San Augustin is a pueblo, endowed with certain municipal privileges. It boasts of an alcalde-mayor with other corporate officers, and a staff of alguezils, or policemen.

The heads of departments are mostly men of pure Spanish race—"gente de razon," as they proudly proclaim themselves—though many are in reality of mixed blood, Mestizos. Of this are the better class of shopkeepers, few in number, the gente de razon at best forming a scarce discernible element in the population, which is mainly made up of the brown aborigines.

At a certain season of the year, however, paler complexions show in the ascendant. This during carnival time—"Las Pascuas." Then the streets of San Augustin are crowded with gay promenaders; while carriages and men on horseback may be seen in continuous stream passing to and fro between it and the capital. In Las Pascuas week, one day with another, half Mexico is there engaged in a gambling orgie, as Londoners at Epsom during the Derby. More like Homburg and Monaco, though; since the betting at Tlalpam is not upon the swiftness of horses, but done with dice and cards. The national game, "monte," there finds fullest illustration, grand marquees being erected for its play— real temples erected to the goddess Fortuna. Inside these may be seen crowds of the strangest composition, in every sense heterogeneous; military officers, generals and colonels, down to the lowest grade, even sergeants and corporals, sitting at the same table and staking on the same cards; members of Congress, Senators, Cabinet Ministers, and, upon occasions, the Chief of the State, jostling the ragged lepero, and not unfrequently standing elbow to elbow with the footpad and salteador!— Something stranger still, ladies compose part of this miscellaneous assemblage; dames of high birth and proud bearing, but in this carnival of cupidity not disdaining to "punt" on the sota or cavallo, while brushing skirts with bare-armed, barefooted rustic damsels, and poblanas, more elaborately robed, but with scantier reputation.

After all, it is only Baden on the other side of the Atlantic; and it may be said in favour of San Augustin, the fury lasts for only a few days, instead of a whole season. Then the monte banks disappear, with their dealers and croupiers; the great tents are taken down; the gamesters, gentle and simple, scatter off, most going back to the city; and the little pueblo Tlalpam, resuming its wonted tranquillity, is scarce thought of till Carnival comes again.

In its normal condition, though some might deem it rather dull, it is nevertheless one of the pleasantest residential villages in the Valley. Picturesquely situated at the foot of the southern Sierras, which form a bold mountain background, it has on the other side water scenery in the curious Laguna de Xochimilco, while the grim Pedregal also approaches it, giving variety to its surroundings.

Besides its fixed population there is one that may be termed floating or intermittent; people who come and go. These are certain "ricos," who chiefly affect its suburbs, where they have handsome houses—casas de campo. Not in hundreds, as at San Anjel and Tacubaya, Tlalpam being at a greater and more inconvenient distance from the capital. Still there are several around it of first-class, belonging to familias principales, though occupied by them only at intervals, and for a few days or weeks at a time.

One of these, owned by Don Ignacio Valverde, was a favourite place of residence with him; a tranquil retreat of which he was accustomed to avail himself whenever he could get away from his ministerial duties. Just such an interregnum had arisen some time after the stirring incidents we have recorded, and he went to stay at his San Augustin house with his daughter, the Condesa Almonte going with them as their guest. Since their last appearance before the reader, all three had passed through scenes of trial. An investigation had been gone into regarding the Calle de Plateros affair—private, however, before Santa Anna himself, the world not being made the wiser for it. Its results were all in their favour, thanks to the stern, stubborn fidelity of Jose, who lied like a very varlet. Such a circumstantial story told he, no one could suspect him of complicity in the escape of the forsados; far less that his mistress, or the Condesa Almonte had to do with it.

Don Ignacio, too, had done his share to hinder discovery of the truth. For, in the end, it was found necessary to take him into the secret, the missing cloak and pistols, with several mysterious incidents, calling for explanation. But in making a clean breast of it, his daughter had felt no fear of being betrayed by him. He was not the father to deal harshly with his child; besides, it was something more—a real danger. In addition, she knew how he was affected towards the man she had aided to escape—that he held Don Florencio in highest esteem; looked upon him as a dear friend, and in a certain tacit way had long ago signified approval of him for a son-in-law. All these thoughts passed through Luisa Valverde's mind while approaching her father, and steeling herself to make confession of that secret she might otherwise have kept from him.

The result was not disappointing. Don Ignacio consented to the deception, and they were saved. Whatever the suspicions of Santa Anna and his adjutant, both were baffled about that affair, at least for the time.

Alike had they been frustrated in their pursuit of the escapados. Despite the most zealous search through the Pedregal and elsewhere, these could not be found, nor even a trace of them. Still, they were not given up. Every town and village in the valley, in the mountains around, and the country outside were visited by soldiers or spies—every spot likely to harbour the fugitives. Pickets were placed everywhere and patrols despatched, riding the roads by night as by day, all proving abortive.

After a time, however, this vigorous action became relaxed. Not that they who had dictated were less desirous of continuing it; but because a matter of more importance than mere personal spite or vengeance was soon likely to declare itself, and threaten their own safety. Talk was beginning to be heard, though only in whispers, and at a far distance from the capital, of a new pronunciamento in preparation. And in making counter-preparations, the Dictator had now enough to occupy all his energies; not knowing the day or the hour he might again hear the cry he so dreaded, "Patria y Libertad."

Meanwhile the people had ceased to speak of the stirring episode which had occurred in the Calle de Plateros; thought strange only from the odd circumstances attendant, and the fact of two of the fugitives being Tejanos. The city of Mexico has its daily newspapers, and on the morning after a full account of it appeared in El Diario and El Monitor. For all it was but the topic of a week; in ten days no more heard of it; in a month quite forgotten, save by those whom it specially concerned. So varied are the events, so frequent the changes, so strange the Cosas de Mexico!



CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN.

OVER THE CLIFF.

For some time after their arrival at the old monastery, neither Kearney nor Cris Rock saw aught of their late "fourth fellow" prisoner—the hunchback. They cared not to inquire after him; the Texan repeating himself by saying,—"This chile don't want ever to sit eyes on his ugly pictur agin." They supposed that he was still there, however, somewhere about the building.

And so was he, with a chain attached to his leg, the same he had shared with Rock, its severed end now padlocked to a ring bolt; and the apartment he occupied had as much of the prison aspect as any cell in the Acordada. No doubt, in days gone by, many a refractory brother had pined and done penance therein for breach of monastic discipline.

Why the mis-shapen creature was so kept needs little explanation; for the same reason as prompted to bringing him thither. Helpless as he might appear, he was not harmless; and Don Ruperto knew that to restore him to liberty would be to risk losing his own, with something more. Though safely bestowed, however, no severity was shown him. He had his meals regularly, and a bed to sleep on, if but a pallet, quite as good as he had been accustomed to. Moreover, after some time had elapsed, he was relieved from this close confinement during the hours of the day. A clever actor, and having a tongue that could "wheedle with the devil," he had wheedled with the mayor-domo to granting him certain indulgences; among them being allowed to spend part of his time in the kitchen and scullery. Not in idleness, however, but occupied with work for which he had proved himself well qualified. It was found that he had once been "boots" in a posado, which fitted him for usefulness in many ways.

