At the next corner he halted, inspecting the dimly lighted street for

signs of soldiery, but no living being moved. The spectre-like stranger

had vanished. While the cavalier stood, he heard distant cavalry. It

was wholesome and earthly at least; and although it called for caution,

yet it was in some sort reassuring, and he went on in greater ease of

mind. A few minutes later he entered another square flanked on the left

by a large edifice recognizable by the glow on its gilded roof as the

Temple of the Sun. He had his bearings, and knew that the Huatenay was

not far beyond. The plaza was the ancient Coricancha, or Place of Gold.

Half-way across he heard horses once more, approaching, and not distant.

The great door of the temple stood open. He hurried to its shelter as a

patrol of cavalry trotted into the square. They were coming in his

direction, and he entered the building. The darkness was absolute, but

opposite was another door, faintly lighted by the reflection from the

heavens. He stole toward it with reluctance, awed by the vastness of

the hall, whose walls sent back sepulchral echoes of his furtive tread.

High up indistinctly outlined windows revealed the loftiness of the

interior, which seemed to be unceiled. The place was lugubrious, as if

tenanted by ghosts of votaries of the ancient faith, mourning its

desecration. So thought Cristoval, and hastened his steps--then

stopped. There had been a movement in the doorway in front of him: a

mere blur, and gone, noiseless as a shadow. There was a trickling

chilliness under his back-plate, and again he made a sign of the cross.

The place was unholy--accursed by pagan rites. He must out of it!

Should it be to face the patrol, or--the other? The open air of the

court was nearer, and he quickened his pace to gain it, assailed by a

multitude of whispered reverberations; chased, as he knew, by devils,

spooks, goblins, and lemures.

In the court, he was sweating, but cold. It was bare, ghostly, and

surrounded by buildings with broad, open doors into which he did not

look as he sped across toward a gate that stood ajar. Outside, he

breathed more freely. He was in a garden with trees and shrubbery, and

these, even in the dark, are always friendly. There were avenues, but

the ground had been upturned by his countrymen for buried treasure, and

he could follow none. He turned across what had been a lawn, descending

from terrace to terrace, burdened by the sense of being watched by the

lurking stranger; nor paused until he had placed distance between

himself and the unhallowed temple. Now he could hear the ripple of a

stream, and knew that he was at the Huatenay; but kept on, looking for a

stout bush he could have at his back, and with a vigilant outlook for

the other tenant of the garden. He was now fully aware of his burns,

but dared not remove a jambe to ease them. He seated himself presently,

but after a minute's rest the sensation of being under espionage became

unendurable. It chafed him, and with the irritation of his burning feet

and legs, roused a bloodthirsty desire to hunt the lurker and determine

whether he was substance or shadow. He thought better of it.

A few minutes, now, would bring him to the Amarucancha, and impatience

pushed him on. He had gained the lowest terrace when the mysterious

form appeared again, directly in his path, a hundred feet away. It rose

as if out of the earth, retreated a few paces, and vanished into the

shadow of the gully, leaving Cristoval in dismay.

"_Santa Madre!_" he gasped, and stood irresolute, wishing with ardor for

a crucifix. The figure was so wholly spectral that the thought of

following it into the darkness started his courage oozing as quickly as

it did the perspiration. Yet there was no help for it unless to return

through the temple. The stout cavalier was in a wavering frame of mind.

Then it stole over him that this shadowy creature was interposing

between him and Rava. He sprang down the bank with an oath. Were it

Satan himself he would dispute such hindrance.

He stumbled among the bowlders, straining his eyes for a sight of the

figure, furious to test its reality. But he plunged forward resolutely.

Above the temple he came to a stairway leading to the quay, and mounted

it, intending, if the streets were quiet, to leave the stream. As he

raised head and shoulders above the parapet, an arrow, coming with

terrific force, struck the bars of his lifted visor and splintered with

a crash that made his ears ring within his helmet. At the same instant

the figure rose a few yards ahead and sped away through the darkness.

Notwithstanding the shock, Cristoval's dread vanished in a flash. "Aha!

thou flitting, gliding, misty son of an imp of perdition, then thou 'rt

real!" He dropped his visor. "By the saints! 't is a burden off my

mind. I thought thee a ghost, but that was no ghostly arrow, my word

for it! And 't was good archery. _Bien_! I'll keep thee in mind until

I can teach thee thou 'rt shooting at a friend." Convinced now that the

stranger was a native bent on vengeance on his own account, Cristoval

descended again and pushed on up the stream, infinitely relieved in

spirit. But thereafter he kept his visor closed.

At length the black buildings on either bank came to an end at the great

square, and with beating heart the cavalier recognized the pile on the

right as the Amarucancha. He crept cautiously up the steps by which the

Inca and Mayta had descended on the night of their attempted escape.

Here he could look out upon the plaza, so near that he heard the

Spaniards' voices. The fire had eaten from the direction of the

Sachsahuaman to its margin, and like the Rimac Pampa, it was partly

illuminated by burning ruins. In the middle were awnings and tents

occupied by his beleaguered countrymen. Near the camp was the picket

line with the steeds saddled, and in front of it, a detachment standing

to horse, ready for instant action. Cristoval took it in at a glance,

then his eyes sought the palace before him. Immediately opposite was a

door. Would it be locked? Locked, no doubt!--and would he dare to

knock? First he would try its fastenings. Cristoval was shaking at the

knees, and so intent that he had forgotten prudence. He was about to

steal across the quay when he was arrested by the tread of an

approaching sentinel. The cavalier retreated down the steps with a

flash of sudden heat over his body. Ten thousand devils! Here was a

condition unforeseen. Standing in the water and leaning against the

shadowed wall, he thought with diligence and many whispered

interjections. With the square so near he could not overcome the

sentinel without an alarm. The attempt might serve as a last resort;

but he put it aside to debate a hundred impracticabilities. After a time

he crept up the steps again and stole a look at the soldier. The latter

was keeping close to the palace wall, and for a pikeman his vigilance

seemed preternatural. Had he divined his surveillance by a pair of

watchful eyes in a head simmering with plans for his quick

extinction!--but he had not. He paced so many paces to the south,

turned with a glance at the sky; paced so many more to the north, turned

with a glance at the sky; and so for an hour, when he challenged the

relief.

Meanwhile, Cristoval descended and stood meditating furiously.

Assuredly the chance for entrance here was slight. He picked his way

carefully down the stream, ascended by the first flight of steps to the

opposite bank, and started toward the square in the shadow of the

buildings. At its edge he descried another sentinel, and turned back.

At a bridge passed going up, he crossed the rivulet. At the farther

side he glanced back up the street toward the western line of fire, now

sweeping rapidly forward, and once more caught sight of the flitting

figure crossing the light, slinking toward the plaza, but lost at once

in the darkness. "Aha! my friend," muttered Cristoval, "thou 'rt off

the scent. Keep off it, thou heathen, or I may warm thy legs with the

flat of my blade."

He moved up the quay with a slight hope of finding an unguarded door

into the palace. Twenty paces more and he was startled by a long-drawn

yell of agony from the direction of the square. The stranger had

attacked a sentinel. "Holy Mother!" he exclaimed, "the skulking archer

hath scored."

The whispered words had not been said before a second cry arose,

fiercely exultant, "_Allah il Allah!_" Cristoval started at the words,

and crossed himself.

The cry was answered by a shout and a rush of soldiers. Cristoval

glanced about for a stairway to descend to the stream. None at hand,

and no time to search. He dropped his buckler over the parapet, lowered

himself by his hands, and let go. An instant to regain his shield, and

he fled down the rocky bottom as a platoon galloped along the edge of

the square, divided at the quay, and a party clattered toward him,

following the bank on his right. It divided again at the first street,

but as he blundered on through the darkness a squad passed him, going

down the stream. The square was in an uproar.

Far off somewhere Cristoval heard the cry again, "_Allah il Allah!_" and

stopped. "Jose, as I'm a Christian!" He reached the temple garden,

blown by the flight, and threw himself upon the bank, nearer despair

than he had been since entering the city. Only a miracle would admit

him to the Amarucancha.

He lay for an hour listening to the patrols, now near, now far, before

he rose heavily and looked about. It was necessary to seek a shelter

for the coming day; but where he should find security at once from the

fire, from Spaniards, and from the equally hostile Morisco, was a

question which taxed him to answer. He now had a wholesome dread of

buildings, and finally decided upon the garden itself, whose thickets

would afford concealment against any but a systematic search.

He found a coppice on one of the upper terraces; and having removed his

jambes and sollerets, bandaged his blistered feet with his torn-up

kerchief, and crawled into the lair. Physically tortured by burns,

mentally by anxiety, he lay broad awake until after sunrise, watching

the advancing fire, laboring with the problem before him, and wondering

at the presence and hostility of Jose.

It was late in the day when he awoke and looked out. A strong westerly

wind was blowing, and he saw at once that the conflagration was making

rapid headway toward the quarter of the palaces. Would reach it by

nightfall, if not before. He groaned at his helplessness, forgot his

pain, forgot the hunger and thirst now assailing him, and lay the day

through, feverishly watching the progress of destruction.

The hours dragged. The air was hot, dry, and stinging with the reek of

burning. His throat was parched, his lips split and bleeding, and his

face, from the heat in the palace, was raw and so badly swollen that his

eyes were almost closed. His burns were maddening. But all his torture

of body was a trifle, was nothing, to the agony of beholding the

inexorable approach of the fire to the Amarucancha.

By evening he was feverish, and lay reenacting every minute circumstance

of the preceding day and nights; went through new struggles quite as

real and of worse torment; and suffered horrors unspeakable.

When night fell he awoke bewildered, unable for a time to untangle the

actual from his delirium, and lay staring at the ruddy light, straining

to comprehend its meaning. It came like a flash, and he sat up, groping

for his arms. Greaved and shod, he staggered out, aching and giddy.

His first glance was toward the north.--God of Heaven! The Amarucancha!

The fire had crossed the stream!

The temple loomed black against an appalling background of flame. He

reeled and went upon his knees, weak with fear; was up and rushing

forward, crashing through shrubbery, colliding blindly with tree-trunk

and branch, until he reached the court; across it, and into the hall of

the temple, its ghostly terrors forgotten. Through the entrance

streamed a broad light from the Coricancha. The centre of the city was a

vast furnace, a hell, with flames leaping and whirling with the roar of

breaking surf.

The long night which followed seemed as unreal in its horror as his

delirium. Cristoval went fire-mad.

When he came to his senses, hours later, it was as if awakening from a

hideous dream. He had indistinct memories of insane dashes into

flame-swept streets, beneath infernal, incandescent canopies, past

doorways belching red-hot blasts; of terrible repulse and flights for

life; of renewed attempts, and bewilderment in fiery labyrinths whence

escape seemed impossible; of weeping, laughing, and shouting frantically

for Rava while he battled; of a long detour, later, through dark,

fuliginous thoroughfares, hot and stifling as ovens; of finding himself

wallowing in a stream, drinking and praying; and at last, of bursting

from the darkness upon a squad of startled soldiers and of fighting with

the fury of a maniac. How he escaped he knew not; but while he fought,

welcoming wounds that seemed to ease his burns, he heard again the

shrill, weird cry, "_Allah il Allah!_" saw a pikeman fall with an arrow

in his brain, then another and another; and fled alone, unpursued.

After this, dim wanderings through a Cimmerian wilderness of streets,

black, desolate, stinking of dead embers, and of eternal length and

intricacy, but cool. At last he heard a fountain; staggered into a

ruined patio, drank deep, and dropped into the nearest corner, asleep in

an instant.

High noon roused him to consciousness of suffering. His swollen eyes

would hardly open, and as he moved and groaned he heard a voice beside

him:--

"_Allah akbar_! I thought thou wouldst sleep to thy death. _Hola_!

Canst see, Cristoval? Dost know me?"

Cristoval's smarting eyes came open with a start, and he stared up at a

lank figure in burnoose and turban, bending over him. "Jose!" he

exclaimed, thickly, his lips cracking with the effort, and he sat up,

feeling for his sword.

"No need for that, my friend!" said the old armorer. "But look thou,

Cristoval: call me not Jose. A curse be upon the name! I am Abul

Hassan Zegri. Be thankful that 't is Abul Hassan Zegri, and not one of

thy countrymen. What, Cristoval! Dost doubt me? Man, had it been my

purpose to do thee harm, I would have saved thee the trouble of

awakening!"

Cristoval regarded him distrustfully a moment, and offered his hand. He

was in a roofless, blackened apartment, off the court he had entered in

search of water. The armorer had dragged him from the fountain into

better concealment.

"Canst drink?" asked Abul Hassan, tendering a smoke-stained vessel.

