The Splendid Idle Forties Part 35

Pilar heard the retreating footfalls of the mustangs. She was too stunned to think, to realize the horrible fate that had befallen her.

She crouched down against the wall of the cave nearest the light, her ear alert for the growl of a panther or the whir of a rattler's tail.

II

The night after the close of school the Governor gave a grand ball, which was attended by the older of the convent girls who lived in Monterey or were guests in the capital. The dowagers sat against the wall, a coffee-coloured dado; the girls in white, the caballeros in black silk small-clothes, the officers in their uniforms, danced to the music of the flute and the guitar. When Elena Estudillo was alone in the middle of the room dancing El Son and the young men were clapping and shouting and flinging gold and silver at her feet, Sturges and Eustaquia slipped out into the corridor. It was a dark night, the duenas were thinking of naught but the dance and the days of their youth, and the violators of a stringent social law were safe for the moment. A chance word, dropped by Sturges in the dance, and Eustaquia's eager interrogations, had revealed the American's indignation at the barbarous treatment of Pilar, and his deep interest in the beautiful victim.

"Senor," whispered Eustaquia, excitedly, as soon as they reached the end of the corridor, "if you feel pity and perhaps love for my unhappy friend, go to her rescue for the love of Mary. I have heard to-day that her punishment is far worse than what you saw. It is so terrible that I hardly have dared--"

"Surely, that old fiend could think of nothing else," said Sturges.

"What is she made of, anyhow?"

"Ay, yi! Her heart is black like the redwood tree that has been burnt out by fire. Before Don Enrique ran away, she beat him many times; but, after, she was a thousand times worse, for it is said that she loved him in her terrible way, and that her heart burnt up when she was left alone--"

"But Dona Pilar, senorita?"

"Ay, yi! Benito, one of the vaqueros of Dona Erigida, was in town to-day, and he told me (I bribed him with whiskey and cigaritos--the Commandante's, whose guest I am, ay, yi!)--he told me that Dona Erigida did not take my unhappy friend home, but--"

"Well?" exclaimed Sturges, who was a man of few words.

Eustaquia jerked down his ear and whispered, "She took her to a cave in the mountains and pushed her in, and rolled a huge stone as big as a house before the entrance, and there she will leave her till she is thirty--or dead!"

"Good G.o.d! Does your civilization, such as you've got, permit such things?"

"The mother may discipline the child as she will. It is not the business of the Alcalde. And no one would dare interfere for poor Pilar, for she has committed a mortal sin against the Church--"

"I'll interfere. Where is the cave?"

"Ay, senor, I knew you would. For that I told you all. I know not where the cave is; but the vaquero--he is in town till to-morrow. But he fears Dona Erigida, senor, as he fears the devil. You must tell him that not only will you give him plenty of whiskey and cigars, but that you will send him to Mexico. Dona Brigida would kill him."

"I'll look out for him."

"Do not falter, senor, for the love of G.o.d; for no Californian will go to her rescue. She has been disgraced and none will marry her. But you can take her far away where no one knows--"

"Where is this vaquero to be found?"

"In a little house on the beach, under the fort, where his sweetheart lives."

"Good night!" And he sprang from the corridor and ran toward the nearest gate.

He found the vaquero, and after an hour's argument got his way. The man, who had wormed the secret out of Tomaso, had only a general idea of the situation of the cave; but he confessed to a certain familiarity with the mountains. He was not persuaded to go until Sturges had promised to send not only himself but his sweetheart to Mexico. Dona Brigida was violently opposed to matrimony, and would have none of it on her rancho.

Sturges promised to ship them both off on the _Joven Guipuzcoanoa_, and to keep them comfortably for a year in Mexico. It was not an offer to be refused.

They started at dawn. Sturges, following Benito's advice, bought a long gray cloak with a hood, and filled his saddle-bags with nourishing food.

The vaquero sent word to Dona Brigida that the horses he had brought in to sell to the officers had escaped and that he was hastening down the coast in pursuit. In spite of his knowledge of the mountains, it was only after two days of weary search in almost trackless forests, and more than one encounter with wild beasts, that they came upon the cave.

They would have pa.s.sed it then but for the sharp eyes of Sturges, who detected the glint of stone behind the branches which Dona Brigida had piled against it.