In the cocina of the old convent his temper was sorely tried, the other "mozos" making cruel sport of him. But he bore it with a meekness very different to what he had shown while in the Acordada.

Thus acquitting himself, Gregorio, who had him in special charge, began to regard him as a useful if not ornamental addition to his domestic staff of the establishment. Notwithstanding, the precaution was still continued of locking him at night and re-attaching the chain to his ankle. This last was more disagreeable than aught else he had to endure. He could bear the jibes of his fellow-scullions, but that fetter sorely vexed him; as night after night he was accustomed to say to the mayor-domo as he was turning the key in its clasp.

"It's so uncomfortable, Senor Don Gregorio," was his constantly recurring formula. "Keeps me from sleeping and's very troublesome when I want to turn over, as I often do on account of the pains in my poor humped shoulders. Now, why need you put it on? Surely you're not afraid of me trying to get away? Ha, ha! that would be turning one's back upon best friends. Cascaras! I fare too well here to think of changing quarters. Above all, going into the Acordada; where I'd have to go sure, if I were to show my face in the city again. Oh no, Senor! you don't catch me leaving this snug crib, so long's you allow me to board and bed in it. Only I'd like you to let me off from that nasty thing. It's cold too; interferes with my comfort generally. Do, good Don Gregorio! For this one night try me without it. And if you're not satisfied with the result, then put it on ever after, and I won't complain, I promise you."

In somewhat similar forms he had made appeals for many nights in succession, but without melting the heart of the "Good Don Gregorio."

At length, however, it proved effectual. Among various other avocations he had been a Zapartero, of the class cobbler, and on a certain day did service to the mayor-domo by mending his shoes. For which he received payment in the permission to pass that night without being discommoded by the chain.

"It's so very kind of you, Don Gregorio!" he said, when made aware of the grace to be given to him. "I ought to sleep sound this night, anyhow. But whether I do or not, I shall pray for you before going to bed all the same. Buenas noches!"

It was twilight outside, but almost total darkness within the cell, as the mayor-domo turned to go out of it. Otherwise he might have seen on the dwarfs features an expression calculated to make him repent his act of kindness, and instantly undo it. Could he have divined the thoughts at that moment passing through Zorillo's mind, the clasp would have quickly closed around the latter's leg, despite all gratitude due to him for the patching of the shoes.

"If I can get out," he commenced in mental soliloquy, as the footfall of the mayor-domo died away in the distant corridor, "out and away from them, my fortune's made; all sorts of good things in store for me. From this time forth I needn't fear to present myself at the door of the Acordada; walk right into it. No danger of Don Pedro keeping me there now. Instead, I should be sent out again with a free pardon and a full purse. Chingara, talk of a cat in the cupboard, here are a score of them—half a hundred! And when I let them out—aha!"

He paused; then rising to his feet, moved across to the door, and laid his ear against it to listen. He heard sounds, but they were sounds of merriment—the counterfeit monks at their evening meal—and did not concern him.

"What a bit of luck it may turn out, after all, my getting coupled to that great brute and brought here! That is, if all goes well, and I can give them the slip. First, to make sure about the possibility of getting out of this hole. Carrai! I may be counting my chickens in the eggs."

Leaving the door, he glided across to the window, and set himself square against it, as if to measure its breadth by that of his own body. It was but a slit, unglazed, a single iron bar, placed vertically, dividing the aperture into two. Without removing this he could not possibly pass through. But he had the means to remove it; that file, already known to the reader, which he had contrived to get possession of, and for days kept secret in his cell. First, however, he must see whether it was worth while using it; for during all the time of his being there he had never been allowed an opportunity to approach the window and look out.

Leaning forward into the recess, he thrust his head between the bar and jamb, so far out as to give him a view of the ground below. This was solid rock, the crest of a steep slope, from which the wall rose as above a buttress. But there was a ledge, some ten or twelve feet under the sill, narrow, but wide enough to afford footing, which led off to more level ground. How was he to reach it?

He knew, or he would not have acted as he now did. For without spending another second in the survey, he drew back from the window, plunged his hand under his bed mat, drew forth the file, and commenced rasping away at the bar. Not noisily or in any excited haste. Even if the obstacle were removed, the time had not come for his attempt to pass out. He would wait for an hour after midnight, when all had gone to their beds.

Eaten with rust, the iron was easily sawed through, a clean cut being made near its lower end. Then, laying aside the file, and grasping the bar, he wrenched it out of the solderings. If diminutive in body, his arms were sinewy and strong as those of a coal-heaver.

This task accomplished, he turned to his pallet and taking up the old blanket allowed him for a covering, began to tear it into strips. He meant to make a rope of it to lower himself down outside. But finding it quite rotten, and doubting whether it would bear his weight, he desisted and sat for a time considering. Not long till he bethought himself of something more suitable for his purpose—the chain.

"Bah!" he exclaimed, tossing aside the rags he had commenced splicing together, "why didn't I think of that? Well, it's not too late yet. Good three yards—long enough. And the stupid has left the key behind, which fits both ends. So, Mr Chain, considering the world of worry and trouble you've been to me, it's time, and only fair, you should do me a good turn by way of recompense. After you've done it, I'll forgive you."

While muttering this quaint apostrophe, he commenced groping about over the floor—not for the chain, but the key, which he knew Gregorio had left, after releasing his leg from the clasp. The mayor-domo had either forgotten, or did not think it was worth while taking it away.

Having found it, he felt his way to the ring bolt, and unlocking the clasp at that end, returned to the window, taking the chain with him. Having made one end fast around the stump of the bar, he lowered the other down outside, cautiously, without a tinkle of its links. And now again looking out and below, he was delighted to see that it reached within a foot or two of the ledge. All this done, he once more sat down on the side of the bed, to await the hour of midnight.

But he was not long quiescent, when a thought occurring caused him to resume action.

"Why not try it now?" he mentally interrogated. "They're all in the Refectory, having a fine time of it, drinking their famous wines. Some grand occasion, I heard one of the mozos say. There mightn't be a better chance for me than this very minute—maybe not so good. Carramba! I'll risk it now."

Quickly at the words he glided back to the window, climbed up into it, and squeezing out through the aperture, let himself down on the chain, link by link, as a monkey making descent of a lliana in the forests of the tierra caliente.

Soon as he found himself safe landed he let go the chain, and after a minute or so spent in silent reconnaissance of the ledge, commenced moving off along it.

Right he was in choosing that early hour, for the way he must needs take led out into the open ground, in front of the building, where at a later one a watch would have been stationed. There was none there now, and without stop or challenge he passed on and down.

Though they had never allowed him to go outside the building, he perfectly remembered the path by which he and the others had reached it, on that memorable night after their escape from the chain-gang. He recalled the two steep slopes, one above the other, with a narrow shelf between, on which they encountered the sentinel, who had hailed, "Quien viva?"

