Rainbow's End Part 8

"Well, you must find him, and immediately, Asensio. This letter contains important news--so important, in fact"--Esteban laughed lightly--"that if you find yourself in danger from the Spaniards I'd advise you to chew it up and swallow it as quickly as you can."

"I'll remember that," said the negro, "for there's danger enough.

Still, I fear these Spaniards less than the guerrilleros: they are everywhere. They call themselves patriots, but they are nothing more than robbers. They--"

Asensio paused abruptly. He seized his companion by the arm and, leaning forward, stared across the level garden into the shadows opposite. Something was moving there, under the trees; the men could see that it was white and formless, and that it pursued an erratic course.

"What's that?" gasped the negro. He began to tremble violently and his breath became audible. Esteban was compelled to hold him down by main force. "Jesus Cristo! It's old Don Esteban, your father. They say he walks at midnight, carrying his head in his two hands."

Young Varona managed to whisper, with some show of courage: "Hush!

Wait! I don't believe in ghosts." Nevertheless, he was on the point of setting Asensio an example of undignified flight when the mysterious object emerged from the shadows into the open moonlight; then he sighed with relief: "Ah-h! Now I see! It is my stepmother. She is asleep."

"Asleep?" Asensio was incredulous. He was still so unnerved by his first fright that Esteban dared not release him.

"Yes; her eyes are open, but she sees nothing."

"I don't like such things," the negro confessed in a shaky voice. "How can she walk if she is asleep? If her eyes are open, how can she help seeing us? You know she hates Evangelina and me."

"I tell you she sees nothing, knows nothing--" For a moment or two they watched the progress of the white-robed figure; then Esteban stirred and rose from his seat. "She's too close to that well. There is--" He started forward a pace or two. "They say people who walk at night go mad if they're awakened too suddenly, and yet--"

Dona Isabel was talking in a low, throaty, unnatural tone. Her words were meaningless, but the effect, at that hour and in those surroundings, was bizarre and fearsome. Esteban felt his scalp p.r.i.c.kling uncomfortably. This was very creepy.

When the somnambulist's deliberate progress toward the mouth of the well continued he called her name softly. "Dona Isabel!" Then he repeated it louder. "Dona Isabel! Wake up."

The woman seemed to hear and yet not to hear. She turned her head to listen, but continued to walk.

"Don't be alarmed," he said, rea.s.suringly. "It is only Esteban--DONA ISABEL! STOP!" Esteban sprang forward, shouting at the top of his voice, for at the sound of his name Isabel had abruptly swerved to her right, a movement which brought her dangerously close to the lip of the well.

"STOP! GO BACK!" screamed the young man.

Above his warning there came a shriek, shrill and agonized--a wail of such abysmal terror as to shock the night birds and the insects into stillness. Dona Isabel slipped, or stumbled, to her knees, she balanced briefly, clutching at random while the earth and crumbling cement gave way beneath her; then she slid forward and disappeared, almost out from between Esteban's hands. There was a noisy rattle of rock and pebble and a great splash far below; a chuckle of little stones striking the water, then a faint bubbling. Nothing more. The stepson stood in his tracks, sick, blind with horror; he was swaying over the opening when Asensio dragged him back.

Pancho Cueto, being a heavy sleeper, was the last to be roused by Esteban's outcries. When he had hurriedly slipped into his clothes in response to the pounding on his door, the few servants that the establishment supported had been thoroughly awakened. Esteban was shouting at them, explaining that Dona Isabel had met with an accident.

He was calling for a lantern, too, and a stout rope. Cueto thought they must all be out of their minds until he learned what had befallen the mistress of the house. Then, being a man of action, he, too, issued swift orders, with the result that by the time he and Esteban had run to the well both rope and lantern were ready for their use. Before Esteban could form and fit a loop for his shoulders there was sufficient help on hand to lower him into the treacherous abyss.

It was a commentary upon Dona Isabel's character that during the long, slow moments of uncertainty while Esteban was being lowered the negroes exhibited more curiosity than concern over her fate. In half-pleased excitement they whispered and giggled and muttered together, while Pancho lay p.r.o.ne at the edge of the orifice, directing them how to manipulate the rope.

That was a gruesome task which fell to Esteban, for the well had been long unused, its sides were oozing slime, its waters were stale and black. He was on the point of fainting when he finally climbed out, leaving the negroes to hoist the dripping, inert weight which he had found at the bottom.

Old Sebastian's curse had come true; Dona Isabel had met the fate he had called down upon her that day when he hung exhausted in his chains and when the flies tormented him. The treasure for which the woman had intrigued so tirelessly had been her death. Like an ignis fatuus, it had lured her to destruction. Furthermore, as if in orirnmest irony, she had been permitted at the very last to find it. Living, she had searched to no purpose whatsoever; dying, she had almost grasped it in her arms.

Once the first excitement had abated and a messenger had been sent to town, Cueto drew Esteban aside and questioned him.

"A shocking tragedy and most peculiar," said the overseer. "Nothing could amaze me more."

