The Dead Command Part 26

CHAPTER III

THE CHALLENGE IN THE NIGHT

No sooner had day dawned than the Little Chaplain appeared at the tower.

He had heard everything. His father, who was a heavy sleeper, had perhaps not yet been informed of the event. The dog might bark, and a fierce battle might rage near the farmhouse, but good old Pep, when he went to bed, tired out with his day's work, became as insensible as a dead man. The other members of the family had spent a night of anguish.

His mother, after several attempts to arouse her husband, with no better success than to draw forth incoherent mumbling, followed by yet louder snoring, had spent the night praying for the soul of the senor of the tower, believing him dead. Margalida, who slept near her brother, had called him in a stifled and agonized voice when the first shots rang out: "Do you hear, Pepet?"

The poor girl had arisen and lighted the candle, by the dim radiance of which the boy had seen her pale face and terrified eyes. Forgetting everything, she had flung her arms about, lifting her hands to her head.

"They have killed Don Jaime! My heart tells me that they have!" She trembled at the echo of the fresh shots. "A regular rosary of reports,"

according to the Little Chaplain, had answered the first discharges.

"That was you, wasn't it, Don Jaime?" continued the boy. "I recognized your pistol at once, and so I said to Margalida. I remember that afternoon you shot off your revolver on the beach. I have a good ear for such things."

Then he told of his sister's despair; how she had gathered her clothing, intending to dress so that she might rush to the tower. Pepet would accompany her. Then, suddenly becoming timid, she refused to go. She did nothing but weep, and she would not allow the boy to make his escape by climbing over the barnyard fence.

They had heard the howling near the farmhouse, some time after the shooting, and, as he spoke of this war-cry, the boy smiled mischievously. Then Margalida, suddenly tranquilized by her brother's words, had become silent, but during the whole night the Little Chaplain heard sighs of anguish and a gentle whispering as of a low voice murmuring words and words with tireless monotony. She was praying.

Then, when daylight came, everyone arose except his father, who continued his placid sleep. As the women timidly peeped out from the porch, full of gloomy thoughts, they expected to behold a terrifying picture--the tower in ruins, and the Majorcan's corpse lying above the wreck. But the Little Chaplain had laughed on seeing the door open, and near it, as on other mornings, Don Jaime, with naked chest, splashing in a tank which he himself brought from the beach filled with sea water.

He had not been mistaken when he laughed at the women's terror. No one living could kill his Don Jaime--that was what he said, and he knew something of men.

Then, after Jaime's brief account of the events of the night before, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up his eyes with the expression of a very wise person, Pepet examined the two holes made in the wall by the bullets.

"And your head was here, where mine is? Futro!"

His eyes reflected admiration, devout idolatry, for this wonderful man, whose life had just been saved by a veritable miracle.

Trusting in his knowledge of the people of the country, Febrer questioned the boy about the supposed aggressor, and the Little Chaplain smiled with an air of importance. He had heard the war-cry. It was the Minstrel's manner of howling; many might have imagined it was he. He howled that way at the serenades, at the afternoon dances, and on coming away from a wooing.

"But it was not he, Don Jaime; I am sure! If anyone should ask the Minstrel he would be free to say 'Yes,' just to give himself importance.

But it was the other, the Ironworker; I recognized his voice, and so did Margalida!"

In continuation, with a grave expression, as if he wished to test the Majorcan's mettle, he spoke of the silly fear of the women, who declared that the Civil Guard of San Jose must be notified.

"You won't do that, will you, Don Jaime? That would be foolish. The police are only needed by cowards."

The deprecatory smile, and the shrug of the shoulders with which Febrer answered him, rea.s.sured the boy.

"I was certain of that; it's not the custom on the island--but, as you are a foreigner--you are right; every man should defend himself; that's what he's a man for; and in case of need, he counts on his friends."

As he said this, he strutted about, as if to call attention to the powerful aid on which Don Jaime might count in moments of danger.

The Little Chaplain wished to work this situation to his own advantage, and he advised the senor that it would be a good idea to have him come and live in the tower. If Don Jaime were to ask Senor Pep, it would be impossible for his father to refuse. It would be well for Don Jaime to have him near; then there would be two for the defense; and, to strengthen his pet.i.tion, he recalled his father's anger and the certainty that he intended to take him to Iviza at the beginning of next week, to shut him up in the Seminary. What would the senor do when he found himself deprived of his best friend?