Sure to be one there now, and to such hail what answer could he make?

On this he reflected while descending the upper slope. The darkness due to the overshadowing trees made it necessary for him to go slowly, so giving him time. But it did not hinder his keeping to the path. With his long arms like the tentacles of an octopus he was able to direct his course, now and then using them to grasp overhanging branches, or the parasites dependent therefrom. Withal he went cautiously, and so silently, that the sentinel—for sure enough one was there—heard no noise to warn him of an enemy behind. In his monkish garb, he was standing on the outer edge of the shelf rock, his face turned to the valley, which was just beginning to show silvery white under the rays of a rising moon. Perhaps, like Don Ruperto, he was gazing on some spot, a house endeared to him as the home of his childhood; but from which, as the leader of the Free Lances, he had been bereft by the last confiscation. Possibly he was indulging in the hope of its being soon restored to him, but least of all dreaming of danger behind.

It was there, notwithstanding—in fiendish shape and close proximity. A creature squatted like a toad, human withal, saying to himself—

"What wouldn't I give for a knife with a blade six inches long!"

Then, with a sudden change of thought, seeing the chance to do without the knife, making a dash forward, with the ape-like arms extended, and pushing the sentinel over!

The cry that came from the latter, on feeling the impulse from behind, was stifled as he went whirling to the bottom of the cliff.



CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT.

ON DOWN THE MOUNTAIN.

"Dead!" muttered the inhuman wretch, as he stood upon the spot late occupied by his victim, looking down over the cliff. "Dead he must be; unless a man can fall two hundred feet and still live; which isn't likely. That clears the way, I take it; and unless I have the ill luck to meet some one coming up—a straggler—it'll be all right. As sound ascends, I ought to hear them before they could see me. I shall keep my ears open."

Saying which he commenced the descent of the second slope, proceeding in the same cautious way as before.

The path was but a ledge, which, after running fifty yards in a direct line, made an abrupt double back in the opposite direction, all the while obliquing downwards. Another similar zig-zag, with a like length of declivity traversed, and he found himself at the cliff's base, among shadowy, thick standing trees. He remembered the place, and that before reaching it on their way up they had followed the trend of the cliff for more than a quarter of a mile. So, taking this for his guide, he kept on along the back track.

Not far, before seeing that which brought him to a stop. If he had entertained any doubt about the sentinel being dead, it would have been resolved now. There lay the man's body among the loose rocks, not only lifeless, but shapeless. A break in the continuity of the timber let the moonlight through, giving the murderer a full view of him he had murdered.

The sentinel had fallen upon his back, and lay with his face upward, his crushed body doubled over a boulder; the blood was welling from his mouth and nostrils, and the open eyes glared ghastly in the white, weird light. It was a sight to inspire fear in the mind of an ordinary individual, even in that of a murderer. But it had no effect on this strange lusus of humanity, whose courage was equal to his cruelty. Instead of giving the body a wide berth, and scared-like stealing past, he walked boldly up to it, saying in apostrophe—

"So you're there! Well, you need not blame me, but your luck. If I hadn't pushed you over, you'd have shot me like a dog, or brained me with the butt of your gun. Aha! I was too much for you, Mr Monk or soldier, whichever you were, for you're neither now.

"Just possible," he continued, changing the form of his monologue, "he may have a purse; the which I'm sure to stand in need of before this time to-morrow. If without money, his weapons may be of use to me."

With a nimbleness which bespoke him no novice at trying pockets, he soon touched the bottom of all those on the body, to find them empty.

"Bah!" he ejaculated, drawing back with a disappointed air, "I might have known there was nothing in them. Whatever cash they've had up there has been spent long ago, and their wine will soon be out too. His gun I don't care for; besides, I see it's broken;—yes, the stock snapped clean off. But this stiletto, it's worth taking with me. Even if I shouldn't need it as a weapon, it looks like a thing Mr Pawnbroker would appreciate."

Snatching the dagger—a silver-hilted one—from the corpse of its ill-starred owner, he secreted it inside his tattered rag of a coat, and without delay proceeded on.

Soon after he came to a point where the path, forsaking the cliff, turned to the left, down the slope of the mountain. He knew that would take him into the Pedregal, where he did not desire to go. Besides his doubts of being able to find the way through the lava field, there was no particular need for his attempting so difficult a track. All he wanted was to get back to the city by the most direct route, and as soon as possible into the presence of a man of whom during late days he had been thinking much. For from this man he expected much, in return for a tale he could tell him. It must be told direct, and for this reason all caution was required. He might fall into hands that would not only hinder him from relating it in the right quarter, but prevent his telling it at all.

Just where the path diverged to the left, going down to the Pedregal, a mass of rocks rose bare above the tops of the trees. Clambering to its summit he obtained a view of what lay below; the whole valley bathed in bright moonlight, green meadows, fields of maize, and maguey, great sheets of water with haze hanging over them, white and gauzy as a bridal veil. The city itself was distinguishable at a long distance, and in places nearer specklings of white telling of some pueblita, or single spots where stood a rancho or hacienda. Closer still, almost under his feet, a clump of those mottlings was more conspicuous; which he recognised as the pueblo of San Augustin. A narrow ribbon-like strip of greyish white passing through it, and on to the city, he knew to be the Great Southern or Acapulco Road, which enters the capital by the garita of San Antonio de Abad. This route he decided on taking.

Having made note of the necessary bearings, he slipped back down the side of the rock, and looked about for a path leading to the right.

Not long till he discovered one, a mere trace made by wild animals through the underwood—sufficiently practicable for him, as he could work his way through any tangle of thicket. Sprawling along it, and rapidly, despite all obstructions, he at length came out on the Acapulco Road, a wide causeway, with the moon full upon it.

The track was easy and clear even now, too clear to satisfy him. He would have preferred a darker night San Augustin had to be passed through, and he knew that in it were both serenos and alguazils. Besides, he had heard the moxos at the monastery speak of troops stationed there, and patrols at all hours along the roads around. If taken up by these he might still hope to reach his intended destination; but neither in the time he desired, nor the way he wished. He must approach the man with whom he meant seeking an interview, not as a prisoner but voluntarily. And he must see this man soon, to make things effectual, as the reward he was dreaming of sure.

Urged by these reflections, he made no further delay; but taking to the dusty road, moved in all haste along it. In one way the moon was in his favour. The causeway was not straight, for it was still a deep descent towards the valley, and carried by zig-zags; so that at each angle he was enabled to scan the stretch ahead, and see that it was clear, before exposing himself upon it. Then he would advance rapidly on the next turning-point, stop again, and reconnoitre.

