But as if he had not complete confidence in the efficacy of these elaborate precautions, Senor Morena strongly advised me to stay no longer in Caracas than I could possibly help.

"Spies more vigilant than those of the Inquisition are continually on the lookout for victims," he said. "An inadvertent word, a look even, might betray you; the only law is the will of the military and police, and they make very short work of those whom they suspect. Yes, leave Caracas the moment you have delivered your letters; our friends will smuggle you through the Spanish line and lead you to one of the patriot camps."

This was not very encouraging; but I was at an adventurous age and in an enterprising mood, and the creole's warnings had rather the effect of increasing my desire to go forward with the undertaking in which I had engaged than causing me to falter in my resolve. Like Napoleon, I believed in my star, and I had faced death too often on the field of battle to fear the rather remote dangers Morena had foreshadowed, and in whose existence I only half believed.

The die being cast, the next question was how I should reach my destination. The Spaniards of that age kept the trade with their colonies in their own hands, and it was seldom, indeed, that a ship sailed from the Thames for La Guayra or any other port on the Main. I was, however, lucky enough to find a vessel in the river taking in cargo for the island of Curacoa, which had just been ceded by England to the Dutch, from whom it was captured in 1807, and for a reasonable consideration the master agreed to fit me up a cabin and give me a passage.

The voyage was rather long—something like fifty days—yet not altogether uneventful; for in the course of it we were chased by an American privateer, overhauled by a Spanish cruiser, nearly caught by a pirate, and almost swamped in a hurricane; but we fortunately escaped these and all other dangers, and eventually reached our haven in safety.

I had brought with me letters of credit on a Dutch merchant at Curacoa, of the name of Van Voorst, from whom I obtained as much coin as I thought would cover my expenses for a few months, and left the balance in his hands on deposit. With the help of this gentleman, moreover, I chartered a falucha for the voyage to La Guayra. Also at his suggestion, moreover, I stitched several gold pieces in the lining of my vest and the waistband of my trousers, as a reserve in case of accident.

We made the run in twenty-four hours, and as the falucha let go in the roadstead I tore up my memorandum of instructions (which I had carefully committed to memory) and threw the fragments into the sea.

A little later we were boarded by two revenue officers, who seemed more surprised than pleased to see me; as, however, my papers were in perfect order, and nothing either compromising or contraband was found in my possession, they allowed me to land, and I thought that my troubles (for the present) were over. But I had not been ashore many minutes when I was met by a sergeant and a file of soldiers, who asked me politely, yet firmly, to accompany them to the commandant of the garrison.

I complied, of course, and was conducted to the barracks, where I found the gentleman in question lolling in a chinchura (hammock) and smoking a cigar. He eyed me with great suspicion, and after examining my passport, demanded my business, and wanted to know why I had taken it into my head to visit Colombia at a time when the country was being convulsed with civil war.

Thinking it best to answer frankly (with one or two reservations), I said that, having heard much of South America while campaigning in Spain, I had made up my mind to voyage thither on the first opportunity.

"What! you have served in Spain, in the army of Lord Wellington!" interposed the commandant with great vivacity.

"Yes; I joined shortly before the battle of Salamanca, where I was wounded. I was also at Vittoria, and—"

"So was I. I commanded a regiment in Murillo's corps d'armee, and have come out with him to Colombia. We are brothers in arms. We have both bled in the sacred cause of Spanish independence. Let me embrace you."

Whereupon the commandant, springing from his hammock, put his arms round my neck and his head on my shoulders, patted me on the back, and kissed me on both cheeks, a salute which I thought it expedient to return, though his face was not overclean and he smelled abominably of garlic and stale tobacco.

"So you have come to see South America—only to see it!" he said. "But perhaps you are scientific; you have the intention to explore the country and write a book, like the illustrious Humboldt?"

The idea was useful. I modestly admitted that I did cultivate a little science, and allowed my "brother-in-arms" to remain in the belief that I proposed to follow in the footsteps of the author of "Cosmos"—at a distance.

"I have an immense respect for science," continued the commandant, "and I doubt not that you will write a book which will make you famous. My only regret is, that in the present state of the country you may find going about rather difficult. But it won't be for long. We have well-nigh got this accursed rebellion under. A few weeks more, and there will not be a rebel left alive between the Andes and the Atlantic. The Captain-General of New Granada reports that he has either shot or hanged every known patriot in the province. We are doing the same here in Venezuela. We give no quarter; it is the only way with rebels. Guerra a la muerte!"

After this the commandant asked me to dinner, and insisted on my becoming his guest until the morrow, when he would provide me with mules for myself and my baggage, and give me an escort to Caracas, and letter of introduction to one of his friends there. So great was his kindness, indeed, that only the ferocious sentiments which he had avowed in respect of the rebels reconciled me to the deception which I was compelled to practise. I accepted his hospitality and his offer of mules and an escort, and the next morning I set out on the first stage of my inland journey. Before parting he expressed a hope—which I deemed it prudent to reciprocate—that we should meet again.

Nothing can be finer than the ride to Caracas by the old Spanish road, or more superb than its position in a magnificent valley, watered by four rivers, surrounded by a rampart of lofty mountains, and enjoying, by reason of its altitude, a climate of perpetual spring. But the city itself wore an aspect of gloom and desolation. Four years previously the ground on which it stood had been torn and rent by a succession of terrible earthquakes in which hundreds of houses were levelled with the earth, and thousands of its people bereft of their lives. Since that time two sieges, and wholesale proscription and executions, first by one side and then by the other, had well-nigh completed its destruction. Its principal buildings were still in ruins, and half its population had either perished or fled. Nearly every civilian whom I met in the streets was in mourning. Even the Royalists (who were more numerous than I expected) looked unhappy, for all had suffered either in person or in property, and none knew what further woes the future might bring them.



CHAPTER VIII.

IN THE KING'S NAME.

I put up at the Posado de los Generales (recommended by the commandant), and the day after my arrival I delivered the letters confided to me by Senor Moreno. This done, I felt safe; for (as I thought) there was nothing else in my possession by which I could possibly be compromised. I did not deliver the letters separately. I gave the packet, just as I had received it, to a certain Senor Carera, the secret chief of the patriot party in Caracas. I also gave him a long verbal message from Moreno, and we discussed at length the condition of the country and the prospects of the insurrection. In the interior, he said, there raged a frightful guerilla warfare, and Caracas was under a veritable reign of terror. Of the half-dozen friends for whom I had brought letters, one had been garroted; another was in prison, and would almost certainly meet the same fate. It was only by posing as a loyalist and exercising the utmost circumspection that he had so far succeeded in keeping a whole skin; and if he were not convinced that he could do more for the cause where he was than elsewhere, he would not remain in the city another hour. As for myself, he was quite of Moreno's opinion, that the sooner I got away the better.

"I consider it my duty to watch over your safety," he said. "I should be sorry indeed were any harm to befall an English caballero who has risked his life to serve us and brought us such good news."

"What harm can befall me, now that I have got rid of that packet?" I asked.

"In a city under martial law and full of spies, there is no telling what may happen. Being, moreover, a stranger, you are a marked man. It is not everybody who, like the commandant of La Guayra, will believe that you are travelling for your own pleasure. What man in his senses would choose a time like this for a scientific ramble in Venezuela?"

And then Senor Carera explained that he could arrange for me to leave Caracas almost immediately, under excellent guidance. The teniente of Colonel Mejia, one of the guerilla leaders, was in the town on a secret errand, and would set out on his return journey in three days. If I liked I might go with him, and I could not have a better guide or a more trustworthy companion.

It was a chance not to be lost. I told Senor Carera that I should only be too glad to profit by the opportunity, and that on any day and at any hour which he might name I would be ready.

"I will see the teniente, and let you know further in the course of to-morrow," said Carera, after a moment's thought. "The affair will require nice management. There are patrols on every road. You must be well mounted, and I suppose you will want a mule for your baggage."

"No! I shall take no more than I can carry in my saddle-bags. We must not be incumbered with pack-mules on an expedition of this sort. We may have to ride for our lives."

"You are quite right, Senor Fortescue; so you may. I will see that you are well mounted, and I shall be delighted to take charge of your belongings until the patriots again, and for the last time, capture Caracas and drive those thrice-accursed Spaniards into the sea."

Before we separated I invited Senor Carera to almuerzo (the equivalent to the Continental second breakfast) on the following day.

After a moment's reflection he accepted the invitation. "But we shall have to be very cautious," he added. "The posada is a Royalist house, and the posadero (innkeeper) is hand and glove with the police. If we speak of the patriots at all, it must be only to abuse them.... But our turn will come, and—por Dios!—then—"

The fierce light in Carera's eyes, the gesture by which his words were emphasized, boded no good for the Royalists if the patriots should get the upper hand. No wonder that a war in which men like him were engaged on the one side, and men like el Commandant Castro on the other, should be savage, merciless, and "to the death."