"Exactly! And all because of her sleep-walking. I'm all in a tremble."

"She was asleep? You are sure?"

"Have I not told you so?" Esteban was impatient.

"But it is said that people given to that peculiarity never come to grief. They say some sixth sense guides them--gives them warning of pitfalls and dangers. I--I can't understand--"

"That well was a menace to a waking person. I didn't realize how near to it she was; and when I cried out to her it seemed only to hasten her steps." The young man shuddered, for the horror of the thing was still in his mind.

"Tell me, how did you come to be there at such an hour, eh?"

Esteban saw the malevolent curiosity in Cueto's face and started.

"I--That is my affair. Surely you don't think--"

"Come, come! You can trust me." The overseer winked and smiled.

"I had business that took me there," stiffly declared the younger man.

"Exactly! And a profitable business it proved!" Cueto laughed openly now. "Well, I don't mind telling you, Dona Isabel's death is no disappointment to any one. Anybody could see--"

"Stop!" Esteban was turning alternately red and white. "You seem to imply something outrageous."

"Now let us be sensible. I understand you perfectly, my boy. But an officer of the Guardia Civil may arrive at any moment and he will want to know how you came to be with your stepmother when she plunged into that trap. So prepare yourself. If only you had not given the alarm. If only you had waited until morning. But--in the dead of night! Alone! He will think it queer. Suppose, too, he learns that you and Dona Isabel quarreled the other day over money matters?"

Young Varona recovered himself quickly. He was watching his inquisitor now with a faintly speculative frown. When Cueto had finished, Esteban said:

"Dona Isabel and I frequently quarreled over money matters, so there is nothing strange in that. You would like me to confess to some black iniquity that would make us better friends, eh? Well, it so happens that I was not alone to-night, but that another person saw the poor woman's death and can bear me out in everything I say. No, Pancho, you overreach yourself. Now then"--Esteban was quick-tempered, and for years he had struggled against an instinctive distrust and dislike of the plantation manager--"remember that I have become the head of this house, and your employer. You will do better to think of your own affairs than of mine. Do you understand me? I have long suspected that certain matters of yours need attention, and at the first opportunity I intend to have a careful reckoning with you. I think you know I have a good head for figures." Turning his back upon the elder man, he walked away.

Now it did not occur to Cueto really to doubt the boy's innocence, though the circ.u.mstances of Dona Isabel's death were suspicious enough to raise a question in any mind; but in view of Esteban's threat he thought it wise to protect himself by setting a back-fire. It was with some such vague idea in his head that he turned to the sunken garden as the first gray light of dawn appeared. He hoped to gain some inspiration by examining the place again, and, as it proved, he succeeded beyond his most sanguine expectations.

As he sat on an old stone bench, moodily repicturing the catastrophe as Esteban had described it, his attention fell upon an envelope at his feet. It was sealed; it was unaddressed. Cueto idly broke it open and began to read. Before he had gone far he started; then he cast a furtive glance about. But the place was secluded; he was un.o.bserved.

When he finished reading he rose, smiling. He no longer feared Esteban.

On the contrary, he rather pitied the young fool; for here between his fingers was that which not only promised to remove the boy from his path forever, but to place in his hands the entire Varona estates. Fate was kind. After years of patient scheming Cueto had obtained his reward.

One afternoon, perhaps a week later, Don Mario de Castano came puffing and blowing up to the quinta, demanding to see Rosa without a moment's delay. The girl appeared before her caller had managed to dry up the streams of perspiration resulting from his exertions. With a directness unusual even in him Don Mario began:

"Rosa, my dear, you and Esteban have been discovered! I was at lunch with the comandante when I learned the truth. Through friendship I prevailed upon him to give you an hour's grace."

"What do you mean, Don Mario?" inquired the girl.

"Come, come!" the planter cried, impatiently. "Don't you see you can trust me? G.o.d! The recklessness, the folly of young people! Could you not leave this insurrection to your elders? Or perhaps you thought it a matter of no great importance, an amusing thing--"

"Don Mario!" Rosa interrupted. "I don't know what you are talking about."

"You don't, eh?" The caller's wet cheeks grew redder; he blew like a porpoise. "Then call Esteban quickly! There is not a moment to lose."

When the brother appeared De Castano blurted out at him accusingly: "Well, sir! A fine fix you've put yourself in. I came here to warn you, but Rosa pretends ignorance. Perhaps you will be interested to learn that Colonel Fernandez has issued orders to arrest you and your sister as agents of the Insurrectos."

"What?" Esteban drew back. Rosa turned white as a lily and laid a fluttering hand upon her throat.

"You two will sleep to-night in San Severino," grimly announced the rotund visitor. "You know what that means. Cubans who enter the Castillo seldom come out. Have you noticed the big sharks that swim about under the walls of it? Do you know what bait keeps them there?

Well, I'll tell you! It's the bodies of rebel sympathizers--foolish people like you who call themselves patriots."

Rosa uttered a smothered cry.