Thus alternately making traverses and pauses, he at length reached the outskirts of the pueblo, unchallenged and unobserved. But the problem was how to pass through it; all the more difficult at that early hour. He had heard the church clock tolling the hours as he came down the mountain, and he knew it had not struck ten. A beautiful night, the villagers would be all abroad; and how was he to appear in the street without attracting notice—he above all men? His deformity of itself would betray him. An expression of blackest bitterness came over his features as he thus reflected. But it was not a time to indulge in sentimentalities. San Augustin must be got through somehow, if he could not find a way around it.

For this last he had been looking some time, both to the right and left. To his joy, just as he caught sight of the first houses—villa residences they were, far straggling along the road—a lane running in behind them seemed to promise what he was in search of. From its direction it should enable him to turn the village, without the necessity of passing through the plaza, or at all entering upon the streets. Without more ado he dodged into the lane.

It proved the very sort of way he was wishing for; dark from being overshadowed with trees. A high park-like wall extended along one side of it, within which were the trees, their great boughs drooping down over.

Keeping close in to the wall he glided on, and had got some distance from the main road, when he saw that which brought him to a sudden stop—a man approaching from the opposite direction. In the dim light, the figure was as yet barely discernible, but there was a certain something in its gait—the confidential swagger of the policeman—which caught the practised eye of Zorillo, involuntarily drawing from him the muttered speech—

"Maltida sea! An alguazil!"

Whether the man was this or not, he must be avoided; and, luckily for the dwarf, the means of shunning him were at hand, easy as convenient. It was but to raise his long arms above his head, lay hold of one of the overhanging branches, and draw himself up to the top of the wall; which he did upon the instant. It was a structure of adobes, with a coping quite a yard in width, and laid flat along this, he was altogether invisible to one passing below.

The man, alguazil or not, neither saw him nor suspected his being there, but walked tranquilly on.

When he was well beyond earshot the dwarf, deeming himself safe, was about to drop back into the lane, when a murmur of voices prompted him to keep his perch. They were feminine, sweet as the sound of rippling brooks, and gradually becoming more distinct; which told him that those from whom they proceeded were approaching the spot. He had already observed that the enclosure was a grand ornamental garden with walks, fountains, and flowers; a large house on its farther side.

Presently the speakers appeared—two young ladies sauntering side by side along one of the walks, the soft moonlight streaming down upon them. As it fell full upon their faces, now turned toward the wall, the dwarf started at a recognition, inwardly exclaiming—

"Santissima! The senoritas of the carriage!"



CHAPTER FORTY NINE.

A TALE OF STARVATION.

It was the garden of Don Ignacio's casa de campo; the ladies, his daughter and the Condesa. The lovely night, with balm in the air and a bright moon shining through the sky, had drawn them out, and they strolled through the grounds, keeping step, as it were, to that matchless melody, the song of the czenzontle. But note of no nightingale was in their thoughts, which were engrossed by graver themes.

"'Tis so strange our never hearing from them, and not a word of them. What do you make of it, Ysabel? Is it a bad sign?"

The question was asked by the Dona Luisa.

"That we haven't heard from them is—in a way," responded the Countess. "Yet that may be explained, too. The probability is, from the roads being all watched and guarded, as we know they are, they'd be cautious about communicating with us. If they've sent a messenger—which I hope they haven't—he must have been intercepted and made prisoner. And then, the message; that might compromise us. But I know Ruperto will be careful. Not to have heard of them is all for the best—the very best. It should almost assure us that they're still free, and safe somewhere. Had they been recaptured, we'd have known before this. All Mexico would be talking about it."

"True," assented Don Ignacio's daughter, with a feeling of relief. "They cannot have been retaken. But I wonder where they are now."

"So I myself, Luisita. I hope, however, not at that old monastery of which Ruperto gave me a description in one of his letters. It's somewhere up in the mountains. But with the country all around so occupied by troops it would seem an unsafe place. I trust they've got over the Sierra, and down to Acapulco. If they have, we needn't feel so very anxious about them."

"Why not, Ysabel?"

"Why not? Ah! that's a question you haven't yet come to understand. But never mind the reason now. You'll know it in good time; and when you do, I've no fear but you'll be satisfied; your father too."

Don Ignacio's daughter was both puzzled and surprised at the strange words. But she knew the Countess had strange ways; and, though a bosom friend, was not without some secrets she kept to herself. This was one of them, no doubt, and she forebore pressing for an explanation.

What the Condesa hinted at was that disaffection in the south, the expected pronunciamento, which, if successful, would not only depose the Dictator, but of course also his Cabinet Ministers, her friend's father among them. With some knowledge of coming events, she declined imparting this to the Dona Luisa through delicacy. Right was she, also, in her surmise as to the messenger; none had been intercepted, none having been sent out, just for the reason surmised by her.

They had made a turn or two of the grounds, thus conversing, when both came to a sudden stop, simultaneously uttering exclamations of alarm, "Santissima!" and "Madre de Dios!"

"What can it be?" gasped Dona Luisa. "Is it a man?"

No wonder she should so doubtingly interrogate, since her question referred to that strange creature on the top of the wall, seeming more ape than human being.

That he was human, however, was to be proved by his being gifted with the power of speech, put forth on the instant after. Before the Countess could make answer to the question (of course overheard by him), he interposed, saying—

"Pray, don't be alarmed, your ladyships, at a poor miserable creature like me. I know that my body is anything but shapely; but my soul— that, I trust, is different. But, Senoritas, surely you remember me?"

While speaking, he had raised himself into an upright attitude, and the moonlight falling upon him showed his shape in all its grotesqueness of outline. This, with his words, at once recalled their having seen him before. Yes; it was the enano, whom the big Texan had swung up to the box of their carriage.

Astonishment hindering reply to his interrogatory, he continued—

"Well, your ladyships, I'm sorry you don't recognise me; the more from my being one of your best friends, or, at all events, the friend of your friends."

"Of whom do you speak, sir?" asked the Countess, first to recover composure, the Dona Luisa echoing the interrogatory. Both were alike anxious for the answer, better than half divining.

"Two worthy gentlemen, who, like my poor self, had the misfortune to get shut up in the Acordada; more than that, set to work in the filthy sewers. Thanks to the luck of your ladyship's carriage coming past at a convenient time we all escaped; and so far have been successful in eluding the search that's been made for us."

"You have succeeded—all?" both asked in a breath their eagerness throwing aside reserve.

"Oh yes; as I've said, so far. But it's been hard times with us in our hiding-place; so hard, indeed, we might well have wished ourselves back in the prison."

"How so, sir? Tell us all! You needn't fear to speak out; we'll not betray you."

"Por Dios! I'm not afraid of your ladyships doing that. Why should I, since I'm here on account of your own friends, and on an errand of mercy?"

"An errand of mercy?"

"Yes. And one of necessity as well. Ah! that far more."

"Go on, sir! Please tell us what it is!"

"Well, Senoritas, I've been deputed on a foraging expedition. For we're in a terrible strait—all four of us. You may remember there were four."

"We do. But, how in a terrible strait?"