As I had decided to quit Caracas so soon, it did not seem worth while presenting the letter to one of his brother officers which I had received from Commandant Castro. I thought, too, that in existing circumstances the less I had to do with officers the better. But I did not like the idea of going away without fulfilling my promise to call on Zamorra's old friend, Don Senor Ulloa.

So when I returned to the posada I asked the posadero (innkeeper), a tall Biscayan, with an immensely long nose, a cringing manner, and an insincere smile, if he would kindly direct me to Senor Ulloa's house.

"Si, senor," said the posadero, giving me a queer look, and exchanging significant glances with two or three of his guests who were within earshot. "Si, senor, I can direct you to the house of Senor Ulloa. You mean Don Simon, of course?"

"Yes. I have a letter of introduction to him."

"Oh, you have a letter of introduction to Don Simon! if you will come into the street I will show you the way."

Whereupon we went outside, and the posadero, pointing out the church of San Ildefonso, told me that the large house over against the eastern door was the house I sought.

"Gracias, senor," I said, as I started on my errand, taking the shady side of the street and walking slowly, for the day was warm.

I walked slowly and thought deeply, trying to make out what could be the meaning of the glances which the mention of Senor Ulloa's name had evoked, and there was a nameless something in the posadero's manner I did not like. Besides being cringing, as usual, it was half mocking, half menacing, as if I had said, or he had heard, something that placed me in his power.

Yet what could he have heard? What could there be in the name of Ulloa to either excite his enmity or rouse his suspicion? As a man in authority, and the particular friend of an ex-president of the Audiencia Real, Don Simon must needs be above reproach.

Should I turn back and ask the posadero what he meant? No, that were both weak and impolitic. He would either answer me with a lie, or refuse to answer at all, qui s'excuse s'accuse. I resolved to go on, and see what came of it. Don Simon would no doubt be able to enlighten me.

I found the place without difficulty. There could be no mistaking it—a large house over against the eastern door of the church of San Ildefonso, built round a patio, or courtyard, after the fashion of Spanish and South American mansions. Like the church, it seemed to have been much damaged by the earthquake; the outer walls were cracked, and the gateway was encumbered with fallen stones.

This surprised me less than may be supposed. Creoles are not remarkable for energy, and it was quite possible that Senor Ulloa's fortunes might have suffered as severely from the war as his house had suffered from the earthquake. But when I entered the patio I was more than surprised. The only visible signs of life were lizards, darting in and out of their holes, and a huge rattlesnake sunning himself on the ledge of a broken fountain. Grass was growing between the stones; rotten doors hung on rusty hinges; there were great gaps in the roof and huge fissures in the walls, and when I called no one answered.

"Surely," I thought, "I have made some mistake. This house is both deserted and ruined."

I returned to the street and accosted a passer-by.

"Is this the house of Don Simon Ulloa?" I asked him.

"Si, Senor," he said; and then hurried on as if my question had half-frightened him out of his wits.

I could not tell what to make of this; but my first idea was that Senor Ulloa was dead, and the house had the reputation of being haunted. In any case, the innkeeper had evidently played me a scurvy trick, and I went back to the posada with the full intention of having it out with him.

"Did you find the house of Don Simon, Senor Fortescue?" he asked when he saw me.

"Yes, but I did not find him. The house is empty and deserted. What do you mean by sending me on such a fool's errand?"

"I beg your pardon, senor. You asked me to direct you to Senor Ulloa's house, and I did so. What could I do more?" And the fellow cringed and smirked, as if it were all a capital joke, till I could hardly refrain from pulling his long nose first and kicking him afterwards, but I listened to the voice of prudence and resisted the impulse.

"You know quite well that I sought Senor Ulloa. Did I not tell you that I had a letter for him? If you were a caballero instead of a wretched posadero, I would chastise your trickery as it deserves. What has become of Senor Ulloa, and how comes it that his house is deserted?"

"Senor Ulloa is dead. He was garroted."

"Garroted! What for?"

"Treason. There was discovered a compromising correspondence between him and Bolivar. But why ask me? As a friend of Senor Ulloa, you surely know all this?"

"I never was a friend of his—never even saw him! I had merely a letter to him from a common friend. But how happened it that Senor Ulloa, who, I believe, was a correjidor, entered into a correspondence with the arch-traitor?"

"That made it all the worse. He richly deserved his fate. His eldest son, who was privy to the affair, was strangled at the same time as his father; his other children fled, and Senora Ulloa died of grief."

"Poor woman! No wonder the house is deserted. What a frightful state of things!"

And then, feeling that I had said enough, and fearing that I might say more, I turned on my heel, lighted a cigar, and, while I paced to and fro in the patio, seriously considered my position, which, as I clearly perceived, was beginning to be rather precarious.

As likely as not the innkeeper would denounce me, and then it would, of course, be very absurd, for I was utterly ignorant, and Zamorra, a Royalist to the bone, must have been equally ignorant that his friend Ulloa had any hand in the rebellion. The mere fact of carrying a harmless letter of introduction from a well-known loyalist to a friend whom he believed to be still a loyalist, could surely not be construed as an offense. At any rate it ought not to be. But when I recalled all I had heard from Morena, and the stories told me but an hour before by Carera, I thought it extremely probable that it would be, and bitterly regretted that I had not mentioned to the latter Ulloa's name. He would have put me on my guard, and I should not have so fatally committed myself with the posadero.

But regrets are useless and worse. They waste time and weaken resolve. The question of the moment was, What should I do? How avoid the danger which I felt sure was impending? There seemed only one way—immediate flight. I would go to Carera, tell him all that had happened, and ask him to arrange for my departure from Caracas that very night. I could steal away unseen when all was quiet.

"At once," I said to myself—"at once. If I exaggerate, if the danger be not so pressing as I fear, he is just the man to tell me; but, first of all, I will go into my room and destroy this confounded letter. The posadero did not see it. All that he can say is—"

"In the king's name!" exclaimed a rough voice behind me; and a heavy hand was laid on my arm.

Turning sharply round, I found myself confronted by an officer of police and four alguazils, all armed to the teeth.

"I arrest you in the king's name," repeated the officer.

"On what charge?" I asked.

"Treason. Giving aid and comfort to the king's enemies, and acting as a medium of communication between rebels against his authority."

"Very well; I am ready to accompany you," I said, seeing that, for the moment at least, resistance and escape were equally out of the question; "but the charge is false."

"That I have nothing to do with. The case is one for the military tribunal. Before we go I must search your room."

He did so, and, except my passport, found nothing whatever of a documentary, much less of a compromising character. He then searched me, and took possession of Zamorra's unlucky letter to Ulloa and my memorandum-book, in which, however, there were merely a few commonplace notes and scientific jottings.

This done he placed two of his alguazils on either side of me, telling them to run me through with their bayonets if I attempted to escape, and then, drawing his sword and bringing up the rear, gave the order to march.

As we passed through the gateway I caught sight of the posadero, laughing consumedly, and pointing at me the finger of scorn and triumph. How sorry I felt that I had not kicked him when I was in the humor and had the opportunity!



CHAPTER IX.

DOOMED TO DIE.

My captors conducted me to a dilapidated building near the Plaza Major, which did duty as a temporary jail, the principal prison of Caracas having been destroyed by the earthquake and left as it fell. Nevertheless, the room to which I was taken seemed quite strong enough to hold anybody unsupplied with housebreaking implements or less ingenious than Jack Sheppard. The door was thick and well bolted, the window or grating (for it was, of course, destitute of glass) high and heavily barred, yet not too high to be reached with a little contrivance. Mounting the single chair (beside a hammock the only furniture the room contained), I gripped the bars with my hands, raised myself up, and looked out. Below me was a narrow, and, as it might appear, a little-frequented street, at the end of which a sentry was doing his monotonous spell of duty.

The place was evidently well guarded, and from the number of soldiers whom I had seen about the gateway and in the patio, I concluded that, besides serving as a jail, it was used also as a military post. Even though I might get out, I should not find it very easy to get away. And what were my chances of getting out? As yet they seemed exceedingly remote. The only possible exits were the door and the window. The door was both locked and bolted, and either to open or make an opening in it I should want a brace and bit and a saw, and several hours freedom from intrusion. It would be easier to cut the bars—if I possessed a file or a suitable saw. I had my knife, and with time and patience I might possibly fashion a tool that would answer the purpose.

But time was just what I might not be able to command. I had heard that the sole merit of the military tribunal was its promptitude; it never kept its victims long in suspense; they were either quickly released or as quickly despatched—the latter being the alternative most generally adopted. It was for this reason that, the moment I was arrested, I began to think how I could escape. As neither opening the door nor breaking the bars seemed immediately feasible, the idea of bribing the turnkey naturally occurred to me. Thanks to the precaution suggested by Mr. Van Voorst, I had several gold pieces in my belt. But though the fellow would no doubt accept my money, what security had I that he would keep his word? And how, even if he were to leave the door open, should I evade the vigilance of the sentries and the soldiers who were always loitering in the patio?