The cavalier drank with avidity, nodding his thanks. Never a draught

more delicious; never a drinker more grateful. The Morisco watched him

in glum silence, brought more water, and more, and still not enough.

"Ho! Let that suffice, Cristoval," he said, at length.

Cristoval groaned, but yielded. "_Madre!_" he mumbled, conscious of his

weakness, "what aileth me?"

"What aileth thee! Thou 'rt a fool--a madcap," replied the Morisco,

bluntly. "What hare-brained motive hath possessed thee, Cristoval? For

two nights and a day I've seen thee in the city, careering like a santon

pursued of devils."

"_Por Dios!_" growled Cristoval; "thou wast not far from putting an

estoppel upon it, Abul Hassan."

"When I split an arrow on thy casque? I did not know thee, Cristoval,

save as a Spaniard--and thou hadst followed me. For what purpose?"

"I was not in purpose to follow thee. It was a chance."

"Then it might have been a costly chance, for I had it in mind to kill

thee, until I found thee killing pikemen. What dost seek in Cuzco?"

"The Nusta Rava."

"Ah!" Abul Hassan studied him narrowly, then asked, "Hast friends

outside, among the Indios?" Cristoval nodded.

"As soon as thou canst move we'll seek them," said the other.

The cavalier shook his head. "I must find the Nusta Rava," he answered,

with resolution.

"_Galimatias_! Bosh! Thou'lt find the garrote. Dost know how long

thou hast lain thus among these cinders? This is the second day. I

found thee yester morning. But, canst eat?"

The Morisco had a pouch well supplied, and the cavalier broke his long

fast. He wasted no time in words while a morsel remained of his prudent

allowance; but finished and refreshed, he asked, "And thou, Abul Hassan,

why art thou in Cuzco?"

"I am here to be near mine enemies."

"Thine enemies!"

"The enemies of my race," said Abul Hassan, with a quick flash in his

eyes; then, regarding the cavalier steadily, he added, with increasing

energy, "and of my faith! For, hear me, Cristoval, I am no more a

Christian! I am a follower of Mahomet--an unworthy Mussulman whom Allah

hath punished for his apostasy!"

Cristoval stared at him, horrified, and crossed himself. At the gesture

the old man spat upon the ground in sudden rage.

"Ah! The Cross!" he cried, his face drawn in repugnance. "The Cross!

The sign accursed! The sign which hath been stamped upon every atrocity

the minds of fiends--of Christians--can invent! The sign under which

murder, torture of body and soul, wreck of hearts and minds, have been

works of piety! I scorn it, spurn it, and hate it with a living

hatred!" He spat again and turned away, his gaunt form trembling with

passion.

Cristoval had gained his feet, suspecting a madman. Abul Hassan

controlled himself, and faced the cavalier. "Forget the words,

Cristoval--if thou canst. I would not offend thee, but--I have suffered

much. Behold me, an old and broken man, but hunted, hunted! Once I had

loved ones-- O, Allah, thy wrath is hard to bear!"

He bowed his head, and Cristoval said hastily: "Say no more, old friend!

I owe thee much, and thy words shall not stand between us--nor thy

faith, for, by Heaven! I've known other gallant men who were not

Christians. Let it pass, Abul Hassan." Cristoval changed the subject,

and presently the Morisco resumed his usual composure.

All that day they remained in hiding. Food and rest restored some of

the cavalier's strength, but realizing the futility of a hope to

accomplish his purpose in his present condition of body, he agreed

reluctantly to the wisdom of leaving the city. Late in the evening they

started, but though they were in the western suburbs, Cristoval was so

crippled by his burns that notwithstanding his companion's assistance

they were long in clearing the ruined outskirts. In the open country at

last, the Morisco left him concealed while he went to the Peruvian lines

for help. He returned with a _hamaca_ and bearers, and Cristoval was

borne to a hamlet among the foothills on the western margin of the

Bolson of Cuzco. Here they found simple medicaments, and when Pedro

appeared, two days later, he found his friend much as he had come upon

him in Xilcala.

The cook stumped into the cottage without a word. Cristoval was lying,

smeared to his eyes in grease, with bandaged limbs, and Pedro looked him

over with great severity.

"Well, stew me!" he exclaimed, with bitterness. "If thou 'rt not done

brown, Cristoval, then I'm no cook to judge! Broiled to a turn!

Roasted with a crust!--and a complexion like a boiled ham in the summer

sun. Damnation, man! thou'rt overdone, dost not know it?" He paused,

regarded the cavalier for a moment with increased sternness, then

resumed reproachfully: "Ah, but no! Thou hadst no need for Pedro, an

experienced cook who would have taken thee out in time, and mayhap saved

the gravy--but must go and cook thyself, like a bedeviled Phoenix!" He

paused again, and Cristoval smiled slightly, waiting for the storm to

pass.

"Grin!" blurted the cook, with irritation. "Thou 'rt as

cheerful-looking as a smoked herring. But what the fiend dost think I

have had to grin about these several days? 'T is the second time I've

mourned for thee as dead, and twice too often!"

Cristoval extended a bandaged hand, and presently the severity faded

from Pedro's countenance. He touched the hand, swore a little, and

seated himself. "Well, curse it! I'm glad to see thee once more,

Cristoval, cooked or raw. But I tell thee, old friend, my belt hath

gone loose from worriment!"

*CHAPTER XXXVI*

_*The Barricades*_

The fire had burned itself out and left two-thirds of Cuzco in ruins

long before Cristoval was in condition to mount. In the meantime, it

had required all of Pedro's persuasion, entreaty, expostulation, and

threats, to keep him on his couch. Haunted by the conflagration and

visions of Rava in the perils which he had just escaped, he taxed the

cook's abundant patience to extremity. The Spaniards' daily sorties

were inflicting heavy losses upon the Inca's devoted troops, most of

whom, for the first time confronting cavalry and firearms, were led by

ignorance into useless sacrifice. When Pedro brought accounts of these

engagements the cavalier groaned and fumed, fumed and groaned, and at

last declared vehemently that he would lie inactive no longer. The

brunt of his unrest fell upon Pedro, for the old Morisco, having seen

him in good hands, had stolen away with replenished quiver, to lurk

among the ruins and spread death and terror among the ancient enemies of

Granada.

One day, intelligence came that the Sachsahuaman had been stormed by the

Spaniards and taken. Juan Pizarro had lost his life leading the

assault. Mocho and his Antis had been relieved a few days before, and

Mayta, the new commander of the fortress, driven with a remnant of its

defenders into the citadel, and seeing that the place was lost, had

wrapped himself in his cloak and plunged from the battlements to death.

Pedro brought the tidings,--a double sorrow to Cristoval, for Juan

Pizarro had been steadfastly his friend. The cavalier rose abruptly.

"Look thou, Pedro! To-morrow I ride. These poor devils of Indios are

throwing brave lives away for want of knowledge. 'T is as if they were

children dashing themselves over a precipice without warning. They know

not even where a Spaniard is vulnerable in his armor. Why, man, were

they mine enemies 't would sicken me to see them fight at such hopeless

odds! And now, with Juan dead, Rava will be more than ever in danger. I

go to-morrow."

Pedro scrubbed his forehead vigorously and growled: "Cristoval, thou 'rt

an unringed bull-calf, and I'm of a notion to choke-pear and

strait-jacket thee. What canst do in thy condition? Thou'rt

sore-footed from thy burns, and wilt shed thy blisters like a lizard his

skin before thou 'rt in the saddle an hour. Thou 'rt bad enough, and

not over-amusing as it is; but what wilt be with legs like two peeled

carrots?"

"No worse than now," replied Cristoval, doggedly, "and at least not

idle."

"But what dost think to do?--to fight thy way to the Nusta Rava?"

"That, if possible. At any rate, to teach these people that cavalry is

not to be stopped with bodkins, nor chain-shot with wisps of straw."

"Well," admitted Pedro, thoughtfully, "it would be a God's mercy."

The next morning, with Markumi and Ocallo following, they made a long

detour of the Peruvian lines to the camp of the Antis, east of the city.

Although the ride was full of pain, the activity was a relief to

Cristoval, and as the sun rose upon the valley full of martial sights

and sounds, his spirits rose with it. Near midday they were guided to

General Mocho, who was on the lines with his troops. They found him

with a group of officers on a rise of ground in advance of his

battalions, overlooking the ruined suburb, Toco Cachi. He hastened

forward to meet them, greeting the cavalier with warmth. The latter

lost no time in broaching the subject. Mocho interrupted to summon his

officers. They gathered round, listening intently while the cavalier,

with his usual brevity and clearness, laid the project before them.

While Cristoval and Pedro refreshed themselves, Mocho went to the

pavilion of the Inca on the heights east of the city. Soon _chasquis_

were flying to summon the generals in council.

Evening came, with notes of evening calls from trumpets, conchs, and

drums, and the movement of battalions relieving those on the line around

the city. Then, night with its myriad stars, myriad fires on the hills,

and silence. But in Cuzco's blackened purlieus the besiegers were

toiling through the hours.

Near midnight Cristoval returned with Pedro from observing the

operations which his counsel had set afoot, to have a few hours' sleep.

Toward morning he was roused by Pedro.

"Come, Cristoval! Up and helm. The thing's a-ready to simmer. Stir,

man! Thou hast piped, bassooned, and hautboyed until the night hath

shuddered and my mule hath wept. Stew me! Cristoval, had I a

sleeping-voice like thine I'd gag myself with a saddle-bag, or wear a

coffin for a night-robe. Wake up, thou scorched hurdy-gurdy! 'T is the

prime hour of chilly misery and the last watch of ghosts and goblins.

Ah, curse it! I would I were a barber, and no cook. See what it hath

led to, this culinary art! _Hola_! Art awake at last? Well, here is a

bite I've spread for thee. Eat, and ballast thy treason, since thou 'rt

on treason bent, whilst I look to our saddles."

He went out into the darkness where Ocallo and Markumi waited with their

steeds, while Cristoval, now alive, attacked a cold luncheon laid by his

thoughtful comrade. He finished hurriedly, and left the tent.

The two Spaniards were quickly in saddle, and with Ocallo and Markumi

following, crossed the camp toward the Antisuyu road. This highway,

connecting the capital with the eastern provinces, becomes the street in

which Cristoval and the Antis encountered the patrol on the first night

of the fire. A few minutes' ride brought them to the road, now occupied

by a waiting column. Turning toward the city, they were presently in

its outskirts. Here they found Mocho with his staff, and dismounting to

join them, Cristoval felt his arm touched. He glanced round and beheld

a tall figure, clad and armed like the Antis, but wearing a turban.

"Abul Hassan!" exclaimed the cavalier, extending his hand. "I am

rejoiced to see thee, old friend. Dost take part with us? I would thou

hadst a horse and thine accoutrements."

"With the help of Allah I shall have both before the sun setteth again,"

replied the Morisco, calmly. He motioned toward a group of twenty or

more men with lassos standing near. "Thy herdsmen, Cristoval. I have

heard of thine expedient--a most excellent one!"

"I pray it will prove so," said the other, "and that we soon shall see

thee mounted. When equipped, seek us. We'll find thee occupation."

The Morisco nodded grimly, and Cristoval and Pedro passed on to Mocho.

In front were men at work in the darkness, and the general gave his

hand, saying, "The task is well advanced, Viracocha Cristoval. Let us

move forward."

He led the way into the street, which had been made, in pursuance of

Cristoval's instructions, a confusion, of half-burned timbers, pieces of

furniture which had escaped the fire, and all manner of _debris_.

Heaped, lashed together, and interlaced, they formed an entanglement

difficult for men on foot, and for cavalry barely surmountable. The

adobe walls on each side had been pierced with loopholes for the

archers, and the side-streets barricaded against flanking.

The party picked their way slowly, climbing over here, bending to pass

under there, while Cristoval inspected, commended, or advised, until

they had penetrated far into the suburb, where the workmen were still

toiling. Until near dawn they directed the Antis pouring silently into

the suburb and occupying the ruined buildings along the obstructed way.

Cristoval saw the men with lassos properly placed, and the party

returned to the outskirts.

A few minutes later, a company of warriors made its way through the

entanglement into the city, going forward to draw a Spanish attack.

Cristoval and Pedro stood near the group around Mocho. The sky was

light when far in the distant streets they heard the war-cry of the

Antis. Immediately followed the hoarse shouts of the Spaniards, shots,

and trumpets calling to arms. The sounds were faintly borne on the

morning breeze, but full of portent, and echoed in many a warlike heart

among the ruins of the suburbs. Mocho moved forward, giving Cristoval a

wave of the hand as he passed, and a rustling and shuffling rose in the

road back of where the two Spaniards stood as the waiting warriors took

their places in column.

