Майн Рид
The Free Lances: A Romance of the Mexican Valley

Chapter Fifty Two
A Danae’s Shower

“Now, I shouldn’t wonder,” continued the corporal, shifting upon his seat, and facing fully round to the dwarf. “I shouldn’t at all wonder but that this diminutive gentleman has some spare cash upon him; and maybe he’ll oblige us by a little loan, considering the occasion. What say you, Señor Enano?”

“I haven’t any,” was the ready answer. “And sorry to say it too – that I am.”

“It don’t look much like he has,” observed Perico, with a glance at the hunchback’s tattered habiliments.

“Looks are not always to be relied on,” persisted the corporal. “Who’d ever suspect a pearl inside an ugly oyster-shell?”

“I haven’t, indeed, Señor Cabo,” once more protested the dwarf with earnest emphasis. “If I had, you’d be welcome to the loan you speak of. No man likes a game of monté better than myself. Alas! so far from being in funds, I’m too like your worships – without a claco. I’ve been stripped of everything; and, if you knew my story, you’d pity me, I’m sure.”

“What story?” demanded the cabo, becoming curious.

“Why, that I’ve been robbed of all the money I had. It wasn’t much, to be sure, only two pesetas and a real, but still that was better than empty pockets. It happened about half an hour ago. I was on my way to San Augustin, thinking I’d there get some supper, with a night’s lodging; when not far from this, two men – footpads I suppose they were – rushed out from the roadside, and made straight at me. One took the right, the other left. But I’ve good long arms, as you see, pretty strong too; and so I was able to keep them off for a while. Several times they caught hold of my wrists; but I succeeded in jerking them free again. I believe I could have wrestled them both, but that one getting angry, pulled out a long-bladed knife, and threatened to cut my throat with it. Por dios! I had to surrender then, seeing he was in earnest.”

While giving this somewhat prolix account of an altogether imaginary adventure, he had started to his feet, and accompanied his speech with a series of pantomimic gestures; dancing and flinging his arms about, as he professed to have done while defending himself against the footpads. The grotesqueness of the performance, though seen only in the dim light – for he kept under the shadow – set his listeners to laughing. Little dreamt they why he was treating them to the spectacle, or how cleverly he was outwitting them.

But there was a third spectator of the scene, unknown to all of them, who was aware of it. The cochero could not at first tell what were the things striking him in the pit of the stomach, as if he was being pelted with pebbles! But he could see they came from the hands of the hunchback, flung behind in his repeated contortions and gesticulations.

Moreover, that they glistened while passing through the air, and looked whitish where they lay, after falling at his own feet.

“Well; what did they do to you then?” asked the corporal, when he and his comrade had finished their guffaw. “Stripped you clean, as you’ve said?”

“Ay, Dios! Just that, Señor. Took everything I had, except the rags I wear; and to them I might well have made them welcome.”

“Now, are you sure they took everything?” questioned the other, still suspicious. The earnestness of the dwarfs affirmation made him so.

“Of course, Señor. Quite sure. I’ll swear to it, if you like.”

“Oh, there’s no need for the formality of an oath. Simpler to search you! and more satisfactory. Draw up here in front of me!”

The hunchback obeyed with an air of confident alacrity. He had no reluctance to being searched now, knowing his pockets were empty. Of which the searcher satisfied himself by groping about among the rags, and sounding every receptacle where coin might be kept.

But if he found no money, an article turned up, which no little surprised himself and his comrade – a stiletto!

“Caspita!” he exclaimed, as his hand touched something hard in the waistband of the dwarfs breeches, stuck behind his back. “What have we here? As I live, a dagger!” drawing it out and holding it to the light. “Silver-hilted, too! Yes; it’s silver, sure; and blade beautifully chased – worth a doblone, at the very least!”

“Half mine,” interrupted Perico, putting in his claim.

“All right, camardo. We’ll settle that by-and-by. Now, you limb of Satan!” he continued to the hunchback, “you told us the footpads had stripped you clean. How do you explain this?”

“Easily enough, your worship. They only thought of trying in my pockets, and the stiletto being there behind where you’ve found it, luckily they overlooked it.”

“Oh, indeed!” doubtingly rejoined the corporal; “and pray how did you become possessed of it, Señor Enano? A dagger worth a doblone isn’t a likely thing for such as you to be owner of – that is, in an honest way.”