On the whole, I thought the best thing I could do was to wait quietly until the morrow. The night is often fruitful in ideas. I might be acquitted, after all, and if I attempted to bribe the turnkey before my examination, and he should betray me to his superiors, my condemnation would be a foregone conclusion. The mere attempt would be regarded as an admission of guilt.

A while later, the zambo turnkey (half Indian, half negro) brought me my evening meal—a loaf of bread and a small bottle of wine—and I studied his countenance closely. It was both treacherous and truculent, and I felt that if I trusted him he would be sure to play me false.

As it was near sunset I asked for a light, and tried to engage him in conversation. But the attempt failed. He answered surlily, that a dark room was quite good enough for a damned rebel, and left me to myself.

When it became too dark to walk about, I lay down in the hammock and was soon in the land of dreams; for I was young and sanguine, and though I could not help feeling somewhat anxious, it was not the sort of anxiety which kills sleep. Only once in my life have I tasted the agony of despair. That time was not yet.

When I awoke the clock of a neighboring church was striking three, and the rays of a brilliant tropical moon were streaming through the barred window of my room, making it hardly less light than day.

As the echo of the last stroke dies away, I fancy that I hear something strike against the grating.

I rise up in my hammock, listening intently, and at the same instant a small shower of pebbles, flung by an unseen hand, falls into the room.

A signal!

Yes, and a signal that demands an answer. In less time than it takes to tell I slip from my hammock, gather up the pebbles, climb up to the window, and drop them into the street. Then, looking out, I can just discern, deep in the shadow of the building opposite, the figure of a man. He raises his arm; something white flies over my head and falls on the floor. Dropping hurriedly from the grating, I pick up the message-bearing missile—a pebble to which is tied a piece of paper. I can see that the paper contains writing, and climbing a second time up to the grating, I make out by the light of the moonbeams the words:

"If you are condemned, ask for a priest."

My first feeling was one of bitter disappointment. Why should I ask for a priest? I was not a Roman Catholic; I did not want to confess. If the author of the missive was Carera—and who else could it be?—why had he given himself so much trouble to make so unpleasantly suggestive a recommendation? A priest, forsooth! A file and a cord would be much more to the purpose.... But might not the words mean more than appeared? Could it be that Carera desired to give me a friendly hint to prepare for the worst?... Or was it possible that the ghostly man would bring me a further message and help me in some way to escape? At any rate, it was a more encouraging theory than the other, and I resolved to act on it. If the priest did me no good, he could, at least, do me no harm.

After tearing up the bit of paper and chewing the fragments, I returned to my hammock and lay awake—sleep being now out of the question—until the turnkey brought me a cup of chocolate, of which, with the remains of the loaf, I made my first breakfast. About the middle of the day he brought me something more substantial. On both occasions I pressed him with questions as to when I was to be examined, and what they were going to do with me, to all of which he answered "No se" ("I don't know"), and, probably enough, he told the truth. However, I was not kept long in suspense. Later on in the afternoon the door opened for the third time, and the officer who had arrested me, followed by his alguazils, appeared at the threshold and announced that he had been ordered to escort me to the tribunal.

We went in the same order as before; and a walk of less than fifteen minutes brought us to another tumble-down building, which appeared to have been once a court-house. Only the lower rooms were habitable, and at a door, on either side of which stood a sentry, my conductor respectfully knocked.

"Adelante!" said a rough voice; and we entered accordingly.

Before a long table at the upper end of a large, barely-furnished room, with rough walls and a cracked ceiling, sat three men in uniform. The one who occupied the chief seat, and seemed to be the president, was old and gray, with hard, suspicious eyes, and a long, typical Spanish face, in every line of which I read cruelty and ruthless determination. His colleagues, who called him "marquis," treated him with great deference, and his breast was covered with orders.

It was evident that on this man would depend my fate. The others were there merely to register his decrees.

After leading me to the table and saluting the tribunal, the officer of police, whose sword was still drawn, placed himself in a convenient position for running me through, in the event of my behaving disrespectfully to the tribunal or attempting to escape.

The president, who had before him the letter to Senor Ulloa, my passport, and a document that looked like a brief, demanded my name and quality.

I told him.

"What was your purpose in coming to Caracas?" he asked.

"Simply to see the country."

He laughed scornfully.

"To see the country! What nonsense is this? How can anybody see a country which is ravaged by brigands and convulsed with civil war? And where is your authority?"

"My passport."

"A passport such as this is only available in a time of peace. No stranger unprovided with a safe conduct from the capitan-general is allowed to travel in the province of Caracas. It is useless trying to deceive us, senor. Your purpose is to carry information to the rebels, probably to join them, as is proved by your possession of a letter to so base a traitor as Senor Ulloa."

On this I explained how I had obtained the letter, and pointed out that the very fact of my asking the posadero to direct me to Ulloa's house, and going thither openly, was proof positive of my innocence. Had my purpose been that which he imputed to me, I should have shown more caution.

"That does not at all follow," rejoined the president. "You may have intended to disarm suspicion by a pretence of ignorance. Moreover, you expressed to the senor posadero sentiments hostile to the Government of his Majesty the King."

"It is untrue. I did nothing of the sort," I exclaimed, impetuously.

"Mind what you say, prisoner. Unless you treat the tribunal with due respect you shall be sent back to the carcel and tried in your absence."

"Do you call this a trial?" I exclaimed, indignantly. "I am a British subject. I have committed no offence; but if I must be tried I demand the right of being tried by a civil tribunal."

"British subjects who venture into a city under martial law must take the consequences. We can show them no more consideration than we show Spanish subjects. They deserve much less, indeed. At this moment a force is being organized in England, with the sanction and encouragement of the British Government, to serve against our troops in these colonies. This is an act of war, and if the king, my master, were of my mind, he would declare war against England. Better an open foe than a treacherous friend. Do you hold a commission in the Legion, senor?"

"No."

"Know you anybody who does?"

"Yes; I believe that several men with whom I served in Spain have accepted commissions. But you will surely not hold me responsible for the doings of others?"

"Not at all. You have quite enough sins of your own to answer for. You may not actually hold a commission in this force of filibusters, but you are acquainted with people who do; and from your own admission and facts that have come to our knowledge, we believe that you are acting as an intermediary between the rebels in this country and their agents in England. It is an insult to our understanding to tell us that you have come here out of idle curiosity. You have come to spy out the nakedness of the land, and being a soldier you know how spies are dealt with."

Here the president held a whispered consultation with his colleagues. Then he turned to me, and continued:

"We are of opinion that the charges against you have been fully made out, and the sentence of the court is that you be strangled on the Plaza Major to-morrow morning at seven by the clock."

"Strangled! Surely, senores, you will not commit so great an infamy? This is a mere mockery of a trial. I have neither seen an indictment nor been confronted by witnesses. Call this a sentence! I call it murder."

"If you do not moderate your language, prisoner, you will be strangled to-night instead of to-morrow. Remove him, capitan"—to the officer of police. "Let this be your warrant"—writing.

"Grant me at least one favor," I asked, smothering my indignation, and trying to speak calmly. "I have fought and bled for Spain. Let me at least die a soldier's death, and allow me before I die to see a priest."

"So you are a Christian!" returned the president, almost graciously. "I thought all Englishmen were heretics. I think senores, we may grant Senor Fortescue's request. Instead of being strangled, you shall be shot by a firing party of the regiment of Cordova, and you may see a priest. We would not have you die unshriven, and I will myself see that your body is laid in consecrated ground. When would you like the priest to visit you?"

"This evening, senor president. There will not be much time to-morrow morning."

"That is true. See to it, capitan. Tell them at the carcel that Senor Fortescue may see a priest in his own room this evening. Adios senor!"

And with that my three judges rose from their seats and bowed as politely as if they were parting with an honored guest. Though this proceeding struck me as being both ghastly and grotesque, I returned the greeting in due form, and made my best bow. I learned afterward that I had really been treated with exceptional consideration, and might esteem myself fortunate in not being condemned without trial and strangled without notice.



CHAPTER X.

SALVADOR.

Now that I knew beyond a doubt what would be my fate unless I could escape before morning, I became decidedly anxious as to the outcome of my approaching interview with the ghostly comforter for whom I had asked. It was my last chance. If it failed me, or the man turned out to be a priest and nothing more, my hours were numbered. The time was too short to arrange any other plan. Would he bring with him a file and a cord? Even if he did, we could hardly hope to cut through the bars before daylight. And, most important consideration of all, how would Carera contrive to send me the right man?