As Cristoval mounted, he heard a grunt and a sigh from Pedro, then the

creaking of the saddle as the cook swung from the ground, and the two

picked their way slowly down the littered street. Arquebuses were

crackling, and now, the heavier and sharper report of a falconet. The

firing ceased, and arose the nearing din of cavalry. The decoying party

of Antis was flying before it in a dash for the fatal entanglement upon

which the Spaniards were blindly rushing. The Antis reached it; were

dimly seen by Cristoval as they leaped into the _debris_; then came the

crash of breaking timbers when the pursuing troop struck the

obstruction, a confusion of yells and Spanish shouts of warning, drowned

by the war-cries of the tribesmen behind the walls as they delivered

their terrible volley. A wild, tossing disarray of horses and riders,

plunging and falling among the snapping beams, ridden over by the

resistless torrent from behind. Men and animals down and struggling in

the wreckage, crushed beneath those borne onward by the momentum of the

charge, and assailed by the hordes of Antis rushing from the buildings.

Riderless steeds, maddened by fear and wounds, careered wildly forward,

or turned to the rear and added to the chaos. Troopers retaining their

seats were blinded by the tempest of arrows and javelins, and could only

shelter themselves behind their shields, bending low over saddle-bows to

avoid the hail. Still they were forced on up the narrow, encumbered

street, which roared with tumult indescribable.

Now Cristoval heard a Spanish voice rising above the clamor: "Forward!

Forward! Forward!" and the notes of a trumpet, broken and faltering

before it could blow the command. The column must fight through, or be

crushed by those in the rear. The leading riders pressed on, sabring at

the multitude crowding from all sides. Cristoval advanced with Pedro to

meet them. A lasso serpentined through the haze of flying arrows,

settled over the foremost trooper, and jerked him from his saddle, to be

lost among the Antis as if swallowed by the sea. Other sinuous lines

shot out, fastening upon the Spaniards and dragging them to quick

obliteration. Those in advance paused, fear-struck by a weapon against

which their blades were powerless. They saw comrades totter and go

down; turned in panic, and Cristoval was among them.

Fell and relentless purpose in this cavalier; his arm nerved and

strength doubled by thought of Rava. The nearest troopers, dismayed and

disordered, opposed feeble resistance to the furious onslaught of

Cristoval and his comrade; while those behind, aware of a new check to

the advance, the cause of which they could not see, raised the cry, "To

the rear!" It was caught up at once; and now, panic and disorder

tenfold.

As Cristoval fought he heard a cry rising shrill, "_Allah il Allah!

Allah il Allah!_" and Abul Hassan was beside him, mounted on the steed

of some fallen Spaniard. Into the fray the Morisco, reckless of want of

armor, fighting with the ferocity of a demon.

The retreat was more disastrous than the advance; but slowly the troop

fought back to the open street, shook itself free, and fled. The jaunty

sorties were to be made no more.

At Hernando's council that night, once more glum taciturnity. From dawn

there has been, on every hand, sharp repulse unexampled since the siege

began: many saddles empty for result, and a general call for surgery.

Every street by which many a brisk sally has been made in previous

weeks, now impassable for cavalry; and barricades pushed within bowshot

of the square. The abrupt change in the tactics of the besiegers is

ominous. The presence of Peralta--for the identity of the cavalier

seen, and felt, fighting among the Antis, is not doubted--is

significant, and the price on his head is doubled.

Toward evening Cristoval was joined by Pedro at the edge of the

barricade. The cavalier had laid off his helmet and was begrimed to the

roots of his hair with ashes and black dust from the charred timbers,

his face streaked with perspiration, his reddened eyes gleaming

strangely through their surrounding sootiness. He turned to his comrade

and said with a grim smile:--

"Aha! Pedro, we seem to have put them on the defensive, yonder in the

square. What sayst thou?"

"Why, I say first," returned Pedro, eying him sharply, "that if I caught

myself with a grin as weird as that of thine, I'd wear a wooden face as

well as a wooden leg. Untwist thy features, man! Thou hast the look of

a devil. Ah! Now, I'll reply to thine observation by saying that I'm

hungry; and as for those knaves in the square, we have them where they

will stay for a spell, or longer, without being told. So let us go and

eat."

Cristoval, about to reply, noted a sudden silence among the Antis.

Every one of them was on his knees and bending toward the three or four

nobles who had just drawn near.

"_Madre_! The Inca!" exclaimed Pedro, then he growled beneath his

breath, "Now look at these pagans! Every man doubled up like a razor,

and everything dropped without a word of warning! Suppose the Inca had

come about this morning, Cristoval! We had been undone."

Cristoval made no answer, for an officer recognized as Quehuar was

beckoning.

The two Spaniards halted a few paces from the monarch and saluted,

awaiting his pleasure to speak. His countenance, more bronzed and

sterner in its lines, wore a trace of friendliness not there before.

The Inca studied the grim, murky visage of the cavalier before he spoke.

"Viracocha Cristoval," he said, at length, "General Mocho hath told me

of thy gallantry to-day--and thine, Viracocha Pedro--and I see evidence

here of thy zeal and soldierly skill. My warriors owe thee a measure of

success and hope thus far wanting. What thou hast accomplished hath

mine appreciation and gratitude, as hath all thou hast done hitherto.

There is more that I would say to you, Viracochas, but at a fitter time.

To-night you will sup with me, both."

The Inca gave a hand to each, and turned to continue his tour of the

suburbs.

The two Spaniards supped with the Inca at dark, in the open, at a table

lighted by a circle of fires. Of the score present several were

officers met at Ollantaytambo; among the strangers the Villac Vmu, now

in warrior's garb. A number besides Mocho bore marks of recent

fighting. The formality imposed by the presence of the monarch was

lacking, and he met his guests with a revelation of his personality

unexpectedly agreeable to Cristoval. As guest of honor the cavalier had

opportunity to correct the impression gained at their first interview,

that the young potentate was a mere barbarous tyrant. By the end of the

meal, when Manco pledged first him, then Pedro, clinking their cups of

_chicha_ with his own, a friendliness was established which neither

Cristoval nor his host could have foreseen.

In quiet moods the resemblance of Manco to his sister Rava was

pronounced, and there were moments acutely painful to Cristoval, when

some inflection of the Inca's voice, some gesture, or an evanescent

expression of his eyes, brought a quick vision of the loved one. But

the Nusta Rava was not mentioned. Indeed, the captives within the city

were not referred to, nor any of the losses sustained since the

beginning of the siege. This was demanded by Peruvian stoicism; and for

all said that night the misfortunes of Tavantinsuyu might have been

unfelt. As they scorned manifestation of physical pain, so they hid

mental suffering beneath an exterior of grave impassibility.

At Mocho's tent, some hours later, when Cristoval was taking leave for

the night, the general said abruptly: "Viracocha Cristoval, thou hast

done for us to-day that for which words cannot thank thee. I will not

try. But the Antis, their officers, and their general, are thine.

Command them. Lead them whither thou wilt, and thou'lt find the last

living man of them behind thee."

The cavalier replied with a grip of the hand. He had few words. But

when he went to his quarters he felt a sudden hope. With those fierce

battalions might he not search every nook of Cuzco? Mocho knew the

object of his quest when he entered the burning city, and his tender was

significant. That night there was little sleep for Cristoval.

At dawn he sought the prisoners, found one whom he knew, and questioned

him concerning the Nusta Rava. Was she alive? Alive, and safe in the

Acllahuasi with the rest of the royal household, Father Valverde

guarding like a hawk. All had been removed from the Amarucancha before

it burned, and the Acllahuasi was one of the few buildings to escape the

conflagration.

Cristoval waited to ask few more questions. With Mocho and Pedro he

held council for an hour. At the end of it the two Spaniards mounted,

and making a detour of the suburbs, entered the Rimac Pampa, crossed the

Tullamayu, and reached the square called Coricancha, in front of the

Temple of the Sun. This quarter was held by the Piros and Conibos, and

once more Cristoval greeted Matopo, whom he had not seen since leaving

the Urubamba. From the Coricancha a street led north to the square

occupied by the Spaniards, and from the barricade thrown up by Matopo

could be seen the Acllahuasi at the head of the thoroughfare, with the

Amarucancha on its left, across the way. Plainly visible, also, was a

Spanish breastwork defending the square, with a falconet scowling from

its single embrasure.

That night Cristoval and Mocho consulted with the Inca regarding the

captives within the city.

Day came with a heavy sky and threat of rain. During the morning

sorties were attempted by the Spaniards, evidently for reconnaissance,

for after brief skirmishing in the littered streets, the attacking

parties withdrew. The afternoon was spent by Cristoval in making a tour

of the suburbs with the Inca, inspecting the barricades, suggesting

improvements, and perfecting or advancing the investment.

With darkness came rain and a rising wind. The night would favor.

Toward midnight Cristoval rode with Pedro to the Coricancha. The square

was massed with Antis, and in advance, near the barricade across the

street to the Acllahuasi, was a picked body, among them their general,

equipped with captured arms and armor--a resolute band, which Cristoval

surveyed with satisfaction.

*CHAPTER XXXVII*

_*A Night Attack and a Deliverance*_

The rain fell drearily, driven and swished by flaws of the wind, which,

as the night deepened, increased to a gale, moaning and whistling

mournfully through the ruins. The hours lagged, measured by the brusque

challenging of the Spanish sentinels at each relief, distinctly heard

above the storm. Still the cavalier withheld the word for the advance,

biding the night's most sinister hour.

He waited with apparent patience. But outwardly calm, within was a

turbulence of mingled hope and anxiety, eagerness and doubt; throngs of

dear anticipations, and clouds of dark misgivings. He was a lover with

the possibility of meeting his beloved ere the night was spent; but

while his heart palpitated at the thought, it sank at the attending

uncertainties, and at all that must intervene. He turned abruptly, not

daring to dwell upon a happiness so unassured. Mocho looked toward him.

"Do we move, Viracocha Cristoval?"

"In God's name, yes! Let us go!"

Mocho muttered a word to the nearest Antis; as it passed to the rear of

the column a movement followed, barely audible. Cristoval unsheathed

his sword and laid aside belt and scabbard. Pedro imitated with a sigh

and murmured, "Well, this is what cometh of being a cook! Would I

were--" He did not finish. He had muffled his peg, and followed the

cavalier noiselessly as the latter stole out through a breach in the

barricade to the open street. Mocho, Abul Hassan, and the squad of

mail-clad Antis, were close behind; then, the main body. With the

advance were two men armed with sledges.

Cristoval moved forward in the darkness with caution, pausing at moments

to bate his breath and listen. Along the wall of the roofless palace of

the Priesthood of the Sun, past black doorways full of subdued echoings

of the dismal plash and drip in the courts within, until they reached an

intersecting street. Only this short distance covered! He seemed to

have travelled an hour. Looking back he found his party close upon him,

motionless, dimly seen in the faint light of the crossing. Forward

again, counting his steps. Three hundred paces, and he halted. Here was

the Acllahuasi, its thatch saved from the fire by miracle. On his left,

the Amarucancha--blank walls with a few roof-timbers vaguely outlined

against low-hanging clouds. The gate of the convent must be near, and

he waited to allow the tribesmen to pass the barricade. The movement of

those nearest him ceased; there was no sound from the rear, and for a

time, as he stood looking back into the gloom, Cristoval feared the

Antis were not following. A figure appeared before him as silently as a

phantom, and stretching forth his hand, he felt a quilted tunic. At

once another was beside him, and a third, and the cavalier could see the

stealthy movement of hundreds, creeping forward with the still tread of

pumas. Slowly they massed, and touching Pedro's arm, Cristoval advanced.

In front, through the cleft between the black walls on either hand, was

a pale flickering from the square, where the fires were struggling in

the rain, ruddily lighting the mist when a blast started a few scattered

sparks, subsiding to a feeble glow until the buildings melted into

obscurity. He could descry the breastwork across the head of the

street, and the embrasure from which a falconet commanded the approach.

He looked in vain for a sentinel. But presently, the faint ring of a

grounded halberd: the sentinel was there, and awake.

Groping along the wall on his right, he came to a recess,--the gate!

Pedro and Mocho halted beside him. Passing his hand over the doors,

Cristoval felt the padlock, which rattled slightly under his trembling

fingers, and he drew back. Mocho pushed the two sledge-men into the

gateway, and they placed themselves with hammers poised.

The Antis were now moving past, led by Abul Hassan, and a detail

detached themselves and halted, ready to follow into the Acllahuasi.