“I admit, your worship, it isn’t likely. For all, I came honestly by the article. It’s an heirloom in our family; belonged to my great-great-grandfather, and’s descended through several generations. For know, Señor, my ancestors were not deformed like poor me. Some of them were gallant soldiers, as yourself. Indeed, one of them rose to the rank of sergeant – that was my mother’s grandfather; but this dagger didn’t come down from him, being left in the main line.”

“Well,” laughingly returned the corporal, after listening to the quaint chapter of explanations, “the future herald of our family won’t have to trace it beyond yourself. You’re now under our protection, and have no need to warlike weapons. So we, your protectors, will take the liberty of appropriating the historical toy. Get out the cards, Perico! Let us see whether it is to be yours or mine.”

“May bueno!” responded Perico. “How will you have the game? A single albur, or two out of three?”

“Well, as we’ve only the one stake, and no end of time for winning and losing it, we’d better make it the long game.”

“All right – come on! I have the cards spread —sota y caballo. How sweet the Queen’s face looks in the moonlight! Ah! she’s smiling at me, I know, as good as to say – ‘Worthy Perico, that silver-handled weapon, your corporal tells you is worth all of an onza, will ere long be thine.’”

“Well, lay on the Queen if you like. I’ll go the Jack, with all his grinning. Now shuffle, and deal off.”

By this the two had seated themselves, vis-à-vis, just outside the verge where met moonlight and shadow, a suite of cards turned face up between them, the dealing pack in the hands of Perico. The hunchback, on his knees, with neck craned out, was a spectator; but one whose thoughts were not with his eyes. Instead, dwelling upon the valuables he had so cunningly chucked back, making the mental calculation as to how much they might be damaged by breakage, but caring less for that than the danger of their also becoming stakes in that game of monté. Could he have known what was going on behind, he would possibly have preferred it so.

The unseen spectator, though silent, was not inactive, but the reverse. From the moment of seeing himself shut up – as it were, in a pen – he had given all his thoughts to how he might escape out of it. It needed none to tell him there was no chance front-wards by the road. A rush he might make past the two soldiers, risking seizure, and surely having the bullets of their carbines sent after him. But even though he got off in that way, what would be the upshot? The hunchback would be certain to recognise him, remembering all. Knowing, too, that his dialogue with the Hussar colonel must have been overheard, he would hasten the very event which he, José, was now all anxious to provide against. The word of warning meant for those now so much needing it might reach them too late.

All these thoughts had passed through the cochero’s mind before the card-playing commenced. More, too, for he had carefully inspected the cliff overhead, so far as the light would allow, aided by groping. To his joy, he had discovered that there was a possibility of scaling it. A sharp pinnacle of rock was within reach of the swing of his halters; and skilled in the use of the laso, over this he had succeeded in flinging the head-stall of one, hooking it fast. It but remained to swarm up the rope, and he was watching for an opportunity, when glittering golden things, like a Danae’s shower, came raining against his ribs, to fall at his feet.

He saw no reason for these being left to lie there, but a good one against it; so, stooping cautiously forward, he gathered up all, stowing them away in his pockets. Then turning and taking hold of the halter, with as little noise as possible, he hoisted himself up to the crest of the cliff.

The soldiers engrossed with their game, and the dwarf, though but a spectator, having also become interested in it – none of the three either saw or heard him. And the last he heard of them as he stole silently away was the corporal delightedly calling out —

“Sota en la puerta, mozo! The dagger’s mine, darling Perico!”

Chapter Fifty Three
A Series of Surprises

The cochero had but a confused idea of what he was carrying away with him. By the feel, watches, with chains and bracelets; besides some smaller articles wrapped in bits of paper. The uncertainty of his getting safe up the cliff hindered him from giving them even the most cursory examination, nor did he think of doing this till at sufficient distance from the card-playing party to feel sure he was beyond danger of pursuit. Then the temptation to have a look at the things, which had so strangely and unexpectedly come into his possession, became irresistible; and sitting down upon a ledge of rock, he drew them out into the light of the moon. Two watches were there, both gold, and one with a jewelled case.