The mystery was solved more quickly than I expected.

After leaving the tribunal, my escort took me back by the way we had come, the police captain, who was showing himself much more friendly (probably because he looked on me as a good "Christian" and a dying man), walking beside instead of behind me; and when we were within a hundred yards or so of the carcel I observed a Franciscan friar pacing slowly toward us.

I felt intuitively that this was my man; and when he drew nearer a slight movement of his eyebrows and a quick look of intelligence told me that I was right.

"I have no acquaintance among the clergy of Caracas," I said to my conductor. "This friar will serve my purpose as well as a regular priest."

"As you like, senor. Shall I ask him to see you?"

"Gracias senor capitan, if you please."

Whereupon the officer respectfully accosted the friar, and after telling him that I had been condemned to die at sunrise on the morrow, asked if he would receive my confession and give me such religious consolation as my case required.

"Con mucho gusto, capitan," answered the friar. "When would the senor like me to visit him?"

"At once, father. My hours are numbered, and I would fain spend the night in meditation and prayer."

"Come with us, father," said the captain. "The senor has the permission of the tribunal to see a priest in his own room."

So we entered the prison together, and the captain, having given the necessary instructions to the turnkey, we were conducted to my room.

"When you have done," he said, "knock at the door, and I will come and let you out."

"Good! But you need not wait. I shall not be ready for half an hour or more."

As the key turned in the lock, the soi-disant friar threw back his cowl. "Now, Senor Fortescue," he said, with a laugh, "I am ready to hear your confession."

"I confess that I feel as if I were in purgatory already, and I shall be uncommonly glad if you can get me out of it."

"Well, purgatory is not the pleasantest of places by all accounts, and I am quite willing to do whatever I can for you. By way of beginning, take this ointment and smear your face and hands therewith."

"Why?"

"To make you look swart and ugly, like the zambo."

"And then?"

"And then? When the turnkey comes back we shall overpower, bind, and gag him—if he resists, strangle him. Then you will put on his clothes and don his sombrero, and as the moon rises late, and the prison is badly lighted, I have no doubt we shall run the gauntlet of the guard without difficulty.... That is a splendid ointment. You are almost as dark as a negro. Now for your feet."

"My feet! I see! I must go out barefoot."

"Of course. Who ever heard of a zambo turnkey wearing shoes? I will hide yours under my habit, and you can put them on afterward."

"You are a friend of Carera's, of course?"

"Yes; I am Salvador Carmen, the teniente of Colonel Mejia, at your service."

"Salvador Carmen! A name of good omen. You are saving me."

"I will either save you or perish with you. Take this dagger. Better to die fighting than be strangled on the plaza."

"Is this your plan or Carera's?" I asked, as I put the dagger in my belt.

"Partly his and partly mine, I think. When he heard of your arrest, he said that it concerned our honor to effect your rescue. The idea of throwing a stone through the window was Carera's; that of personating a priest was mine."

"But how did Carera find out where I was? and what assurance had you that when I asked for a priest they would bring you?"

"That was easy enough. This is a small military post as well as an occasional prison, some of the soldiers are always drinking at the pulperia round the corner, and they talk in their cups. I even know the countersign for to-night. It is 'Baylen.' I saw them take you to the tribunal, and as I knew that when you asked for a priest they would call in the first whom they saw, just to save themselves the trouble of going farther, I took care to be hereabout in this guise as you returned. I was fortunate enough to meet you face to face, and you were sharp enough to detect my true character at a glance."

"I am greatly indebted to you and Senor Carera—more than I can say. You are risking your lives to save mine."

"That is nothing, my dear sir. I often risk my life twenty times in a day. And what matters it? We are all under sentence of death. A few years and there will be an end of us."

Salvador Carmen may have been twenty-six or twenty-eight years old. He was of middle height and athletic build, yet wiry withal, in splendid condition, and as hard as nails. Though darker than the average Spaniard, his short, wavy hair and powerful, clear-cut features showed that his blood was free from negro or Indian taint. His face bespoke a strange mixture of gentleness and resolution, melancholy and ferocity, as if an originally fine nature had been annealed by fiery trials, and perhaps perverted by some terrible wrong.

"Yes, senor, we carry our lives in our hands in this most unhappy country," he continued, after a short pause. "Three years ago I was one of a family of eight, and no happier family could be found in the whole capitanio-general of Caracas.... Of those eight, seven are gone; I am the only one left. Four were killed in the great earthquake. Then my father took part in the revolutionary movement, and to save his life had to leave his home. One night he returned in disguise to see my mother. I happened to be away at the time; but my brother Tomas was there, and the police getting wind of my father's arrival, arrested both them and him. My father was condemned as a rebel; my mother and brother were condemned for harboring him, and all were strangled together on the plaza there."

"Good heaven! Can such things be?" I said, as much moved by his grief as by his tale of horror.

"I saw them die. Oh, my God! I saw them die, and yet I live to tell the tale!" exclaimed Carmen, in a tone of intense sadness. "But"—fiercely—"I have taken a terrible revenge. With my own hand have I slain more than a hundred European Spaniards, and I have sworn to slay as many as there were hairs on my mother's head.... But enough of this! The night is upon us. It is time to make ready. When the zambo comes in, I shall seize him by the throat and threaten him with my dagger. While I hold him you must stuff this cloth into his mouth, take off his shirt and trousers—he has no other garments—and put them on over your own. That done, we will bind him with this cord, and lock him in with his own key. Are you ready?"

"I am ready."

Carmen knocked loudly at the door.

Two minutes later the door opens, and as the zambo closes it behind him, Carmen seizes him by the throat and pushes him against the wall.

"A word, a whisper, and you are a dead man!" he hisses, sternly, at the same time drawing his dagger. "Open your mouth, or, per Dios—The cloth, senor. Now, off with your shirt and trousers."

The turnkey obeys without the least attempt at resistance. The shaking of his limbs as I help him to undress shows that he is half frightened to death.

Then Carmen, still gripping the man's throat and threatening him with his dagger, makes him lie down, and I bind his arms with the cord.

That done, I slip the man's trousers and shirt over my own, don his sombrero, and take his key.

"So far, well," says Carmen, "if we only get safely through the patio and pass the guard! Put the sombrero over your face, imitate the zambo's shuffling gait, and walk carelessly by my side, as if you were conducting me to the gate and a short way down the street. Have you your dagger! Good! Open the door and let us go forth. One word more! If it comes to a fight, back to back. Try to grasp the muskets with your left and stab with your right—upward!"



CHAPTER XI.

OUT OF THE LION'S MOUTH.

As the short sunset of the tropics had now merged into complete darkness, we crossed the patio without being noticed; but near the gateway several soldiers of the guard were seated round a small table, playing at cards by the light of a flickering lamp.

"Hello! Who goes there?" said one of them, looking up. "Pablo, the turnkey, and a friar! Won't you take a hand, Pablo? You won a real from me last night; I want my revenge."

"He is going with me as far as the plaza. It is dark, and I am very near-sighted," put in Carmen, with ready presence of mind. "He will be back in a few minutes, and then he will give you your revenge, won't you, Pablo?"

"Si, padre, con mucho gusto," I answered, mimicking the deep guttural of the zambo.

"Good! I shall expect you in a few minutes," said the soldier. "Buene noche, padre!"

"Good-night, my son."

"Now for the sentry," murmured Carmen; "luckily we have the password, otherwise it might be awkward."

"We must try to slip past him."

But it was not to be. As we step through the gateway into the street, the man turns right about face and we are seen.

"Halte! Quien vive?" he cried.

"Friends."

"Advance, friends, and give the countersign."

"As you see, I am a friar. I have been shriving a condemned prisoner. You surely do not expect me to give the countersign!" said Carmen, going close up to him.

"Certainly not, padre. But who is that with you?"

"Pablo, the turnkey."

"Advance and give the countersign, Pablo."

"Baylen."

"Wrong; it has been changed within the last ten minutes. You must go back and get it, friend Pablo."

"It is not worth the trouble. He is only seeing me to the end of the street," pleaded Carmen.

"I shall not let him go another step without the countersign," returned the sentry, doggedly. "I am not sure that I ought to let you go either, father. He has only to ask—"

A sudden movement of Carmen's arm, a gleam of steel in the darkness, the soldier's musket falls from his grasp, and with a deep groan he sinks heavily on the ground.

"Quick, senor, or we shall be taken! Round the corner! We must not run; that would attract attention. A sharp walk. Good! Keep close to the wall. Two minutes more and we shall be safe. A narrow escape! If the sentry had made you go back or called the guard, all would have been lost."

"How was it? Did you stab him?"

"To the heart. He has mounted guard for the last time. So much the better. It is an enemy and a Spaniard the less."

"All the same, Senor Carmen, I would rather kill my enemies in fair fight than in cold blood."