Minute after minute fled, and the warriors crept on toward the square,

while Cristoval waited, shivering with excitement until he clenched his

teeth to prevent their rattling. Hours, hours, he stood before the

gates behind which he should find joy or despair, listening for what

would be the signal. The movement of the Antis was hardly audible above

the wind and rain, though as one after another brushed past he heard

their breathing, strained with the tension of coming battle. The street

was dense with them, their bent bodies and constrained, fearfully slow

advance as expressive of fierce intentness as if it could be read in

their faces. But, gods! would they never reach the square? Had the

Morisco halted? Cristoval leaned forward and glanced up the street: a

quivering level of brazen helmets, half luminous in the reflection from

the firelit haze ahead.

As he looked, a shout rose from the sentinel, hoarse and startled, cut

short by the deafening war-cry of the Antis as they rushed.

"Strike! Strike!" shouted Cristoval, and the gates thundered and

crashed under the sledges. Stroke after stroke fell upon the resonant

panels, shattering them to fragments. The street bellowed and howled.

From the square, wild shouts, the sharp blasts of a trumpet, the roar of

the assaulting Antis. A shot, then a second, and a broken fusillade. A

flash lighted the dripping walls, and an ear-stunning report rent the

heavy air. The rampart was high, and before the Antis were over a

soldier had seized a brand, rushed to the piece, uncovered the vent and

fired. Unheeding wounds and death, the Antis were on the parapet, and

the gun dismounted. They were over the work and into the square,

driving the half-formed infantry before them. But for days no horse had

been unsaddled, no trooper out of his armor. In a moment the earth was

trembling with their onset, and the Antis were hurled back to the

barricade. Here they stopped and fought, hand to hand. At other

points, now, the yells and turmoil of assault, the flash and roar of

guns. A few defences were carried, and the Peruvians plunged into the

square, to be met and broken by flying squads of horse, driven back into

the streets and slaughtered by the artillery.

But the Antis held the rampart, and the gate of the Acllahuasi was

broken through. Followed by Pedro, Mocho, and a score of warriors,

Cristoval dashed into the enclosure. The darkness was pitchy, and he

went headlong into a copse of shrubbery, stumbled through into a path,

lost it at once, and lost himself in another thicket. Half a minute had

separated him from his friends. He groped about in bewilderment,

blundering on. Heard voices, and shouted: answered, as it seemed, from

every point of the compass. One voice was Pedro's, but Heaven alone

could have sent a clue to its direction. He was in a great garden, dark

with foliage intersected by a maze of paths. He crashed forward into

another gravelled walk, and brought up against a wall. He was across

the enclosure, and felt a pavement beneath his feet. He could discern

doorways, numbers of them, all alike; some open, with empty dark

chambers, some closed. He followed to the right, trying the closed

ones, finding them unlocked and the rooms vacant. No sign of life, and

he hurried on with sinking heart, sick with the fear that he had come

too late. The night was hideous with the clamor outside, but he gave

little heed, intent only on his quest. He heard a step, and ran against

someone in the gloom, who sprang back with a familiar exclamation and

engaged him. "Pedro!" he shouted, and the cook responded: "Thou,

Cristoval! Heaven be praised! Where the fiend are we? Where are the

others?"

"Only the fiend knoweth. Come!" They hastened along, throwing open

doors, but finding everywhere darkness and vacancy. Cristoval's hope

was fast going. "Oh, my God! Oh, my God!" he muttered over and over.

"Where is she? Rava! Rava!" he called. "Answer, in the name of

Heaven!"

Suddenly a gruff voice commanded in Spanish, "Halt!" Cristoval sprang

forward. Again the summons, "Halt!" and a burly form loomed in the

darkness with a mace raised to strike. "Halt! I command you in the

name of the Holy Church!"

"Father Valverde!" cried the cavalier. "Hold, man! I am--"

The mace descended with sturdy force, dexterously caught on Cristoval's

buckler. In an instant the priest's heels were kicked from under him,

and Cristoval strode past, while Pedro seated himself upon the prostrate

ecclesiastic. Without hesitation Cristoval tried the door Valverde had

been guarding. It was fast, and he hurled his weight against it. At

the second assault it yielded, burst open at the next, and the cavalier

found himself in a dimly-lighted room, facing a group of shrieking women

clinging about one who confronted him with unwavering, courageous eyes,

but with no sign of recognition.

He stepped forward and halted, strove to speak, and failed, and stood

overcome, while the women, made hysterical by the tumult beyond the

convent walls, wailed at his dread appearance. He had forgotten his

lowered visor, his bared sword, and the seeming menace of his attitude,

and could only murmur hoarsely as he advanced: "Rava! Rava! Dost not

know me--Cristoval?"

She cowered away, glaring in terror and anger, but with no word. He

halted again, and lost his voice, standing before her helpless in a

sudden fear. "Rava!" he cried in desperation. "Rava! in God's name,

child, hast forgotten me?"--Then thought of his visor and raised it.

Her expression changed slowly to one of wonder and unbelief, and she

raised her hand to her heart, growing suddenly more pallid. In the

semi-darkness of the room she was uncertain until he spoke her name

again. Then she stretched forth her hands, took a step forward, and

sank with a sob into the arms of the Nusta Ocllo.

In a second Cristoval had her in his own, pressing his lips to hers, to

her forehead, and to her eyes until she opened them; but quite too

choked himself to speak--this stalwart cavalier!--and half blinded by

something he feared she would see.

"Oh--is it thou, my Cristoval?" she murmured, raising her hand to touch

his swarthy cheek, only half-convinced by her eyes. "Ah, my love, I

thought thee forever lost!" and in a passion of weeping she put her arms

about the steel-covered neck, pressing her cheek upon his breastplate,

insensible to its cold and hardness, conscious only of a joy beyond

belief.

They were oblivious of those around them, of the din of battle coming

through the open door; forgetful of all but one another, and might have

remained fatally so, had not the Auqui Paullo rushed in, followed at

once by Pedro and Father Valverde. The bishop had been disarmed, and

was flaming with rage. The youth, wild-eyed, and pale with the

excitement of the night, halted at the astounding spectacle of his

sister embracing a Viracocha. Before he had recovered, Mocho dashed in

and seized his arm.

"Auqui Paullo," cried the general, "there is no moment to lose!

Assemble the women and get them to the gate. Hasten!"

Mocho in armor was unrecognized. Paullo wrenched himself free and

demanded angrily, "Who art thou?"

"Oh, Supay!--I am Mocho! Fly, Paullo!--Cristoval; do not tarry. Lead

the Nusta to the gate."

Paullo stared for a second, then hurried out to collect the rest of the

household. Mocho turned to the wailing women. Cristoval was gently

forcing Rava toward the door when Father Valverde, as suspicious of the

cavalier as of any other soldier, interposed. Planting himself in front

of the two, he commanded sternly:--

"Peralta, forbear! Release the maiden. She remaineth here."

Cristoval surveyed him in astonishment and anger. "Remaineth here,

priest! Art mad? Out of the way!"

"Release her!" commanded Valverde, advancing to restrain her. Cristoval

interposed his buckler and thrust him roughly back.

"Release her!" thundered the bishop. "Pass me on pain of the wrath of

the Church, her holy guardian! Rava, beware this man, and remember thy

promise! Peralta, this maiden is for no man."

The cavalier laughed in his face. "Stand aside!" he cried, savagely.

"Thou'rt in peril, Valverde!"

Valverde raised his hand in menace. "_Excommunicabo te--_" he began

solemnly; and Cristoval blanched, then replied, fiercely:--

"Excommunicate and be damned! I defy thee! By what right this

interference? Aside! lest I forget thy gown." He strode past.

Valverde, white with passion, would have sprung upon him, but Mocho,

furious at delay, thrust himself between with his sword at the bishop's

breast, his eyes blazing with vindictiveness. "Back, Viracocha, or by

the great Inti, I will lay thee open!"

Valverde recoiled, and Cristoval hurried to the door with Rava, followed

by the women, whom Mocho drove after them with scant ceremony.

They were soon at the gate with all of the household that could be

collected. But many of the terrified women had hidden themselves, and

there was no time to search. Outside, the conflict was still raging.

The Antis were holding the breastwork with desperate valor and

determination, Abul Hassan at the front, for the hour a madman, a Moslem

fanatic: pity the Spaniard who came within reach of his terrible blade.

Ocallo and Markumi, with the other armored Antis, fought beside him,

tigers. At the gate the street was a mere madness of warriors struggling

to the places of those who fell.

Mocho and Cristoval forced themselves into the throng, leading the

convoy of women surrounded by the detail which had followed into the

Acllahuasi. It was minutes before they could make an avenue through the

tribesmen, but at length they gave way, and leaving the two Spaniards to

take the rescued to the rear, Mocho turned back to the rampart, which

must be held until the women were in safety. Slowly Cristoval forged

through the press, keeping close to the wall, and at length the worst

was past. A hundred yards more, and they were at Matopo's barricade and

through the breach: Rava was delivered from her peril.

Cristoval sought her in the crowd of hysterical women, and reached her

side. No time for words. He embraced her once, and before she knew his

purpose he was gone. Now she was safe, his duty lay elsewhere. The

Antis must be withdrawn.

Once more to the front, crowding, staggering, almost fighting his way

through the mass, Cristoval became aware that Pedro was behind. He

turned and shouted into the cook's ear: "Back, Pedro! For the sake of

Heaven, go to the rear!"

There was scorn in Pedro's voice as he leaned forward and roared,

"_Infierno!_"

Of damnable obstinacy, this cook! Cristoval pushed on, every step more

difficult. Here was an officer. The cavalier seized him by the

shoulder, bellowing and gesticulating that the Antis must be retired.

Hopeless! Mocho was at the front. Retreat and leave their general?

Forward, then, the cavalier, and at last the breastwork. Here was hell's

own fury. The work had been lost and retaken repeatedly by the Antis,

and was half demolished, its crest a rampart of dead. Mocho's men had

just been swept from it and the Spaniards were in the street. The

square and its approaches at other points had been cleared, and many of

the troopers had dismounted to fight here. Their weight had turned the

tide, and Mocho had lost some dozen yards. Cristoval reached the point

of contact, Pedro close behind and roaring a battle-cry. In the

pressure, the foremost of the foes fought shield against shield in a

swaying, howling death-struggle of men bereft of reason, the more

horrible for the darkness. Cristoval could see nothing, or, vaguely, a

wild surging around him. Knew that he was in touch with the enemy only

when his buckler rang with the blow of a mace. Then he fought.

For the rest, a mere delirium, hardly to be remembered. He heard Mocho's

war-cry, the Morisco's howl, and knew they were alive. Pedro was beside

him. Their two fresh blades in the narrow thoroughfare turned the tide

once more, slowly at first, then with a rush, and Cristoval was atop of

the breastwork. Battled here a brief minute, and was hurled back by a

fresh charge from the square--but with the memory of having seen a spark

of fire!

A spark of fire! Trivial! But what if it were a lighted gunner's

match?

Cristoval gave voice. Found Mocho, and roared a warning. A Spanish

trumpet was blowing the recall, and the charge had been arrested. Mocho

was ordering back his men, but as well shout at a mountain torrent.

They bore forward with resistless pressure, and Cristoval was forced

against the rampart, fighting them back and shouting with all the

strength of his lungs. Futile! They passed and were mounting the

rampart. As he stood on the _debris_ at the foot of the scarp he was

head and shoulders above the work, and glancing up, saw again the spark

of fire, just as he felt himself seized by a strong hand and dragged

back toward the wall of the Acllahuasi. Pedro shouted something,

drowned by an explosion that shook the earth, and in the flash he

saw--horror not to be told. A gun had been dragged to the top of the

breastwork and fired in the very faces of the Antis.

Horror not to be told, not to be imagined, while falconet and arquebus

raked the street. Pedro held the cavalier with firm grip as they

crouched beneath the spurts and flashes of the fire overhead, their ears

benumbed by the repeated shocks.

At length the rush and yells of the retreating Antis died away, and the

arquebus-fire was stopped; but the falconet still roared, though with

longer intervals between the shots. Cristoval counted the seconds

intervening. There would be time enough to allow a dash to the gate of

the Acllahuasi, where they would have cover until the firing ceased. He

spoke to Pedro,--no fear of being overheard, for the night was full of

voices raised in every intonation which agony could wrench from human

lips. Between explosions they reached the gate through the stinging

atmosphere, but as they turned into its shelter Cristoval halted his

comrade with a hand upon his arm. From the enclosure came the sound of

Spanish voices, and lights were flitting. Valverde had reported the

invasion, and the place had been entered through another door. A party

was coming toward the gate. No alternative, then, but to keep the

street, count the seconds, and before each discharge, throw themselves

upon the pavement behind their bucklers. These, faced with steel, might

deflect the slugs and fragments with which the gun was charged.

