The Victorian Villains Megapack (43 page)

“Well, my child,” said Don Q., gently, when Robledo once more stood before him. “You have fulfilled my commands or you would not be here?”

“Yes, lord.”

“And the vile Pablo has been garrotted?”

“No, lord.”

“Corpse of a scullion! You have dared to disobey me!”

“No, lord, no! On the third day it was spoken on authority from the prison that Pablo was dead, and that his excellency the Governor had given fifty pesetas to pay for masses for his soul.”

“Go on.”

“I desired to see the dead body, and I went with the crowd to the prison, but none was admitted. So I waited, for it is not good for a poor man to bring news on hearsay to my lord.”

The Chief nodded impatiently.

“When dark fell I went to the house of my cousin, for I was doubtful,” Robledo went on with nervousness.

“With a guitar?” sneered the Chief venomously.

“It is true, lord.” The robber crossed himself, for Don Q.’s knowledge always seemed uncanny, “I carried my guitar in order to make those who met me believe that my service was to a lady’s eyes, not to my lord of the sierra.”

“And the name of the cousin is Isabelilla, is not that so?”

“Yes, lord.” Robledo was apprehensive; but the importance of his news gave him courage. “While I waited to enter her house, two men came down the street. One was the porter of the prison gate, and the other had the face of Pablo.”

A spasm of fury seemed to shake Don Q.

“Ah, infamy!” he whispered half to himself; then louder. “And what did my good Robledo think? That he had seen a ghost?”

“No, lord, for I spoke to my cousin at the window—no more. Isabelilla had heard—for her mother has washing from the prison of the laces and the linens of her excellency, Doña Catalina—that one said at the prison that Pablo had been spared, and another executed in his name. That is all!”

Don Q.’s peaked nose sank from sight in the breast of his folded cloak, and he sat brooding in his bird-like attitude for many minutes.

At length—“Robledo.”

“Yes, lord.”

“You will give this money, it is five hundred dollars, to thine Isabelilla.”

Robledo bowed and muttered his eager gratitude to the Chief for this gift.

“Also there is a message for Isabelilla.”

“Yes, lord.”

“Say to her that if she fails to procure the earliest news of all that passes in the prison, I will cut off the nose of her cousin Robledo.… Go!”

Even in the rewards of the fierce, vulture-like Chief, there was always the hint of a threat. It was not only characteristic of him, but justified by deep knowledge of the human material he dwelt with. Robledo departed into the valley, treading very softly.

Lalor, seeing that Don Q. pulled his hat over his brows and returned to brooding over the fire, left the Chief to himself. No doubt some treachery was intended, and Lalor hardly wondered at the fact when he recalled a certain story about the ears of the Governor of the Prison of Castelleno which had been told to him with many gestures of horror.

In the evening, however, Don Q. became positively gay, and, departing from his usual custom of never drinking any but the thinnest of country wine, broke a bottle or two with Lalor of a flavor seldom tasted by an English palate. He even got out his guitar and sang in his high, thin voice a forgotten drinking song.

While pouring out another glass of wine he asked abruptly:

“You have heard of the Governor of Castelleno? He is, in truth, a vain fellow, but I believed in his honor. I have been too generous. Never again, señor, will I trust in nobility of class compelling nobility of action.”

Lalor inquired what he supposed the authorities meant to do.

“They have given Pablo his life on the condition that he betrays me. That, of course, is clear. They have never been able to find the hidden way to this valley: Pablo Gomez is to tell them the secret and lead them here!” he laughed with sibilant mockery. “So the Governor dreams of my capture—dreams that Pablo will guide him to my unknown retreat? It is well! For Pablo will find no path to follow. And more, señor, I say to you, that before many days are over, the monks of Castelleno will have grown husky with singing masses for the soul of that very infamous gentleman and calumniator, Don Hugo, Governor of the Prison of Castelleno.”

* * * *

Days passed, and spies departed from the valley and found their way back again; ragged goatherds and charcoal-burners came cringing and crossing themselves into the presence of the Chief, who seemed to tear out the inmost soul of each with his questions and the glare of his malignant eyes. Lalor listened, marveling more and more at the intuition with which Don Q. pierced to the bottom of every man’s knowledge, and drew from him details of himself, his neighbors, and his surroundings, thus gathering a mass of minute information. He understood that such knowledge being translated meant—power that to the peasants seemed superhuman.