In his desire to demonstrate the value of his presence, he censured Febrer's forgetfulness of the night before. Who would think of opening the door and looking out when someone was there with weapon prepared, challenging him? It was a miracle that he had not been killed. What about the lesson he had given him? Did he not remember his advice about climbing down from the window, at the back of the tower, to surprise the enemy?

"That is true," said Jaime, really ashamed at his forgetfulness.

The Little Chaplain, who was proudly enjoying the effect of this advice, started with surprise as he looked through the doorway.

"My father!"

Pep was slowly climbing the hill, his arms clasped behind his back, seemingly in deep meditation. The boy became alarmed at the sight of him. Undoubtedly he was very cross over the latest news; it would not be well for them to meet just now, and repeating once again the advisability of Febrer's having him as a companion, he flung his legs out of the window, turning upon his belly, resting a second on the sill, and disappeared down the side of the wall.

The peasant entered the tower and spoke without emotion of the happenings of the night before, as if this were a normal event which but slightly altered the monotony of country life. The women had told him--he was such a heavy sleeper----. So it had not amounted to anything?

He listened, with lowered eyes, twiddling his thumbs, to the brief tale.

Then he went to the door to examine the two bullet holes.

"A miracle, Don Jaime, a genuine miracle."

He returned to his chair, remaining motionless a long time, as if it cost him a great effort to make his dull mind operate.

"The devil has broken loose, senor. It was sure to happen; I told you so. When a man makes up his mind to have the impossible, everything goes wrong, and there's an end to peace."

Then, raising his head, he fixed his cold, scrutinizing eyes on Don Jaime. They would have to notify the alcalde; they must tell the whole business to the Civil Guard.

Febrer made a negative gesture. No, this was an affair between men, which he would handle himself.

Pep sat with his eyes fixed enigmatically on the senor, as if struggling with opposing ideas.

"You are right," said the phlegmatic peasant.

Foreigners usually had other notions, but he was glad that the senor said the same as would his poor father (may he rest in peace!). Everyone on the island thought the same; the old way was the best way.

Then Pep, without consulting the senor, exposed his plan for helping in the defense. It was a duty of friendship. He had his gun at home. He had not used it for some time, but when he was young, during the lifetime of his famous father (may he rest in peace!) he had been a fair shot. He would come and spend the nights in the tower, to keep Don Jaime company, so that he should not be taken unaware.

Neither was the peasant surprised at the firm negative of the senor, who seemed to be offended by the proposition. He was a man, not a boy, needing companionship. Let everyone sleep in his own house, and let happen what fate decreed!

Pep a.s.sented also with nods of his head to these words. The same would his father have said, and like him all good people who followed ancient customs. Febrer seemed a true son of the island. Then, softened by the admiration this courage of Don Jaime's inspired in him, he proposed another arrangement. Since the senor did not wish company in his tower, he might come down to Can Mallorqui to sleep. They could fix him up a bed somewhere.

Febrer felt tempted by the opportunity to see Margalida, but the tone of weakness in which the father gave the invitation, and the anxious glance with which he awaited a reply, caused him to refuse.

"No, thank you very much, Pep. I will stay here in the tower. They might think I had moved down to your house because I was afraid."

The peasant nodded a.s.sent. He understood. He would do the same in a like situation. But Pep would try to sleep less at night, and if he heard shouts or shots near the tower he would come out with his old fire-lock.

As if this self-imposed obligation of sleeping on guard, ready to expose his skin in defense of his old-time patron broke the calm in which he had maintained himself until then, the peasant raised his eyes and clasped his hands.

"Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!

"The devil is let loose!" he repeated, "there will be no more peace; and all for not believing what I told you, for going against the current of old customs, which have been established by wiser people than those of the present day. And what is all this leading to?"

Febrer tried to rea.s.sure the peasant, and a thought escaped him which he had intended to keep concealed. Pep might rejoice. He was going to leave forever, not wishing to disturb the peace of himself and family.