The intervals lengthened to near a minute, the firing being a mere

warning against renewed attack; and the street had not ceased to

reverberate after the next explosion before the two were away. Poor

Pedro's speed was not high, and Cristoval moderated his own, counting as

he ran. "Down!" he cried, at the limit of the period of safety, and

they went upon the ground full length. Now the report, and the deadly

blast flew over. Cristoval was up and speeding, the cook close in his

rear, then down once more and waiting with nerves a-quiver. Again the

report, but this time with a thick patter of the projectiles on every

hand as the charge spread with the increase of range. With a call to

Pedro, the cavalier sprang to his feet and dashed on. Twice more he

dropped and covered himself: gained the barricade, and was through the

breach. He turned with a shout to his comrade. There was no reply.

Cristoval called again, answered by the moaning of the wind, a sound

unnoticed since they had left the barricade, he could not have said how

many hours ago. Some one laid hand upon his shoulder:--Mocho, bandaged.

Cristoval gave his hand a silent pressure, and shouted again. There was

a flash far up the street, the report, and the barricade sputtered.

Antis gathered round, and the cavalier turned to them, seeking hope

against despair.

"Hath he been seen--the Viracocha Pedro? Quick!--hath he been seen?"

They communed among themselves, and the question was passed back. Mocho

answered after a silence, but Cristoval was straining his eyes toward

the square. He knew the reply before the question had left his lips.

"God have mercy! I fear for him!" he was muttering. "Oh, God have

mercy!"

Once more the street flashed and roared, and Cristoval started forward.

Mocho halted him.

"Stay, friend!" cried the general. "Hast lost thy mind? Whither?"

"I must find him," said Cristoval, and was gone.

The way was littered with wounded and dead, grewsome obstacles over

which he stumbled as he crouched along, groping among the bodies for one

in steel, but counting with diligence. He had not gone twenty paces

before Mocho was beside him. The cavalier dragged him into a doorway:

"Lord Mocho, thou must return!"

"With thee: not before!" replied the general. The falconet spoke again.

Cristoval stood irresolute, then exclaimed: "Rashness, my lord!--but I

am grateful. Come! Keep close, and drop at my word."

They sallied forth on their desperate, almost hopeless errand, searching

for a few brief, fevered seconds, then prone to wait for the deadly

flurry. Thus they proceeded slowly, far up the street. The interval

between the shots had grown--near five minutes, was the cavalier's rough

guess--and they covered the ground more rapidly. At last the firing

ceased. The searchers were in front of the Acllahuasi, and turned back.

They must hasten, for dawn was at hand, and through the powder-smoke the

mangled forms on the pavement were indistinctly visible, a grievous

sight to Mocho. Should the veil lift, the hunt would end abruptly.

Now, however, it went on without interruption.

Somewhere near the cross-street a suppressed exclamation from the

cavalier drew Mocho to his side. He was bending over a prostrate form

in armor, and the general, as he neared, heard a sound very like a sob.

Pedro lay face downward and quite still, but as Cristoval gently rolled

him over he groaned slightly, and they knew him to be alive. Silently

they raised him and started on their return.

In the last few minutes the light had grown appreciably, and the street

was almost clear of smoke. In the direction of the square they heard

voices: a Spanish search-party, looking for their own wounded.

Cristoval glanced back, and they pressed on. The barricade was but a

few yards away when there was a shout near the Acllahuasi. They had

been observed. Another shout, and the report of an arquebus.--Poor

marksmanship, thought Cristoval. A second shot, and a ball struck the

pavement close by, and with a vicious sing and spat hit the barricade. A

third, and Cristoval stumbled to his knees with a quick catch of breath.

He staggered up at once, his face white. "It is naught," he replied

hurriedly to Mocho's startled question, and glanced anxiously at Pedro,

from whom the jolt had started a groan.

They passed the barricade, laid their burden on the ground, and kneeling

beside him, Cristoval rapidly removed the armor. There was a ragged

hole through Pedro's corselet beneath his right arm, one more ragged and

terrible in his side where a projectile had torn its way, but a hasty

examination showed that it had passed entirely through. Cristoval

worked quickly, cutting away the clothing, and while water and bandages

were being sought, laid aside his own helmet, conscious that a numbness

in his shoulder had given place to pain. But he finished with Pedro's

wound, and rose, somewhat giddy, to ask assistance in disarming. Matopo

was beside him. Cristoval grasped his arm.

"She is safe, Matopo--the Nusta Rava?" demanded the cavalier. "Speak!

Thou hast seen her in safety?"

"She is safe, Viracocha Cristoval," answered an even voice behind him,

and turning, he beheld the Inca. Paullo was at his side, and near by, a

group of nobles. Manco extended his hand and continued: "She is safe--I

thank the great Inti, and thee!"

Cristoval took the proffered hand, but the reaction from hours of strain

was upon him, with the realization that he had found his love and led

her out of danger. The agony of months was ended. "Sapa Inca," he

began, unsteadily, but could say no more, and Manco, as he released his

hand, felt it shaking.

The young monarch eyed him gravely, his sombre eyes growing thoughtful,

then kindly, when he said as if in obedience to an impulse:--

"Viracocha, should I try to tell thee my gratitude the words could but

make it seem unequal to thy gallant service. Once, I offered thee a

gift. Now, I offer thee another which hath no value but the honor which

it beareth with it, and the esteem which I wish it to express." He drew

from his bosom a _llautu_, woven of vari-colored cords and threads of

gold and silver. Braided in the fringe were strands of the imperial red

of which his own diadem was made. He stepped forward, and pausing

slightly, said, "I beg thou wilt accept it, Viracocha Cristoval."

The cavalier replied earnestly, with a quick rise of color, "My Lord

Inca Manco, I accept it most gratefully and proudly."

"Then I make thee an Inca of Tavantinsuyu by Privilege," said the

monarch, and placed the _llautu_ upon Cristoval's head. He touched the

red in the fringe. "This, my Lord Cristoval, I bestow as a mark of

especial confidence. Thou knowest its significance and power, for I am

not the first to give it thee." He turned to Pedro. "For thy brave

comrade I shall find another expression of my gratitude. He must be

brought to my headquarters, where there are tents for you both." He

made a slight gesture to stay Cristoval's words of thanks, and giving

his hand once more, added: "The Nusta Rava, my lord, will thank thee for

herself."

As the Inca moved away, his nobles gathered round the cavalier with

words of friendship. Paullo had taken both his hands, saying something

eagerly, but his voice seemed strangely far away. The earth was rolling

and whirling, and Cristoval heard some one exclaim, "Great Inti, he is

hurt!" Mocho was supporting him, and he knew no more.

They found a wounded shoulder, not dangerous, but much blood had flowed,

as they discovered by his saturated clothing.

*CHAPTER XXXVIII*

_*A Tie of Mingled Blood*_

Cristoval became languidly conscious of the swaying of a litter; then he

was being lifted to a couch in a tent softly aglow with morning

sunshine, and heard friendly voices around him. He opened his eyes, and

with an effort whispered an inquiry for Pedro.

"He is being cared for, my lord," said an officer, bending over. "He is

badly hurt, but hath asked for you. Otherwise, his mind seemeth to

wander, for he muttered something which Markumi translated as a request

to be stewed. We did not heed him, Lord Cristoval."

Cristoval smiled faintly and dozed again.

When he awoke the tent had grown dim with the declining day. As he lay

with partly open eyes he became aware of clasping something in his hand

that pressed his own and trembled. He raised it weakly, and his eyes

travelled from a wrist to a rounded arm. A face hovered over him,

lovely as a vision, with dark eyes deep with tenderness and solicitude.

"Rava!" he whispered; and she knelt, pressing her cheek against his own,

her form, as he passed his arm around her, quivering with a passion of

joy. He would have spoken, but she pressed her fingers upon his lips,

murmuring an injunction and nestling closer. Cristoval was content, and

lay marvelling that contentment could be so perfect.

But if he could not speak, he could listen, and he hearkened to

whispered words, mere incoherencies, broken by faintest of sighs, coming

from the depths of a heart which beat with love without reserve. They

are not to be set down here, those sweet, disordered fragments, nor are

their like to be comprehended save by the ear into which they are

breathed.

The interview was short. A mere swift glimpse of happiness, and she had

torn herself away, lingering in a final caress, and gone. Cristoval was

left with the memory of her presence and touch, ineffably sweet, until

submerged in the pain of helpless longing.

The next morning the old man who attended him brought news. Pedro was

low, and his chances for recovery not yet determined, but there was

hope. Abul Hassan had crept into Matopo's barricade during the night,

mortally hurt. Ocallo and Markumi had both been wounded, the former

seriously. Not a man in contact with the Spaniards came out unscathed,

and the total losses of the night were grave. What the enemy had

sustained could only be guessed, but they had since lain inactive,

though apparently doubly vigilant, and strengthening their defences.

Before midday Rava came with Paullo and remained an hour or more. She

forbade Cristoval's speaking, and talked little herself, but it may be

said that the silence was not constrained. The day dragged after her

departure, but the cavalier slept, and was without fever. The following

day they came again, and Rava remained long. By a blessed fortune

Paullo was called away on three several occasions, and the moments were

not lost. Still she permitted few words, touching his lips and bidding

him wait. As she left she looked back with a swift, bright glance, full

of some meaning which he could not fathom, but withal, most agreeable to

remember. Later, came the Inca with Mocho and the Villac Vmu, but their

stay was short. Pedro, said Mocho, was better.

The day passed slowly, quietly. Night fell, and Cristoval prayed for

fortitude to endure the wait for the morrow and Rava's visit; his

patience inversely proportioned to his gaining strength. He slept to

awake toward midnight stronger and more refreshed. The attendant dozed

with his back against the tent-pole. Cristoval was staring at the

feeble light, musing on the fatuity of a number of demented moths there

courting a painful death, while he wondered whether their singed wings

would smart as he had smarted after his own encounter with fire; and

whether, furthermore, they too fancied themselves impelled by love. He

forgot the moths in counting the hours before seeing her again. His

eyes were closed. They opened at a faint rustle, and he beheld an

apparition. Within the tent door stood Rava, her eyes dark with

excitement, but smiling as she touched her lips for silence. The

attendant glided from his seat to his knees in an ecstasy of amazement.

She whispered, and he vanished as if he himself had been an apparition.

Cristoval saw a flush of color mount to her cheeks. The next instant

she had extinguished the light, and was kneeling beside his couch in the

darkness. No phantom, this, but living, palpitating flesh and blood,

warm arms that crept about his neck, and a heaving bosom to which his

head was pressed.

Rava drew away and whispered breathlessly, passing her hand over his

face: "Oh, Cristoval, what canst think of me? But I could endure no

longer, and now I will tell thee why I have come--"

The pressure of Cristoval's arm told his thought. "What can I think, my

own! Only of thy love and mine, and my gratitude. God make me always

worthy of the joy thou givest, dear heart!"

"Worthy of it, Cristoval! Of what hast thou not shown thyself worthy,

over and again?--and thy gratitude, my love! Ah, then what must mine be

to thee? But I must tell thee why I have come to-night: It is to say

farewell--Nay! but hear me--not a long farewell--to-morrow I go to

Yucay."

The darkness deepened for Cristoval. "To-morrow!" he groaned. "No, no!

It cannot be, Rava. How can I live? The hope of seeing thee hath kept

me alive. Thou'lt not leave me!"

She touched his lips again. "Be patient, Cristoval. Yucay is not

distant, and it is the Inca's wish that I go. Bethink thee! This is a

camp."

"Ah, true!" he said, sorrowfully. "No place for thee, and there might

be danger. Thou must go, though it is despair for me, Rava. But say we

shall meet soon again."

"Could I leave thee else, Cristoval?"

They were silent until Cristoval asked: "Is there other reason for thy

going, Rava? The Inca knoweth my love for thee. Is not that in part

the cause?"

"I know not. He knoweth mine for thee."

"Hath he said?"

"No: he hath said naught of thee to me, and from his silence I am sure.

I know not what is in his mind. He is as tender as he used to be in

earlier days--he parted from me in anger, Cristoval, months ago, in the

Amarucancha, when he learned I had become a Christian. His anger hath

gone, but he regardeth me always with strange sadness and gloom. I fear

it is because of our love."

Cristoval partly raised himself. "Rava, dost think he will forbid our

marriage?"

"Oh, my own, I do not know! By the law of Tavantinsuyu I can be married

only to one of royal blood. Manco holdeth the laws as sacred as the

ancient rites. In these perilous times he would dread their violation as

like to provoke the wrath of Inti. I know not!" she moaned, pressing

her cheek to his. "I know not, Cristoval!"

The cavalier's arm tightened in its grasp. "And if he should forbid,"

he whispered, sharply, "if he should, then we must fly again. Wilt go

with me?"

"Thou knowest, my own! But whither? The uttermost parts of the empire

would be searched."

"Once on the coast--" said Cristoval.