"I also; but there are occasions. As likely as not this soldier would have been in the firing party told off to shoot you to-morrow morning. There would not have been much fair fight in that. And had I not killed him, we should both have been tried by drum-head court-martial, and shot or strangled to-night. This way. Now, I defy them to catch us."

As he spoke, Carmen plunged into a heap of ruins by the wayside, with the intricacies of which, despite the darkness, he appeared to be quite familiar.

"Nobody will disturb us here," he said at length, pausing under the shadow of a broken wall. "These are the ruins of the Church of Alta Gracia, which, in its fall during the great earthquake, killed several hundred worshippers. People say they are haunted; after dark nobody will come near them. But we must not stay many minutes. Take off the zambo's shirt and trousers, and put on your shoes and stockings—there they are—and I shall doff my cloak of religion."

"What next?"

"We must make off with all speed and by devious ways—though I think we have quite thrown our pursuers off the scent—to a house in the outskirts belonging to a friend of the cause, where we shall find horses, and start for the llanos before the moon rises, and the hue and cry can be raised."

"What is the journey?"

"That depends on circumstances. Four or five days, perhaps. Vamanos! Time presses."

We left the ruins at the side opposite to that at which we had entered them, and after traversing several by-streets and narrow lanes reached the open country, and walked on rapidly till we came to a lonesome house in a large garden.

Carmen went up to the door, whistled softly, and knocked thrice.

"Who is there?" asked a voice from within.

"Salvador."

On this the gate of the patio, wide enough to admit a man on horseback, was thrown open, and the next moment I was in the arms of Senor Carera.

"Out of the lion's mouth!" he exclaimed, as he kissed me on both cheeks. "I was dying of anxiety. But, thank Heaven and the Holy Virgin, you are safe."

"I have also to thank you and Senor Carmen; and I do thank you with all my heart."

"Say no more. We could not have done less. You were our guest. You rendered us a great service. Had we let you perish without an effort to save you, we should have been eternally disgraced. But come in and refresh yourselves. Your stay here must be brief, and we can talk while we eat."

As we sat at table, Carmen told the story of my rescue.

"It was well done," said our host, thoughtfully, "very well done. Yet I regret you had to kill the sentry. But for that you might have had a little sleep, and started after midnight. As it is, you must set off forthwith and get well on the road before the news of the escape gets noised abroad. And everything is ready. All your things are here, Senor Fortescue. You can select what you want for the journey and leave the rest in my charge."

"All my things here! How did you manage that, Senor Carera?"

"By sending a man, whom I could trust, in the character of a messenger from the prison with a note to the posadero, as from you, asking him to deliver your baggage and receipt your bill."

"That was very good of you, Senor Carera. A thousand thanks. How much—"

"How much! That is my affair. You are my guest, remember. Your baggage is in the next room, and while you make your preparations, I will see to the saddling of the horses."

A very few minutes sufficed to put on my riding boots, get my pistols, and make up my scanty kit. When I went outside, the horses were waiting in the patio, each of them held by a black groom. Everything was in order. A cobija was strapped behind either saddle, both of which were furnished with holsters and bags.

"I have had some tasajo (dried beef) put in the saddle-bags, as much as will keep you going three or four days," said Senor Carera. "You won't find many hotels on the road. And you will want a sword, Mr. Fortescue. Do me the favor to accept this as a souvenir of our friendship. It is a fine Toledo blade, with a history. An ancestor of mine wore it at the battle of Lepanto. It may bend but will never break, and has an edge like a razor. I give it to you to be used against my country's enemies, and I am sure you will never draw it without cause, nor sheathe it without honor."

I thanked my host warmly for his timely gift, and, as I buckled the historic weapon to my side, glanced at the horse which he had placed at my disposal. It was a beautiful flea-bitten gray, with a small, fiery head, arched neck, sloping shoulders, deep chest, powerful quarters, well-bent hocks, and "clean" shapely legs—a very model of a horse, and as it seemed, in perfect condition.

"Ah, you may look at Pizarro as long as you like, Senor Fortescue, and he is well worth looking at; but you will never tire him," said Carera. "What will you do if you meet the patrol, Salvador?"

"Evade them if we can, charge them if we cannot."

"By all means the former, if possible, and then you may not be pursued. And now, Senor, I trust you will not hold me wanting in hospitality if I urge you to mount; but your lives are in jeopardy, and there may be death in delay. Put out the lights, men, and open the gates. Adios, Senor Fortescue! Adios, my dear Salvador. We shall meet again in happier times. God guard you, and bring you safe to your journey's end."

And then we rode forth into the night.

"We had better take to the open country at once, and strike the road about a few miles farther on. It is rather risky, for we shall have to get over several rifts made by the earthquake and cross a stream with high banks. But if we take to the road straightway, we are almost sure to meet a patrol. We may meet one in any case; but the farther from the city the encounter takes place, the greater will be our chance of getting through."

"You know best. Lead on, and I will follow. Are these rifts you speak of wide?"

"They are easily jumpable by daylight; but how we shall do them in the dark, I don't know. However, these horses are as nimble as cats, and almost as keen-sighted. I think, if we leave it to them, they will carry us safely over. The sky is a little clearer, too, and that will count in our favor. This way!"

We sped on as swiftly and silently as the spectre horseman of the story, for Venezuelan horses being unshod and their favorite pace a gliding run (much less fatiguing for horse and rider than the high trot of Europe) they move as noiselessly over grass as a man in slippers.

"Look out!" cried Carmen, reining in his horse. "We are not far from the first grip. Don't you see something like a black streak running across the grass? That is it."

"How wide, do you suppose?"

"Eight or ten feet. Don't try to guide your horse. He won't refuse. Let him have his head and take it in his own way. Go first; my horse likes a lead."

Pizarro went to the edge of the rift, stretched out his head as if to measure the distance, and then, springing over as lightly as a deer, landed safely on the other side. The next moment Carmen was with me. After two or three more grips (all of unknown depth, and one smelling strongly of sulphur) had been surmounted in the same way, we came to the stream. The bank was so steep and slippery that the horses had to slide down it on their haunches (after the manner of South American horses). But having got in, we had to get out. This proved no easy task, and it was only after we had floundered in the brook for twenty minutes or more, that Carmen found a place where he thought it might be possible to make our exit. And such a place! We were forced to dismount, climb up almost on our hands and knees, and let the horses scramble after us as they best could.

"That is the last of our difficulties," said Carmen, as we got into our saddles. "In ten minutes we strike the road, and then we shall have a free course for several hours."

"How about the patrols? Do you think we have given them the slip?"

"I do. They don't often come as far as this."

We reached the road at a point where it was level with the fields; and a few miles farther on entered a defile, bounded on the left by a deep ravine, on the right by a rocky height.

And then there occurred a startling phenomenon. As the moon rose above the Silla of Caracas, the entire savanna below us seemed to take fire, streams as of lava began to run up (not down) the sides of the hills, throwing a lurid glare over the sleeping city, and bringing into strong relief the rugged mountains which walled in the plain.

"Good heavens, what is that!" I exclaimed.

"It is the time of drought, and the peons are firing the grass to improve the land," said Carmen. "I wish they had not done it just now, though. However, it is, perhaps, quite as well. If the light makes us more visible to others, it also makes others more visible to us. Hark! What is that? Did you not hear something?"

"I did. The neighing of a horse. Halt! Let us listen."

"The neighing of a horse and something more."

"Men's voices and the rattle of accoutrements. The patrol, after all. What shall we do? To turn back would be fatal. The ravine is too deep to descend. Climbing those rocks is out of the question. There is but one alternative—we must charge right through them."

"How many men does a patrol generally consist of?"

"Sometimes two, sometimes four."

"May it not be a squadron on the march?"

"It may. No matter. We must charge them, all the same. Better die sword in hand than be garroted on the plaza. We have one great advantage. We shall take these fellows by surprise. Let us wait here in the shade, and the moment they round that corner, go at them, full gallop."

The words were scarcely spoken, when two dragoons came in sight, then two more.

"Four!" murmured Carmen. "The odds are not too great. We shall do it. Are you ready? Now!"

The dragoons, surprised by our sudden appearance, pulled up and stood stock-still, as if doubtful whether our intentions were hostile or friendly; and we were at them almost before they had drawn their swords.

As I charged the foremost Spaniard, his horse swerved from the road, and rolled with his rider into the ravine. The second, profiting by his comrade's disaster, gave us the slip and galloped toward Caracas. This left us face to face with the other two, and in little more than as many minutes I had run my man through, and Carmen had hurled his to the ground with a cleft skull.

"I thought we should do it," he said as he sheathed his sword. "But before we ride on let us see who the fellows are, for, 'pon my soul, they have not the looks of a patrol from Caracas."

As he spoke, Carmen dismounted and closely examined the prostrate men's facings.

