WHAT THE MONK TOLD THEM.
"By all that's wonderful!" exclaimed Merry, as he beheld his brother. "I
thought I must be dreaming when I heard you singing. Dick, how did you
come here?"
"I heard nothing from you, Frank," was the reply. "I didn't know for
sure that you had received my message. I did know that Felicia was in
trouble and in danger, and so I resolved to hasten to her at once. When
I reached San Diego I found she was gone and that you had been there
ahead of me. I have been seeking to overtake you ever since. This
afternoon we saw you far away in the valley, although we could not be
certain it was you. You had a companion. We thought it might be Bart
Hodge."
Dick had made this explanation hastily, after the affectionate meeting
between the brothers.
"It was not Hodge," said Frank; "far from it! It was a man I fell in
with on the trail, and a most treacherous individual he proved to be."
Then he told of the encounter with Dulzura's ruffianly crew, upon
hearing which Dick's companion of the trail uttered a cry.
"Whoop!" he shouted. "That certain was a hot old scrimmage. Great
tarantulas! Why didn't we come up in time to get into the fracas!
Howling tomcats! but that certain would have been the real stuff! And
you beat the whole bunch off, did you, Mr. Merriwell? That's the kind of
timber the Merriwells are made of! You hear me gently warble!"
"Hello, Buckhart!" exclaimed Frank, as the chap swung down from the
saddle. Brad Buckhart and Dick Merriwell were chums at the Fardale
Military Academy, and Frank knew him for one of the pluckiest young
fellows he had ever met. Buckhart was a Texan through and through.
"Put her there, Mr. Merriwell," said Brad, as he extended his hand--"put
her there for ninety days! It does my optics a heap of good to rest them
on your phiz. But I'll never get over our late arrival on the scene of
action."
"We knew you were here somewhere, Frank, when we heard you join in 'Fair
Fardale,'" said Dick.
"And by that sound the greasers knew I had friends coming," added Merry.
"It stopped them and sent them scurrying off in a hurry."
"Where are they now?" asked Brad. "Why don't they sail right out here
and light into us? Oh, great horn spoon! I haven't taken in a red-hot
fight for so long that I am all rusty in the joints."
"Where is Felicia, Frank?" anxiously asked Dick.
Merry shook his head.
"I can't answer that question yet," he confessed. "I have followed her
thus far; of that I am satisfied, for otherwise I don't believe these
men would have attacked me."
Through the shadows a dark figure came slowly toward them from the
direction of the mission building.
"Whoever is this yere?" exclaimed Buckhart.
"It's the old priest," said Merry, as he saw the cloaked and hooded
figure.
The old man was once more leaning on his crooked staff, which Merry had
dropped as he hastened to meet his brother. Even in the gathering
darkness there was about him an air of agitation and excitement.
"My son," he said, in a trembling voice, still speaking in Spanish, "I
hope you are not harmed."
"Whatever is this he is shooting at you?" inquired Buckhart. "Is it
Choctaw or Chinese?"
Paying no attention to Brad, Merry questioned the monk, also speaking in
Spanish.
"Father," he said, "who were those men, and how came they to be here?"
"My son, I knew not that there were so many of them. Two came to me to
pray in the mission. The others, who were hidden outside, I saw not
until they appeared. Why did they attack you?"
"Because they are wicked men, father, who have stolen from her home a
little girl. I am seeking her, hoping to restore her to her friends."
"This is a strange story you tell me, my son. Who is the child, and why
did they take her from her home?"
"There's much mystery about it, father. She's the daughter of a Spanish
gentleman, who became an exile from his own country. There are reasons
to suppose she may be an heiress. Indeed, that seems the only
explanation of her singular abduction. I have traced her hither, father.
Can you tell me anything to assist in my search?"
The old man shook his hooded head, his face hidden by deep shadows.
"Nothing, my son--nothing," he declared, drawing a little nearer, as if
to lay his hand upon Frank. "I would I could aid you."
