. A few random words of the trio's +conversation had impinged upon his ears and aroused his curiosity. + +"There is something foul going forward here!" he breathed vehemently. "I +shall listen. Of what use to snap off the snake's head, now and +impetuously? Let him bare his fangs. With cold patience, even as the +Christ waits for his Judgment Day, I will wait for my moment of +vengeance on this creature!" + +Don Jaime was a grandee of Spain, one entitled to wear his hat in the +presence of his monarch. Well now, as he applied his ear to the +conversation, his stony eyes filled with a profundity of contempt that +none but a grandee could plumb. Carajo! this was no ordinary +conversation he was overhearing. It was the bartering for money of the +living body of a man! + +Shouted down Ferou, repeating the last question of Montara: + +"What would I, what would I have you do? Oh, a very little, monsenores +policemen--I would merely have you attend to the simple matter of my +reward. I will do all the rest. For the reward, I will deliver Quesada +up to you--I will deliver him walking upon his own two legs, so you will +not have to touch his infectious clothes. It is good, what? And you will +give me the reward of ten thousand pesetas, eh?" + +"When you have done all that you say you will do," returned the old +sergeant, sternly noncommittal, "then, and not before, shall you have +earned the ten thousand pesetas. But you need have no fears for the +money! When I shoot down this sacrilegious swollen toad of a Quesada, I +shall make my report to headquarters at Getafe. Your name--" + +"It is Jacques Ferou." + +"I will remember, Senor Don Jacques Ferou. You shall be given all due +credit. In two weeks' time from the day you deliver Jacinto Quesada to +us, you can collect the reward by presenting yourself at Getafe. Most +certainly, Spain shall consider herself the best off in the bargain!" + +"Tres bien!" exclaimed the Frenchman, lapsing with emotion into his +native tongue; then recovering: "It is good. I agree." + +"When may we expect you with the heretical dog?" asked Montara. + +"To-morrow at noon. When this great rock is hot with midday glare, I +will force him out here, my gun nuzzling his back. You policemen can +shoot him from below." + +Vigorously the old sergeant nodded his polished tricorn hat. + +"Muy bueno!" he approved heartily. Then in adieu: "Go thou thy way with +God!" + +"Always at the feet of the Guardia Civil who keep the peace of Spain," +ended the man on the rock, after the fashion of Spanish courtesy. He +withdrew from view, thereupon, much as a turtle's head withdraws from +view between its carapax and plastron shells. + +Don Jaime crashed his rawboned old horse through the tall buckthorn and +entangled genista. + +"Alto a la Guardia Civil!" thundered Montara, springing back and jerking +his carbine to his shoulder. + +"Down, you apelike one!" commanded the aged sergeant. "Can't you see? It +is the hidalgo doctor, Don Jaime de Torreblanca y Moncada!" And he swept +his tricorn hat off his close-clipped white head. + +Don Jaime reined in his horse to a quick stop. He disdained altogether +the mortified Montara. He looked down at the bared white head, the +knife-sharp white beard, and the lean and haughty face of the aged +sergeant. + +It was, then, as if he looked down upon a singular edition of himself. +Don Jaime was a grandee by birth and breeding, and these things amount +in Spain; but the old sergeant was no less grand with adamantine +adhesion to principle, with eagle-sternness and eagle-haughtiness. They +eyed each other with mutual recognition and respect. They were both of +the same old Spanish imperial school, unforgiving of injury, inexorable +to avenge. + +Said the doctor, "Peace be to you, mi sargento." + +"And to you peace, Don Jaime of my soul." + +"But what is this scheme I hear you hatching?" + +"It is a way we have of keeping the peace of Spain." + +"Cannot you drag down the Wolf-Cub without the aid of this blood-hound, +Ferou?" + +"We of the Guardia Civil are not podencos that can drag down the Wolf in +the open. Senor Don Dios! we have tried and each time failed!" + +"But the man Ferou is a human leech! Oh, I overheard your secret talk. I +tell you, the Frenchman sucks life-blood for money!" + +"It is thief catch thief, Don Jaime. The Wolf-Cub, Quesada, is a cancer +in the side of Spain. And Spain must be healed. We will loose the leech +to suck this evil cancer from the side of Spain!" + +"You are hatching a snake's egg, mi gran caballero. The fruit of it +shall stink in the nostrils of all brave Moors! You may take your oath +on that, Don Esteban! I for one will be no party to it!" + +"No lo quiera Dios! God forbid, proud Torreblanca y Moncada, that we of +the police should expect your aid! You have a higher call. Up in Minas +de la Sierra, there is wailing and much sickness--ah, so many men have +slapped under and died, and so many more suffer in earthly purgatory!" + +"Sea como Dios quiera!" muttered Don Jaime. "God's will be done!" + +The sergeant looked up at him, old eyes alive with strange fervor. + +"They say of you, Don Jaime--si, and of me, too!--that we have granite +boulders for hearts. But I know. Arrogante Torreblanca y Moncada is very +tender with the sick. He has hands of gold for calling one back to life +and for closing softly the lids of the dying. Vaya, mi gran hidalgo +doctor! Go thou in the companionship of the sublime Christ and Mary, the +All Compassionate!" + +He stepped to one side. Don Jaime bade him a courteous adieu. Then, with +all the hauteur of one riding an Arabian barb, sitting rigid in the +saddle, the senor doctor loped his rawboned old nag up the winding goat +path toward the barrio. + +The policeman looked after him. Pascual Montara chewed fiercely the +ends of his black mustache. He muttered: + +"To-morrow at noon. When that great rock is hot with midday glare, this +hombre Jacques Ferou will force the Sacrilegious One out upon the +brink." + +"Carajo, yes!" grimly agreed the old sergeant. "And we of the Guardia +Civil will shoot him from below!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + + +A man wasted from disease sat, all this while, in the morning sunlight +on a chair tilted back against one whitewashed wall of the village +chapel. His young haggard face was screwed up, and he frowned through +Moorish amber eyes toward where, some distance below, the Frenchman +sprawled on the great rock at the brink of the village. He could not +account for the unseemly posture and gesticulating hands and head of the +Frenchman. + +No word of Ferou's bartering reached him. He lacked even one clue to the +strange and absorbing business going forward. He did not know that the +waiting members of the Guardia Civil had advanced up the gorge and now, +out of sight, down at the foot of the goat path, were making +cold-blooded arrangement with the Frenchman for the delivery of his own +living body! + +Quesada lacked the strength which would urge him boldly to investigate. +And he was too weak to concentrate his mind, for any length of time, on +an apparently unsolvable problem. He shrugged aside his perplexity, +after a little, and sunk back into that trick of strategic plotting so +natural to the feeble in body but strong in spirit. + +Twisting his head about, he looked through the doorway into the +hospital. Within, in that fetid moaning place where lay the sick +Morales, there were no attending serranos; they had finished their +rounds for the nonce. Below on the great rock, the engrossing and +unaccountable business had every appearance of engaging Ferou for some +time. The way was clear. + +Quesada thumped down his tilted chair and walked on weakly rickety legs +to where, near the cork-oak tree in the center of the uneven street, a +number of the villagers were brewing a puchero in a great iron pot. + +"Come, mis paisanos!" he said in a voice surprisingly commanding for one +so enervated from disease. "Ladle out to me a bowl of the stew." + +"We have no orders to refuse you, Don Jacinto," answered one of the men +obsequiously. "We only mind that Morales and the Americano should get +none." + +The bandolero snorted, but held his peace. He took the steaming earthen +bowl proffered him; then quaking like one palsied, exerting a deal of +effort so as not to spill a drop of the precious haricot, he slowly +retraced his steps toward the sick bay. + +Here he glanced back over one shoulder. The serranos had returned to the +business of stirring the puchero; they were not watching him. In he +staggered, through the chapel doorway, to share the soup of the stew +with the sick matador, Manuel Morales. + +Minutes clicked by--a good ten minutes. + +Within the cabana where Carson convalesced, Felicidad was sitting in a +chair at the American's bedside, her golden head nodding with +drowsiness, when the _blut_ of approaching feet on the earthen floor +startled her into alertness. She saw the slim gray-suited form of the +Frenchman darkening the doorway. Her blue eyes widened and filled with +apprehension and deep abhorrence. She shuddered involuntarily and shrunk +back in the chair. + +But Ferou only bowed in mock respect. + +"Senor Carson," he addressed the American, "my serranos are stewing, out +in the street, a fine savory ragout of meat and lentils. Would you care +for some of the soup? It would be very strength-giving." + +Carson, his angular hollow-cheeked face white as the pillow pressed +about it, made no answering movement of head or mouth. With eyes +deep-sunken and chilly blue as high mountain lakes, he looked up at the +Frenchman unblinkingly. + +"It will be very simple, monsenor," continued Ferou suavely, the hard +lines deepening about his mouth in a grim smile. "All you have to do is +to give me one of your five-thousand peseta bills! Since yesterday, the +price of lentils and meat has soared on these mountains. But to you who +are so rich, that is no importa. Only five thousand pesetas for a bowl +of soup!" + +All at once, like an unexpectedly loosed avalanche, the girl was on her +feet, her blue eyes coldly ablaze like points of steel. + +"You--you thief! You know he has left only one bill of five thousand +pesetas! You have taken all the others! Oh, you rapacious hawk, you +vile, vile vulture!" she cried out, shuddering with horrid remembrance +and a sudden increase of detestation. "You would rob him of his all, +everything! You would have him end his days in want and misery, just +like the pobre padre of me!" + +The Frenchman did not wither beneath her scorn. He shoved his sharp +blond head nearer her. And his face livid with stirred-up bile, his +slate-colored eyes narrowed to mere blazing slits, he bared his long +white teeth in a passionate carnivorous snarl of envenomed hate. + +"You baggage, you treacherous snake! I'll show you what! When I get done +my work in this barrio, you'll go with me. Mon Dieu, I'll show you how +an Apache Parisien treats one such as you!" + +The movement was unexpected. Sudden as the sweep of a hawk, he bent his +tall athletic body forward sharply and made a grab at her wrist! + +She recoiled from him. The nostrils of his high predatory nose twitching +and working, his whole ashy face working and grimacing with fury like a +horrible mask of rubber, he leaped after her. She sidled along the edge +of the bed. Trembling in every limb like a terrorized doe, she retreated +out the doorway. + +Bent sharply forward, bounding from spot to spot like a leopard, the +Frenchman followed. + +The American attempted to lift his head from the pillow. He fell back +like a load of lead. He worked his hands together and groaned aloud at +his helplessness. + +Came a sudden clatter of horse's hoofs out in the village; then the loud +shaking voice of a man: + +"Alto! Halt, you nameless wench! You have soiled my honor, profaned my +name, defiled my blood! Heart of God, you must die!" + +It was not the voice of the Frenchman. It was the voice of Don Jaime de +Torreblanca y Moncada. The terrible doctor had come! + +Sitting stark upright upon his horse on the great rock at the brink of +the village, his narrow face a cinder-gray, Don Jaime was leveling his +huge horse-pistol at the backing form of the golden-haired girl! + +"Ha!" exclaimed the Frenchman, his eyes lighting up like sunlight on +ice, his grimacing face wreathing into an outrageous smile. "It is the +haughty hidalgo come to wipe out his dishonor in the blood of ma chérie +Felicidad!" + +With a laugh that was worse than brutal, that was pitiless and fiendish +at such a time, he sprung back into the dark shelter of the doorway. + +The frail slip of a girl was left, unaided and alone, to face the +avenger. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + + +Attracted by the vibrant loud outcry of the terrible doctor, Jacinto +Quesada put down the earthen bowl of stew, left the bedside of the sick +Morales, and showed himself in the doorway of the hospital. With +weakness his rickety legs tottered under him; with weakness the world +reeled and swam before his eyes. He shaded his eyes with a pale and +unsteady hand and peered out into the cold sunlight. + +He understood the threat. Down at the end of the uneven street, on the +great rock at the brink of the village, bulked Calamity on horseback! + +Quesada clutched at the jamb of the door. Shaking like a tag of paper in +an ugly wind, for an intolerable moment he clung there. Then all at +once, in a blind broken-legged stagger, out into the street he lurched. + +With every leaden stride, he seemed to gather to his need what scattered +rags and tatters of strength he yet possessed. His legs straightened +under him somewhat; his heavy toppling shoulders came up. + +On the sudden, he slewed completely round. Back the way he had come, +back toward the sick bay, he pitched. + +But again and all on a sudden, he halted. He threw his arms aloft, he +lifted drawn face to the cold gray sky. Hoarsely he cried out: + +"Give me strength! Senor Don Dios, give me strength to do that which I +now must do!" + +On he sped back toward the hospital. And his feet pounded down and up, +down and up without infirmity, without numb and leaden shuffle. Gone +were the staggering lurch, the sagging shoulders, the rolling giddying +head. Gone utterly all the various stigmata of disease-engendered +weakness! + +He was like a man who, suddenly overwhelmed by an ocean of water, casts +off his clogging garments and strikes out nimbly and heartily. He was +altogether a new man, agile to move, galvanically energized. He was +mighty with an unwonted strength. + +It was not a body strength. It was a strength above body strength, a +strength beyond body strength. It was that strength secreted deep down +but seldom drawn upon, that strength which lifts some men up and steels +them to their endeavors in moments of prodigious stress. It was that +epic strength which makes of weaklings, cold-eyed and high-handed +heroes! + +Something must be done to thwart the granite will of the implacable Don +Jaime. There was need for a man. There was no time to lose. + +Quick as an ape, Quesada bounded through the hospital doorway. Down the +runway between the platforms and the dying men, he dashed. At the end of +the smelly place, near the dingy altar, he halted. There, on the slant +of the pine slabs, lay the disease-wasted form of little Gabriel, the +mountain boy. + +He bent over the pitifully sick child. Carefully, round and round the +puny little body, he swathed the tossed and crumpled blanket. Then up in +his two arms he lifted the blanketed boy and bore him back along the +runway, out the hospital door. + +The child rested his head like an infant in Quesada's neck; he raised to +the gaunt face of the bandolero, two dull and feebly wondering eyes. A +great pity smote Quesada. Convulsively his arms tightened about the boy. +He felt suddenly weak, almost unmanned. For the moment he could not +continue on. + +He put his mouth close to the cradled head of the boy. + +"Ah, forgive me, nino of my soul!" he whispered fervently. "I do not +desire to be brutal. I desire only to save our good Felicidad from cruel +death at her father's hands." + +Gabriel smuggled his arm about the bandolero's neck. It was a mute but +trustful answer. Quesada looked over one shoulder to call back through +the doorway: + +"Alfonso Robledo! You can walk. Lend a hand here, man! Follow me!" + +Then down the long uneven street he ran, the blanketed form of Gabriel +borne before him in his tight but tender arms. + +Everything was happening with breathless velocity, in a rush, in hardly +an appreciable flicker of time. + +As Quesada went by, from deep in the shadowy doorways of their cabanas, +the mountaineers of Minas de la Sierra peered forth at him. They were +like so many beady-eyed lizards in so many dark crevices. At the first +rustle of danger they had hid themselves. + +No sound came from the huts. But once Quesada had put them behind two by +two, there breathed up, from each cabana, an aghast whisper: + +"Ah, God in Heaven! There goes Jacinto Quesada, and our own little +Gabriel in the two brave arms of him! And Alfonso--Alfonso Robledo +tottering after! What would they? Turn the hidalgo doctor from his +terrible purpose? Ave Maria Purissima!" + +Where trivial anxieties talk and gesticulate, there great anxieties +stand dumb and make no sign. + +Thus with the two principals in the on-sweeping tragedy. Mute and +motionless as boulders of basalt, they stood transfixed against that +steely background of cold sky and glacial desolate mountains--the one +bulking high on horseback like some black-browed Destroying Angel, the +other petrified below him in the street, a pale flower of a girl. + +They did not hear the whispers from the cabanas, those whispers that +were like the murmurings which come with the inchoation of a great storm +or an earthquake. They did not see Quesada swinging fast down the +street, the blanketed form of Gabriel in his arms and the sick +bullfighter, swathed Indian-like in another blanket, lurching and +tottering behind him. They had ears and eyes only for the grim and +calamitous business at hand. + +Poor Felicidad! For a long unendurable interval, stupefied by the shock +of the hidalgo's sudden coming, she stood terrorized and iced with +dismay. Then the appalling desperation of her extremity struck home to +her. A violent tremor shook through her ivory and gold form, her +strength ebbed away, her knees gave under her, and she began to fall. + +But no! Out of her memory leaped like scalding vitriol the words with +which Don Jaime had greeted her. + +"Halt, you nameless wench!" + +And, from deep in her being, rushed forth to hearten and uphold her a +new, surprising reserve of strength and courage. With an unconscious but +fine little movement of hauteur, she drew herself erect. + +He had called her a nameless wench. Well, she would show this harsh +hidalgo there was blood and pride in her yet. She would show him she +knew how to die bravely, proudly--aye, in a manner wholly befitting a +Torreblanca y Moncada! + +The golden head, that was so rare in one Castilian, lifted up. Up she +gazed at the avenger out of fearless and scornful blue eyes. + +For a vehement moment, an emphatic quivering trice, over the long +glittering barrel of the horse-pistol, Don Jaime answered her gaze. + +Za, he knew the jade! She had soiled his honor, profaned his name, +defiled his blood! She had run off with a creature who had no more +decency than to rob the father of all his money, while he stole from him +also his only child! Name of God! how he despised her! + +Like was he, then, to that morose and vindictive Jehovah of the ancient +Jews. His hand tightened on the heavy butt. There was, in the cold +stillness, the sharp click of an old-fashioned pistol being cocked! + +Harshly the sound cracked against the ears of Jacinto Quesada. His +running body lurched forward in a desperate spurt. He stumbled against +the startled nag. He held up in his arms to the doctor the blanketed +form of Gabriel. And hoarsely he cried out: + +"God forbid, Don Jaime! Wait--for the love of Our Lady of Pity, wait! +You are a physician, and we are sick here. We are sick with the dread +cholera, sick unto death. Your first duty is to us. You must help us. We +need you, urgently, woefully--" + +Again everything was happening with breathless velocity, in a rush, in +hardly an appreciable flicker of time. Quesada's voice rose almost to a +scream: + +"Turn your eyes upon this dying boy, Torreblanca y Moncada! Look at the +glassy eyes, the deep eye pits! Look at the cheek bones bursting through +the paper-dry skin! Have pity on him, Don Jaime. Eleven years old, +innocent as a babe at the breast, and yet wrinkled and wan and all +crumpled in a heap like a disease-riddled old man! + +"Ah, Blood of Christ, Don Jaime, you are no Barbary savage to turn away +from the outreaching hands of a dying child! You are a priest of the +body, a servant of mankind! Your first duty is to this mortally sick +child, to all the mortally sick in this village. After that, if you +must, you may kill!" + +Quesada trembled violently with the ardor and hunger of his entreaty. +The dark-eyed, pasty-faced Gabriel shook in his uplifted arms like a +poor played-out doll of rags. An end of the blanket slipped from about +the boy's shoulder, dragged free from him, fell in a heap upon the rock. +Aloft to the doctor, Quesada held the little fellow stark naked in the +full light of day! + +Quesada fell to his knees, clawed frantically for the blanket. The child +lifted slow deep-sunken eyes to the stony eyes of the grandee, as if +dimly wondering what it was all about. + +Quesada raised one end of the blanket to enwrap the boy, then suddenly +hesitated. He had appealed to the honor of the physician. Well he knew +how dear was that professional honor to Don Jaime! + +Don Jaime was the sort of physician who looks upon his business of +serving the ailing as a sacred commission from on high. He was like one +who had taken Holy Orders with his doctor's degree. No Jesuit was more +slave to his oaths; no Jesuit worked with more zeal for God and the +Society than did Don Jaime for Humanity and Science. + +Quesada thought, now, to essay farther. With the little fellow standing +upon his own reedlike legs and clinging desperately to him, the +bandolero lifted his gaunt face to the granite face of the hidalgo. In a +low patient voice, he said: + +"Would you let this poor child endure all the agonies of purgatory and +wretchedly die, while you carry out your cruel scheme of vengeance? Look +at him, Don Jaime! Give heed to the legs that are like walking-sticks, +the poor thin wrists, the bony little neck, the body limp as a soaking +dish towel! + +"Have pity on him, Don Jaime--you who know what it is to suffer! The +Senor Don Dios has been far more cruel to him than ever He has been to +you! Not a month gone. He took the child's widowed mother from him; she +was one of the first to be claimed by the plague. Now the poor baby is +all alone in the world!" + +Quesada swathed the boy in the blanket. Cradling him tenderly in his +arms, he got quietly to his feet. He waited. + +Don Jaime hesitated. The horse-pistol shook violently in his hand. His +agate eyes softened. + +Then, all at once, an appalling change swept over Don Jaime. Deep in the +crypts and catacombs of his brain, old rankling memories stirred--old +painful and dolorous memories got up, and walked about, and paraded back +and forth in somber procession. He could have screamed, so tortured was +he that moment! + +Why should he, the grievously outraged one, show pity? Why should he +turn aside from his scheme of vengeance to succor this dying child, +these wretched people? Once before had he been robbed when he sought +revenge for a mortal wrong. This jade's mother had run off with a gypsy +picador. And though the hand of God had intervened in that elopement as +a sublime instrument of vengeance, always had he regretted, through the +dreary and bitter years, that his own hand had not slain the mother of +Felicidad. + +Not another time would he suffer himself to be turned aside. He was like +that awful Jehovah of the Jews! He would be revenged up to the hilt, +paid back in full! + +He tore his eyes from the piteous face of the boy Gabriel. He freshened +his grip on the horse-pistol, lifted it up. Slowly over the level of it +he eyed the waiting girl. + +Rose suddenly a shout from Quesada: + +"Take the boy away, Alfonso Robledo! He is only a peasant's sniveling +cub, a mountaineer's orphan brat! What cares the grandee of Spain for +our little Gabriel? Take him away; the hidalgo Don Jaime will have none +of him! Let him die!" + +Robledo tottered forward. He took the blanketed child in his arms. +Turning about, slowly back toward the hospital he made. + +Quesada lifted his haggard face. With a contempt biting and goading in +its virulence, he cried: + +"Proceed, proud Torreblanca y Moncada! You have your high knightly honor +to defend, your name and blood to purge! Shoot!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + + +Now it may have been because of the miraculous interposition of the +Espiritu Santo, or it may have been by reason of the sudden and brutal +exposure; but all at once, as he was borne away in the arms of Robledo, +the boy Gabriel took an abrupt turn for the worse--a cruel cramping fit +seized him in its formidable vise! + +Violent spasms shook and threw him about like a tossed beanbag; his +teeth clenched together with the paralysis of lockjaw; his legs and arms +knotted up and flung out again as if they would tear themselves apart +from his body. All in a trice, and ere Robledo could prevent, he writhed +out of the bullfighter's grasp and fell rolling and squirming upon the +ground, his fingers clawing at the yellow earth. + +Blind to everything else, screaming his fear and horror, Quesada leaped +toward him. But some one bulked before the bandolero, blocked his way, +dashed head-bent for the boy's side. + +That some one held in his hand an instrument of gleaming silver, +needle-sharp at one end. He dropped to his knees beside the pitifully +contorted Gabriel. He shoved the needle point into the boy's knotted arm +above the wrist; gave it a quick jab. That some one was the hidalgo +doctor, Don Jaime! + +Once the hypodermic injection acted on the spinal cord and the medulla +oblongata, the spasms would be checked, quieted, allayed. But there +must be a circulation of blood. Too slow, altogether too slow, was the +blood trickling through the lad's veins. He was sinking fast. + +With swift harsh hands, Don Jaime rubbed desperately the boy's arms, +legs and spine. But Gabriel's pulse was dying; rapidly his skin was +turning to a blue tinge; like dew chilling to frost, the surface of his +body was freezing icily. The injection of morphia failed to impact on +the nerve centers. It was without effect. + +On a sudden the little fellow kicked out, then lay rigid as one who +stiffens in the petrifying clutch of death. All the breath had fled his +nostrils. He was in the asphyxial stage of the cholera. + +Don Jaime, kneeling beside the collapsed form, tore with his harsh hands +at jaw and brow to force open the vised mouth. Between the boy's +clenching teeth, he wedged the blunt end of the silver syringe. Then he +strove to force air into the sunken empty lungs. He strove brusquely yet +carefully, as one strives over a drowning man. He lifted the reedlike +arms above the boy's head, then back to his sides and up again. + +He worked feverishly, he worked heroically. He reached for the black +leather box he had thrown behind him. The broken straps on that box +showed