“Carrai!” he exclaimed, as his eyes fell upon the latter, and became fixed in a stare of blank amazement, “can it be! It is – the Condesa’s watch – the very one she would have given me! But how came the hunchback to have it? Surely he must have stolen it. The other, too, with all these things!”

He looked at the second watch, but as it had never been in his hands before, he was unable to identify it. Still, it resembled one he had seen his mistress wearing, and most likely was the same.

The bracelets, chains, necklets, and brooches would be theirs, too; as also the rings and other bijouterie, which the dwarf had found time to do up in paper.

“Stolen them?” continued the cochero interrogatively, as he ran his eyes over the varied assortment.

“How could he? The watches he might, but the other things? Why bless me, here are two pairs of ear-rings – and these grand pendants – I’m sure I saw them in the ears of the Condesa this very day. He couldn’t have taken them without her knowing it. Santo Dios! How ever has he come by them?”

As he thus questioned and reflected, a feeling of apprehension began to creep over him. A little before leaving the house to go after his horses he had observed his young mistress and the Condesa going into the ornamental grounds. And they went alone; Don Ignacio having repaired to a private apartment, where he was accustomed to shut himself up for the examination of State papers, what if the ladies were still in the grounds, in some secluded spot, lying dead, where all these adornments had been stripped from their persons!

This horrible tableau did the faithful servant in imagination conjure up. He could not help it. Nor was the thing so very improbable. He had some earlier acquaintance with the desperate character of the dwarf, which later experience confirmed. Besides, there was the state of the country – thieves and robbers all round – men who made light of murder!

With a heaviness of heart – a painful fear that there had been murder – he stayed not to further examine the trinkets; but gathering all up again, and thrusting them back into his pocket, hurried on home.

And when home he went not to his own quarters in the coachyard, but straight into the patio– the private court of the house. There he encountered Pepita; soon as he set eyes on her, asking —

“Where are the Señoritas?”

“What’s that to you?” saucily retorted the maid.

“Nothing, if I only knew they were safe.”

“Safe! Why what’s the man thinking – talking about? Have you lost your senses, hombre?”

“No, Pepita. But the ladies have lost something. Look here!”

He had plunged both his hands into his pockets, and drawn them out again full of things that scintillated in the moonlight – watches and jewellery of different kinds, as she saw. With a woman’s curiosity, gliding swiftly forward to examine them, she recognised every article at a glance, amazement overspreading her countenance, as it lately had his.

“Ay de mi!” she exclaimed, no longer in jesting tone. “What does it all mean, José?”

“Just what I want to know myself, and why I am asking after the Señoritas. But where are they?”

“In the garden, or the grounds somewhere. They strolled out about an hour ago, and haven’t been in since.”

“Pray God, they’re still alive! Come with me, Pepita. Let us look for them. I have terrible fears.”

So appealed to, the girl gave ready assent; and side by side they hastened towards the rear of the house, behind which were the ornamental grounds extending backwards. But they had not far to go before hearing sounds that set their minds at rest, removing all anxiety – the voices of the ladies themselves. They were not only alive, but laughing!

To José and Pepita this seemed strange as anything else – a perfect mystery. Merry after parting with all those pretty things; costly, too – worth hundreds of doblones! Withal, they were so; their lightness of heart due to the knowledge thus gained, that their own lovers were still living and safe; and something of merriment, added by that odd encounter with the enano, of which they were yet conversing.

If their behaviour mystified their servants, not less were they themselves puzzled when José presented himself before them with hands held out, saying:

“I ask your pardon for intruding, but don’t these belong to your ladyships?”

They saw their watches and other effects obtained from them by “false pretences,” as they were now to learn.

The revelation that succeeded put an end to their joyous humour; their hearts that had been light for a moment were now becoming heavier than ever. The treachery of the hunchback and his intentions were manifest. He meant to guide Santander and his soldiers to the old monastery, where they would take the patriotas by surprise.

“What is to be done, Ysabel?” despairingly asked the Donna Luisa. “How can we give them warning?”

To which the cochero, not the Countess, made answer, saying:

“I can do that, Señorita.”

His confident tone reassured them; more still his making known the design he had already conceived, and his ability to execute it. He was acquainted with the old convent and the paths leading to it – every inch of them.