"We should never reach it!" she replied, pressing him closer. "We

should never reach it, my love--but, we can die together."

They said little more, but clung together as if the morrow's parting

would be final. Minutes passed, when Cristoval felt her shudder as she

raised her head in a sudden recollection. "Cristoval, oh, Cristoval!"

she faltered, "Father Valverde threatened thee!"

"Ah!" muttered the cavalier, gloomily. "Thou didst guess his meaning?

I hoped it had escaped thee. The words were Latin."

"I know. I have had time to learn much since Xilcala. But, oh, my

heart, dost think he will excommunicate thee?"

Cristoval hesitated. "If he should," he said, with courage, "thou'lt

pray for me, child. I'll have no fear that the Virgin will not hear

thee."

"It is dreadful, dreadful!" she murmured, sobbing.

"Nay: think not of it. It were more dreadful, far, to have obeyed his

command to leave thee." And in Cristoval's mind an eternity in hell was

naught in comparison. The certainty itself would not have forced him to

relinquish her.

It seemed but a moment before her trusted maid came to whisper that the

sky was growing light. A sweet, bitter instant of parting, and

Cristoval was alone.

Before the sun had touched his tent the cavalier heard preparations for

departure,--hastening steps, the rattle of camp gear, and soon, the

marching of the escort and the commands of its officers as it formed on

the parade in front of the Inca's quarters.

Accompanied by Paullo, Rava went first to Pedro's tent to say farewell.

"God bless thy sweet life!" said Pedro, weakly, as he pressed her hand.

"I shall miss thy visits sorely--and another will miss them more. But

thy going is sudden--doth Cristoval know?"

Rava colored, replying, "I am on my way to him now, Pedro. Shall I take

him a message?"

"Why, my greetings to him as a noble. Doth the _llautu_ become him?--No

doubt of it!--Poor boy, poor boy!"

"But he is hurt less than thou!" said Rava.

"The wound in his shoulder? Ah! But he hath another below it--and

harder to cure." Again came Rava's color, and she took her leave

somewhat in haste.

The parting with Cristoval taxed her to the extreme, and only Paullo's

presence saved her from breaking down. As it was, her distress and the

cavalier's depression were apparent to the youth, and he gently and

wisely hastened her departure, but resolving to accompany her a part of

the way himself.

Rava had never confided to her younger brother her attachment for

Cristoval; and he, though staggered by the revelation of it on the night

of the rescue, had thus far refrained from questioning; but on the

journey with Paullo beside her in her _hamaca_, she confessed, with an

account, sufficiently heartfelt, of the cavalier's golden qualities.

The youth, already predisposed toward his brother's gallant ally,

listened with sympathy, promising to aid the lovers to the full in case

of the Inca's opposition. He gave what hope he could, though this was

slight, and Rava pursued her journey with heavy heart.

To Cristoval the succeeding days were of torment. The fighting was

incessant, and the Inca rarely at his quarters, though he sent

frequently to ask for the two Spaniards, and to express his good wishes.

Opportunity for an interview, feverishly awaited by the cavalier, was

not offered, and he tossed in an agony of suspense. At last his

attendant informed him that Manco was in council with his generals.

Directing the old man to report their departure, Cristoval struggled

with his impatience. It was late when the orderly announced that the

council was dissolved.

"Give me thine aid, Tocache," said Cristoval. "I will rise."

"But, my Lord Cristoval, you will do yourself injury," deprecated the

old man. "Whither would you go?"

"To the Inca's tent. Come! Help me to my feet and to dress."

"My lord--"

"Nay, Tocache; I must go. I am strong enough, man, and thou shalt lend

me a shoulder to lean upon."

Tocache demurred earnestly, but shortly Cristoval was clad and

sandalled, and with the other's support, left his tent. The Inca was

standing with Paullo and the Villac Vmu when the sentinel announced his

visitor, and he turned in surprise when the cavalier, uncertain in his

steps and quite pale, entered the tent and saluted.

"Thou, my Lord Cristoval!" exclaimed Manco, advancing. "Thou 'rt

welcome, my friend, though I fear, imprudent. What hath brought thee at

this hour?--but sit. Thou 'rt weak--too weak to have ventured." He led

the visitor to a chair. Having greeted the Auqui and the priest and

seen the Inca seated, Cristoval sank into it. Manco observed him with

evident interest while waiting to hear his errand, which proved a

difficult one to begin.

"Sapa Inca," said Cristoval, at last, unable in his weakness fully to

control his voice, but approaching the matter with his usual directness,

"I have come to you concerning the Nusta Rava."

Manco's animated expression vanished, and he regarded the cavalier with

no sign of emotion as he answered, in tones equally impassive, "What of

the Nusta Rava, my lord?"

Cristoval felt the ill omen of the change, but did not flinch, and his

voice steadied at once. "I have spoken to you of the Nusta Rava before,

my Lord Inca, at Yucay. I think you cannot be unprepared for what I am

about to ask."

Manco felt the candor of his eyes and their demand for it from him. "My

Lord Cristoval," he said, frankly and regretfully, "I am not

unprepared--for what I fear thou art about to say. I confess to thee

that I have foreseen this very moment, which bringeth me infinite pain."

He rose and crossed the tent; returned and seated himself. "But, my

lord, I will not anticipate thee. Thou wouldst ask--"

"The hand of Rava, Sapa Inca," replied Cristoval.

Manco looked upon him thoughtfully before answering. "It is what I had

reason to expect, and, with mine obligation to thee, to dread. Thy

service to Tavantinsuyu hath been such that any return in my power to

make must be inadequate."

"Nay, pardon me, my Lord Inca," rejoined Cristoval, quickly: "I beg you

will not think that in this request it is in my thoughts to presume upon

any service it hath been my fortune to render. That hath already been

doubly rewarded by this mark of your confidence." He touched the

_llautu_. "I ask no further return."

"That was not my meaning, my Lord Cristoval," replied Manco, gravely.

"I was about to say that mine obligation and gratitude make it hard to

answer thy request in the way I am compelled. Compelled--for it is

beyond my power to grant. It is the ancient law of Tavantinsuyu that a

princess must marry one of the royal family; or, in the event of a

prince being wanting, then one of nobility by birth. This law is as old

as the empire, and hath been violated but once. I dare not, whatever

mine inclination, my Lord Cristoval," his eyes grew kindly "repeat its

violation. My august father set aside a law as ancient as this one, and

it hath been followed by calamities, of part of which thou art a witness

to-day. May the great Inti forfend that I do aught further to provoke

his wrath. I must refuse thee, my lord."

Cristoval rose unsteadily, his face more white than it had been left by

his wound. Manco rose and took his hand. "My friend," he said,

"believe, this grieveth me to the heart. I thought to tell thee these

things when thou didst plan to take the Acllahuasi. I did not, for I

knew well that it would not have altered thy purpose, nor dulled thy

courage."

"I thank you, my Lord Inca," replied the cavalier, and added with an

effort: "I will not urge aught that is against your conscience--God

forbid! With your leave, I will return to my tent."

Paullo, who had listened with color coming and going, stepped forward.

"Stay, Lord Cristoval!" he cried. "All hath not been said." He

snatched the vari-colored _llautu_ from Cristoval's head and, his dark

eyes blazing, threw it aside. While the cavalier's face flushed at the

seeming indignity, and the Inca's with surprise and anger, he lifted his

own yellow diadem and placed it upon the Spaniard's brow. Seizing

Cristoval's hand, and facing the Inca and the Villac Vmu, he said

gravely, "My lords, I call upon you to witness that, by virtue of the

law of the Inca Tupac Yupanqui, I claim brotherhood with the Lord

Cristoval, an Inca of Tavantinsuyu by Privilege." He drew his dagger,

and with a quick movement slashed his own arm; then, glancing into

Cristoval's astonished eyes, wounded him at the wrist and, pressing

together the two gashes, joined the ruddy streams. "Thus," he

continued, solemnly, "have we a mingled blood! Only thine edict, Sapa

Inca, can dissolve this tie and abate the princely rights of the Auqui

Cristoval, whom I have made a brother."

It was a long minute before the monarch recovered from the prince's

unexpected action. The pause was hardly less dramatic. Manco looked

from one to the other, bereft of utterance, while the cavalier stood

silent, scarcely comprehending the significance of what had happened.

Paullo, gripping Cristoval's hand, with eyes still afire, waited for

Manco. The Inca's brow was clouded. Notwithstanding his gratitude and

friendship, the thought of admitting the Viracocha into the pure

Incarial line taxed his generosity. Had Paullo's move been less

impetuous he would have arrested it. But the thing was done, and to be

undone only by his own formal decree. Erect and attentive, Paullo

watched his brother with something nearing defiance, while the Villac

Vmu, after his first start of surprise, had remained with his eyes upon

the ground. To Cristoval the situation became intolerable, and he said

quietly, doffing the yellow _llautu_:--

"Sapa Inca, consider this as not having occurred, I pray you. Could I

have anticipated the Auqui Paullo's purpose it should have been

prevented.--Paullo," he continued, turning to the youth and placing his

hands upon his shoulders, "I thank thee more for thy generous intent

than for thy deed. Thy good-will hath taken the lead of thy sober

judgment; but I shall cherish the memory of it, do thou be sure, and

shall feel myself thy brother no less dearly bound to thee than thou

wouldst have made me. My Lord Inca Manco, I crave pardon for his

warm-hearted folly. Let it end thus, and permit me to retire."

Manco regarded him with grave thoughtfulness, wholly inscrutable. At

last he said abruptly to Paullo, "Assist the Lord Cristoval to his tent,

and have the nobles summoned at once." He bowed dismissal and they left

the tent.

During the remainder of the night the grim old warriors were gathered

about their young lord in council. Toward dawn Cristoval was roused by a

summons. The lamps were burning low when he paused at the door of the

Inca's tent, glancing at the circle of faces, some familiar, many

strange, but all turned toward him in stolid dignity and silence.

Paullo greeted and led him to the Inca. For the solemn expectancy about

him, Cristoval might have been approaching to receive the sentence of

death. Manco met his eyes in a swift glance, deep and inscrutable as

before, and took from the Villac Vmu the yellow _llautu_. He placed the

diadem upon the head of the cavalier, saying as he did so:--

"Witness, my lords! and give your homage to the Auqui Cristoval. It is

my will."

*CHAPTER XXXIX*

_*Again the Senora Descends*_

AS soon as Pedro was sufficiently recovered he was sent to Yucay. On

the morning of his departure the Inca, with Cristoval, Paullo, and

Mocho, entered his tent. Manco said farewell with a few warm words of

commendation and gratitude that brought a mist before the eyes of the

wounded cook, unclasping a gorget of pearls and emeralds. "Accept this,

brave Viracocha Pedro," he said, "as a part expression of mine esteem

and appreciation. It is but a trifle, but with it goeth much

good-will."

Pedro gasped at the princely gift and stammered, part in Quichua, part

in Spanish: "Why, stew--Nay, Senor Inca, I deserve it not! I am but

a--a comrade of this man Cristoval. What fighting I have done, I tell

you frankly, hath been mainly out of friendliness for him, and for the

sake of being along to keep him out of trouble. This, my Lord Inca, is

beyond my merits."

The Inca understood the gist of his words, and shook his head with a

slight smile. "Not so, Viracocha! Thy merit is the greater for thy

friendship. Thou shalt keep it. Farewell, and a quick recovery.

Thou'lt find good friends in Yucay." He gave the cook his hand and

departed abruptly to avoid his thanks.

Cristoval remained after the others, and Pedro stared at him blankly.

At length he said slowly: "Now, spit me through the middle with a

church-spire--I'd be less surprised! The man is reckless, Cristoval, or

knoweth not the market-worth of gems. Do thou draw him aside and advise

him that 't is a grand-duke's ransom, this bauble, and hand it back."

"Absurd, Pedro!" said Cristoval. "Rest thy mind, for 't is but a part

of what he intendeth for thee."

"But I tell thee, Cristoval, it will burden my conscience. Had I come by

it in honest looting in a Christian war--but this is akin to thievery.

Thou'lt take it back to him, _amigo_!"

"Assuredly not, Pedro! Wouldst give him offence?"

Pedro looked troubled. "He knoweth not its worth, Cristoval. Moreover,

should Pizarro learn that I have it, I'd not be safe a blessed minute.

I should be invaded, overrun with fire and sword; given up to wrack,

sack, and devastation; left a waste and ruin more ruinous than thou

see'st me now. I've suffered losses a-plenty, my friend--not counting

legs--without this novel liability. Do thou restore it."

"Gods, thou'rt a worried cook!--for a cook with a fortune in hand."

"Ah!" sighed Pedro. "_Crescentem sequitur cura pecuniam_--Horace,

Cristoval. Meaneth, care followeth upon increasing riches. Stew me--"

"Oh, _Madre_! Have done with thy plaints. Now be still whilst I give

thee a message to Rava."