where it had been torn with sudden violence from the cantle of +his saddle. + +Quesada hastened to aid his groping hand. He picked up the box and held +it open. + +"Ammonia!" snapped the doctor. "Hold it to his nose!" + +Quesada withdrew from the box a labeled blue bottle. As Don Jaime worked +the puny arms up and down with a certain circumspect precision, Quesada +held the pungent salts beneath the slightly fluttering nostrils. + +"Build a fire! Heat water!" Don Jaime exploded, never ceasing his +labors. "Quick! We must give the boy a hot bath to circulate the blood +and save him from dying!" + +"We have a fire going night and day," returned Quesada. "We have only to +remove the heated stones to the bathing pool." + +"Where is it, this pool? Lead the way!" + +The haughty doctor leaped afoot. He had no thought but for the urgent +business at hand. He was a thrall to grim and importunate necessity. +Even as his personal honor was to him more precious than life, so was +his physician's honor a covenant with Jehovah, tyrannical and imperious +to command him. + +Quesada, flinging his rickety legs wide apart, went swaying and +floundering up the uneven street. Don Jaime followed after the +bandolero, the little Gabriel in his own hidalgo arms. + +The heat of the bath circulated the lad's blood. By slow degrees, he +drew out of the chill collapse. Don Jaime wrapped him snug in a blanket. +Once again, in his own hidalgo arms, the grandee doctor carried the boy +back to the sick bay. + +As he entered that fetid moaning place, a kind of shiver trembled +through Don Jaime. He made along the runway between the platforms of +tossing, groaning, and emaciated sick, his gray eyes darting from side +to side. At the upper end of the chapel, near the dingy altar, he laid +the boy down. + +What of the hot bath and resultant circulation of blood, the injection +of morphia was now at last achieving its purpose. No sooner had the poor +lad touched the pine slabs than he passed blissfully into the dwelling +place of sleep. + +Don Jaime looked down the two platforms of blanketed sick. Slowly and +gloomily he shook his white head. He turned to Quesada following doglike +after him. His narrow face was a cinder-gray. + +"You have spoken aright, son of a mangy she-wolf," he said. "I came nigh +to forgetting my duty. I am a priest of the body. My first duty is to +the suffering and dying here! After that--" + +He paused ominously. He looked about as if in search of something. Of a +sudden his roving eyes became focused, riveted; they flashed like +cressets of fire. Through the hospital doorway, out into the cold +sunlight he gazed. + +He saw Felicidad down the village street. From the spell of terror and +despair she was only then recovering. She glanced quickly about her. It +was as if she had been away on a long journey and was astounded now to +find everything as it had been before. She shuddered visibly like one +starting to life who had been dead for intolerable moments. + +Lip quivering but head held with a quiet proud demeanor, she turned +toward the cabana wherein the American lay. As she entered the low +doorway Jacques Ferou, lurking in the dark, sidled past her and out. + +The Frenchman's whole malignant soul was bunched and crouched in his +eyes. He threw after the golden form of the girl a look searing and +blasting. It was as if, now that the vengeance of the hidalgo had failed +him, he would kill the girl himself with that one glare from his slaty +eyes. + +Don Jaime's lips clicked together. Looking piercingly through the +doorway, his agate eyes lunged like sharp knives at the venomous +Frenchman and the white trembling girl. In a voice chill as a glacial +wind, he spoke. + +"After I have fulfilled here my duty to the sick," he said--"after that, +by the Life, I slay!" + +He would say no more. His lips tightened into a line thin and grim as if +chiseled in stone. + +He went down and up the line of platforms, dosing each sufferer in turn. +To some he gave stimulants and astringents; to those in the more severe +stages of the disease, he doled out opiates. + +He went from cabana to choza outside, bringing brandy and nutritive food +to the convalescing. He was leaving the choza of one villager when +Quesada, dogging his steps, plucked him by the sleeve. + +"You have seen, senor don hidalgo?" asked the bandolero. "The Frenchman +Ferou is up here, also." + +"I know," nodded Don Jaime austerely. "He is wherever trouble is. He is +the scum that gathers where things are filthy, an abomination to be +squashed under the heel! Za!" he ended, with profound loathing. "He is a +human leech!" + +Quickly then, as they approached the next cabana, he related with +characteristic frankness and bitter contempt, all he had seen and heard +that morning in the gorge at the foot of the goat path. + +Quesada showed little surprise. What could one expect from the French +vulture! + +But what did surprise him not a little was to find, upon putting his +hand inside his sheepskin zamarra, that the small mahogany-colored +leather purse of the doctor was no longer there. Carajo! what had become +of the purse and money of Don Jaime? + +"It is that Frenchman!" he quickly surmised. "Don Jaime, he has stolen +your money for a second time! I took the purse from him in that affair +of the Seville-to-Madrid; I was holding all those five thousand peseta +bills for you, my senor doctor; but while I was down sick and knew +nothing, the French ferret must have gone through my pockets!" + +Don Jaime only grunted. + +They entered the obscurity of the next cabana. Within, Felicidad was +sitting at the bedside of the convalescing American, explaining all that +had occurred. At their appearance, she abruptly quieted. + +Pointing to the American upon the leaf-stuffed couch, Quesada explained +in a few sketchy sentences just who Carson was and all he had done. Then +the bandolero told how Ferou had charged Carson for the medicines so +vital to his recovery and even for the bare necessities of life. + +"The Frenchman is a plunderer, an extortioner, Don Jaime. He charged +prices, exorbitant prices. He robbed this man of all his ready money. +Senor Don Dios, it was outrageous, detestable! There was no need of +prices; the man was down on his back, helpless, well-nigh dead; there +was no need of prices of any kind. But what could we do? In all the +barrio, Ferou was the only one armed." + +The hidalgo doctor lifted Carson's heavy hand to feel his pulse. He said +no word. He never once looked toward Felicidad who had arisen to her +feet and stepped to one side. + +Yet Quesada knew. In this expose of Ferou's execrable character, it was +plain by comparison that the Frenchman had artfully cajoled Felicidad +and then used her as a cat's-paw to pluck golden chestnuts out of the +fire. The girl had been duped and ensnared by the creature's wiles. Even +to the adamantine mind of the senor doctor, the blow and blot of his +daughter's conduct must inevitably pall before the odiousness of the +Frenchman's villainy. + +But again Don Jaime said no word. He only prescribed a certain diet for +Carson. Without so much as a softening glance toward the pale and +fearful girl, he marched out of the cabana, his boots clamping down in +firm measured strides. + +They returned to the hospital only to find Gabriel suffering, once more, +in the grip of the plague. To ease the poor lad's griping pangs and +still the heart-tearing cries for his dead mother, the senor doctor +dropped a few beads of chloroform down his throat. + +"Do not despair, my precious little man!" encouraged Morales, in a husky +voice, from his place down the platform. "Have a high fearless heart, +and the great Torreblanca will yet pull you through." + +With an utterness of gratitude at having won such inspiriting words +from the matador whom he so venerated, the boy thanked Morales with +black eyes that were smoldering great coals in their deep pits. + +Don Jaime turned to Quesada. Morales had tossed off the upper end of his +blanket and the hidalgo had suddenly noticed the gold-braided green +jacket about the matador's torso. With that characteristic frankness of +his which so often sounded brutal and coarse, he queried: + +"Who is this hombre in gold-tinsel and green that has such faith in the +ability and concoctions of Torreblanca y Moncada?" + +"Que, que!" exclaimed the bandolero, distinctly surprised. "What, what! +Does not the senor doctor know?" + +But the doctor did not even remember having seen the man in the +excitement of his first rounds. + +"That is Morales, the bravest espada in all the Spains!" + +"Morales? Manuel Morales, that great murderer of bulls, that supremely +dexterous one with the sword? And here!" + +Don Jaime went at once to the side of the wanly smiling matador. + +"My Manuel Morales," he said with earnestness, "all Spain mourns for its +lost pastime while you lie helpless here. We must quickly get you well. +But valgame Dios! no poor few remedies of mine will work the miracle +half so speedily as that own brave golden Moorish heart of you!" + +Interposed Quesada quietly: + +"Jacques Ferou robbed our Manuel, too. And you know the great Morales, +Don Jaime! He would rather starve than play the mouse to this hawk. Yet +he had to pay! + +"Ah, Torreblanca y Moncada," he added with rising vehemence, "this +hombre Ferou, is a human bloodsucker, as you say! He is a greedy, foul +buzzard!" + +Don Jaime snapped erect. A portentous gleam was in his stony eyes. + +"He robbed Manuel Morales, too!" he exclaimed. "That's enough; not +another word! We will give the creature short shrift! Carajo! I have a +plan." + +Quesada and Morales looked about to see that no henchman of Ferou had +chanced to overhear. The doctor understood their wary glances. He +lowered his voice. + +"All the short jump up the goat path," he said in even tones, "ever +since this morning when I heard the French ringworm's conversation in +the gorge, I have been formulating this plan. And it is a good plan; it +will attain many ends at the one time. It will blight the treacherous +plot of Ferou, save you from the Guardia Civil, Quesada, and in the same +breath win back for me my stolen money! Ah, it is almost divine in its +justice! Mediante Dios--God willing, I will use it as another instrument +of my vengeance!" + +Quesada gasped. + +"You mean to kill the French leech? But my senor doctor, in the whole +pueblo, Jacques Ferou is the only man armed! No lo quiera Dios, Don +Jaime! God forbid, yet I fear he will slay you first!" + +"I have a horse-pistol," said the physician with grave significance. +"Yet I do not mean to sully these hidalgo hands of mine by killing him +myself. Seguramente, no! He shall die, but from no bullet of mine!" + +He shook his white head slowly as if fixing something definite in his +mind. + +"To-morrow noon," he added imperiously. "To-morrow noon, he shall die!" + +It was the selfsame hour Ferou himself had bargained with the Guardias +Civiles for the killing of Quesada! + +Don Jaime would say no more. He was as arrogantly enigmatic as the very +God Himself! + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + + +Don Jaime worked that day. That night he slaved. About eventide Alfonso +Robledo, the banderillero who so bravely had seconded Quesada that +morning, suffered all at once a severe relapse. Perhaps it came from the +overheating excitement of that crucial time upon the rock; perhaps the +abrupt exposure in that intrepid try to avert Felicidad's cruel and +barbarous fate, had brought it on; at any rate and all on a sudden, his +weakened body began writhing in an agony of cramps. + +There was nothing else for it. The hidalgo doctor gave the bullfighter a +hypodermic injection of morphia. The paroxysms lessened, altogether +ceased. The eyelids of the banderillero rolled down heavily, and he +slumped into a deep stertorous sleep. + +That reawakened in Don Jaime the Fear. He made once more a round of the +hospital. He went from choza to cabana outside, seeking new cases. Where +a man could not sleep or a woman persisted in moaning, he administered +narcotics. + +When morning dawned through wisps of rain, the long night of taxing and +intolerable work showed plainly in the doctor. His narrow face looked +thin and long as a ferule; the cheek bones were high, the aquiline nose +never more imperious. What with all the coffee he had drunk like a good +Moor, to accelerate the action of his brain and steady the movement of +his hand, his skin seemed tinged to a deeper swarth. + +Quesada awoke early and with a renewed strength. He brewed for the +grandee another pot of fresh aromatic coffee. + +Don Jaime had gone down behind the cabanas to release his hobbled old +skate of a horse and lead him to water. When he returned, his huge +horse-pistol was strapped to his waist. + +He quaffed two cups of the coffee in quick succession. He stained, with +marked and aloof indifference, his usually immaculate white point of a +beard. Then, without a word, with feruled face determined and grim, he +returned into the hospital to his urgent ministry. + +It was coming noon. Quesada was sunning himself before the hospital, +according to his daily wont, when Ferou appeared around one mud wall +with the suddenness of a jack-in-the-box. + +In his right hand the Frenchman showed a revolver. He pointed the +revolver at Quesada. With a politeness that seemed more deadly than the +gleam of the gun, he said: + +"You will arise, Senor Don Jacinto. You will do all that which I tell +you to do. Aupa!" + +The chair, tilted against the mud wall, banged down upon its forlegs. +Quesada got to his feet. + +"March forward past me. Now stop. It is good, my brave bandolero. Now, +with me behind you, march toward that great rock on the brink of the +pueblo!" + +Everything was happening as the doctor had foretold. The tall Frenchman +nudged Quesada with the muzzle of the revolver in the small of his +back. They started on. And then, all at once, from the gloom of the +chapel behind them, came the galvanic voice of the hidalgo: + +"Alto! Drop that gun, you French leech!" + +Quesada did not dare turn round. But Ferou, his blond lids fluttering +with stupendous surprise, gave a quick glance back over his shoulder. He +saw the hidalgo doctor standing in the low doorway, the huge +horse-pistol leveled in one harsh fist, his eyes gleaming like quartz in +the sun. + +The Frenchman gave a precipitant leap to one side. He was quick as an +ape. He slewed round, his revolver lifted. + +An explosion burst from the pistol of the doctor. Ferou's revolver +dropped to the mud. He clutched his right wrist. It was trickling blood +from where a bullet had creased the flesh like a branding wire. + +"Quesada!" cracked the thin lips of Don Jaime. "Pick up that revolver. +You, Ferou, march in here!" He menaced the Frenchman with that huge gun +which was loaded and ready for more quick work. + +Quesada turned round, thereat, and lifted from the mud the Frenchman's +revolver. He shook off the clinging silt and pointed it at Ferou. His +ashy face working like a monkey's with abrupt and nervous apprehension, +the Frenchman marched into the hospital. + +Once inside, in the runway between the blanketed figures of plague +sufferers, Don Jaime snapped out a terse and inexplicable command. Ferou +thought himself the only one that understood its purpose. A shuddering +fit seized him. He knew that, in the receptacles beneath his armpits, +were concealed the small mahogany-colored leather purse he had taken +from Quesada and the peseta bills he had pitilessly mulcted out of +Carson and Morales. He thought that the doctor was searching for them. + +"Undress!" repeated the hidalgo. + +The Frenchman's slate-colored eyes fluttered about. He saw Quesada +threatening him with his own revolver. There was no help for it. With +fingers suddenly thick and clumsy with nervousness, he began to unbutton +his gray tweeds. + +"And you, too, Quesada!" ended the doctor. "Give the Frenchman's +revolver into the keeping of Morales, and undress, too!" + +Quesada did not at all understand. He saw Morales sitting up, as if +prepared to lend aid, a pillow bolstering his back. He passed the +Frenchman's revolver into the hands of the matador. Then bewildered but +blindly obedient, he began to doff his alpagartas, rough corduroys, and +sheepskin zamarra. + +The Frenchman stood forth in his nether garments, a tall, quaking and +almost ludicrous figure. He watched Quesada, a nameless fear sharpening +his slate-colored eyes. + +"Hand over the money, Senor Ferou," said Don Jaime with frosty +politeness; then explosively: "All of it! Pronto!" + +The eyes of the Frenchman flashed like the eyes of a ferocious animal +about to be robbed of its meat. But quickly he got himself in hand; the +baleful gleam dulled. He shot a questioning glance toward the disrobing +bandolero. Perhaps this thing he sensed and dreaded was only a grisly +figment of his imagination. Perhaps, after all, the doctor only wanted +the money. It were wise to obey. + +With an astonishing readiness, he produced, from the receptacles +cunningly prepared beneath his armpits, the purse of the doctor and the +bills belonging to Morales and Carson. + +Don Jaime did not wait to open the purse and inspect its contents. He +shoved the wallet into his pocket. He cast the roll of loose bills upon +the platform beside Morales. + +"They belong to you and the American. You can take what is due you and +return the others to Senor Carson. But hola! let the division go till +later!" + +He kicked the gray tweeds of Ferou over the hard-tamped earth floor +toward Quesada. + +"Put them on," he commanded bluntly. + +The bandolero nodded, though as yet he did not comprehend the whyfore of +it all. With dispatch, he commenced to garb himself in the tweeds of the +Frenchman which, despite the hard usage of the last few weeks, still +showed the ineradicable signs of good material. + +"You, Ferou!" the doctor bit out. "You don the clothes of Quesada!" + +The growing nameless fear in Ferou's brain bourgeoned, at that command, +into noisome bloom. His jaw slacked and began an incontrollable +quivering. His eyes glittered in a pasty sweating face. + +"Mais non, mais non!" he cried, lapsing in his extremity into his +native tongue. "Not that, monsieur! You cannot demand that! The clothes, +they are dirty, foul!" + +It was only the subterfuge of a time of dire peril. His eyes darted +wildly about. They sought Morales. Morales had been very tender with the +sick. Perhaps-- + +But Morales was leveling his own revolver at him with a hand only a +trifle less steady than that of the doctor. His face, parchment-dry and +sunken of flesh from the ravages of disease, was forbidding with grim +determination. + +"Put them on!" persisted Don Jaime. + +Solemnly then and very laboriously, with jaw still quivering and shaking +hands, Ferou dressed in the sheepskin zamarra, rough corduroys, and +alpagartas of the bandolero. Don Jaime himself clapped upon Ferou's +blond head the high-pointed hat of Quesada. + +"Now, march!" he exploded. "March toward that great rock on the brink of +the village!" + +All the Frenchman's dismal fears became quick and instant. He was sure +now! The nostrils of his predatory nose twitching and working, his whole +pasty face working and grimacing, with unrestrainable fear, like a +horrible mask of rubber, he groveled on his knees and held out his two +arms to the doctor in abject supplication. + +"Mercy, Don Jaime! Mon Dieu, you would not have me shot like a dog!" + +"March!" the hidalgo insisted. His voice rang with metallic timbre; his +gray eyes flashed as if they were bits of flint upon which steel had +struck. He shoved the muzzle of his pistol against the Frenchman's +chest. + +Ferou stumbled to his feet and backed out the doorway. The doctor +followed him step by step. Quesada, a great light coruscating in his +brain, recovered the revolver from the bedridden Morales and bounded out +in the wake of the two. + +Thus, the Frenchman retreating before the importunate muzzle of the +senor doctor's pistol, Quesada following after, they went down the muddy +street toward that great rock which glared, in the noontide sunlight, on +the brink of the village. + +Once the Frenchman paused. Imploringly, he lifted his still bleeding +right hand. + +"Monsenor!" he cried. "For the love of Christ, monsenor--" + +Came the sharp click of a pistol being cocked. Then, like a sharper echo +of it, the command of the doctor. + +"March!" + +A mad notion to turn and run for it seized Ferou. But no! They would +shoot him down ere he could take ten steps. They were too close. + +The police, on the other hand, would be far below, in the gorge. Maybe +their carbines would miss. There was always hope. + +He backed out upon the hot glaring rock. + +Came a yell from the hidalgo, sounding shrill and bodiless in the thin +air, and carrying back and far away in ringing echoes: + +"Hola, mis Guardias Civiles! Jacinto Quesada--he is here!" + +An answering shout spiraled up from the deeps of the gorge. Then, on +the heels of it, one long slithering shaft of sound. The crang of a +carbine! + +Ferou threw up his arms and, his face black with congested blood, half +spilled forward as if he had been struck by a blow between the +shoulders. He swayed back and forth on the balls of his feet, caught +himself, hung still for intolerable moments. Then, as is usually the +case with a man killed by a bullet, he tottered backward, slipped on the +crumbling lip of the rock and went over, clutching with white clawing +hands at the brink, twisting, turning, and shrieking--shrieking for +minutes afterward, shrieking hideously! + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV + + +Doctor Torreblanca Y Moncada strategically overcame the trouble +engendered by cremation. He had the serranos burn whole trees and from +the ashes, by percolation through water, produce a leaching of lye. +Then, a goodly distance from the water supply coursing through the old +Moorish flume, on the lip of the gorge where a void had been left by the +dismantling of the two infected cabanas, he had the men of the pueblo +dig a deep pit. Therein he purposed burying the dead in sheets of the +burning alkali. + +On the morning following that on which poetic justice had come to Ferou, +he approached Quesada, who was superintending the work of digging the +pit. Save for a certain wolfish gauntness, the bandolero was almost +himself. + +"Jacinto," he said, "do you feel hardy enough, my haggard one, to +journey down these hills to my casa near Granada?" + +The Moorish oblong eyes of the bandolero showed surprise and a shade of +fear. + +"I am easily strong enough by now, Don Jaime. But--" + +"Is it the police you fear? They rode away immediately after the killing +of Ferou." + +Quesada shook his head. + +"I am frank with you, my hidalgo doctor. Should I absent myself from the +barrio, I would fear for Felicidad of the gold hair and heart of fire!" + +With his cold gray eyes, the grandee looked at Quesada and through and +through him. As if mouthing some religious dogma, he returned haughtily: + +"You know, son of a mangy she-wolf, that no man can halt a Torreblanca y +Moncada once he says, I will! Ea pues! It is thus with my vengeance. The +ancient name of my house, the blood of my veins, must be cleared of all +tainture! Felicidad must die!" + +"God preserve you, Don Jaime! You are still the soul of granite, +unforgiving and unsparing even though your stolen money is all returned +to you now, and your daughter's disgrace altogether wiped out by the +death of the French poodle!" + +The hidalgo laughed harshly. He refused in his lordly pride to argue. +Cleverly he countered: + +"And you, Jacintito; you are still the Wolf-Cub, ever leaping to the +jade's defense as you did when you were only a bantling! + +"But it is not because I wish to be rid of you that I ask you to +journey," he went on. "You have reminded me that I am a priest of the +body. It is of my profession I speak. I need medicines. The supply is +nearly exhausted." + +"But I carted up such a lot, fully four canvas packs!" + +"I know. But mi gran espada Manuel and the Senor Carson, both +well-meaning but untutored, made extravagant inroads on the treasures +you brought. And hearing from old Tio Pedro that you had stocked +yourself so well, I rode extra light to make speed." + +"Yet things are going better now," objected Quesada. "There are fewer +deaths and more recoveries." + +"Thank God for that! But one can never tell. The present even tone of +the weather may suddenly change and cause the scourge to redouble its +havoc. I must not run short." + +"That is true," nodded Quesada. Yet it was evident that he still +hesitated to go for fear of leaving Felicidad unassisted and helpless +before the cold implacable wrath of her father. + +Said Don Jaime, commencing to offer inducements, plainly weakening +before the obstinacy of the bandolero: + +"If you will go, Jacinto, you may take my horse. No other has ridden him +in over ten years. He will carry you well, though only at a snail's +pace." + +Quesada realized what that offer meant. + +"I will take the horse," he agreed. "That horse of yours shall be as a +bond given in hand to me, Don Jaime, that you will remain here and stay +your vengeance until I return!" + +"My vengeance? Well, like the Judgment Day of Christ, that can wait!" + +"Is it a promise?" + +"It is a promise!" + +"Vaya, Don Jaime!" + +"Con Dios, Jacintito!" + +Garbed in the once elegant clothes of the dead Frenchman, even to his +slouch traveling hat, Quesada sat deep in the doctor's saddle and +carefully guided the old rawboned nag down the loops of the goat path. + +He kept a wary eye out for the policemen. The Guardias Civiles might +chance to be lingering on in the gorge. But the trampled space about the +alder tree was wholly deserted; the ashes from the breakfast fire of the +day before were being rapidly dissipated by the draughty wind. + +He pushed on down. Crackling over the fallen leaves in the gorges, +clattering along the stony hogbacks and ridges, he came, in the waning +afternoon, to the boulder-strewn pocket of the Christ of the Pass. And +suddenly from below, louder than the ring of his horse's hoofs, there +echoed up to him a sharp sound like the report of a pistol. + +Come of long outlawry, Quesada was circumspectly cautious. The report +might have exploded near at hand; the chances were that, with the odd +carrying knack of sounds high on mountains, it had echoed, clear and +distinct, from far away. But he would take no chances. + +The ragged prickly gorse and huge boulders, which bestrewed the pass +about the foot of the cross, furnished unusual hiding places. He +dismounted hastily, tied his horse behind a sumach bush and, behind a +tall boulder, hid himself. + +Twilight deepened quickly into full dark night. It was gruesome waiting +there beneath the pale white figure of the Saviour, with its crown of +black horsehair and red-painted wounds. Save for the wind sweeping +through the pass with little shrill noises, nothing stirred or sounded +in the long defile. + +After a little, Quesada conquered his vague apprehensions sufficiently +to sup upon the cold sausages, dry bread, and bota of wine which he had +had the forethought to sling to the cantle of his saddle. Then it was on +again, through the dark night and the savage uncouth pass, in haste to +accomplish his errand for the doctor. + +A piece of moon came up and shot long pale slithers of light down the +rock walls. Ahead, in the sudden wan light, he made out the bent and +bundled figure of an old, shawl-wrapped peasant woman. She was coming +toward him up the