"Caramba! They belong to the regiment of Irun."

"I remember them. They were in Murillo's corp d'armee at Vittoria."

"I wish they were at Vittoria now. Their headquarters are at La Victoria! Worse luck!"

"Why?"

"Because there may be more of them. You suggested just now the possibility of a squadron. How if we meet a regiment?"

"We should be in rather a bad scrape."

"We are in a bad scrape, amigo mio. Unless, I am greatly mistaken the regiment of Irun, or, at any rate, a squadron of it is on the march hitherward. If they started at sunrise and rested during the heat of the day, this is about the time the advance-guard would be here. Having no enemy to fear in these parts, they would naturally break up into small detachments; there has been no rain for weeks, and the dust raised by a large body of horsemen is simply stifling. However, we may as well go forward to certain death as go back to it. Besides, I hate going back in any circumstances. And we have just one chance. We must hurry on and ride for our lives."

"I don't quite see that. We shall meet them all the sooner."

Carmen made some reply which I failed to catch, and as the way was rough and Pizarro required all my attention, I did not repeat the question.

We passed rapidly up the brow, and when we reached more even ground, put our horses to the gallop and went on, up hill and down dale, until Carmen, uttering an exclamation, pulled his horse into a walk.

"I think we can get down here," he said.

We had reached a place where, although the mountain to our right was still precipitous, the ravine seemed narrower and the sides less steep.

"I think we can," repeated Carmen. "At any rate, we must try."

And with that he dismounted, and leading his horse to the brink of the ravine, incontinently disappeared.

"Come on! It will do!" he cried, dragging his horse after him.

I followed with Pizarro, who missing his footing landed on his head. As for myself, I rolled from top to bottom, the descent being much steeper than I had expected.



CHAPTER XII.

BETWEEN TWO FIRES.

The ravine was filled with shrubs and trees, through which we partly forced, partly threaded our way, until we reached a spot where we were invisible from the road.

"Now off with your cobija and throw it over your horse's head," said Carmen. "If they don't hear they won't neigh, and a single neigh might be our ruin."

"You mean to stay here until the troops have gone past?"

"Exactly, I knew there was a good hiding-place hereabout, and that if we reached it before the troops came up we should be safe. If there be any more of them they will pass us in a few minutes. Now, if you will hitch Pizarro to that tree—oh, you have done so already. Good! Well, let us return to the road and watch. We can hide in the grass, or behind the bushes."

We returned accordingly, and choosing a place where we could see without being seen, we lay down and listened, exchanging now and then a whispered remark.

"Hist!" said Carmen, presently, putting his ear to the ground. He had been so long on the war-path and lived so much in the open air, that his senses were almost as acute as those of a wild animal.

"They are coming!"

Soon the hum of voices, the neighing of steeds, and the clang of steel fell on my ear, and peering between the branches I could see a group of shadows moving toward us. Then the shadows, taking form and substance, became six horsemen. They passed within a few feet of our hiding-place. We heard their talk, saw their faces in the moonlight, and Carmen whispered that he could distinguish the facings of their uniforms.

"It is as I feared," he muttered, "the entire regiment of Irun, shifting their quarters to Caracas. We are prisoners here for an hour or two. Well, it is perhaps better to have them behind than before us."

"What will happen when they find the bodies of the two troopers?"

"That is precisely the question I am asking myself. But not having met us they will naturally conclude that we have gone on toward Caracas."

"Unless they are differently informed by the man who escaped us."

"I don't think he would be in any hurry to turn back. He went off at a devil of a pace."

"He might turn back for all that, when he recovered from his scare. He could not help seeing that we were only two, and if he informs the others they will know of a surety that we are hiding in the ravine."

"And then there would be a hunt. However, at the speed they are riding it will take them an hour or more to reach the scene of our skirmish, and then there is coming back. Everything depends on how soon the last of them go by. If we have only a few minutes start they will never overtake us, and once on the other side of Los Teycos we shall be safe both from discovery and pursuit. European cavalry are of no use in a Venezuelan forest; and I don't think these Irun fellows have any blood-hounds."

"Blood-hounds! You surely don't mean to say that the Spaniards use blood-hounds?"

"I mean nothing else. General Griscelli, who holds the chief command in the district of San Felipe, keeps a pack of blood-hounds, which he got from Cuba. But, though a Spanish general, Griscelli is not a Spaniard born. He is either a Corsican or an Italian. I believe he was originally in the French army, and when Dupont surrendered at Baylen he went over to the other side, and accepted a commission from the King of Spain."

"Not a very good record, that."

"And he is not a good man. He outvies even the Spaniards in cruelty. A very able general, though. He has given us a deal of trouble. Down with your head! Here comes some more."

A whole troop this time. They pass in a cloud of dust. After a short interval another detachment sweeps by; then another and another.

"Gracias a Dios! they are putting on more speed. At this rate we shall soon be at liberty. But, caramba, how they might have been trapped, Senor Fortescue! A few men on that height hurling down rocks, the defile lined with sharp-shooters, half a hundred of Mejia's llaneros to cut off their retreat, and the regiment of Irun could be destroyed to a man."

"Or taken prisoners."

"I don't think there would be many prisoners," said Carmen, grimly. "These must almost be the last, I think—they are. See! Here come the tag-rag and bobtail."

The tag-rag and bob-tail consisted of a string of loaded mules with their arrieros, a dozen women riding mules, and as many men on foot.

"Let us get out of this hole while we may, and before any of them come back. Once on the road and mounted, we shall at least be able to fight; but down here—"

"All the same, this hole has served our turn well. However, I quite agree with you that the best thing we can do is to get out of it quickly."

This was more easily said than done. It was like climbing up a precipice. Pizarro slipped back three times. Carmen's mare did no better. In the end we had to dismount, fasten two lariats to each saddle, and haul while the horses scrambled. A little help goes a long way in such circumstances.

All this both made noise and caused delay, and it was with a decided sense of relief that we found ourselves once more in the saddle and en route.

"We have lost more time than I reckoned on," said Carmen, as we galloped through the pass. "If any of the dragoons had turned back—However, they did not, and, as our horses are both fresher than theirs and carry less weight, they will have no chance of overtaking us if they do; and, as the whole of the regiment has gone on, there is no chance of meeting any more of them—Caramba! Halt!"

"What is it?" I asked, pulling up short.

"I spoke too soon. More are coming. Don't you hear them?"

"Yes; and I see shadows in the distance."

"The shadows are soldiers, and we shall have to charge them whether they be few or many, amigo mio; so say your prayers and draw your Toledo. But first let us shake hands, we may never—"

"I am quite ready to charge by your side, Carmen; but would it not be better, think you, to try what a little strategy will do?"

"With all my heart, if you can suggest anything feasible. I like a fight immensely—when the odds are not too great—and I hope to die fighting. All the same, I have no very strong desire to die at this particular moment."

"Neither have I. So let us go on like peaceable travellers, and the chances are that these men, taking for granted that the others have let us pass, will not meddle with us. If they do, we must make the best fight we can."

"A happy thought! Let us act on it. If they ask any questions I will answer. Your English accent might excite suspicion."

The party before us consisted of nine horsemen, several of whom appeared to be officers.

"Buene noche, senores," said Carmen, so soon as we were within speaking distance.

"Buene noche, senores. You have met the troops, of course. How far are they ahead?" asked one of the officers.

"The main body are quite a league ahead by this time. The pack-mules and arrieros passed us about fifteen minutes ago."

"Gracias! Who are you, and whither may you be wending, senores?"

"I am Sancho Mencar, at your service, senor coronel, a Government messenger, carrying despatches to General Salazar, at La Victoria. My companion is Senor Tesco, a merchant, who is journeying to the same place on business."

"Good! you can go on. You will meet two troopers who are bringing on a prisoner. Do me the favor to tell them to make haste."

"Certainly, senor coronel. Adios, senores."

"Adio senores."

And with that we rode on our respective ways.

"Two troopers and prisoner," said Carmen, thoughtfully.

"So there are more of them, after all! How many, I wonder? If this prisoner be a patriot we must rescue him, senor Fortescue."

"With all my heart—if we can."

"Only two troopers! You and I are a match for six."

"Possibly. But we don't know that the two are not followed by a score! There seems to be no end of them."

"I don't think so. If there were the colonel would have asked us to tell them also to hurry up. But we shall soon find out. When we meet the fellows we will speak them fair and ask a few questions."

Ten minutes later we met them.

"Buene noche, senores!" said Carmen, riding forward. "We bring a message from the colonel. He bids you make haste."

"All very fine. But how can we make haste when we are hampered by this rascal? I should like to blow his brains out."

"This rascal" was the prisoner, a big powerful fellow who seemed to be either a zambo or a negro. His arms were bound to his side, and he walked between the troopers, to whose saddles he was fastened by two stout cords.