It needed not their united appeal to urge him to immediate departure. He was off the instant after, and long before the clock of Talpam had struck the midnight hour, well up the mountain road, with eyes looking to the right, in the direction of the Cerro Ajusco.

Chapter Fifty Four
Monks no More

The surmise which had influenced Zorillo to leaving the convent cell earlier than he intended was a correct one. The goings on in the Refectory were, at the time, of an unusual kind – a grand occasion, as he had worded it. There were some fifty men in it; but not one of them now effecting either the garb or the behaviour of the monk. Soldiers all; or at least in warlike guise; a few wearing regular though undress uniforms, but the majority habited as “guerilleros,” in the picturesque costumes of their country. They were booted, and belted, swords by their sides, with pistols in holsters hanging against the walls, and spurs ready for buckling on. Standing in corners were stacks of carbines, and lances freshly pennoned, with their blades bright from being recently sharpened – a panoply which spoke of fighting ere long expected to take place.

It may be asked where were their horses, since all the arms and accoutrements seen around were those of cavalry? But horses they had, though not there. Each knew where to lay hands on his own, far or near, stalled in the stable of some sequestered rancho, or, it might be, mountain cavern. They were not yet assembled to hearken to the call of “Boot and Saddle.” That they would hear at a later hour, and in a different place.

The occasion of their being in such guise and together was because it was to be the last night of their sojourn in the monastery. And they were making it a merry one; the Refectory table was being loaded with the best that was left to them in meals and drinks. Upon it were what bottles remained of those famous wines from the bins of the rich haciendado– his forced contribution – and they were fast getting emptied. From the way the convives were quaffing, it was not likely that any of the Burgundy, Madeira, or Pedro Ximenes would be left behind – not even a “heel-tap.”

It had got to be midnight, and they were still in the midst of the revelry, when Rivas, who headed the table, rose to his feet, in that formal manner which tells of speech to be made or toast proclaimed.

“Camaradas!” he said, as soon as the buzz of conversation had ended, “as you’re aware, we part from this place to-night; and some of you know whither we are going and for what purpose. But not all; therefore I deem it my duty to tell you. You saw a courier who came up early this morning – bringing good news, I’m glad to say. This despatch I hold in my hand is from an old friend, General Alvarez, who, though he may not boast sangre-azul in his veins, is as brave a soldier and pure a patriot as any in the land. You know that. He tells me his Pintos are ready for a rising, and only wait for us – the ‘Free Lances’ – with some others he has summoned to join him in giving the grito. By his messenger I have sent answer that we, too, are ready, and will respond to his summons. You all approve of that, I take it?”

“All!” was the exclaim in chorus, without a dissenting voice.

“Moreover,” proceeded the speaker, “I’ve told the General we’ll be on the march to-morrow morning, and can meet him at a place he has mentioned the day after. His plan is to attack the town of Oaxaca; and, if we succeed in taking it, then we move direct on the capital. Now camarados, I’ve nothing more to say; only that you’re to scatter after your horses, and lose no time in mustering again – the old rendezvous, this side La Guarda.”

So ended the speech of the Free Lances’ leader; but despite the suggestions of immediate departure, the circle around the table did not instantly break up.

The bottles were not all empty as yet, nor the revellers satisfied to leave them till they should be so. Besides, there was no particular need of haste for another hour or two. So they stuck to the table, smoking, drinking, and toasting many things, as persons, among the latter their lately joined allies – the Irlandes and Tejano, about whose proved valour on other fields, of which they had heard, the Free Lances were enthusiastically eloquent.

Kearney, speaking in their own tongue, made appropriate response; while Rock, when told he had been toasted, delivered himself in characteristic strain, saying: —

“Feller-citizens, – For since I tuk up yur cause, I reck’n you’ll gi’e me leave to call ye so – it air a glad thing to this chile to think he’ll soon hev a bit o’ fightin’. An’ ’specially as it’s to be agin ole Santy, the durned skunk. By the jumpin’ Geehosofat! if Cris Rock iver gits longside him agin, as he war on’t San Jacinty, there wan’t be no more meercy for the cussed tyrant, same as, like a set of fools, we Texans showed him thar an’ then. Tell them what I sayed, Cap.”

With which abrupt wind-up he dropped back upon his seat, gulping down a tumblerful of best Madeira, as though it were table-beer.