"How? Why, for want of food; starving. Up in the mountains, where we've been hiding for now nearly a month, all we've had to live upon was wild fruits and roots; often eating them raw, too. We daren't any of us venture down, as the roads all round have been beset by spies and soldiers. It's only in sheer desperation I've stolen through them; the Senor Don Ruperto sending me to San Augustin in the hope I might be able to pick up some provisions. I was just slipping the village the back way, when an alguazil coming along made it necessary for me to climb up here and hide myself. The unlucky part of it all is, that even if I get safe in, I haven't the wherewith to buy the eatables, and must beg them. That I fear won't be easy; people are so hard-hearted."

For a time his surprised listeners stood silent, giving way to sad reflections. Florencio and Ruperto starving!

"May I hope," continued the lying wretch, "your ladyships will let me look upon this accidental encounter as a God-send, and that you will give me something to buy—"

"Oh, sir," interrupted the Countess, "we will give you that. Luisa, have you any money in your purse? I haven't in mine—nothing to signify."

"Nor I either—how unfortunate! We must—"

"Never mind money, your ladyships; money's worth will do quite as well. A reloja, rings, anything in the way of jewellery. I chance to know a place in the village where I can convert them into cash."

"Here, take this!" cried the Countess, handing him her watch, the same which had been hypothecated to Jose, but redeemed by a money payment.

"And this!" said the Dona Luisa, also holding out a watch, both of which he speedily took possession of.

"'Tis very generous of your ladyships," he said, stowing them away among his rags; "the proceeds of these ought to support us for a long time, even allowing for the reduced rate I'll have to accept from the pawnbroker. Afterwards we must do the best we can."

As he spoke, his little sparkling eyes were avariciously bent upon certain other objects he saw scintillating in the moonlight—bracelets, rings upon their fingers and in their ears. The hint was hardly needed. Enough for them the thought that more help might be required by those dear to them, and at a time when they could not extend it.

In less than five minutes after both had divested themselves of every article in the way of gold or gems adorning them. They even plucked the pendants from their ears, thrusting all indiscriminately into the outstretched hands of the hunchback.

"Gracias!—mil gracias!" he ejaculated, crowding everything into his pocket. "But your ladyships will scarce care to accept thanks from me. 'Twill be more to your satisfaction to know that your generosity will be the saving of valuable lives, two of them, if I mistake not, very dear to you. Oh! won't the Senores Don Ruperto and Don Florencio be delighted at the tale I shall take back—the Virgin seeing me safe! Not for the provisions I may carry, but how I obtained the means of purchasing them. But as time's pressing, Senorita, I won't say a word more, only Adios!"

Without waiting for permission to depart, or rejoinder of any kind, he slipped down from the wall, and disappeared on its other side.

It was an abrupt leave-taking, which alike surprised and disappointed them. For they had many questions to ask, and intended asking him—many anxieties they wished set at rest.



CHAPTER FIFTY.

AN ENCOUNTER WITH OLD ACQUAINTANCES.

Passing out of the San Augustin towards the city, the great National Road, as already said, touches upon the Pedregal, the lava rocks here and there rising cliff-like over it. On the other side are level meadows stretching to the shore of the Laguna de Xochimilco; this last overgrown with a lush aquatic vegetation called the cinta, at a distance appearing more pastureland than lake. Excellent pasturage is afforded on the strip between; that end of it adjacent to the pueblo being apportioned among several of the rich proprietors of villas, who turn their household stock upon it, as milch kine, and horses kept for the saddle or carriage.

Just about the time when the hunchback was abruptly bidding "Adios" to the ladies, a man might have been seen moving along this part of the road at some half-mile distance from the skirts of the village, with face turned cityward. But that he had no intention of journeying so far was evident both by his gait and the character of his dress. He was going at a slow walk, now and then loitering, as if time was of little consequence. Moreover, he was in his shirt sleeves, and without the universal serape, which often serves for both cloak and coat. Otherwise his garb was the ordinary stable wear of a Mexican gentleman's servant; wide velveteen trousers open along the outer seams, and fended with leather at breech and bottoms. "Batos" and a black glaze hat completed his habiliments, with a scarf of China crape, the chammora, around his waist. Scanning the face shadowed by the broad rim of his sombrero, it was seen to be that of Jose, Don Ignacio's groom; while his errand along that road could be guessed, by seeing what he carried over his arm—a couple of slip halters. The horses, for whom they were intended, were to be seen standing at a gate, a little further, having browsed their fill; a pair of greys, recognisable as the famous frisones; all the easier now from one of them showing a split ear. They had been turned out to cool their hoofs on the soft meadow sward, and he was on his way to take them back to their stable.

Along the other side of the road, for a stretch of some distance, extended the Pedregal, forming a low ridge with a precipitous face towards the causeway. As the cochero got up to where his pets were expecting him, he saw a coyote standing upon the crest cliff, just opposite the horses, in an attitude and with an air as if it had been holding conversation with them. Solely for frolic's sake, he made a rush towards it, giving a swoop and swinging the halters around his head. Of course, the affrighted animal turned tail, and retreated; instantly disappearing from his sight. The little spurt had carried him in under the shadow of the rocks; and as he faced round to recross the moonlit causeway, he saw coming along it that which, by some mysterious instinct, prompted him to keep his place. After all, no mystery about it; for in the diminutive, crab-like form seen approaching, he recognised the dwarf-hunchback who had shared the box seat with him on that day never to be forgotten.

Nothing had been heard of the creature since, so far as Jose knew; and therefore it might be supposed his appearance would have been welcome, promising some news of those with whom he had been last seen. But so far from the cochero stepping out into the road to receive him, he but drew closer to the cliff, where an embayment in black shadow promised him perfect concealment.

Soon after Zorillo came shuffling along through the dust, keeping close to the shaded side of the road. Having cleared the skirts of the village, however, he was less careful now. Not likely there would be any one abroad at that hour—for it had gone ten—but if so, there was the Pedregal alongside, to which he could retreat. Evidently he had not seen Jose as when first seen himself he was turning a corner, and the other had been for some time in shadow.

When nearly opposite the meadow gate he also made a stop, with a start, at perceiving the two horses' heads stretched over it, one with a cleft ear! His start came through recognition of them.

"Oho!" he exclaimed, "you there, too, my noble frisones? Caspita! this is meeting one's old acquaintances all in a heap! It now only needs to encounter cochero, and the party will be complete! Well, I may live in hope to see him too, sometime; and won't there be a reckoning when we're all together again?"

He was about to pass on, when a clattering of hoofs was heard behind, in the direction of the pueblo, as if horsemen were issuing out of it. Shortly after, a dark clump was seen rounding the corner, and coming on along the white ribband of road. The sabres clanking against stirrup-irons proclaimed it a cavalry troop.

Like a tarantula retreating to its tree-cave, the dwarf darted in under the cliff, there crouching down—so close to Jose that the latter could have almost touched him with the tips of his fingers. He had no desire to do so, no thought of it; but the very opposite. His wish was to avoid an encounter; and good reason for it, as he was soon after made aware. Fortunately for him, the hunchback neither saw nor had a suspicion of his proximity. With face turned to the road, he was altogether occupied with the party approaching.