"Why don't you blow his brains out?"

"Because we should get into trouble. He is the colonel's slave, and therefore valuable property. We have tried dragging him along; but the villain throws himself down, and might get a limb broken, so all we can do is prod him occasionally with the points of our sabres; but he does not seem to mind us in the least. We have tried swearing; we might as well whistle. Make haste, indeed!"

"A very hard case, I am sure. I sympathize with you, senores. Is the man a runaway that you have to take such care of him?"

"That is just it. He ran away and rambled for months in the forest; and if he had not stolen back to La Victoria and been betrayed by a woman, he would never have been caught. After that, the colonel would not trust him at large; but he thinks that at Caracas he will have him safe. And now, senores, with your leave we must go on."

"Ah! You are the last, I suppose?"

"We are; curse it! The main body must be a league ahead by this time, and we shall not reach Caracas for hours. Adios!"

"Let us rescue the poor devil!" I whispered to Carmen.

"By all means. One moment, senores; I beg your pardon—now, Fortescue!"

And with that we placed our horses across the road, whipped out our pistols and pointed them at the troopers' heads, to their owners' unutterable surprise.

"We are sorry to inconvenience you, senores," said my companion, politely; "but we are going to release this slave, and we have need of your horses. Unbuckle your swords, throw them on the ground, and dismount. No hesitation, or you are dead men! Shall we treat them as they proposed to treat the slave, Senor Fortescue? Blow out their brains? It will be safer, and save us a deal of trouble."

"No! That would be murder. Let them go. They can do no harm. It is impossible for them to overtake the, others on foot."

Meanwhile the soldiers, having the fear of being shot before them, had dismounted and laid down their weapons.

"Go!" said Carmen, pointing northward, and they went.

"Your name?" (to the prisoner whose bonds I was cutting with my sword).

"Here they call me Jose. In my own country I was called Gahra—"

"Let it be Gahra, then. It is less common than Jose. Every other peon in the country is called Jose. You are a native of Africa?"

"Si, senor."

"How came you hither?"

"I was taken to Cuba in a slave-ship, brought to this country by General Salazar, and sold by him to Colonel Canimo."

"You have no great love for the Spaniards, I suppose?"

Gahra pointed to his arms which had been chafed by the rope till they were raw, and showed us his back which bore the marks of recent stripes.

"Can you fight?"

"Against the Spaniards? Only give me the chance, and you shall see," answered the negro in a voice of intense hate.

"Come with us, and you shall have many chances. Mount one of those horses and lead the other."

Gahra mounted, and we moved on.

We were now at the beginning of a stiff ascent. The road, which though undulating had risen almost continuously since we left Caracas, was bordered with richly colored flowers and shrubs, and bounded on either side by deep forests. Night was made glorious by the great tropical moon, which shone resplendent under a purple sky gilding the tree-tops and lighting us on our way. Owing to the nature of the ground we could not see far before us, but the backward view, with its wood-crowned heights, deep ravines, and sombre mountains looming in the distance, was fairy-like and fantastic, and the higher we rose the more extensive it became.

"Is this a long hill?" I asked Carmen.

"Very. An affair of half an hour, at least, at this speed; and we cannot go faster," he answered, as he turned half round in his saddle.

"Why are you looking backward?"

"To see whether we are followed. We lost much time in the quebrado, and we have lost more since. Have you good eyes, Gahara? Born Africans generally have."

"Yes, sir. My name, Gahra Dahra, signifies Dahra, the keen sighted!"

"I am glad to hear it. Be good enough to look round occasionally, and if you see anything let us know."

We had nearly reached the summit of the rise when the negro uttered an exclamation and turned his horse completely round.

"What is it?" asked Carmen and myself, following his example.

"I see figures on the brow of yonder hill."

"You see more than I can, and I have not bad eyes," said Carmen, looking intently. "What are they like, those figures?"

"That I cannot make out yet. They are many; they move; and every minute they grow bigger! That is all I can tell."

"It is quite enough. The bodies of the two troopers have been found, the alarm has been given, and we are pursued. But they won't overtake us. They have that hill to descend, this to mount; and our horses are better than theirs."

"Are you going far, senor?" inquired Gahra.

"To the llanos."

"By Los Teycos?"

"Yes. We shall easily steal through Los Teycos, and I know of a place in the forest beyond, where we can hide during the day."

"Pardon me for venturing to contradict you, senor; but I fear you will not find it very easy to steal through Los Teycos. For three days it has been held by a company of infantry and all the outlets are strictly guarded. No civilian unfurnished with a safe conduct from the captain-general is allowed to pass."

"Caramba! We are between two fires, it seems. Well, we must make a dash for it. The sentries cannot stop us, and we can gallop through before they turn out the guard."

"The horses will be very tired by that time, senor, and the troopers can get fresh mounts at Los Teycos. But I know a way—"

"The Indian trail! Do you know the Indian trail?"

"Yes, sir. I know the Indian trail, and I can take you to a place in the forest where there is grass and water and game, and we shall be safe from pursuit as long as we like to stay."

"How far off?"

"About two leagues."

"Good. Lead on in heaven's name. You are a treasure, Gahra Dahra. In rescuing you from those ruffianly Spaniards we did ourselves, as well as you, a good turn."

Our pursuers, who numbered a full score, could now be distinctly seen, but in a few minutes we lost sight of them. After a sharp ride of half an hour, the negro called a halt.

"This is the place. Here we turn off," he said.

"Here! I see nothing but the almost dry bed of a torrent."

"So much the better. We shall make no footmarks," said Carmen. "Go on, Gahra. But first of all turn that led horse adrift. Are you sure this place you speak of is unknown to the Spaniards?"

"Quite. It is known only to a few wandering Indians and fugitive slaves. We can stay here till sunrise. It is impossible to follow the Indian trail by night, even with such a moon as this."

After we had partly ridden, partly walked (for we were several times compelled to dismount) about a mile along the bed of the stream, which was hemmed in between impenetrable walls of tall trees and dense undergrowth, Gahra, who was leading, called out: "This way!" and vanished into what looked like a hole, but proved to be a cleft in the bank so overhung by vegetation as to be well-nigh invisible.

It was the entrance to a passage barely wide enough to admit a horse and his rider, yet as light as a star-gemmed mid-night, for the leafy vault above us was radiant with fireflies, gleaming like diamonds in the dark hair of a fair woman.

But even with this help it was extremely difficult to force our way through the tangled undergrowth, which we had several times to attack, sword in hand, and none of us were sorry when Gahra announced that we had reached the end.

"Por todos los santos! But this is fairyland!" exclaimed Carmen, who was just before me. "I never saw anything so beautiful."

He might well say so. We were on the shore of a mountain-tarn, into whose clear depths the crescent moon, looking calmly down, saw its image reflected as in a silver mirror. Lilies floated on its waters, ferns and flowering shrubs bent over them, the air was fragrant with sweet smells, and all around uprose giant trees with stems as round and smooth as the granite columns of a great cathedral; and, as it seemed in that dim religious light, high enough to support the dome of heaven.

I was so lost in admiration of this marvellous scene that my companions had unsaddled and were leading their horses down to the water before I thought of dismounting from mine.

Apart from the beauty of the spot, we could have found none more suitable for a bivouac! We were in safety and our horses in clover, and, tethering them with the lariats, we left them to graze. Gahra gathered leaves and twigs and kindled a fire, for the air at that height was fresh, and we were lightly clad. We cooked our tasajo on the embers, and after smoking the calumet of peace, rolled ourselves in our cobijas, laid our heads on our saddles, and slept the sleep of the just.



CHAPTER XIII.

ON THE LLANOS.

Only a moment ago the land had been folded in the mantle of darkness. Now, a flaming eye rises from the ground at some immeasurable distance, like an outburst of volcanic fire. It grows apace, chasing away the night and casting a ruddy glow on, as it seems, a vast and waveless sea, as still as the painted ocean of the poem, as silent as death, a sea without ships and without life, mournful and illimitable, and as awe-inspiring and impressive as the Andes or the Alps.

So complete is the illusion that did I not know we were on the verge of the llanos I should be tempted to believe that supernatural agency had transported us while we slept to the coasts of the Caribbean Sea or the yet more distant shores of the Pacific Ocean.

Six days are gone by since we left our bivouac by the mountain-tarn: three we have wandered in the woods under the guidance of Gahra, three sought Mejia and his guerillas, who, being always on the move, are hard to find. Last night we reached the range of hills which form, as it were, the northern coast-line of the vast series of savannas which stretch from the tropics to the Straits of Magellan; and it is now a question whether we shall descend to the llanos or continue our search in the sierra.

"It was there I left him," said Carmen, pointing to a quebrada some ten miles away.

"Where we were yesterday?"