Suddenly, to the astonishment of both Dick and Brad, Merry flung himself
upon the monk, grasping his wrist and dropping him in a twinkling. He
hurled the agitated recluse flat upon his back and knelt upon his chest.
"Frank! Frank!" palpitated Dick. "What are you doing? Don't hurt him!"
"Strike a match, one of you," commanded Merry. "Give us a look at his
face."
The man struggled violently, but Frank's strength was too much for him,
and he was pinned fast.
Dick quickly struck a match and bent over, shading it with his hands,
flinging the light downward upon the face of the man Merry held.
"Just as I thought!" Merry exclaimed, in satisfaction, as the light
showed him, not the features of the old monk, but those of a much
younger man, with dark complexion and a prominent triangular scar on his
right cheek. "This is not the holy father. He couldn't deceive me with
his attempt to imitate the father's voice. I have seen this gentleman on
a previous occasion. He dogged my steps in San Diego after I left Rufus
Staples' house."
It was, in truth, the same man Merry had warned on the street corner in
San Diego. The little wretch swore savagely in Spanish and glared at his
captors.
"Spare your breath, my fine fellow," said Frank. "Profanity will not
help you."
"Well, whatever was the varmint trying to do?" cried Buckhart. "I
certain thought he was going to bless you."
"He would have blessed me with a knife between my ribs had I been
deceived by him," asserted Merriwell. "In my saddlebags you will find
some stout cord. Give it to me."
A few moments later, in spite of his occasional struggles, the captured
rascal was securely bound.
"There," said Merry, "I think that will hold you for a while. Now, boys,
I am going to see what has become of the holy father. This is his
cloak."
"You're not going back there alone," protested Dick, at once.
"Not on your life!" agreed Buckhart. "We are with you, Frank."
They followed him into the yard, where the darkness was now deep, and
came together to the entrance of the mission, but without discovering
anything of the aged monk. Standing in the corridor, they peered in at
the yawning door, but could see or hear nothing. Frank called to the
monk, but only echoes answered him from the black interior of the
mission.
"Here's where you may get all the fight you want, Buckhart," he said
grimly. "Be ready for anything, boys."
"I am a heap ready, you bet your boots!" answered the Texan, who had a
pistol in his hand.
"Same here," said Dick.
Frank struck a match on the cemented wall. A cold wind from the interior
of the building came rushing through the open door and blew it out. It
was like the breath of some dangerous, unseen monster hidden within the
mission. Merry promptly struck another match. This time he shaded it
with his hands and protected it until it sprang into a strong glow.
Then, with his hands concaved behind it, he advanced through the
doorway, throwing its light forward. Almost immediately an exclamation
escaped his lips, for a few feet within, lying on the cold floor, he
discovered a human form. As he bent over the figure, he saw to his
dismay it was the monk from whose body the brown cloak had been
stripped.
Then the match went out.
"Is he dead, Frank?" whispered Dick.
"I can't tell," answered Merry. "I didn't get a fair look at him. We
will know in a moment."
He lighted another match and bent over the prostrate man. The light
showed him the eyes of the monk fixed stonily on his face. It also
showed him that a gag had been forced between the old man's teeth and
fastened there. The father was bound securely with a lariat.
"He is far from dead!" exclaimed Merry, in satisfaction. "Here, Dick,
cut this rope and set him free. Get that gag out of his mouth, while I
hold matches for you to do so."
Soon the rope was cut, the gag removed, and together they lifted the old
man to his feet. Frank then picked him up and carried him out into the
open air.
"You seem to have met with misfortune, father," he said. "I sincerely
hope you are not harmed much."
"My son," quavered the agitated monk, "it is not my body that is harmed;
it is my spirit. Against no living creature in all the world would I
raise my hand. Why should any one seize me and choke me in such a
manner? Much less, why should any who profess to be of the holy faith do
such a thing?"