"God bless her!" said Pedro, and after a pause, "I listen. But make it

not over long, and prithee, adapt its terms to the grossness of my

texture. No endearments, Cristoval, and no poetry!"

Cristoval blushed. "No, no!" he said quickly. "It will be short, and

suited to thy decorous taste, count upon it."

"Then I'll compass it. But as well put sugar-lumps and lollipops in a

mess of boiled cabbage as to fill me with blandiments for recitation.

I'm no troubadour, Cristoval. Bear that in mind."

"No fear, thou Spartan cook!" growled Cristoval, with a trace of

embarrassment. "I intend it all to be prose."

By the time his message ended, Pedro's _hamaca_ and escort were waiting.

In parting the cook said earnestly: "Now, Cristoval, in the name of all

the names of all the saints on the calendar, have a care for thyself!

Thou'rt as prone to misadventure as an unweaned calf. Remember, thou

hast one to be anxious for thee besides myself--and relatives! Dost

know how many, since thine adoption?"

"Thou meanest--"

"Thy foster-brothers, sisters, cousins, aunts, uncles, and

what-not--dost know how many?"

"I do not. I had not thought of it, Pedro."

"Not thought of it! of course not," returned Pedro, with irritation.

"'T is what I have said--always charging into trouble, head down and

eyes shut!" He regarded the cavalier with great disapproval. "On my

soul, I know not whether 't is prudent to leave thee, with thy

capacities for indiscretion! However--well--with the aid of the Indio

who hath attended me, I've figured this multitude kin of thine,

Cristoval, and Heaven fend thee from ever having them dependent upon thy

support! Man, we counted three hundred, and more to tally, and without

considering the concubines the Senor Inca is entitled by law to

acquire--and all of them royal, by the eternal broiler!" His expression

changed to commiseration. "Thou 'rt the worst relative-beridden

Christian in my knowledge, _amigo_! and but one among them who is not a

pagan! I tell thee, Cristoval, if thou dost rightly by thy family,

thou'lt give over soldiering and turn missionary! But farewell, old

friend, and God with thee! It grieveth me to leave thee."

Cristoval watched the _hamaca_ out of sight, stood looking into Pedro's

vacant tent, and returned slowly to his own.

In the palace of Yucay, in a chamber from which he could overlook the

verdant and beautiful valley, ministered to by solicitous attendants,

and visited by Rava, Pedro mended steadily. His gentle hostess spent

many hours beside his couch with her maids about her, busy with

embroidery and going white and red over it as he recounted Cristoval's

adventures, enumerated his virtues, and mildly deprecated his rashness.

Rava had daily messages by _chasqui_ from her cavalier, and repeated the

news, or brought the bearer himself. She had not seen Cristoval since

the removal of the barrier between them, but in her happiness and

implicit faith in her prayers for his safety, she waited with patience

for what now seemed assured. Of the ultimate triumph of the arms of

Tavantinsuyu she had no doubt.

One morning she came into Pedro's room with more than usual animation

and said with a smile: "Pedro, to-day thou shalt see two of thy friends.

I have sent for them, and have word of their coming. Canst think who

they are?"

"Two friends of mine, Nusta Rava? 'T is easily guessed. One is

Cristoval, but who the other--"

Rava shook her head archly. "Not so good a friend as Cristoval--but I

will tell thee. One is Father Tendilla, and the other--"

Pedro rose suddenly upon his elbow and startled her with his expression

as he whispered with explosive force, "Bolio?"

Rava surveyed him with concern, and replied gravely: "Father Tendilla

and my dear Margarita. I thought it would give thee pleasure."

Pedro sank back and drummed on the coverlet with his fingers. "Oh! It

doth, Nusta Rava. It doth give me pleasure. So would a fly-blister,

had I lumbago--a figure of speech, Senorita, give it no weight. Hum!

The senora!" He startled her again with a spasm intended for a smile,

and resumed with some constraint: "Ha! The senora, did you say, Senorita

Nusta? Stew--Well, the senora is a good soul, my head on't. A bit

rampant and superheated, look you, but altogether good-hearted, and

I'll--I'll be glad--be glad to see her once more--baste me with hot

tallow if I'll not--prithee, let that pass too: it hath no significance.

_Infierno_!--I--I mean, _Paraiso_! But," he raised himself again and

continued earnestly, "but, Nusta Rava, would you as lief have the

servants tell her I am full of holes and like to leak red gore in a

thousand places if so much as a finger be laid against me, or my nerves

be wrought upon? She is impulsive, Senorita, surcharged and

double-shotted with impulse, and when she findeth me in this present

state there is no knowing what sympathy may lead her to say, or

do.--Pure exuberance of feeling, mind you! but I misdoubt me if my

wasted frame would stand the stress.--And kindly have her told I am

subject to spells, of late, and ofttimes bite. And that--but, no: never

mind it--I'll advise the servants myself." Pedro lay back, quite

breathless, muttering: "The senora! The senora! Ah! diablo! This is

what cometh of being--But she is a kindly-hearted woman, and 't would be

graceless in me to deny it."

Rava, bewildered by his agitated effusion, much of it in Spanish,

gathered that he desired the senora to be warned of his enfeebled

condition, and having promised, withdrew. Pedro lay the rest of the

morning starting at faint sounds and perspiring freely.

At mid-afternoon a guide, two mules with riders, and a baggage-carrier

lightly burdened, ascended the zig-zag road through the park to the

palace. The leading animal was bestridden by a lady in native attire,

but wearing a Spanish sombrero in its last stages, riding with the

dignity of a _generalisimo_, a battle-axe at her saddle-bow. Behind,

rode the good Father Tendilla, his cassock yet more seedy, but the same

gentle-visaged priest. They were received with ceremony by a detachment

of the guard, but the lady rode past with elevated chin, and followed

the guide into the outer court. Rava was waiting with her attendants.

Upon espying her, the senora emitted a shout, muffled by the vigor of

her exertion in dismounting--on the wrong side--and in a second was

embraced, sombrero and all, and joyfully wept over, weeping herself, and

quite inarticulate.

"Oh, my honey-jar, my lady bird!" cried the overjoyed senora in Spanish.

"God bless thy dear heart, what a happiness to see thee! But I'm

covering thy pretty robes with dust! Oh, thou sweet baby! 'T is

thou--and handsome as a rose! Dainty as a fairy! 'T is good for one's

eyes to behold thee--now, is it not, Father? Come, let him see thee,

love. Is she not an angel?" The senora stopped suddenly and glanced

sternly about the court. "Ho! They've lugged off my mule and my

cleaver--"

"Thou'lt have no need for them, my daughter," said Father Tendilla,

quickly, and gave Rava his blessing. The senora forgot mule and cleaver

in a fresh outburst of delight, and Rava presently led to her

apartments. Here the effervescent lady was struck by the thought of

Pedro, of whose wounds she had learned at Ollantaytambo, and demanded to

be conducted to him forthwith. Rava sent one of her maids as guide.

The damsel endeavored to give warning of the injured man's condition;

but the senora's understanding of Quichua was limited, and her

eagerness, moreover, made her deaf, so the words created slight

impression.

Pedro heard the firm, rapid step, invoked a saint, and waited with beads

gathering upon his brow. As the lady swept--nay, swooped--across the

room with a cry of mingled joy and pity, the cook saw that his

precautions were ineffectual. He could have sworn that in another

second he should have been embraced; but with rare presence of mind he

raised a warning hand, fetched a dismal groan, rolled his eyes, and

gritted his teeth in so unearthly a fashion that the lady was brought up

with a shriek.

"God's mercy, Pedro! What--"

"Sit down!" commanded Pedro, in a voice supernormally strong for one, as

he seemed to be, _in articulo extremo mortis_. "Sit down!--No!--Farther

away!--On the floor--anywhere--but sit, woman, or I perish!"

He continued his ghastly symptoms until he saw the senora seated,

completely unnerved but foiled! Then he recovered quickly, sought his

kerchief, wiped a clamminess from his forehead, and observing her

pallor, said gently: "It is past, Senora. Be not alarmed. But hold!

Stay where thou art, or it will come again. Move not a finger!"

"_Santa Maria_! Pedro, dear," she said, tearfully, "I thought thee

dying. Thou 'rt dreadfully hurt, my love?"

"I am a very sieve, Senora!" replied Pedro, in a hollow voice. "So full

of holes that I cannot cast a decent shadow! So weighted with copper

slugs, leaden balls, and scraps of iron from Candia's guns that I could

be molten up and cast into a fair culverin of bronze."

"Ah, pity of Heaven!" sobbed the lady, rocking herself. "I fear thou

liest to some extent, Pedro, but I knew harm was to come of it when I

left thee with that bandit, Cristoval. But may I not come nearer,

_chiquito_?"

"Presently," said Pedro, softened, "but approach by easy stages, and not

too near. I am better, my dear. Take heart, now, there's a good soul;

and we will talk--but at a distance, look thou! or I'll be thrown into a

fit. Hast been well?"

"As well," said the senora, drying her eyes, "as a lone woman in an

infidel country with naught but a cleaver to give her courage o' nights

and a helpless innocent of a priest to look after like a baby, and not a

dress fit to put on her back save this, borrowed from a heathen woman

whose name I cannot pronounce, could be."

"Ah!" said Pedro, with sympathy.

"Thou didst wrong to leave me, Pedro, and see what it hath come to! But

who fired the gun at thee? I'll seek him out, as he liveth!"

"Now, toast me on a bodkin!" retorted Pedro. "Dost fancy I went back to

ask his name? It would have escaped me by percolation had I heard it.

I was a-leak on all sides, top and bottom, like a lobster-pot

fresh-hauled. So thoroughly did he riddle me, Senora, that I could not

have held a secret grief, or a good intention. But let the man go, my

dear. He that loaded the gun hath half the responsibility."

"I'll find them both!" said the lady, with resolution.

The entrance of Father Tendilla ended the conversation, and Pedro heaved

a sigh of relief. Thereafter, the senora usurped the role of nurse,

chiding him gently for exaggerating his hurts when she learned their

real extent, but caring for him faithfully.

Week after week the siege went on, fierce, bloody, and relentless.

Sorties were attempted, savagely opposed. The defences of the Spaniards

were assaulted, fought over with the fury of hate and desperation, and

the assailants repulsed. To the Peruvians, the loss in each attack was

sickening, but they returned with valor undaunted, until the Inca in

humanity ordered a cessation and determined to reduce the enemy by

famine.

Cristoval, in the meanwhile, yet unfit to resume his armor, gave his

time to training a number of warriors in the riding school and the use

of arms on horseback. Fearless, agile, and adaptable, they acquired the

horseman's art with the readiness with which it was learned by the

tribes of the North American plains, and by constant drill the cavalier

produced a squad of riders, equipped with captured arms and mail, which

was destined to prove formidable. The Peruvians, trained with the

battle-axe and shield, easily exchanged these for mace and buckler; but

Cristoval soon found that for a skilful use of the lance months would be

required, and he was forced to see that weapon laid aside. Of all his

pupils, none was so apt as the Inca Manco.

Thus Cristoval passed his convalescence, striving by incessant activity

to hold his impatient longing. Twice only, after his strength returned,

he rode to Yucay for a few brief hours of happiness.

The winter months passed and spring was at hand. Within the beleaguered

city conditions grew desperate. Provisions, which had long been growing

scanty, were almost exhausted, and the Spaniards faced starvation. They

had hoped, watched, vowed many a pious vow, prayed many a fervent

prayer, for reenforcements from the coast; but the expeditions sent by

Francisco Pizarro for their relief had been entrapped in the mountains

and driven back or annihilated. A few weeks must seal the fate of the

besieged, and Hernando was already importuned by his cavaliers to lead

in a final effort to cut through the investing lines and escape with his

starveling remnant. Not he! He swore, and the stoutest of his men swore

with him, to fight while strength remained to wield a blade.

But while the Spaniards were meeting in gloomy council the Inca was

confronted by a situation no less grave.

Near the middle of a chill, clear night in the early spring, in the

fifth month of the siege, Cristoval, now fully recovered, rode across

the parade in front of the Inca's tent, and dismissed his native

troopers. For a week he had been guarding the Cuntisuyu road,

suspecting a Spanish design to break through the lines. He had laid off

his helmet when a messenger summoned him to the Inca. Cristoval found

Manco alone, pacing his tent with bent head, his face more deeply

clouded than the cavalier had ever seen it. His expression lightened at

sight of the man who had become nearer a comrade than any had ever been

before, and he said gravely: "I have sent for thee, Cristoval, to

entrust thee with a mission which, in other circumstances thou wouldst

have found most welcome. Now it will be as painful to thee, I know, my

friend and brother, as it is to me. It is this. Thou wilt ride to

Yucay--wilt set out to-night. Arriving there, thou'lt conduct the

household forthwith to the security of the fortress at Ollantaytambo."