The Hussars turned out—an escort of some eight or ten files, with two officers at its head; these riding side by side, and a little in advance. They were chatting gaily and rather vociferously; the voice of him who spoke loudest being well-known to Jose. For Colonel Santander, whether welcome or not, was a frequent visitor at the casa de campo of Don Ignacio Valverde. And the dwarf now remembered it too, as he did so abandoning all attempt at concealment, and gliding out into the middle of the road.

"Carajo!" simultaneously shouted the two officers, as their horses reared up, snorting at the strange shape so suddenly presented before them. "What the Demonio is it, if not Satan himself?" added Santander.

"No, Senor Coronet," returned Zorillo. "Not the devil; only a poor creature whom God has cursed by making him in a shape that isn't altogether fashionable. But just for that reason I trust being recalled to your Excellency's remembrance—am I not?"

"Ah! You were in the Acordada?"

"Si, Senor Coronet."

"And 'twas you I saw coupled to the Tejano?"

"The same, Senor. In that prosecuted by a like ill, no doubt, the devil all the time directing it."

"But where have you been since, sirrah?"

"Ah! Excellenza! that's just it; the very thing I want to tell you. I was on my way to the city in hopes of obtaining an interview with you. What a bit of fortune you passing here: 'twill save me a journey I was ill able to make; for I'm quite worn out, and weak, from being starved up there in the mountains."

"Oh! you've been up there?"

"Yes, Senor Coronel, in hiding with the others. But not like them voluntarily. They took me along with them, whether I would or no, and have kept me ever since—till this night, when an opportunity offered for giving them the slip. It isn't all of four hours since I parted company with them. But if your Excellency wishes to hear the whole story, perhaps you'd like it better in private. If I mistake not, some of it should only reach your own ears."

Santander had been already thinking of this, and turning to the officer by his side, he said—

"Take the men on, Ramirez. Halt at a hundred yards or so, and wait for me."

In obedience to the order the escort moved on, stopping as directed, the dialogue between Santander and the dwarf meanwhile continuing. It was more of a monologue, the latter giving a detailed relation of all that had occurred to him since the time of their escape from the chain-gang, with comments and suggestions added.

After hearing all, Santander rose in his stirrups, his features showing triumph, such as Satan might feel at a world of souls just delivered to him.

"The game is mine at last!" he muttered to himself, "every trick of it. They're in a trap now; and when they go out of it, 'twill be to the garrota."

For a moment he sat silent, apparently considering what was his best course to pursue. Then, seemingly having decided, he called out—

"Ramirez! Send a couple of men to me—the corporal and another."

These, detached from the escort, came trotting back along the road.

"Here, cabo! Take charge of this curious specimen. Keep him here, and see that you hold him safe till you have my orders for releasing him. Don't stray from this spot as you value your own neck—not an inch."

Saying which he put spurs to his horse, and rejoined his escort. Then commanding, "Forward! at the double quick!" they started off at full gallop towards the city.



CHAPTER FIFTY ONE.

A GRUMBLING GUARD.

Part of the dialogue between Santander and the hunchback was overheard by Jose—enough of it to give him the trembles. Among its revelations was nought relating to himself, or his connivance at the escape of the prisoners. For all, he could see that he was now in as much danger as they who were in hiding. The Colonel of Hussars had gone on to the city, perhaps to complete some duty already engaging him, but as likely to obtain a stronger force. And as his words told, he would return again; and no doubt make direct for the old monastery, the dwarf guiding him.

The first thought of the faithful cochero was not about himself, nor his horses. These might stay in the meadow all night, as they were now likely to do. The lives of men were at stake—his own among the number—and his sole purpose now was to get home, report what he had heard to his young mistress and the Condesa; then hasten up the mountain to warn the imperilled ones. As good luck would have it, he knew the place they were in. Son of a carbonero, when a boy he had helped his father in the charcoal-burning business; was familiar with the mountain forests, and their paths, and had more than once been at the abandoned monastery. He could easily find the way to it. But the difficulty was to get back to his master's house—even stir from the spot on which he stood. Soon as receiving their orders the two Hussars had dismounted, and tied up their horses, one on each side of the rocky embayment; they themselves, with their curious charge, occupying the space between. It was not possible to pass without being seen by them, and as surely seized.

So long as he kept his place he might feel comparatively safe. The cove was of a three-cornered shape, with luckily a deep dark cleft at its inner angle, into which he had already squeezed himself. While the moon remained low, and the cliff made shadow, there was little likelihood of their seeing him, unless they came close up. Still, the situation was aught but pleasant, and ere long became irksome in the extreme; the conversation to which he was compelled to listen making it so.

The two Husares did not seem, to be in the best of temper; the corporal more especially showing signs of dissatisfaction. Groping about for a stone to seat himself on, he grumbled out—

"Maddita! What a bore, having to stay here till they get back. Heaven knows when that will be. Like enough not before morning. I thought we were going to pass the night in San Augustin, and had hopes of a chat with that muchachita at the house where the colonel visits."

"Pepita, you mean—lady's maid to the Dona Luisa Valverde?"

"Of course I mean her, the pretty dear; and have reason to think she is a bit sweet upon me."

Josh's heart was on fire—his blood boiling. It was with difficulty he restrained himself from springing out upon the soldier and clutching him by the throat. He succeeded, however, in keeping his place, if not his temper; for it would have been sheer madness to show himself there and then. What came after quite tranquillised him.

"Well, cabo" returned he of the rank and file, seemingly without fear of speaking plain to the non-commissioned officer, "I should be sorry to dash your hopes; but as a friend I can't help saying I don't think you have much chance in that quarter. She's a step higher, that same Pepita; holds her head far above any of us common soldiers—"

"Common soldiers! I'm a corporal; you forget that, hombre. But why do you think my chances are so poor?"

"Because I've heard say there's a man about the establishment to whom she's already given what heart she may have had to give—that they're engaged. The fellow's groom or cochero, or something of the sort."

Jose breathed easier now, noways provoked at having been spoken of as a "fellow."

"Bah!" contemptuously exclaimed the corporal. "What care I for that horse-cleaner and carriage-washer for a rival! I've cut out scores of such before now, and will do the same with him. Lie down there, you devil's imp!" he added, turning savagely upon the dwarf, and venting his spleen by giving the creature a kick. "Down, or I'll break every bone in your body."

"Mercy, master!" expostulated the hunchback. "Don't be so cruel to a fellow-creature."

"Fellow-creature! That's good, ha, ha, ha!" And the brute broke out into a hoarse laugh, till the rocks echoed his fiendish cachinnation.

"Well, your worship," rejoined he thus inhumanly mocked, with an air of assumed meekness; "whatever I am, it pains me to think I should be the cause of keeping you here. But why should you stay, may I ask? You don't suppose I'm going to run away? If I were with you as a prisoner— but I am not. I sought an interview with your Colonel of my own free will. Surely you saw that!"