"They were frauds, father--frauds and rascals of the blackest dye."
"But two of them came here to pray," murmured the priest, as if he could
not believe such a thing possible. "Have we not suffered indignities
enough? Our lands have been taken from us and we have been stripped of
everything."
"They were infidels, father. You may be sure of that."
"Infidels and impostors!" exclaimed the old man, with a slight show of
spirit. "But I couldn't think men who spoke the language of old Spain
and who prayed to Heaven could be such base creatures."
"What they certain deserve," growled Buckhart, unable to repress his
indignation longer, "is to be shot up a whole lot, and I'd sure like the
job of doing it."
"I don't understand it--I cannot understand it!" muttered the monk.
"It's far beyond me to comprehend. Why did they set upon me, my son?" he
questioned, his unsteady hand touching Frank's arm. "Why did they seek
to slay you?"
"Wait a minute, father, and I will explain," said Merry.
He then told briefly of the abduction of Felicia and his pursuit of her
captors. As he spoke, the aged listener betrayed some signs of
excitement.
"My son, is all this true?" he solemnly questioned. "You are not one of
our faith, yet your words ring true."
"I swear it, father."
"Then I have been twice deceived!" cried the old man, with surprising
energy, shaking his hands in the empty air. "Yesterday there came here
two men and a sweet-faced child. They told me they were taking her home.
I believed them. With her they knelt at the shrine to pray. I blessed
them, and they went on their way."
"At last!" burst from Merry's lips. "Now there's no question. Now we
know we're on the right trail! Father, that little girl is a cousin of
my half-brother here. He will tell you if I have spoken the truth."
"Every word of it is true," affirmed Dick, who spoke Spanish as fluently
as Frank. "If you can tell us whither they were taking her, father, you
may aid us greatly in our search for her."
"Alas! it is not possible for me to tell you! I know that they were
bound eastward. Beyond these mountains are the great San Bernardino
plains, a mighty and trackless desert. Where they could go in that
direction I cannot say."
"Is it possible to cross the desert?" questioned Dick.
"It is a waste of burning sand. Who tries to cross it on foot or mounted
is almost certain to leave his bones somewhere in that desert."
"Then if they kept straight on----"
"If they kept straight on," said the old monk, "I fear greatly you will
never again behold the child you seek."
"They are not fools!" exclaimed Frank. "It is not likely they will try
to cross the desert. The fact that they have taken so much trouble to
endeavor to check pursuit here is proof they felt hard pushed. Is there
no town, no human habitation beyond these mountains?"
"No town," declared the father. "Straight over to the east you will come
to the El Diablo Valley. It is deep and wild, and in it are some ruined
buildings of stone and cement. Tradition says they were built long ago
by Joaquin Murietta, a Californian outlaw, who waged war on all
Americans. He expected to retreat there some day and defend himself
against all assailants. At least, so the legend runs, although I much
doubt if he built the castle which is now called Castle Hidalgo. Of late
it has another occupant, who has taken the name of Joaquin--Black
Joaquin he is called."
"Well, this is somewhat interesting, too," declared Merry. "Is this new
Joaquin endeavoring to follow in the footsteps of his predecessor?"
"I believe there is a price upon his head."
Merry turned to Dick with sudden conviction.
"Our trail leads to Castle Hidalgo," he asserted. "I am satisfied of
that. I am also satisfied that I have here encountered some of Black
Joaquin's satellites."
"And I will wager something," Dick added, "that we have one of them this
minute, bound hand and foot, a short distance away."
"That's right," said Frank, "and we may be able to squeeze a little
information from him. Father, the man who has your cloak is outside the
gate. Perhaps you may know him. Come and look at him."
Together they left the yard and came to the spot where the man with the
scar was supposed to be. On the ground lay the old monk's cloak, but the
man was gone. Undoubtedly he had been set free by some of his comrades.