gorge. She seemed making little catching sounds, as if +softly weeping. + +"A Dios, mother," he greeted, as he rode past. + +She gave him neither answer nor notice. Her few wisps of white hair +streaming in disarray from under her flat worsted cap, she went by, +sobbing quietly, as if utterly oblivious of his presence. + +Quesada looked after her bent form and shook his head commiseratingly. + +"Ah, there has been some little domestic trouble in her cabana this +night!" he remarked to himself. "And she is going on, the poor creature, +to seek strength and consolation from the lonely Christ of the Pass. It +is the way they have in these desolate hills--Hola! What's the matter, +my bony Pegasus!" + +The nag beneath him, suddenly shying, had come to a dead stop, and now +was shivering in every limb. They had just rounded the bend which +portaled the pass. Leaping afoot in the stirrups, Quesada gazed over the +lifted frightened head of the horse. Ahead in the open road and +shapeless in the vague moonlight, he saw something lying still and +black! + +Ever wary of ambush, resultant from long outlawry, he sprung out of the +saddle and getting the horse by the bridle, shoved him violently back +into the shadow of the spur. For an intolerable fraction of time, he +peered round the bend and watched. + +The black shapeless huddle in the road never moved. Was it some animal, +sleeping or dead? He crept forward cautiously, Ferou's old revolver in +hand. He put out his fingers toward the vague outline of it. He touched +soft cloth, he touched a yielding mass. Wounds of Christ! it was the +body of a man! + +His hand jerked back in superstitious fear. The man did not move; he was +lying on his face. Quesada put out his hand again and touched the still +thing with a braver and more prying touch. All at once he turned it +over. + +Stark in the moonlight showed a short knife-sharp white beard, a +fine-chiseled imperious nose, and a swarthy face, lean and haughty as a +griffon vulture's! The revolver fell from his palsied hand. + +"Sangre de Cristo!" his dry lips fluttered. "It is Don Jaime himself!" + +But no! Don Jaime could not be here. Had he not left the hidalgo doctor, +that every morning, in the village above in the sierras? + +A grave calmness came upon him then, and a questing thoroughness. Who +was the man? Somehow his features seemed familiar. Was it only because +of that striking resemblance to Don Jaime? + +He noticed, all at once, that there was visible on the body, under the +powdering of dust from the road, a kind of red-edged blue jacket. On one +sleeve was a single red chevron, and to one side, almost hidden in the +dust, the shimmer of a patent leather hat. With a stifled gasp, +recognition leaped full-fledged into his brain. The man was Senor Don +Esteban Alvarado, the aged sergeant of the Guardia Civil! + +No more than a few weeks before, Quesada had seen the sergeant in the +gorge below Minas de la Sierra, dominant with life and lording it over +the apelike policeman Montara. To find the sergeant now only a still +black huddle in the road was a distinct shock to the bandolero. He knew +that just the day before either the sergeant or Montara had shot Ferou. + +Almost incredulous, Quesada felt the body for signs of life. But the +sergeant was dead. His body was not what one could call warm, yet +neither was it cold with that soft stickiness so instinctively repulsive +to the living touch. The sergeant had been killed only a short time +before. A caking of dust on the torso of his jacket showed where the +blood had oozed from a bullet wound in the chest, and quickly dried. + +"It was that shot I heard!" the bandolero surmised. "But who killed him? +And why?" + +Of the sudden, he remembered the old woman who had passed him in the +road, crying softly to herself. He bounded back around the bend. But in +the intervening jiffy of time, the shadows of the defile had swallowed +her from sight. + +"She is the sergeant's poor old wife," he said to himself. "She must +have come upon him, slain like a dog in the road. I knew Don Esteban, +his wife, and son lived in these hills. Now the poor old woman is gone +to pray before the Christ of the Pass for the eternal welfare of his +departed soul. May it rest in peace!" + +He came back to the black huddle, still profoundly puzzled as to whom +had done the killing. He turned the body over into that posture in which +he had found it. He retrieved his fallen revolver. + +He was about to mount and ride on, when abruptly he halted, one foot in +the stirrup. An enlightening but bitter thought had suddenly shocked his +brain. + +For a long time now, crimes had been committed which he never had a hand +in, but which in every case had been laid at his door. Automobiles had +been held up, toreros' chapels invaded, men robbed and even killed by a +young man described as Jacinto Quesada when, all the time, Quesada +himself had been quarantined in Minas de la Sierra. + +There was a sinister purpose, a foul plan underlying the criminal's +habit of masquerading and posing as Jacinto Quesada. Behind the +personality of Quesada, he was cloaking his own identity and committing +crimes without a suspicion pointing toward himself. What could be more +probable than that this same criminal had killed the old policeman? + +"It was that masquerader!" the bandolero exclaimed to the night. And he +swore: "By the Nails of Christ!" + +He circled by the prone body in the road, his horse nervous and +quivering with instinctive fright. He kicked the nag into a brisk +canter. He sought thus in action to quiet the thoughts which now were +bothering his brain. He pursued the descent. + +But the turgid thoughts would not be stifled. They fluttered in his head +like the pale moonbeams on the rock walls. They filled him with gloom as +profound as the shadow-haunted deeps of the narrow way. + +He, Jacinto Quesada, had discovered the corpse. Was that not strange, +portentous? It seemed to him now as if the hand of God were +foreshadowing, in this grisly discovery, some tragic misfortune about to +befall him. The masquerader had committed the crime of blood. Well, the +penalty for it would strike most surely upon Quesada's head! Of that, he +felt superstitiously certain! + +He made the sign of the horned hand in an attempt to avert the impending +evil. But no use. His mind would not still, nor would the misgivings +die. He reined in the nag. + +"There is but one thing for me to do," he announced to himself. "I must +return to the side of the corpse, and kneel and say a prayer for his +soul in purgatory. A mere word of requiescat is not enough. He was mine +enemy in life; I must show complete Christian forgiveness toward him, +now that he is dead. That alone will prevent a curse from falling upon +me!" + +He was kneeling in prayer beside the dead sergeant and had reached the +words: "May his soul, and all the souls of the faithful departed, +through the mercy of God, rest in peace," when, all at once from down +the road, his ears were assailed by a startling sound--the hoof beats of +approaching horses! + +Hastily he made the sign of the cross and got to his feet. Dragging his +horse by the bridle after him, he concealed both nag and himself +completely in the deep shadowy elbow of the spur. + +Came to him then, on the vagrant breaths of the night wind, the sound of +voices. They were men's voices, loud above the steady hoofbeats of the +horses, as if raised in some wordy contention: + +"But I tell you, Pascual Montara, the Wolf-Cub is not dead!" + +"And I tell you, mi capitan, Quesada is dead! Right now, were you not my +superior officer, I should be on my way down to Getafe to file Don +Esteban's report." + +"You say the sargento, Don Esteban, has returned to his home in these +mountains?" + +"Si; seguramente, si! His work is accomplished. After killing the +Wolf-Cub, Quesada, is he not entitled to a good rest? Test the truth of +my statement, el capitan; ask his son, young Miguel there, if his father +does not live in these hills." + +"It is most certainly true, mi Capitan Guevara," answered a new voice. +"I myself was born and raised in a portilla of the Picacho de la +Veleta." + +"Za, this is the wild-goose chase!" exclaimed the raucous voice of +Montara. "This is the wild-goose chase, I tell you--this chase after a +man already dead! Down in Getafe by now, ten thousand pesetas should be +awaiting the Frenchman as a reward for having brought about the killing +of Jacinto Quesada." + +"And that was when, you say?" + +"I have told you twenty times. It was but yesterday." + +"Then answer me this, apelike one! I have asked it of you a hundred +times before. How is it that the diligence from Granada to Montefrio was +held up only last night and the bandolero announced that he was Jacinto +Quesada himself? He fled into these hills, and we hot after him!" + +The men of the Guardia Civil usually ride in pairs; but this was a troop +of the Guardia Civil, an extraordinary troop. Peering around the spur, +Quesada made out eleven uniformed men riding smartly toward him through +the dim moonlight. + +One was, of course, that apelike policeman, Pascual Montara, whom +Quesada last had seen in the gorge below Minas de la Sierra with Don +Esteban. It appeared, from the tenor of the conversation, that Montara +had been on his way down to headquarters to file the sergeant's report +of Quesada's death when he had been met on the road by the troop and +turned back by the order of the captain. + +Quesada well knew this captain as one Luis Guevara. Eight others he +recognized as gendarmes with whom he had had an occasional brush. The +eleventh was the dead man's son, Miguel Alvarado, youthful, tall, +smoothly brown of face, and as subtle and gallant-looking in the vague +moonlight as a sword of Toledo. + +Now, such a large body of the Guardia Civil could be seldom seen on the +main-traveled highroads, let alone in the gorge-pierced sierras of the +Nevada. Something untoward was afoot. But it was not the mysterious +murder of the old sergeant which had called them together. Not one of +the approaching policemen had discovered as yet, close to the entrance +of the pass, that huddle lying still and black in the road. They did not +know Don Esteban was dead. + +They were riding after Jacinto Quesada, whom Montara believed he had +killed, for a crime that Jacinto Quesada himself was positive he never +had committed! + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI + + +The party of policemen discovered, all at once, the body in the road. +Hastily, from their huddling, quivering horses, they dismounted. They +turned the body over. With amazement and deep consternation, they saw +that it was one of themselves, the haughty sergeant of police, Senor Don +Esteban Alvarado! + +Miguel, the dead man's son, stood over his father's body. + +"It is that Jacinto Quesada!" he said, terribly moved. "He has come upon +my poor old father alone in the road, and he has killed him without +ruth. By the Wounds of Christ!" he swore, lifting his right hand to +heaven--"I will seek out this murderer; I will hound him down; at last, +remorselessly, I will kill him! I have taken my oath." + +In the thick shadow of the bend, Jacinto Quesada smiled bitterly to +himself. Just as he had forecasted, just so had matters shaped +themselves. He was blamed for the crime of another! + +But the captain, Luis Guevara, was speaking: + +"This proves that Montara is mistaken--the Wolf-Cub is still alive! As +you say, mi pobre Miguel, without ruth he has killed your father, an +old, honored, and brave member of the police! + +"Carajo! Only once before, in the case of that traveling Englishman, has +Quesada killed a man. His conscience will be more disturbed by this +atrocity than by his usual crimes. Surely now, after this vile deed of +blood, will he seek out a priest and beg forgiveness of God! + +"Pronto, mis camaradas! Don Esteban has not been long dead. If we ride +to the nearest church, we may be in time to capture Quesada while he +makes his confession!" + +"But there are few men of the cloth in these hills, and fewer churches," +objected Miguel Alvarado. "I know; I was born in the portilla above this +pass. My old mother still lives there." + +"You do not think that Quesada is a heretic, despite his sacrilegious +abuse of the bullfighters' chapel of Seville!" + +Miguel shook his head. + +"No. I think that he will go, straightway, to the shrine of the Christ +of the Pass. It is but a little way on, in a lonely pocket of this +gorge. For miles around serranos, burdened by sins, kneel before the +shrine, and pray, and beg absolution or ease of mind." + +"Muy bueno!" said the captain. "We will go at once to this shrine and +wait there, in ambush, for Jacinto Quesada to come and confess his sin. +We will listen, and then we will kill him!" + +There was a creaking of leather as the men leaped into the saddles. +Quesada shrunk back into the dark elbow of the jutting bend. He pressed +the nervous horse in against the rock wall. To still any outcry he vised +his hand over the trembling nostrils of the animal. He waited, hardly +daring to breathe. + +The gendarmes, following the lead of the captain, filed into the pass +and looking straight ahead, unsuspecting the dark, went by him almost +within arm's length. + +He waited until they had all gone on, and the shadows of the pass had +engulfed them. Then he did not dodge around the bend and pursue the +decurrent way he had been going. He was seized with an unreasoning and +irresistible impulse to follow the troop and witness whatever might be +the outcome of their expedition to the shrine. Loosening but not +removing his hand from the horse's nostrils, he stalked a goodly +distance behind the party like a quiet long-legged shadow. + +As they neared the boulder-hedged pocket which sheltered the shrine, a +whisper sibilated through the ranks of the policemen. Some one was +kneeling before the cross! + +Noiselessly the gendarmes halted, dismounted, quickly hobbled their +horses with the long reins, and crept stealthily forward between the +boulders and the ragged prickly shrubbery. Quesada followed, a safe +distance behind. + +But it was only the old white-haired wife of Don Esteban who knelt +before the pale figure of the Christ, with its crown of black horsehair +and red-painted wounds. As he crept nearer, behind the police and +between the weeds and rocks, Quesada heard her voice. In quavering +tones, she was speaking aloud. She was confessing that she was the +murderer of her husband, Sergeant Esteban Alvarado! + +Thinking herself alone before the moon-white effigy of the crucified +Saviour, in an anguish of soul, she was pouring out the whole pitiful +story. For some time, she had been tortured by a harrowing secret. Her +son, the darling of her life, although a member of the Guardia Civil +like his father, was also a base poseur and highwayman! + +It was his infamous plan to doff the policeman's uniform and steal out +at night dressed to resemble the bandolero, Jacinto Quesada. Then, his +crimes consummated, he would put the uniform on again. That honored +uniform and the fact that all his crimes were laid, successfully and +invariably, at the door of Jacinto Quesada, kept suspicion from resting +upon him. + +It had smote her with desolation to discover that her son was a stealthy +outlaw. Since that long-ago time when her ancestors had been reclaimed +from brigandage and become Miquelets, no one in her family ever again +had turned criminal. They had all been policemen. + +Her husband, the haughty Don Esteban, was fiercely proud of the record +of his family of policemen. It had harassed her poor old soul, filled +her with overwhelming terror lest Don Esteban should discover the +perfidy of his only son. Pride of house and long years as an officer of +the Guardia Civil had made him unforgiving of crime, unsparing and +inexorable to mete out justice even to his own kith and kin. + +That afternoon, after a lengthy absence on police duty, Don Esteban had +come home for an interval of rest. He had just parted from Pascual +Montara, he said, who was to take his report down to Getafe. Between +them, the morning prior, they had killed the Wolf of the Sierras, +Jacinto Quesada! + +The old mother, aghast lest by mistake he had killed his own son +masquerading as Quesada, had thereupon, in distracted fear and wild +grief, blurted out the whole truth. + +The righteous indignation and awful rage of the old sergeant knew no +bounds. Solemnly he swore that he would have his son's life for this +outrageous conduct. She had pleaded with him, wept and prayed. But he +had cast her from him and gone out into the twilight to hound down the +son. + +She had followed him down the mountainside, insane with fear for the +life of her only child. He had discovered her and commanded her to go +back. But she crept after him, stifling her sobs. + +As he reached the road and the slice of moon came out in the sky, she +saw him take out a revolver and examine it to see that it was loaded and +ready for use. She heard, on top of this, the clatter of an approaching +horse. It was Quesada mounted on the doctor's nag. But she did not know. +She thought it was her son, her pobre Miguelito, returning home to pay +her a visit between duties! + +Carried beyond herself by the sudden crystallizing of all her fears, she +had dashed out upon her husband and struggled with him to wrest the +revolver from his hands. The stern sergeant had forgot himself then. He +went mad with a barbarous fury. He rained blows upon her old +tear-stained face. Even did he try to choke her. + +But her terror lent her strength superhuman. She clung to him, pulled +and wrenched at the revolver. She was like some tigress fighting for her +young. + +All at once, there was a sharp hideous explosion. Don Esteban slumped +like a burst balloon in her arms. He clutched his chest, made a gurgling +sound in his throat, slipped to the ground, rolled over, and was dead! + +Now, in a terrible turmoil of soul, she cast her gnarled workworn hands +out to that compassionating Figure on the Cross. + +"Dios hombre, what shall I do, what shall I do?" she cried. "I have +suffered in the last few hours all the torments of the damned, like a +soul lost a thousand years in purgatory! Oh, what shall I do? Lord and +Saviour, Pitiful One, I do not seek forgiveness. I want to repay, I want +to atone! I want to die myself!..." + +Her voice fainted away. She got to her feet at last. Muttering feverish +prayers, weeping like a soft rain, swaying and stumbling, she made up +the path. + +The policemen shivered out of their state of suspended animation. They +recovered their wits; their dead eyes glinted. Savagely, they turned to +look at the man among them who had caused the whole pitiful tragedy--the +son of the dead sergeant and the poor old heartbroken mother, the +masquerader and the traitor, Miguel Alvarado! + +He was gone. + +Seeking him, they dashed wildly among the boulders and bushes. They beat +the ragged gorse with their carbines. They called loudly one to +another. Suddenly, into the wan moonlight, stepped forth Jacinto +Quesada. + +"You seek Miguel Alvarado?" he asked. + +"Heart of God, yes!" + +"Then come with me." + +They did not recognize Quesada. Not only because of the pallor of the +moonlight, but more because he was garbed in the gray tweeds and foreign +slouch hat of the Frenchman. He led them down the path to where they had +hobbled their horses. + +Here, supine in the weeds and bound hand and foot, lay the policeman, +young Miguel. In the midst of his mother's pitiful confession, he had +crept back down the road and, just about to mount his horse and ride +away, had been captured by Quesada. + +"Oh, Paquita, maiden of my soul!" he was wailing. "I am undone--undone! +Your love has robbed me of my father, and broken the poor old heart of +the mamacita of me!" + +Quesada started visibly. + +"What is that!" he exclaimed. "You speak of Paquita, daughter of Pepe +Flammenca?" + +"I speak and dream of her always! I love her--God, yes! And she told me +she adored Jacinto Quesada because he was a bandolero; she told me she +despised my uniform. I thought to emulate Quesada and thus win her love. +But I have only caused the death of my old father and brought sorrow and +heartbreak to my poor old mother in her last years. Ah, Senor Don Jesu, +pity me!" + +But there was that in the glint of the eyes of the clustered policemen +which spelled death for Miguel Alvarado. He was a traitor to all the +ethics of the Guardia Civil. He had dishonored and defiled the uniform +they wore. He was a wolf in sheep's clothing. More; he was a shepherd +dog turned poacher, depredator, wolf! + +"He must die!" said the captain. + +"Seguramente, yes! And we all must bind ourselves to keep the matter +secret." + +The captain nodded grimly. "This is an affair of honor between us of the +Guardia Civil." He turned sharply upon Quesada. + +"Hombre, you are the only outsider. Will you swear to tell no one, to +lock all you have heard this night in your own breast?" + +Quesada evaded taking the oath of secrecy. Why should he, the Wolf of +the Sierras, make covenant with the podencos of the Guardia Civil? +Besides, a higher emotion stirred him. In his unknowable Spanish soul, +he was moved to pity for Miguel Alvarado. + +"Mi capitan," he said, "if you kill this man, you will do a wrong. He is +young; he has youth and true penitence to help him reform. It is a +terrible lesson he has received this night. He is the dupe of a woman, a +wench of the Gitano--" + +"A plague on the yellow witch!" muttered Montara. + +"Senores," Quesada appealed to them, "you cannot right what is now an +irreparable wrong, you cannot bring Don Esteban back to life. Would you +rob the poor old mother, then, of her only paltry happiness and hope? + +"Heed me, you of the Guardia Civil! This man has outraged Jacinto +Quesada more than he has you. Yet I know that if Jacinto Quesada were to +have this Alvarado's fate in his hands, to-night, he would let him go!" + +He had done what he could. He moved off to where he had tied his horse +to a bush. The policemen conversed together in low tones. As he mounted, +Captain Guevara exclaimed: + +"But who are you that you tell us all this?" + +He kicked his nag and started away. Through the moon-filtering dark, he +flung back, "Jacinto Quesada!" + +Ere they could recover from their stupefaction, he was only a clattering +noise in the night. + +He was circling, presently, by the dead body of the old sergeant in the +road. Of a sudden, a volley of rifle reports detonated between the rock +walls behind him. + +"That will be Miguel Alvarado," he said gloomily. He shook his head. +"Ah, Paquita!" he exclaimed to the night, "you have exacted a fearful +payment for my rash scorn of you--you have killed two men, this night, +and broken the heart of a poor old woman!" + +He rode thoughtfully on. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII + + +Laden with medicinal supplies, Quesada returned to Minas de la Sierra. +He found the American walking about on his own two legs and able, at a +pinch, to lend a hand to the doctor. Morales, attenuated but rapidly +repairing in strength, occupied the bandolero's old chair tilted against +one mud wall of the sick bay. For long hours the matador thus sat in the +crisp sunlight and held a-straddle on his knees the slowly recovering, +oddly wrinkled little Gabriel. Like some sweet Sister of Mercy, +Felicidad moved solicitously among the convalescing serranos, two pale +roses of health constantly mantling her smooth ivory cheeks. + +The bane was lifting. A period of continuous mild warmth, free of +neblinas and snowstorms and icy blasts, had assisted and incalculably +sustained the efforts of the hidalgo doctor in driving the pestilence +from the pueblo. + +Ensued more days of sun sparkle, more nights clear as crystal, and the +hospital at last was empty. Announced Don Jaime thereupon: + +"The barrio must endure five more days of quarantine. We must make sure +the plague is snuffed out, buried. There must be no new cases." + +Two days passed. Then three. No man slapped under. They entered upon the +fourth. + +The scourge was being weighed in a hair-fine balance. It was a deciding +interval. It was a terrific time of waiting, and dread and hungry +longing that tried the blood and iron of every man. + +Quesada, shaking with the contagious apprehension, buttonholed the +American as he came out of the cabanas after completing some mission for +the doctor. + +"How goes it, Senor Carson?" + +"All right so far. But gad, it's tough! It wasn't so bad when they were +dying. These days when there are no stricken, and the sick bay is empty, +and each man watches the next in fear lest he should succumb--that's +maddening!" + +They talked jerkily. Quesada wanted to forget the trial of waiting, to +ease his mind of the down-bearing strain. To change the subject, he +said: + +"I have learned something. About the man who was sticking-up persons and +saying he was I, Jacinto Quesada. He was a member of the Guardia Civil +named Miguel Alvarado. Down by the shrine of Christ of the Pass, his own +kind, the Guardia Civil, shot him to death." + +The American understood. When Quesada first had returned to the village +poisoned with worry at what he had overheard from the policemen then +waiting in the gorge, he had told Carson the beginning of the story of +the masquerader. Now, at hearing its tragic end, Carson merely nodded. +All the while, as he listened, he eyed Don Jaime with fearful anxiety as +the physician moved in and out from choza to cabana. + +The racking strain--the long torture of work and travail of +waiting--showed plainly in the hidalgo doctor,--in the high cheek bones +almost bursting through the deep swarth skin, in the thinly chiseled +nose and the gray eyes that seemed crystallized to a hard quartz. He was +working arduously, Don Jaime--prodigiously, epically, like a true son of +Hispanus, that first Spaniard sprung from the loins of Hercules! + +Hardly daring to breathe, the barrio entered upon the fifth and occult +day. Twenty-four hours more of immunity from disease, and the tension +would be over, the iron clutch of the quarantine lifted. + +Night shut down, black, breathing, full of the nameless. Groups +collected. The suspense was on them like thumbscrews. + +Dawn came slowly, a leaden wash, Don Jaime went his final rounds. + +No man had stuck his toes toward heaven; in the night, no man had gone +under from the plague. The grip of the horror was broken! + +"Infected Minas de la Sierra is once again clean and whole," announced +Don Jaime. And he breathed fervently: "Thank God!" + +The final requiem had been said. The last to waste away and wear forever +the cold cerement of death was the banderillero, Alfonso Robledo, who so +ably had seconded Quesada in halting, for the while, Don Jaime's cruel +vengeance. That had been six days gone. + +The pale gold sun hung high in the heavens like an eucharistic wafer +emblematic of victory over disease and death. It was noon of that Day +Resurgent. Now that the slavish and heroic labor was over for Don Jaime, +the great good accomplished, he quietly got his horse prepared for the +return to his lizard-haunted, gloomy, and lonely casa outside Granada. + +Mounted and ready, he paused on the great rock at the brink of the +village to bid the thankful serranos a saturnine adieu. All the while, +unwaveringly, his gray quartz eyes remained fixed on the certain cabana +which had been given over to Felicidad. And then, as loudly the +villagers chorused their gratitude and well-wishes, that eventuated +which Don Jaime