"Yes; and he said he would be either there or hereabout when I returned, and I am quite up to time. But Mejia takes sudden resolves sometimes. He may have gone to beat up Griselli's quarters at San Felipe, or be making a dash across the llanos in the hope of surprising the fortified post of Tres Cruces."

"What shall we do then; wait here until he comes back?"

"Or ride out on the llanos in the direction of Tres Cruces. If we don't meet Mejia and his people we may hear something of them."

"I am for the llanos."

"Very well. We will go thither. But we shall have to be very circumspect. There are loyalist as well as patriot guerillas roaming about. They say that Morales has collected a force of three or four thousand, mostly Indios, and they are all so much alike that unless you get pretty close it is impossible to distinguish patriots from loyalists."

"Well, there is room to run if we cannot fight."

"Oh, plenty of room," laughed Carmen. "But as for fighting—loyalist guerillas are not quite the bravest of the brave, yet I don't think we three are quite a match for fifty of them, and we are not likely to meet fewer, if we meet any. But let us adventure by all means. Our horses are fresh, and we can either return to the sierra or spend the night on the llanos, as may be most expedient."

Ten minutes later we were mounted, and an hour's easy riding brought us to the plain. It was as pathless as the ocean, yet Carmen, guided by the sun, went on as confidently as if he had been following a beaten track. The grass was brown and the soil yellow; particles of yellow dust floated in the air; the few trees we passed were covered with it, and we and our horses were soon in a like condition. Nothing altered as we advanced; sky and earth were ever the same; the only thing that moved was a cloud, sailing slowly between us and the sun, and when Carmen called a halt on the bank of a nearly dried-up stream, it required an effort to realize that since we left our bivouac in the hills we had ridden twenty miles in a direct line. Hard by was a deserted hatto, or cattle-keeper's hut, where we rested while our horses grazed.

"No sign of Mejia yet," observed Carmen, as he lighted his cigar with a burning-glass. "Shall we go on toward Tres Cruces, or return to our old camping-ground in the hills?"

"I am for going on."

"So am I. But we must keep a sharp lookout. We shall be on dangerous ground after we have crossed the Tio."

"Where is the Tio?"

"There!" (pointing to the attenuated stream near us).

"That! I thought the Tio was a river."

"So it is, and a big one in the rainy season, as you may have an opportunity of seeing. I wish we could hear something of Mejia. But there is nobody of whom we can inquire. The country is deserted; the herdsmen have all gone south, to keep out of the way of guerillas and brigands, all of whom look on cattle as common property."

"Somebody comes!" said Gahra, who was always on the lookout.

"How many?" exclaimed Carmen, springing to his feet.

"Only one."

"Keep out of sight till he draws near, else he may sheer off; and I should like to have a speech of him. He may be able to tell us something."

The stranger came unconcernedly on, and as he stopped in the middle of the river to let his horse drink, we had a good look at him. He was well mounted, carried a long spear and a macheto (a broad, sword-like knife, equally useful for slitting windpipes and felling trees), and wore a broad-brimmed hat, shirt, trousers, and a pair of spurs (strapped to his naked feet).

As he resumed his journey across the river, we all stepped out of the hatto and gave him the traditional greeting, "Buenas dias, senor."

The man, looking up in alarm, showed a decided disposition to make off, but Carmen spoke him kindly, offered him a cigar, and said that all we wanted was a little information. We were peaceful travellers, and would much like to know whether the country beyond the Tio was free from guerillas.

The stranger eyed us suspiciously, and then, after a moment's hesitation, said that he had heard that Mejia was "on the war-path."

"Where?" asked Carmen.

"They say he was at Tres Cruces three days ago; and there has been fighting."

"And are any of Morale's people also on the war-path?"

"That is more than I can tell you, senores. It is very likely; but as you are peaceful travellers, I am sure no one will molest you. Adoiso, senores."

And with that the man gave his horse a sudden dig with his spurs, and went off at a gallop.

"What a discourteous beggar he is!" exclaimed Carmen, angrily. "If it would not take too much out of my mare I would ride after him and give him a lesson in politeness."

"I don't think he was intentionally uncivil. He seemed afraid."

"Evidently. He did not know what we were, and feared to commit himself. However, we have learned something. We are on Mejia's track. He was at Tres Cruces three days since, and if we push on we may fall in with him before sunset, or, at any rate, to-morrow morning."

"Is it not possible that this man may have been purposely deceiving us, or be himself misinformed?" I asked.

"Quite. But as we had already decided to go on it does not matter a great deal whether he is right or wrong. I I think, though, he knew more about the others than he cared to tell. All the more reason for keeping a sharp lookout and riding slowly."

"So as to save our horses?"

"Exactly. We may have to ride for our lives before the sun goes down. And now let us mount and march."

Our course was almost due west, and the sun being now a little past the zenith, its ardent rays—which shone right in our faces—together with the reverberations from the ground, made the heat almost insupportable. The stirrup-irons burned our feet; speech became an effort; we sat in our saddles, perspiring and silent; our horses, drooping their heads, settled into a listless and languid walk. The glare was so trying that I closed my eyes and let Pizarro go as he would. Open them when I might, the outlook was always the same, the same yellow earth and blue sky, the same lifeless, interminable plain, the same solitary sombrero palms dotting the distant horizon.

This went on for an hour or two, and I think I must have fallen into a doze, for when, roused by a shout from Gahra, I once more opened my eyes the sun was lower and the heat less intense.

"What is it," asked Carmen, who, like myself, had been half asleep. "I see nothing."

"A cloud of dust that moves—there!" (pointing).

"So it is," shading his eyes and looking again. "Coming this way, too. Behind that cloud is a body of horsemen. Be they friends or enemies—Mejia and his people or loyalist guerillas?"

"That is more than I can say, senor. Mejia, I hope."

"I also. But hope is not certainty, and until we can make sure we had better hedge away toward the north, so as to be nearer the hills in case we have to run for it."

"You think we had better make for the hills in that case?" I asked.

"Decidedly. Mejia is sure to return thither, and Morale's men are much less likely to follow us far in that direction than south or east."

So, still riding leisurely, we diverged a little to the right, keeping the cloud-veiled horsemen to our left. By this measure we should (if they proved to be enemies) prevent them from getting between us and the hills, and thereby cutting off our best line of retreat.

Meanwhile the cloud grew bigger. Before long we could distinguish those whom it had hidden, without, however, being able to decide whether they were friends or foes.

Carmen thought they numbered at least two hundred, and there might be more behind. But who they were he could, as yet, form no idea.

The nearer we approached them the greater became our excitement and surprise. A few minutes and we should either be riding for our lives or surrounded by friends. We looked to the priming of our pistols, tightened our belts and our horses' girths, wiped the sweat and dust from our faces, and, while hoping for the best, prepared for the worst.

"They see us!" exclaimed Carmen. "I cannot quite make them out, though. I fear.... But let us ride quietly on. The secret will soon be revealed."

A dozen horsemen had detached themselves from the main body with the intention, as might appear, of intercepting our retreat in every direction. Four went south, four north, and four moved slowly round to our rear.

"Had we not better push on?" I asked. "This looks very like a hostile demonstration."

"So it does. But we must find out—And there is no hurry. We shall only have the four who are coming this way to deal with, the others are out of the running. All the same, we may as well draw a little farther to the right, so as to give them a longer gallop and get them as far from the main body as may be."

The four were presently near enough to be distinctly seen.

"Enemies! Vamonos!" cried Carmen, after he had scanned their faces. "But not too fast. If they think we are afraid and our horses tired they will follow us without waiting for the others, and perhaps give us an opportunity of teaching them better manners. Your horse is the fleetest, senor Fortescue. You had better, perhaps, ride last."

On this hint I acted; and when the four guerillas saw that I was lagging behind they redoubled their efforts to overtake me, but whenever they drew nearer than I liked, I let Pizarro out, thereby keeping their horses, which were none too fresh, continually on the stretch. The others were too far in the rear to cause us concern. We had tested the speed of their horses and knew that we could leave them whenever we liked.

After we had gone thus about a couple of miles Carmen slackened speed so as to let me come up with him and Gahra.

"We have five minutes to spare," he said. "Shall we stop them?"

I nodded assent, whereupon we checked our horses, and wheeling around, looked our pursuers in the face. This brought them up short, and I thought they were going to turn tail, but after a moment's hesitation they lowered their lances and came on albeit at no great speed, receiving as they did so a point-blank volley from our pistols, which emptied one of their saddles. Then we drew our swords and charged, but before we could get to close quarters the three men sheered off to the right and left, leaving their wounded comrade to his fate. It did not suit our purpose to follow them, and we were about to go on, when we noticed that the other guerillas, who a few minutes previously were riding hotly after us, had ceased their pursuit, and were looking round in seeming perplexity. The main body had, moreover, come to a halt, and were closing up and facing the other way. Something had happened. What could it be?