"True enough, he did," interposed the soldier.

"And what if he did?" growled the corporal.

"Only, Senor, to show that I have no intention to part company with you, nor wish neither. Por Dios! don't let me hinder you from having that chat with the muchachita. It's but a step back to the pueblo, and like as not she'll be on the lookout for you, spite of what your comrade says. Maybe he has an eye to the pretty dear himself, and that's why he wishes to discourage you."

As this rigmarole was delivered in the most comical manner, it put the soldiers in a better humour, both breaking out into laughter.

Of course the corporal had no thought of availing himself of the permission so accorded. Their orders were strict to stay in that spot, and stay they must. The question was, how were they to spend the time. A smoke to begin with; and they drew out their cigarritos, with flint, steel, and tinder.

Soon as the red coal appeared beneath their noses, said the cabo to his comrade—

"By the way, Perico, have you your cards with you?"

"Did you ever know me to be without them?"

"How lucky! I quite forgot mine."

"That's because your mind was bent upon Pepita. I saw you giving your moustache an extra twist this evening."

"Oh! bother Pepita. Let's have an albur of monte."

"How about light?"

"The moon's clear enough, if it wasn't we could manage with our cigars. Many's the game I've played that way."

"All right! But the stakes? I haven't a cuartilla—nay, not so much as a claco."

"Carramba! Nor I either. I spent the last on a drink just before we got into the saddle. It's bad; but we can bet upon the credit system, and use cartridges for counters."

"Ah, stay!"

At which he turned his eyes upon the dwarf with a look of peculiar significance, cupidity the prevailing expression.

The latter saw it with a heaviness of heart, and a shuddering throughout his frame. All the time apprehensive about the plunder with which his pockets were crammed, he instinctively anticipated what was coming.



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, Senor 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, Senor 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 monte 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, Senor. 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, Senor. 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, Senor 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, Senor, 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-a-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 monte. 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, Jose, 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 Senoritas?"

"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, Jose?"

"Just what I want to know myself, and why I am asking after the Senoritas. 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 Jose 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 Jose 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, Senorita."

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, Senor. 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, Jose, 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! Senor, 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, Senor. 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 Jose, 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.



CHAPTER FIFTY FIVE.

"ONLY EMPTY BOTTLES."

About the time the Free Lances were burying their comrade in the cemetery of the convent the gate of San Antonio de Abad was opened to permit the passage of a squadron of Hussars going outward from the city. There were nigh 200 of them, in formation "by fours"—the wide causeway allowing ample room for even ten abreast.

At their head rode Colonel Santander, with Major Ramirez by his side, other officers in their places distributed along the line.

Soon as they had cleared the garita, a word to the bugler, with a note or two from his trumpet quick succeeding, set them into a gallop; the white dusty road and clear moonlight making the fastest pace easily attainable. And he who commanded was in haste, his destination being that old monastery, of which he had only lately heard, but enough to make him most eager to reach it before morning. His hopes were high; at last he was likely to make a coup—that capture so much desired, so long delayed!

For nearly an hour bridles were let loose, and spurs repeatedly plied. On along the calzada swept the squadron, over the bridge Churubusco, and past the hacienda of San Antonio de Abad, which gives its name to the city gate on that side. Thenceforward the Pedregal impinges on the road, and the Hussars still going at a gallop along its edge, another bugle-call brought them to a halt.

That, however, had naught to do with their halting, which came from their commander having reached the spot where he had left the hunchback in charge of the two soldiers.

He need not hail them to assure himself they were still there. The trampling of horses on the hard causeway, heard afar off, had long ago forewarned the corporal of what was coming; and he was out on the road to receive them, standing in an attitude of attention.

The parley was brief, and quick the action which accompanied it.

"Into your saddle, cabo!" commanded the colonel. "Take that curiosity up behind you, and bring it along."

In an instant the corporal was mounted, the "curiosity" hoisted up to his croup by Perico, who then sprang to the back of his own horse. Once more the bugle gave tongue, and away they went again.

The cavalcade made no stop in San Augustin. There was no object for halting it there, and delay was the thing its commander most desired to avoid. As they went clattering through the pueblo, its people were a-bed, seemingly asleep. But not all. Two at least were awake, and heard that unusual noise—listened to it with a trembling in their frames and fear in their hearts. Two ladies they were, inside a house beyond the village, on the road running south. Too well they knew what it meant, and whither the galloping cohort was bound. And themselves unseen, they saw who was at the head; though they needed not seeing him to know. But peering through the jalousies, the moonlight revealed to them the face of Don Carlos Santander, in the glimpse they got of it, showing spitefully triumphant.

He could not see them, though his eyes interrogated the windows while he was riding past. They had taken care to extinguish the light in their room.

"Virgin Santissima! Mother of God!" exclaimed one of the ladies, Luisa Valverde, as she dropped on her knees in prayer, "Send that they've got safe off ere this!"

"Make your mind easy, amiga!" counselled the Condesa Almonte in less precatory tone. "I'm good as sure they have. Jose cannot fail to have reached and given them warning. That will be enough."

A mile or so beyond San Augustin the southern road becomes too steep for horses to go at a gallop, without risk of breaking their wind. So there the Hussars had to change to a slower pace—a walk in fact. There were other reasons for coming to this. The sound of their hoof-strokes ascending would be heard far up the mountain, might reach the ears of those in the monastery, and so thwart the surprise intended for them.

While toiling more leisurely up the steep, any one chancing to look in the hunchback's face would there have observed an expression indescribable. Sadness pervaded it, with an air of perplexity, as though he had met with some misfortune he could not quite comprehend.

And so had he. Before leaving the spot where the stiletto was taken from him, he had sought an opportunity to step back into that shady niche in the cliff where he had lost his treasures. The monte players, unsuspicious of his object, made no objection. But instead of there finding what he had expected, he saw only a pair of horse-halters: one lying coiled upon the ground, the head-stall of the other caught over the rock above, the rope end dangling down!

An inexplicable phenomenon, which, however, he had kept to himself, and ever since been cudgelling his brains to account for.

But soon after he had something else to think of: the time having arrived when he was called upon to give proof of his capability as a guide. Heretofore it had been all plain road riding; but now they had reached a point spoken of by himself where the calzada must be forsaken. The horses, too, left behind; everything but their weapons; the path beyond being barely practicable for men afoot.

Dismounting all, at a command—this time not given by the bugle—and leaving a sufficient detail to look after the animals, they commenced the ascent, their guide, seemingly more quadruped than biped, in the lead. Strung out in single file—no other formation being possible—as they wound their way up the zig-zag with the moonlight here and there, giving back the glint of their armour, it was as some great serpent—a monster of the antediluvian ages—crawling towards its prey. Silently as serpent too; not a word spoken, nor exclamation uttered along their line. For, although it might be another hour before they could reach their destination, less than a second would suffice for their voices to get there, even though but muttered.