Kearney did tell them, translating his comrade’s speech faithfully as the patois would permit; which heightened their enthusiasm, many of them starting to their feet, rushing round the table, and, Mexican fashion, enfolding the Tejano in friendly embrace.

The hugging at an end, there was yet another toast to follow, the same which always wound up the festivals of the “Free Lances,” whatever the occasion. Their leader, as often before, now again pronounced it —

“Patria y Libertad”.

And never before did it have more enthusiastic reception, the cheer that rang through the old convent, louder than any laughter of monks who may have ever made it their home.

Ere it had ceased reverberating, the door of the Refectory was suddenly pushed open, and a man rushed into the room, as he entered, crying out —

“Traicion!”

“Treason!” echoed fifty voices as one, all again starting to their feet, and turning faces towards the alarmist. The major-domo it was, who, as the other mozos, was half equipped for a journey.

“What mean you, Gregorio?” demanded his master.

“There’s one can tell you better than I, Don Ruperto.”

“Who? Where is he?”

“Outside, Señor. A messenger who has just come up – he’s from San Augustin.”

“But how has he passed our sentry.”

“Ah! capitano; I’d rather he told you himself.”

Mysterious speech on the part of the major-domo, which heightened the apprehension of those hearing it. “Call him hither!” commanded Rivas.

No calling was needed; the person spoken of being in the environ close by; and Gregorio, again opening the door, drew him inside.

“The cochero!” mentally exclaimed Rivas, Kearney, and the Texan, soon as setting eyes on him.

The cochero it was, José, though they knew not his name, nor anything more of him than what they had learned in that note of the Condesa’s, saying that he could be trusted, and their brief association with him afterwards – which gave them proof that he could.

As he presented himself inside the room he seemed panting for breath, and really was. He had only just arrived up the steep climb, and exchanged hardly half a dozen words with the major-domo, who had met him at the outside entrance.

Announced as a messenger, neither the Captain of the Free Lances nor Florence Kearney needed telling who sent him. A sweet intuition told them that. Rivas but asked —

“How have you found the way up here?”

“Por Dios! Señor, I’ve been here before – many’s the time. I was born among these mountains – am well acquainted with all the paths everywhere around.”

“But the sentry below. How did you get past him? You haven’t the countersign!”

“He wouldn’t have heard it if I had, Señor. Pobre! he’ll never hear countersign again – nor anything else.”

“Why? Explain yourself!”

“Esta muerto! He lies at the bottom of the cliff, his body crushed – ”

“Who has done it? Who’s betrayed us?” interrupted a volley of voices.

“The hunchback, Zorillo,” answered José, to the astonishment of all. For in the dialogue between the dwarf and Santander, he had heard enough to anticipate the ghastly spectacle awaiting him on his way up the mountain.

Cries of anger and vengeance were simultaneously sent up; all showing eager to rush from the room. They but waited for a word more.

Rivas, however, suspecting that the messenger meant that word for himself, claimed their indulgence, and led him outside, inviting Kearney to accompany them.

Though covering much ground, and relating to many incidents, the cochero’s story was quickly told. Not in the exact order of occurrence, but as questioned by his impatient listeners. He ran rapidly over all that happened since their parting at the corner of the Coyoacan road, the latter events most interesting them. Surprised were they to hear that Don Ignacio and his daughter for some time had been staying at San Augustin – the Condesa with them. Had they but known that before, in all probability things would not have been as now. Possibly they might have been worse; though, even as they stood, there was enough danger impending over all. As for themselves, both Mexican and Irishman, less recked of it, as they thought of how they were being warned, and by whom. That of itself was recompense for all their perils.

Meanwhile those left inside the room were chafing to learn the particulars of the treason, though they were not all there now. Some had sallied out, and gone down the cliff to bring up the body of their murdered comrade; others, the major-domo conducting, back to the place where the hunchback should be, but was not. There to find confirmation of what had been said. The cell untenanted; the window bar filed through and broken; the file lying by it, and the chain hanging down outside.

Intelligible to them now was the tale of treason, without their hearing it told.

When once more they assembled in the Refectory, it was with chastened, saddened hearts. For they had come from digging a grave, and lowering into it a corpse. Again gathered around the table, they drank the stirrup-cup, as was their wont, but never so joylessly, or with such stint.