knew would surely eventuate. + +Her low white brow knuckled with perplexity, Felicidad appeared in the +doorway of the cabana. The hullaballoo had bewildered and attracted her. + +"Felicidad!" + +As if drawn and irresistibly compelled by the electric fluid of some +hypnotic influence, slow as in a trance, Felicidad moved toward the +avenger. Watching her, Don Jaime's thin-edged ferule of a face slowly +iced into rigid and pitiless lines. + +Yet, deep in his heart, the great passions that once had made Don Jaime +so formidable--those classic passions of ire and resentment--like hard +but friable rock had been slowly worn away. Too often, altogether too +often, had his wrathful hand been stayed. Time and his prodigious +struggle with the plague had combined to crush and crumble to bits the +fury in his rock-ribbed soul. + +No longer was he strong with faith in the righteousness of his cause. He +was only moved, now, by a determination to fulfill his solemn word, to +live up to the oath he had sworn. Pride alone possessed him. He was +being swept along toward a damnation of crime by the momentum of an +inexorable pride! + +He himself felt the weakness, the blight. In an open confession that +showed forth his inward doubt, in a heart-poignant appeal to Heaven +beseeching leniency for that awful thing he felt he now must do, he +cried out: + +"Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord; but the bleeding wounds of Christ +and the thorn-pierced heart of His Most Virgin Mother shall intercede +for my grievously sinning soul on the Day of Judgment!" + +He raised the heavy horse-pistol. + +The serranos fell from about him like flung chaff. The spittle dried in +their mouths; they could not speak. They were blind of eye, and blind +and black of brain as to what to do. + +The scene was much as before. On the great rock of the village, Don +Jaime sat rigid in the saddle like some black-browed Destroying Angel +and menaced, with his huge pistol, the pale trembling lily of a girl. + +But this time it was not Quesada who intervened. The bandolero long had +brooded upon the coming of this inevitable moment; yet now, when +ultimately it had struck, the moment found him standing off to one side +and a good twenty feet from the great rock where bulked up Don Jaime. +Ere the bandolero could interpose himself to obstruct Don Jaime's will, +ere he could dash forward to shoulder the perilous rebuttal, came +interposition from an unexpected and astonishing source. Stepped forward +the American, John Fremont Carson! + +Big, broad-shouldered, and wornly angular of face, Carson stepped +before the agitated girl, wholly between her and the threat of the +leveled gun. He lifted dauntless blue eyes to her Hebraic Jehovah of a +father. + +"Senor Don Jaime, you have no longer the right to seek retribution on +Felicidad," he said with quiet but positive defiance. "Ere you can +retaliate on her, you must deal with me. She is now my affianced bride!" + +Don Jaime's jaw sagged; an astounded gleam zig-zagged across the hard +quartz of his eyes. But quickly came to his aid the iron composure of +the hidalgo. Without lowering the pistol, he turned eagle-sharp white +head and stony eyes to look down frigidly at the square-jawed American +facing him in the street. With a forced politeness, he returned: + +"In Spain, know you, Senor Americano, one must ask the father for the +hand of his daughter. Should the father agree, the consent of the girl +follows as a matter of course. We are very hidebound in these +conventions, we Moors; no other ways command honor. The plighted word of +a mere chit of a girl--Dios hombre! who would think of respecting that!" + +He laughed harshly. + +"Grandee of Spain," answered Carson in the same lofty Spanish manner as +that used by the father, "in my country, should a man desire a girl, he +asks that girl in marriage; if the girl reciprocates, they bother asking +by-your-leave of no one else. Neither man nor American woman would +consider for a moment allowing a parent to select the companion and +helpmate of a lifetime. + +"This is not America; this is Spain. I know that, hidalgo doctor; and +whenever I can, I try to obey Spain's laws of conduct. I would have +sought your agreement and your blessing but for one good reason. +Felicidad is no longer your daughter! Because you believe she has +dishonored your ancient name, you have publicly disclaimed her as a +Torreblanca y Moncada. + +"Good God, man!" Carson exclaimed, the untenable and even outrageous +incongruity of the doctor's position suddenly hitting him like the smash +of a bludgeon. "How can _you_ contend for a father's rights over +Felicidad after the harsh and cruel way you have used her! Why, at this +very moment, you seek her life!" + +That struck home. A murderous gleam leaped into Don Jaime's eyes. His +eyes blazed like chips of glass. + +"Senor Americano," he said huskily, in shaking voice, "do you not know +that you are very rash? I am armed and ready; I look at you and see no +weapon in your hands. Do you think that a Torreblanca y Moncada will +long endure a quarrel in words? I warn you, my cheeky one! Cease +challenging my prerogatives! Else shall you provoke me to kill you!" + +It was more than a threat. Don Jaime de Torreblanca y Moncada, grandee +by birth and breeding, hidalgo of the old granite-jawed, eagle-stern and +eagle-haughty Spanish sort, trained the huge horse-pistol, with the +words, upon the square-jawed American facing him in the street! + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII + + +It exasperated and incensed Carson--this high-handed attempt of the +hidalgo to gag and stop his mouth, to cow and overawe his soul. + +He did not bother now to temper or anyway mollify his words. Bluntly, +boldly, he asserted: + +"I know your sort of man, Don Jaime! We have them in my country--the +Kentuckians, for instance! You do not really desire to kill Felicidad. +Your pride goads you, but your heart is no longer in the work. And now +you are more pleased than chagrined that I have stepped forth as her +champion--you think to satisfy your pride by working up enough venom +against me to bump me off and let the matter end there! + +"I'll take my chances, proud hidalgo. I'll fight you every move until +bitten by your lead. But you are not going, as you say, to wage much +longer this war in words. Very soon you are either going to get hot +enough to plug me, or you are going to throw up the sponge! Oh, I know +your sort! You'll do one or the other. But one thing you will not +do--you will not allow yourself to be made ridiculous!" + +Don Jaime was staggered. The American's talk was a talk strange and +utterly new to him. John Fremont Carson fought him with weapons that he +had not known existed. + +Don Jaime lowered the heavy horse-pistol to his knee. A spirit of +sardonic deviltry entered into him. He would worst this cheeky American +on his own ground! His lips curling half in smile, half in sneer, a +strange light in his eyes, he said: + +"Senor Americano, I will combat you and crush you with your own kind of +weapon. I will vanquish you with words--with one question! But it must +be understood, for the nonce, that I possess unqualifiedly and +absolutely the right to speak as Felicidad's father." + +The American nodded, a kind of bewildered wonder crowding his eyes. + +"For the nonce, that prerogative is yours," he agreed. + +"Bueno! Then straightway I challenge you to prove yourself of fit birth +to be Felicidad's husband! This is Spain, senor. I speak now as a +Spanish father. More; I am a hidalgo, and I speak for my daughter who is +the daughter of a hidalgo of Spain! She has an inheritance of blood and +pride which you cannot gainsay, but which you must equal if you would +marry her!" + +Dan Jaime spoke with a Latin fluency of exposition, in a rushing torrent +of words. His eyes sparkled like vitreous slag. + +"Look you, my cheeky one! No man of common birth may hope to aspire to +my daughter. We Spanish grandees are a feudal race, caste-bound and +arrogant of birth. Perhaps you do not understand the true color of the +situation, eh? Then know you that even in Spain there are not more than +a score of men who are my equal in seignior blood and ancient knightly +name! + +"Now, for any one outside this aristocratic circle to yearn and quest +for my daughter's hand would be a sun-daring presumption. Take this +Manuel Morales, for an instance." Momentarily his eyes leaped up the +street to where the matador stood, his wasted form propped against the +mud wall of the hospital. + +"Morales is the hero of the peninsula, as you know--a popular idol, a +famous and distinguished man. Royalties and hidalgos ask after his +health, greet him by name and with handshake. He is the most renowned of +modern bullfighters. And he is a rich man--richer far than are most +grandees; for much, much gold has come to him along with his +well-deserved success. + +"Yet never would Morales dare to look for a wife among blooded folk! +Indeed, should he be so mad as to presume so far, the hidalgo whom he +thus affronted would kill him without ruth, as for a deadly grievance. +And at once that hidalgo would be acquitted of all wrong by the public +opinion of Spain. Aye, though Morales is the idol of all Spaniards! + +"That is right and as it should be; for when all is said, he is only a +bullfighter. And bullfighters have no social standing; they are not men +of birth nor breeding; they are a low caste. Ask Morales himself. Even +now he is nodding agreement to my every word!" + +Carson did not trouble to turn his head to gain corroboration of the +doctor's statement from the matador up the street. He realized already +the poser Don Jaime was soon to spring. He eyed the haughty hidalgo +fixedly, a peculiar smile slowly parting his lips. + +"And Quesada," Don Jaime swept on--"Jacinto Quesada is in the same case +as Morales. My words apply to him as much as they do to any bullfighter. +Not because he is the Wolf of the Sierras, a bandolero and outlaw. +Seguramente, no! But only because he is of common birth." + +Don Jaime paused. He looked down at the American. The half-smile had +altogether fled his lips. His lips were palpably sneering. + +"Now as to yourself, my cheeky one!" he said with biting sharpness. "It +is often said that the Americans are a nation of _canaille_. Can you +prove yourself worthy of the daughter of a Spanish hidalgo and grandee? +I ask you that. I wait for your answer." + +"You ask me to prove to you that I am not of common birth?" + +Don Jaime nodded vigorously. Caspita! this was indeed a trump card! All +the venom of his embittered spirit showed. + +"You cannot prove that, eh? Then it is true, is it not, that the +Americans are a nation of--" + +"One moment, Don Jaime. Your Spanish royalty is the keystone, the +fountainhead, of Spanish society, is it not? Alfonso, your king, is as +good and better an aristocrat than any of his hidalgos--" + +"There are some that would dispute you there. Myself, I know my line is +older! My ancestors--" + +The American was broadly smiling. + +"You will admit, however, that Alfonso is of uncommon birth?" + +"Seguramente, yes! Is he not my master and lord!" + +"Well, then! I was born in the same year as Alfonso, 1886. He was the +son of a king; I the son of an American millionaire. Because Alfonso was +such a high and mighty infant, his birth was a long-heralded public +affair. And so was mine. When I was born, the newspapers of America +remarked that here was no common birth. In long articles they compared +it to the birth of Alfonso, citing statistics to show the principalities +in mines and manufactories I would rule, the kingly revenues that would +pour annually into my coffers of state. + +"Alfonso's actual birth was marked by great pomp and a certain ceremony. +To prove that he was truly the son of his royal mother, that everything +was aboveboard and as it should be, in the room with the queen, when +Alfonso first put in an appearance, were a round dozen and more +hidalgos--" + +"That is our Spanish custom when royal infants are born." + +"Just so. A very uncommon birth! Well, with my mother, when first I put +in an appearance, were a round dozen doctors and nurses of all kinds, +trained and practical, wet and dry! Quite an uncommon birth, too, don't +you think?" + +What could Don Jaime do? Carson had worsted him signally. The grim drama +had become almost a comedy, a farce! + +Don Jaime feared longer to persist. It would not do for him to be made +ridiculous and laughable. + +All at once he lifted his head and looked beyond Carson, beyond +Felicidad. In a great voice, he called out: + +"Put up your gun, Quesada! I am a wineskin squeezed dry; I am empty of +all words and all passions; I am done! Put up your gun, you Wolf-Cub +you, and I will put up mine! I had meant to beat you to the first +shot--to kill Felicidad and then have you kill me! But now--Carajo, I am +done!" + +Like mechanical toys on clockwork pivots, every man and woman within +sound of the doctor's great voice, turned simultaneously to look for +Quesada. + +There, twenty feet away, stood the wolfishly gaunt bandolero, a revolver +in his right hand trained rigidly on Don Jaime! That revolver had once +been Jacques Ferou's! + +Not before had John Fremont Carson noticed the revolver in Quesada's +hand. He was taken completely by surprise. Little had he realized how +close to black tragedy had been the drama in which he had enacted so +prominent a part! + +In the American's eyes, in the eyes of every man there present, the +hidalgo on horseback loomed up, then and on the sudden, with a new and +imposing dignity, a rare nobility and magnificence. Don Jaime alone had +known of the imminent threat of Quesada's revolver. All the while he had +striven to attain his vengeance, all that while Don Jaime had trusted +his life to a hair. Quesada had him covered. The mere press of a finger +on the trigger, and Don Jaime would have toppled out of the saddle--a +dead man! + +Quesada had thought Don Jaime all unaware. Now, for the first time, he +comprehended the sublime insolence of the hidalgo's persistency. Abashed +and shamefaced, he lowered the revolver and shoved it back into his +belt. + +Don Jaime lifted the horse-pistol from his knee and slipped it into the +holster slung from the saddle. Then, without another word and without +even a glance toward his daughter, he turned the old nag's head about +and went deliberately down the goat path. + +He never once looked round. But his back seemed not quite so rigid nor +his old white head so erect. All at once there were about the +unmistakable signs of an old, old man. And in the slow pace of the +faithful nag, there seemed something that wanted to linger yet was urged +on by pride, inexorable and pitiless. + +"Oh, mi pobre padre!" wailed Felicidad after him. "His heart breaks and +he is lonely! And there is only old whining Pedro and the childish +Teresa to welcome him back to the gloomy casa!" + +Save for the creaking of the saddle, the soft pad-pad of the horse's +hoof-falls, nothing answered from down the goat path. For the first time +then, in all that intolerable eternity of death and disease and lusting +vengeance, Felicidad wilted in a swoon to the ground. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX + + +"By gad!" exclaimed Carson, leaping to the side of Felicidad and lifting +her tenderly in his arms. "There will yet be a wedding down in the casa +of Torreblanca y Moncada outside Granada! Come, Jacinto; lend us your +aid. Get horses! We must overtake the hidalgo doctor!" + +"There are no horses in Minas de la Sierra," returned Quesada. "There +are only mules and borricos which the serranos use to sleigh their cords +of pine down to the lower torrents, and to carry their panniers of white +manzanilla into the towns." + +"Anything!" urged the American. Felicidad in his arms was showing signs +of recovering consciousness. "Mules, borricos, anything upon which we +can ride!" + +"Muy bueno," assented Quesada readily. "It is very good, and I will go +along with you. They say Jacinto Quesada is dead; I can ride the roads +with impunity. And the roads are paved with gold for such as I!" + +"I will go also," volunteered Morales--"I, and what remains of my +cuadrilla. In his offices down in Seville sits my manager, the Senor Don +Arturo Guerra, signing contract after contract; and these contracts I +must soon fulfill, or lose much money and much prestige with the +presidentes of the bull rings and the aficionados of Spain." + +"Hola, mis serranos!" called Quesada. "Fetch forth your beasts. The +caballeros would look at them and pay you well in golden notes on the +Bank of Spain!" + +A little later, the cavalcade wound down the loops of the goat path. In +all the pueblo, there had proved to be only three burden-bearing +animals--two mules and one ass. However, Morales' cuadrilla had been +depleted by the loss through the plague of Alfonso Robledo and Coruncho +Lopez, and the death in the rebellion of the banderillero, Baptista +Monterey; so the party managed, by doubling up, to make shift. + +There were altogether seven of them. Morales and the three surviving men +of the cuadrilla paired off on the two mules. Felicidad, still pale from +her faint and pensive with longing, jogged behind Carson on the crupper +of the sturdy sure-footed ass. + +Quesada laughed when they begged him also to mount one of the mules. + +"It would be too much for the animal. And besides," he added with a +return of his old pride, "I am the Wolf of the Sierras. My long +mountaineer's legs are swifter to move now and even more tireless than +the slow hoofs of any stupid borrico. Hold your peace, mis camaradas. +Ere nightfall, you shall see!" + +Accoutred in the neat gray tweeds and slouch hat of the deceased +Frenchman, he led the way with swinging strides. Long after they had +disappeared down the gorge, the mountain boy Gabriel, yellow of skin and +oddly wrinkled of face, stood on the rock at the brink of the village +and sought to follow them with his wistful eyes. + +The cavalcade convoluted through the gorges. Never once did they sight +the senor doctor. Mounted as he was on the nag, slow with age yet +swifter-paced than the ambling donkeys, the hidalgo had easily put dust +and distance between them, and buried himself in the lower passes. + +They came, in the due course of nights and days, to the mournful Pass of +the Blessed Trinity. There were three diverging roads leading out and +down from it. Quesada, many yards in the lead, waited until the +cavalcade overtook him. Then pointing to that dusty road which snaked +most sweepingly to the left, he said: + +"Felicidad will now recognize the way. That road winds through the +Alpujarras and directly down into Granada. For myself, I bid thee +adios!" + +Felicidad exclaimed in surprise and deep disappointment: + +"You are going to desolate us, Jacintito, by absenting yourself?" + +"And you are not going to help us assault the hidalgo doctor's casa with +bell and book and ring?" from Morales. + +Said the American with quiet appeal, "I intended you for my best man, +Jacinto." + +But to all Quesada shook his head in dissent. + +"Down in Getafe," he returned, "there are ten thousand pesetas awaiting +me--the reward for my own death!" + +"But that affair of the Christ of the Pass!" exclaimed Carson. "You +there proclaimed yourself to the police as still alive. The Guardia +Civil must know now that Montara and the dead sergeant made a mistake. +They may even guess it was Ferou that was killed. To go to Getafe, after +all this, will be to put your head into a noose!" + +Quesada smiled grimly. + +"But they may have taken me for a rank impostor. They may have thought +me some serrano friend of the Alvarados who, overhearing the old +mother's story and lacking ingenuity, announced myself as Jacinto +Quesada just to dumbfound the police and save poor Miguel." + +"Hardly likely," remarked Carson drily. + +"Ea pues!" exclaimed Quesada. "Well, then! How about the fact that the +honor of the Guardia Civil was jeopardized by young Alvarado's treachery +and that, before my very eyes, Capitan Luis Guevara and his troop swore +themselves to secrecy? Senor Carson, you do not know the Spanish police +as do I. Even as Don Jaime and Sargento Esteban Alvarado thought more of +their personal honor than they did of the lives of their offspring, even +and just so do the Guardia Civil think more of their honor and good name +than they do of capturing a mere bandolero, of keeping secure the peace +of Spain! + +"That troop of police has not told headquarters. I am even taking the +chance that Montara filed his report as if nothing had happened that +night at the shrine. Getafe will not know of my resurrection until I +play this little trick. For the interval, I am Monsenor Jacques Ferou!" + +"It is a coup!" enthused Morales. + +"But a tremendously risky one," qualified the American dubiously. "You +stand to win ten thousand pesetas, Quesada, but you stand by far longer +odds to lose your life. For what do you need money so badly, Jacinto, +that you should stake red alfonsos against your precious neck?" + +"Am I not forever risking everything to gain mere gold?" countered +Quesada. "But carajo! that is not my reason. I have a higher incentive." + +His gaunt face became priestly with a sudden somber tenderness. + +"Up in Minas de la Sierra," he went on, "there is a mountaineer's orphan +bantling with heart of fire and soul of gold. To-day he dreams to be a +great man of Spain. But the God of Spain smiles derisively upon a son of +the people who would seek to rise above his fellows. Spain is a country +of limited opportunities. Here there are only two careers open for a son +of the soil. My little mountain brat may become a bullfighter, a gran +espada like our Manuel; or he may become a bandolero like me. There is +naught else for him. I know, Senor Carson; I have lived Spain myself! + +"Up here in these desolate hills, my lad is too far removed from the +cities of the plains. Never will he see the brutal savage encounter of +bull and man; never will be waked in him the glamour and ambition for +the blood and sand of the arena. Never will he be a bullfighter! + +"But carajo! never shall he be a bandolero! I, Jacinto Quesada, say it! +I will not have him go houseless in the wind and rain, forever hounded +by the podencos of the Guardia Civil. By the Nails of Christ, no!" + +"What would you then, Jacinto?" asked Felicidad with the quick sympathy +of a woman. + +Interposed the matador with a sudden deep interest: "Of what child do +you speak, Quesada?" + +"Of the boy Gabriel! Half of the blood money shall be used to send him +to the great University of Salamanca! I will make our little Gabriel a +superb senor doctor like Felicidad's own haughty father, Don Jaime!" + +"I will put an equal amount to the furtherance of the noble project!" +Morales pledged himself enthusiastically. + +"But the other half, Quesada?" questioned Carson with characteristic +acuteness. "What do you purpose doing with the remaining five thousand +pesetas?" + +"I have a plan wherewith to use them," returned Quesada evasively. + +He started away. He would say no more. Waving his hand to them in adieu, +he called back: + +"Go thou with God, my friends. The orange trees of the Alpujarras are in +white and fragrant bloom. To thee, Senor Carson, and to mia camarista +Felicidad, I wish all the blessings of God on thy new and great +happiness!" + + * * * * * + +A week later, a wolfishly gaunt man in gray tweeds and slouch traveling +hat invaded the headquarters of the Guardia Civil at Getafe and +presented himself before the desk sergeant. + +"I am Monsenor Jacques Ferou," he said. "I come to claim the reward for +the killing, up in Minas de la Sierra, of the bandolero, Jacinto +Quesada." + +The desk sergeant was very glad to meet Senor Ferou. He shook his hand +warmly. He knew from the foreign swagger of his clothes that the man was +an outlander. As with all Spaniards, he had two guesses as to the +country of the stranger's nativity. From the man's name then and swarthy +complexion, he decided, by some unaccountable quirk of the mind, that he +was an Englishman! + +To secure the authority and money, he dispatched one of the policemen +waiting in the room to the office of the Ministro de Gobernacion. +Meanwhile, making conversation, he politely inquired whether Senor Ferou +liked the country. + +"Si; I like Spain very much," the pseudo-Englishman returned, smiling +pleasantly. "I have made many good friends here, and Dios sabe! perhaps +a few poor enemies. I shall remain here for some time." + +"That was a very brave thing you did up in the Sierra Nevadas. Jacinto +Quesada has long harassed and terrorized us poor Moors. All Spain thanks +you and feels you well merit the reward. But have you any plans for the +spending of all those pesetas?" + +"I have two plans. One is to aid a protege of mine, a motherless little +child; the other to pay the costs of a certain fete. There is going to +be a wedding over in the foothills of the Sierra Morena. It is to be a +wedding among the gypsies. You know how costly and lavish are the +marital feasts of the Zincali. They celebrate for two weeks, +hand-running, just like the Jews of Barbary. You see, sargento mio, I am +to marry a girl of the Gitano, one Paquita, daughter of Pepe Flammenca, +count of a gypsy clan!" + +"Ah!" exclaimed the sergeant, his face wrinkling into a broad smile. +"Most certainly are you English both eccentric and adventurous! But you +seek your love in such strange places! Do not our white, soft-eyed maids +of Andalusia captivate you?" + +"They do not," returned the man in the gray tweeds with vehemence. "When +your Andalusian virgins caress me with languishing looks and their +tongues drip liquid flattery and love, my masculinity rebels at the +thought of being wooed by a woman. You know we Englishmen joy in being +the seeker, the stalker, the predatory one!" + +"Eh, eh! This Gitana treated you with disdain, what? She fled from you, +was cold to your kisses, took on as if you were a dust-mote in her eye, +no? Perhaps she even prodded a knife between your ribs--it is a way they +have, these soft brown leopards of the Zincali!" + +"She did more than that. She stabbed at my pride. She made love to +another man, a sad fool, whom she had imitate and ape me just to show +how little importa I was--" + +The policeman returned, just then, holding in his hand two five-thousand +peseta bills and a receipt to be signed. The man in the gray tweeds +affixed his name with a flourish. Then the sergeant handed him the bills +and although his eyes were greedy, he politely said: + +"Go thou with God, my brave Englishman, and may Heaven bless your coming +happiness." + +He looked after the man as he went out the door, and sighed heavily. + +"Ah, I knew them well when I was young, the brown maidens of the +Zincali! They are wine to kiss and soft silk to caress, but the very +tigers when aroused. But I am getting on now--getting on and too old for +such thoughts!" + +He looked down at the receipt in his hand. He started. + +"Dios hombre!" he ejaculated. + +The policemen crowded around him. But he had recovered. + +"It is nothing," he said. + +He went back to his desk. There, for a long time, slyly and secretly he +eyed the receipt the man had given him. Upon it was written: + +"Received payment, Jacinto Quesada." + +Very stealthily, the desk sergeant tore the paper into a thousand little +bits. + + +THE END + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Wolf Cub, by Patrick Casey + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 41126 *** |