Cristoval started. Was Yucay insecure? In Heaven's name, what could

make it so, with the Spaniards held like starving rats? Manco read his

question, and answered it bluntly:--

"We must raise the siege, Cristoval!"

Cristoval was aghast, unable to believe.

"We must raise the siege!" repeated Manco, steadily.

Cristoval put out his hand for the support of the table. When at last

he spoke his voice was harsh and unnatural. "Raise the siege! Raise

the siege--at this moment--when victory is within your grasp? By God,

man, it must not be! Who hath advised this folly?"

Manco raised his hand. "It must be! I have held council all this day

and to-night."

"Your counsellors--have they been stricken with madness?" cried the

cavalier. "Do they not know--"

"My friend," interrupted the Inca, placing a hand upon Cristoval's

shoulder, "my counsellors know what it is not possible that thou

shouldst know--that Tavantinsuyu is menaced by a foe more ruthless than

the one in yonder city. This hour hath been long foreseen, and now it

is come. Hunger is abroad!"

"Your stanchest ally!" interjaculated Cristoval.

"An ally, but one ready to turn most cruelly against us! Hear me,

Cristoval! It is not yet with us, with the army, though thou hast seen

the meagre fare our braves have had these many days, and hast been in

want, thyself. But there is a graver peril. Thou knowest, the season of

planting is at hand. The fields are waiting. Every province of the

empire hath been denuded of its men, and only women, children, and the

feeble, are left to till the soil. The time is short, and if the grain

be not sowed, a calamity will follow, blacker in its horror than that of

war, which taketh only lives of men. Starvation recketh neither of sex

nor age. The siege must end."

Manco spoke with calmness. His face had paled, but otherwise his

emotion was unbetrayed. Cristoval heard him in silence. The Inca's

words, he knew, were final, Rhadamanthine; once spoken, not to be

opposed by human tongue. Manco resumed:--

"So it must be, Cristoval. The magazines are exhausted--I learned it

finally to-day,--and even the archers are in need of arrows. My

warriors will march to their provinces with famine attendant, but--they

must go. I am defeated! O, great Inti, why--" His words ended, and he

turned abruptly away. Cristoval sank into a chair and bowed his head

upon his hands. To disband the army now would mean disaster

irremediable. He sprang up with fiery, urgent words, but they were

stayed by Manco who faced him again with every trace of agitation gone:

"I said, defeated! Forget that the word was spoken. Whilst life is

spared me, and I have a warrior left to follow, there shall be no

defeat. But now, Cristoval, thou wilt go. By midday to-morrow thou'lt

have overtaken a force which marched to-day. At Yucay, all will be in

readiness. Word hath gone forward, and as soon as the palace is

abandoned it will be stripped of all that yonder vultures crave. Having

seen the household safely at Ollantaytambo, thou'lt return. I will

remain near Cuzco with some force, for the enemy shall find that peace

is not yet. Now go, and Heaven speed thee. Farewell."

As Cristoval left the tent he turned. The Inca stood in thought, his

dark, handsome face as calm as if his brave heart were untouched by

disaster, untorn by myriad cares and sorrows. He waved his hand, and

Cristoval left him to the brooding silence of the night--and God alone

knows what hours of anguish.

As the cavalier rode forth in the starlight he looked upon a dark,

prophetic vision of the future of the fair empire for which he had been

fighting. Tavantinsuyu was doomed. Doomed--he saw it now--from the

moment Pizarro had set his foot upon its soil. The Spaniards would

crowd to its shores like ravening wolves, and before the army could be

recalled to the field it would be too late. He knew the indomitable

resolution of his countrymen, their resources, and their driving

rapacity, too well to hope the Inca could ever regain the advantage now

to be put aside. Unless crushed at what was yet its beginning, the

conquest would never be abandoned. And too thoroughly did Cristoval

know the nature of his race to foresee anything but cruel oppression for

the conquered. He looked with clearer prevision than could the stricken

monarch into the blackness of the years to come.

The meeting of the lovers at Yucay was in joy and grief. Cristoval

strove to inspire a hope he could not share, but when Rava took

sorrowful leave of the palace it was with an intuition that she would

never enter it again. At Ollantaytambo their parting was in grief

alone, and the cavalier rode back to Cuzco followed by many a tearful

prayer.

Pedro's fighting days were done, and as he stood on the rampart of the

fortress, watching his old comrade's departure, the receding figure grew

dim to him by reason of something more than dust and distance.

*CHAPTER XL*

_*Glory and Peace*_

We shall be brief with the last scenes of the tragedy of Tavantinsuyu.

It was night when Cristoval arrived at the heights overlooking Cuzco,

and the city lay dark and silent below. But the vast circle of the

fires of the besieging host sparkled no more. The army had vanished.

He found a remnant among the hills, picked warriors of the empire, led

by Manco, and chosen to die in its last burst of glory.

There were long weeks of fighting about the city; fierce dashes by the

Spaniards, driven by famine from their lair among the ruins, more

fiercely resisted by the watchful Manco, to be many times hunted back

with shattered ranks. The Inca's small body of horsemen grew as steeds

were captured from the foragers, and it met the raiders in more than one

sharp encounter and pursuit ending only in the environs of the city.

But at last came reenforcements from Francisco, and Manco withdrew to

Ollantaytambo to rest and recruit his battle-worn warriors, leaving

Cristoval with his riders and a small command of Antis to watch. Not

many days later, it was learned from a captured Canare that the

Spaniards were planning an attack in force on Ollantaytambo. Assured of

the information, Cristoval joined the Inca for its defence. They had

not long to wait. With a strong body of cavalry and infantry, Hernando

made a stealthy detour through the mountains in the valley of the

Urubamba. He approached the fortress under cover of darkness and

attacked at dawn, confident of taking it by surprise. Before midday his

column was flying for Cuzco, defeated, demoralized, and in utter rout,

with the Inca in hot pursuit.

Once more Cristoval's band of horsemen and Mocho's Antis were scouring

the valley of Cuzco, lurking in the hills and passes, striking now here,

now there; and intercepting, scattering, or destroying, the parties

which need of food or greed of plunder led from the city. Informed by

vigilant scouts of every move of the enemy, and guided by men familiar

with every ravine and mountain trail, he struck often and with terrible

unexpectedness. Repeatedly the Pizarros sent, and even led, in chase,

always fruitlessly, or with disaster. If the swift-moving band was

encountered, it was in some position of its leader's own choosing which

more than offset the Spaniards' advantage of numbers. The cry, "_El

Renegado!_"--for so Cristoval became known--grew to be one of terror;

and raised suddenly in a party of marauders, it carried panic. Impelled

by the wrongs of his adopted people--those suffered in the past, and

blacker ones which he knew were to follow--he fought with reckless fury.

One night, while in bivouac a few leagues from Cuzco, a _chasqui_

brought Cristoval a summons to Ollantaytambo with his command. The

first thought of the cavalier was of the joy of seeing Rava. The next,

an undefined disquiet. Before dawn he was on the march.

It was late when he entered the fortress, to be taken immediately to

Manco's chamber. Paullo was with the Inca, and both embraced the

cavalier with affection, the Inca adding a warm appreciation of his zeal

and intrepidity. Paullo retired to apprise Rava. Manco regarded the

march-stained soldier in rusty armor and said with less than his usual

calm, but without the former gloom:--

"Cristoval, my brother, I have sent for thee to entrust another mission.

Once more thou wilt take my loved ones to a place of safety. At dawn I

leave with a few followers for a stronghold in the mountains of

Apurimac, there to await the moment for reassembling my army. For the

present, Ollantaytambo must be abandoned, and my few remaining troops

disbanded. My last granary, my last armory, my last resource, have been

exhausted.--But, my friend," he went on, with increased energy, and

taking the cavalier by the arm, "think not that Manco hath

succumbed!--nor that his sword will sleep through the months of

waiting."

"Then I should be among your followers, my lord," said Cristoval.

"Nay! Thou'lt serve me better for the present in another way.

Safeguard my dear ones. It is a trust which I can confide to thee as to

none other. Paullo is but a boy. I ask the greatest service thou canst

render, for thy sword, now, can aid me little."

"But when the time cometh--"

"Then I will call upon it, brave Cristoval," replied Manco, taking his

hand. "But now, concerning a refuge: I have thought of Xilcala. I was

there when a boy."

Cristoval flushed with sudden feeling, and the valley with all its

beauty, its dear associations and memories, rose before him.

"It is remote from Cuzco," continued Manco; "and as I remember it, could

be easily defended."

"A handful of men could hold it against an army," replied Cristoval,

positively.

"Then to Xilcala, and Heaven guide thy way! Mocho will escort with his

Antis, and thou'lt take thy riders, to hold them there until I call

thee. They cannot serve me now, for I shall be in the mountains. Mocho

will join me with his men in Apurimac. And now, go to Rava, who will be

waiting. I will be with you in an hour." He paused, and regarding the

cavalier earnestly, added, "I would, Cristoval, see you both

happy--before I say farewell."

Cristoval flushed again. "God bless thee, Manco!--God bless thee! I--I

will say a word to Rava."

Rava waited alone. As far as her door, but not beyond, we will follow

the eager steps of Cristoval, then await, with what patience we may, the

consequence of their meeting and tender duologue.

And the consequence was this. Within the hour Cristoval tore himself

away, and in a condition of agreeable agitation, sought Pedro, who had

expected his comrade's arrival, and had not retired. The cavalier's

mood, as infectious as it was agreeable, seized upon the cook; and the

cook, after interjections of the sort peculiar to himself stumped out in

quest of Father Tendilla. The good priest was asleep, but straightway

became broad awake, fell prey to the infection, and arose precipitately.

From Father Tendilla, Pedro went to the door of Senora Bolio, not

without trepidation. The Senora was likewise asleep, but after the

fourth knock came to the door--far from being forgetful of her

cleaver--and opened it to the slight degree consistent with modesty, or

caution, or both. Pedro imparted his item of intelligence.

The senora uttered a cry of delight, and, both incautiously and

immodestly, threw wide the door. "Is it so, Pedro? Is it so? Oh, the

dear angel of a girl! Oh, Pedro, thou 'rt the best and wisest of men!"

And in the exuberance of her joy the worst befell Pedro. He was

embraced. "Pedro, thou 'rt a love!"

"Fiends, woman!" cried the cook, wrenching himself free, "'t is no doing

of mine! They brought it upon themselves."

"Oh, do I not know that, thou simple! But had it not been for thee,

they never would! I will come at once, Pedro, dear."

Pedro retired, not only agitated, but disarranged, mentally and

otherwise.

Between midnight and dawn, within the dim, starlit ramparts of the

ancient stronghold of Ollanta, was a Christian wedding. Strange the

place, yet more strange the assemblage gathered to witness: A

stern-visaged young pagan monarch with softened eyes beaming beneath a

crimson _llautu_; about him, a score of grim, war-worn nobles of

Tavantinsuyu with scars fresh from recent conflict; a throng of

dark-haired women in loose-flowing robes and adorned with barbaric

splendor. A Spaniard with but one leg, and a Spanish senora were there;

the former glowing pleasantly with the sentiments of a genial heart; the

other weeping with that mixture of feminine emotions inspired by such

occasions, which must forever remain inscrutable to man.

Again a declining day in the fair Vale of Xilcala. Approaching by the

gorge and nearing its head, is a column of the Inca's warriors, some of

them mounted and clad in Viracocha mail, and escorting a train of

_hamacas_. It is led by a cavalier whose armor bears many a mark of

hostile blade unknown when he rode out from the valley, long and stormy

months ago. The command halts at his signal, and riding back to one of

the _hamacas_, he dismounts and assists its precious burden to alight.

Together they walk forward to the edge of the lake, and Rava looks long

and dreamily over its unruffled surface and mirrored mountains. There

is the rocky promontory with its crowning of roofs and soft-gleaming

walls; the gently-sloping shores with their fields and groves; the

_andenes_ clinging to the lower steeps, and the pinnacles towering

above; and far across the valley, a hazy canyon from which these

two--long ago, it seems to them now--looked out over the welcome

peacefulness. The sheltering peaks are touched with rose; blue,

transparent shadows are stealing up the eastern scarp; and across the

still reflections creeps one thin, silvery arrow in the wake of a balsa

urged shoreward by a fisherman. His distant, plaintive song floats

across the lake and breaks into the murmur of the near-by stream. No

other movement in all the tranquillity; no other sound, unless the

whispered, liquid notes of the rippling on the pebbles of the beach.