News from the plains grew more and more ominous. Stories floated up of cavalry and infantry arriving and encamping outside the town of Castelleno because the barracks were full. Then in the dusk of one starlit night half-a-dozen messengers followed upon one another’s heels with the news that a systematic movement had begun towards the sierra.

In fact, Don Hugo, the Governor of the Prison, had gained from Pablo Gomez a fairly clear knowledge of the topography of the Boca de Lobo, the valley in which Don Q. had always found safe retreat, baffling the expeditions sent out against him. It was approached by a tunnel-like passage, and, as far as the band knew, had no other outlet. The Governor boasted that the capture of the great brigand was now but a matter of time. He would be bottled up in his valley and secured by an overwhelming force. After this, the Governor promised to put him in a cage in the grand Plaza of Castelleno for the crowd to gaze at. Upon the third day he would be garrotted in public with much ceremonial to impress evil-doers.

All these sayings were faithfully carried to Don Q.

“Imagine this animal without honor to whom I sent Pablo!” he exclaimed to Lalor. “Truly I took an overhigh view of humanity! As to my garroting in public—” he laughed. “Come with me, Señor Lalor, and see how Don Q. begins to stand at bay.”

He went out and stood on the edge of the terrace and clapped his hands. The valley was unusually full, for all outlying parties of the band had been ordered to gather. Instantly from the fires and shelters the men hurried and collected in a group, looking up at the Chief.

“Place yourselves in your ranks, my children,” the sibilant voice cried softly, and the three score and odd picturesquely-clad figures fell into line. The Chief examined them slowly between his eyelids before he spoke again.

“My children, there are many soldiers and many of the civil guard coming from the plains against us. I am told that three hundred hope to stand where you now stand before three days pass.”

The men broke out into a tumultuous defiance of words and gesticulations. For a moment only, and then the yellow, meager hand again imposed silence.

“We are seventy. I shall not need so many to protect me. Every alternate man fall out of the ranks, and stand together in a new line.”

They did so. Don Q. looked them over in their turn.

“Thirty-four. That is well,” he said. “You will scatter, you will go down into the plains and lose yourselves in the towns. Go where you will; but, my children, remember, lead always honest lives, give none occasion to speak against you. And when I have destroyed the army of the Governor of the Prison of Castelleno, I will in due time send for you.”

The wild faces were painted with astonishment and awe. Who but Don Q. would prepare to resist a powerful force by half disbanding his own? The very act added to the mysterious reputation he already owned.

Next morning a similar scene was gone through. Again the Chief carefully examined the men, gave orders for every alternate one to fall out, exhorted them to lead honest lives, and dismissed them with the same formula.

By this time Lalor noticed that, with the exception of Robledo, the Chief had got rid of all the stanch and most reliable men of his band. It seemed strange that in a moment of such peril, he should retain the least loyal about his person. Yet so it was. He ventured presently to ask Don Q. a question on the matter.

“I have my little design,” replied the Chief, smiling with a cruel inflection of thin lips. “You perceive that I have already made an immense impression on my people—when they come to hear all, it will be yet deeper. As for these wolves, these jackals rather,” he pointed a scornful finger at the fellows remaining in the valley, “they are quite good enough for the purpose I intend them to serve.”

“What are we going to do then?”

“Señor,” said the Chief, turning his bald-browed, peaked face to the young man, “we are about to part. Perhaps the hour of my death draws near. Would you be sorry, tell me?”

Lalor caught the sad smile on the other’s lips.

“I believe I should,” he said.

“Then, señor, if I die yonder, you will grant me a favor?”

“Yes.”

“Today you go down into Castelleno to a little tavern where you will dwell in safety until Robledo brings you the last news of me. Listen, Señor Lalor, the favor that I would beg is that you will chronicle the manner of my death. You will tell the world how the greatest brigand of all ages turned at bay among his mountains, alone, as he had lived, save for sixteen disloyal men, against the flower of the chivalry of the South.