He sprang down, tossed the brush aside, and inserted his fingers between the side of the stone and the wall of the cave. But he could not move it alone, and was about to call Benito, who was watering the mustangs at a spring, when he happened to glance upward. A small white hand was hanging over the top of the stone. Sturges was not a Californian, but he sprang to his feet and pressed his lips to that hand. It was cold and nerveless, and clasping it in his he applied his gaze to the rift above the stone. In a moment he distinguished two dark eyes and a gleam of white brow above. Then a faint voice said:--

"Take me out! Take me out, senor, for the love of G.o.d!"

"I have come for that. Cheer up," said Sturges, in his best Spanish.

"You'll be out in five minutes."

"And then you'll bring me his head," whispered Pilar. "Ay, Dios, what I have suffered! I have been years here, senor, and I am nearly mad."

"Well, I won't promise you his head, but I've thrashed the life out of him, if that will give you any satisfaction. I caught him in the woods, and I laid on my riding-whip until he bit the gra.s.s and yelled for mercy."

The eyes in the cave blazed with a light which reminded him uncomfortably of Dona Erigida.

"That was well! That was well!" said Pilar. "But it is not enough. I must have his head. I never shall sleep again till then, senor. Ay, Dios, what I have suffered!"

"Well, we'll see about the head later. To get you out of this is the first thing on the program. Benito!"

Benito ran forward, and together they managed to drag the stone aside.

But Pilar retreated into the darkness and covered her face with her hands.

"Ay, Dios! Dios! I cannot go out into the sunlight. I am old and hideous."

"Make some coffee," said Sturges to Benito. He went within and took her hands. "Come," he said. "You have been here a week only. Your brain is a little turned, and no wonder. You've put a lifetime of suffering into that week. But I'm going to take care of you hereafter, and that she-devil will have no more to say about it. I'll either take you to your father, or to my mother in Boston--whichever you like."

Benito brought in the coffee and some fresh bread and dried meat. Pilar ate and drank ravenously. She had found only stale bread and water in the cave. When she had finished, she looked at Sturges with a more intelligent light in her eyes, then thrust her straggling locks behind her ears. She also resumed something of her old dignified composure.

"You are very kind, senor," she said graciously. "It is true that I should have been mad in a few more days. At first I did nothing but run, run, run--the cave is miles in the mountain; but since when I cannot remember I have huddled against that stone, listening--listening; and at last you came."

Sturges thought her more beautiful than ever. The light was streaming upon her now, and although she was white and haggard she looked far less cold and unapproachable than when he had endeavoured in vain to win a glance from her in the church. He put his hand on her tangled hair. "You shall suffer no more," he repeated; "and this will grow again. And that beautiful mane--it is mine. I begged it from the Alcalde, and it is safe in my trunk."

"Ah, you love me!" she said softly.

"Yes, I love you!" And then, as her eyes grew softer and she caught his hand in hers with an exclamation of pa.s.sionate grat.i.tude for his gallant rescue, he took her in his arms without more ado and kissed her.

"Yes, I could love you," she said in a moment. "For, though you are not handsome, like the men of my race, you are true and good and brave: all I dreamed that a man should be until that creature made all men seem loathsome. But I will not marry you till you bring me his head--"

"Oh! come. So lovely a woman should not be so blood-thirsty. He has been punished enough. Besides what I gave him, he's been sent off to spend the rest of his life in some hole where he'll have neither books nor society--"

"It is not enough! When a man betrays a woman, and causes her to be beaten and publicly disgraced--it will be written in the books of the Alcalde, senor!--and shut up in a cave to suffer the tortures of the d.a.m.ned in h.e.l.l, he should die."

"Well, I think he should myself, but I'm not the public executioner, and one can't fight a duel with a priest--"

"Senor! Senor! Quick! Pull, for the love of G.o.d!"

It was Benito who spoke, and he was pushing with all his might against the stone. "She comes--Dona Brigida!" he cried. "I saw her far off just now. Stay both in there. I will take the mustangs and hide them on the other side of the mountain and return when she is gone. That is the best way."

"We can all go--"

"No, no! She would follow; and then--ay, Dios de mi alma! No, it is best the senorita be there when she comes; then she will go away quietly."

They replaced the stone. Benito piled the brush against it, then made off with the mustangs.