One spot their guide passed with something like a shudder. It was where he had appropriated the dagger taken from a dead body. His shuddering was not due to that, but to fear from a far different cause. The body was no longer there. Those who dwelt above must have been down and borne it away. They would now be on the alert, and at any moment he might hear the cracking of carbines—a volley; perhaps feel the avenging bullet. What if they should roll rocks down and crush him and the party behind? In any case there could be no surprisal now; and he would gladly have seen those he was guiding give up the thought of it and turn back. Santander was himself irresolute, and would willingly have done so. But Ramirez, a man of more mettle, at the point of his sword commanded the hunchback to keep on, and the cowardly colonel dare not revoke the order without eternally disgracing himself.

They had no danger to encounter, though they knew not that. Neither vidette nor sentinel was stationed there now; and, without challenge or obstruction, they reached the platform on which the building stood, the soldiers taking to right and left till they swarmed around it as bees. But they found no honey inside their hive.

There was a summons to surrender, which received no response. Repeated louder, and a carbine fired, the result was the same. Silence inside, there could be no one within.

Nor was there. When the Hussar colonel, with a dozen of his men, at length screwed up courage to make a burst into the doorway, and on to the Refectory, they saw but the evidence of late occupancy in the fragments of a supper, with some dozens of wine bottles "down among the dead men," empty as the building itself.

Disappointed as were the soldiers at finding them so, but still more their commanding officer at his hated enemies having again got away from him. His soul was brimful of chagrin, nor did it allay the feeling to learn how, when a path was pointed out to him leading down the other side, they must have made off. And along such a path pursuit was idle. No one could say where it led—like enough to a trap.

He was not the only one of the party who felt disappointed at the failure of the expedition. Its guide had reason to be chagrined, too, in his own way of thinking, much more than the leader himself. For not only had he lost the goods obtained under false pretences, but the hope of reward for his volunteered services.

Still the dwarf was not so down in the mouth. He had another arrow in his quiver—kept in reserve for reasons of his own—a shaft from which he expected more profit than all yet spent. And as the Hussar colonel was swearing and raging around, he saw his opportunity to discharge it.

With half a dozen whispered words he tranquillised the latter; after which there was a brief conference between the two, its effect upon Santander showing itself in his countenance, that became all agleam, lit up with a satisfied but malignant joy.

When, in an hour after, they were again in their saddles riding in return for the city, a snatch of dialogue between Santander and Ramirez gave indication of what so gratified the colonel of the Hussars.

"Well, Major," he said, "we've done road enough for this day. You'll be wanting rest by the time you get to quarters."

"That's true enough, Colonel. Twice to San Augustin and back, with the additional mileage up the mountains—twenty leagues I take it—to say nothing of the climbing."

"All of twenty leagues it will be when we've done with it. But our ride won't be over then. If I'm not mistaken, we'll be back this way before we lay side on a bed. There's another nest not far off will claim a visit from us, one we're not likely to find so empty. I'd rob it now if I had my way; but for certain reasons, mustn't without permit from headquarters; the which I'm sure of getting! Carajo! if the cock birds have escaped, I'll take care the hens don't."

And as if to make sure of it, he dug the spurs deep into the flanks of his now jaded charger, again commanding the "quick gallop."



CHAPTER FIFTY SIX.

A DAY OF SUSPENSE.

Dawn was just beginning to show over the eastern Cordilleras, its aurora giving a rose tint to the snowy cone of Popocatepec, as the Hussars passed back through San Augustin. The bells of the paroquia had commenced tolling matins, and many people abroad in the streets, hurrying toward the church, saw them—interrogating one another as to where they had been, and on what errand bound.

But before entering the pueblo they had to pass under the same eyes that observed them going outward on the other side; these more keenly and anxiously scrutinising them now, noting every file as it came in sight, every individual horseman, till the last was revealed; then lighting up with joyous sparkle, while they, thus observing, breathed freely.

For the soldiers had come as they went, not a man added to their number, if none missing, but certainly no prisoners brought back!

"They've got safe off," triumphantly exclaimed the Countess, when the rearmost files had forged past, "as I told you they would. I knew there was no fear after they had been warned."

That they had been warned both were by this aware, their messenger having meanwhile returned and reported to that effect. He had met the Hussars on their way up, but crouching among some bushes, he had been unobserved by them; and, soon as they were well out of the way, slipped out again and made all haste home.

He had brought back something more than a mere verbal message—a billetita for each of the two who had commissioned him.

The notes were alike, in that both had been hastily scribbled, and in brief but warm expression of thanks for the service done to the writers. Beyond this, however, they were quite different. It was the first epistle Florence Kearney had ever indited to Luisa Valverde, and ran in fervid strain. He felt he could so address her. With love long in doubt that it was even reciprocated, but sure of its being so now, he spoke frankly as passionately. Whatever his future, she had his heart, and wholly. If he lived, he would seek her again at the peril of a thousand lives; if it should be his fate to die, her name would be the last word on his lips.

"Virgen Santissima! Keep him safe!" was her prayer, as she finished devouring the sweet words; then, refolding the sheet on which they were written, secreted it away in the bosom of her dress—a treasure more esteemed than aught that had ever lain there.

The communication received by the Condesa was less effusive, and more to the point of what, under present circumstances, concerned the writer, as, indeed, all of them. Don Ruperto wrote with the confidence of a lover who had never known doubt. A man of rare qualities, he was true to friendship as to his country's cause, and would not be false to love. And he had no fear of her. His liens with Ysabel Almonte were such as to preclude all thought of her affections ever changing. He knew that she was his—heart, soul, everything. For had she not given him every earnest of it, befriended him through weal and through woe? Nor had he need to assure her that her love was reciprocated, or his fealty still unfaltering; for their faith, as their reliance, was mutual. His letter, therefore, was less that of a lover to his mistress than one between man and man, written to a fellow-conspirator, most of it in figurative phrase, even some of it in cypher!

No surprise to her all that; she understood the reason. Nor was there any enigma in the signs and words of double signification; without difficulty she interpreted them all.

They told her of the anticipated rising, with the attempt to be made on Oaxaca, the hopes of its having a success, and, if so, what would come after. But also of something before this—where he, the writer, and his Free Lances would be on the following night, so that if need arose she could communicate with him. If she had apprehension of danger to him, he was not without thought of the same threatening herself and her friend too.

Neither were they now; instead, filled with such apprehension. In view of what had occurred on the preceding evening, and throughout the night, how could they be other? The dwarf must know more than he had revealed in that dialogue overheard by Jose. In short, he seemed aware of everything—the cochero's complicity as their own. The free surrender of their watches and jewellery for the support of the escaped prisoners were of itself enough to incriminate them. Surely there would be another investigation, more rigorous than before, and likely to have a different ending.

With this in contemplation, their souls full of fear, neither went that morning to matins. Nor did they essay to take sleep or rest. Instead, wandered about the house from room to room, and out into the grounds, seemingly distraught.