“I have further left you a large sum to engage an adequate illustrator. It would be a pity, señor, that so memorable a fight as that which is about to take place, should not be rendered full justice. I have had much pleasure in your society, my dear nephew,” Don Q. put out his bony hand to take Lalor’s, “and I recognize in you one whom the saints sent to a lonely man to record, perhaps, his last exploit—which might have been lost to history.”

Lalor went down the mountains, leaving Don Q. with a priest the Chief had caused to be fetched from the little chapel of San Pedro. For Don Q., in view of his possible death, desired to confess and to receive absolution.

The young Englishman took up his abode in a tavern on the outskirts of Castelleno, where he waited for nearly a week.

One afternoon a young woman touched him on the arm, and raising her fine eyes to his—

“You have heard of Isabelilla?” she said, laying an indicative finger on her own breast.

Lalor bowed and made a suitable reply.

She went on to say that the hospitality of the poor dwelling of her mother, who was a laundress, was open to him if he would follow her, for there was one come from the mountains to see the señor.

She moved off at once, and Lalor followed. At the house he found Robledo. The handsome brigand was very pale under his sunburn, and he crossed himself repeatedly.

During the meal, which was made up of an excellent stew, beans and fruit, Lalor asked no questions. After it, he lit a cigarette, and inquired how Don Q. fared.

Robledo shook his head.

“I will tell the señor the story.”

And he told it, backing his words with look and gesture, till Lalor felt as if he saw the scenes described.

Robledo told of the last look at the deserted valley of the Boca de Lobo, of the march to the last fastness of the brigands on an isolated peak surrounded by precipices on every side, and joined only to the mass of the sierra by a narrow bridge of living rock. Here was situated one of the dwelling caves of Don Q., and the spot was fortified by sangars craftily constructed to dominate the approach.

“My lord and I walked last, for those others were not willing to go to the Punta de Lanza,” said Robledo.

“But why?” Lalor asked in surprise. “It could never be taken if defended.”

“True, señor. But also one could not run away from it.”

He spoke of a man who tried to desert, and whom he and a companion had hurled from the cliff, and of shepherding the remainder across the rocky bridge. Having completed his preparations, a characteristic fit of gloom and silence fell upon the Chief. The last scout had been withdrawn, the bridge had been strewn with stones and boulders to make the footing treacherous. All was ready. Two days of waiting followed, while they lay cut off from all the world. Two blue, golden days, that reflected the glories of the sierra above, and far beneath the peaceful smoke rising from scattered hovels, and the haze that clung round distant towns on the warm and drowsy plain.

“Thus we waited, watching, my lord and I and those fourteen, for the coming of three hundred.” The young Spaniard stopped and sat musing with frowning brows, until Isabelilla, growing impatient, laid her arms across his shoulder. He started slightly and resumed.

Once or twice the echo of a shot rang sadly from gorge to gorge. And at last came a dawn which showed them the enemy. With the rising of the sun a company advanced to storm the position of the brigands. Don Q. had supplied each of his men with three loaded magazine-rifles, and bade them reserve their fire until he gave the signal.

“My lord lay beside me in the trench,” Robledo told it with pride, “and we saw that none of our foes was quick to step first upon the bridge, till a tall captain thrust out of the crowd. He had a white face under big black eyebrows, and he drove a man before him with his naked sword. It was Pablo. My lord laid his cheek to the rifle, and it yelped in my ear. Pablo twirled round, screaming, and seized the captain about the middle. They twisted on the bridge as strong men twist in a grapple, and in a moment they reeled over the edge together.

“Then the great Seññor Don Q. leaped upon a high rock, where all could behold him, and called to Don Hugo to see how a traitor died! Señor, I shut my eyes, I could hear the bullets chipping upon the rocks round my lord, I almost felt the weight of his body as it fell,” Robledo rubbed himself reminiscently. “But it was a sore thrust in the side from the butt of my lord’s rifle—I doubt but it broke a rib or two—for he was angry. ‘Fool! Can they kill me?’ he said.

“A great battle followed. The slaughter upon the narrow path was terrible. The troops, attempting to rush it, were shot down again and again. The vultures’ wings came between the sun and the fight, casting their shadows on the dead. Still the brigands held off the enemy. Don Q. was everywhere, passing from trench to trench, exposing himself recklessly.