ZUERA.
She came in quickly, motioning for Ephraim to close the door behind her.
Then she hurried to Frank, caught his hand, bent and kissed it,
murmuring, in Spanish:
“My preserver! Brave American!”
Frank felt the hot blood rush into his face. He drew his hand away
swiftly but gently.
“Señorita!” he exclaimed.
She turned her dark eyes up to his. He saw the glow of admiration deep
in their ebon depths.
“Ah, but you are brave, señor!” she half whispered, half murmured. “But
you must have fought the bulls before?”
“Never.”
“Then it is wonderful!”
“I never saw a bull fight before.”
“Wonderful!”
She still wore the gay dress of the bull ring. Over this she had thrown
a cloak. As he looked at her now he wondered more than ever that this
beautiful girl, who appeared so refined and gentle, should be the “Queen
of the Bull Fighters.”
She seemed to read his thoughts, and her face, which had been somewhat
pale on entering, slowly became crimson, while the long, dark lashes
drooped over those eyes of pellucid black.
“Do not look at me like that!” she entreated. “I know it must seem
strange to you—an American. My father was a bull fighter, and, when he
was crippled, he taught me to become a picadore. Thus I have been able
to support him. He is dead now, and I am alone. I must live. With one
exception, I am the only female bull fighter in Spain. It pays so very
well that I have thought I might soon be able to leave the ring
forever.”
“If you are not killed.”
“To-day came my first accident. But for you the bull must have finished
me. Villasca lost his head; Barbastro would not come to my aid. I was
stunned. Then you came.”
“Who is Barbastro?”
“He is one of the espadas.”
“Why wouldn’t he come to your rescue?”
“He hates me.”
“Hates you?”
“Yes, señor.”
“Such a thing seems incomprehensible. Why does he hate you?”
She hesitated a moment, and then, with a sudden burst of confidence, she
explained:
“He insulted me once, señor, and I cut him across the face with a whip.
He has told me often that he hoped I might be killed by one of the
bulls. He has said he would not lift a hand to save me.”
“The wretch!” cried Frank, in indignation. “I wondered that some one did
not rush to your assistance.”
“Barbastro was the one who should have done so, and now you know why he
did not.”
The hot blood was in her face. It had cost her something to tell this.
“But it is not Barbastro you have to fear, señor,” she went on, swiftly.
“I came here to warn you.”
“Of whom?”
“Villasca.”
“Ah!”
“He has sworn to kill you.”
The professor had been listening. He understood Spanish very well, and
now he cried:
“I told you, Frank! We should get out of Madrid at once.”
Frank motioned for him to be silent.
“I presume Villasca is enraged because I was fortunate in saving
you—because I happened to kill the bull when he failed.”
“That is one reason; but there is another.”
“Another?”
“Yes, señor.”
“What?”
Again she hesitated. Now she was more than ever confused. She fastened
her eyes on the floor, and her little foot tapped the carpet nervously.
“I beg your pardon, señorita,” said the boy, with swift intuition. “I
fear I have no right to question you so closely. I did not know.”
“It is right,” came hastily from her lips. “You should know, and so I
must tell you. You will better understand your peril.”
Still she hesitated, seeming to find it an awkward subject to approach.
Ephraim began to grin. Whistling softly, he walked to the window and
looked out. The sun was setting, and twilight was coming on in the
square below. Lights were twinkling. Throngs of people were returning
slowly and soberly from the bull fights. It seemed that they had spent
all their enthusiasm. They were not calling to each other, and there was
no sound of merry laughter. It seemed an entirely different crowd from
the hilarious throng that had rushed to the fights some hours before.
After some moments of confusion, Zuera spoke:
“Señor, it is like this: Villasca has been much with me since Señor
Menandez was forced to fly from the country.”
“Señor Menandez? You must understand that I do not know all these people
who are known to you.”
She made a gesture that seemed to say she was resolved to tell him
everything.
“Raphael Menandez is my lover,” came softly from her lips. “He is very
handsome, but he is a revolutionist, and he was for giving up Cuba. He
was accused of inciting the people to revolt. The queen issued an order
for his arrest and imprisonment; but he heard of it—he was informed by
friends—and he fled from the country. Since then Señor Villasca has
sought to take his place.”
Frank was relieved to learn that this girl had a lover. A romance
interested him, and Señorita Zuera had a romance. He realized that he
had not even asked her to sit down, and he did so without delay, but she
declined, saying she could not stop.
“Villasca is furiously jealous,” she declared. “He followed me here. At
this minute he may be watching in the square below.”
She approached the window, and peered forth cautiously. After some
moments she exclaimed:
“Yes, señor—there he is—there by the fountain! I knew he had followed
me. Still I do not think he saw me enter the hotel.”
“The rascal!” exclaimed Frank, hotly. “Can it be that he meditates doing
you some harm? If I thought he did——”
“No, no—not that! He will not harm me, for he knows I carry a dagger,
and I would not hesitate to strike. It is you, señor—he will try to kill
you! You are an American, and Antonio Villasca would find a way to
escape justice. He would be shielded. You must leave Madrid!”
“I told you! I told you!” broke in Professor Scotch. “We will leave
Madrid this very night, señorita.”
“If you leave Madrid to-night, you will go alone,” came quietly from
Frank’s lips. “I do not fancy running away like a frightened hare. I
have decided to remain in this city as long as I am permitted to stay
here by the government.”
The little man wrung his hands.
“When I get you back to the United States I shall throw up my job as
your guardian!” he cried.
Frank smiled.
“You will change your mind, professor. You know it is necessary for me
to have some sort of a guardian, and you come in very handy. We will
talk this matter over later.”
Frank had looked from the window and observed Villasca lounging by the
fountain in the square. He was watching the hotel with the eye of a
hawk.
“You do not fear Villasca?” said Zuera.
“Not at all,” was the calm answer, in which there was not the least sign
of boasting.
“I believe you!” she cried. “You did not fear the bull! And you killed
him with the first stroke! It was beautiful! I had thought the Americans
all cowards—now I know there is one who is brave—very brave!”
“Thank you,” he bowed. “There are others. Do you know where Señor
Menandez is at the present time?”
“In England. He is going to the United States. His own country has made
him an outcast, and he will labor for Cuba.”
“And was he also a bull fighter?”
“Oh, no, señor! Had he cared to enter the fights, he would have become
the greatest espada in Spain.”
“Do you expect to join him?”
“Some time, señor.”
“And Villasca——”
An expression of scorn came to her face.
“Bah!” she cried, with an outflinging of one hand. “Never need he speak
to me again! I shall have nothing to say to him. He is in disgrace.
Señor Rodriguez, who manages the bull fights, has told Villasca that he
would have him no more.”
“And he will be all the more desperate because of that. Señorita,
something tells me that you have cause to look out for Villasca. If he
is really in love with you, he may go to desperate straits. You need a
protector. Señor Menandez should be here.”
“Do not fear for me, but look out for yourself, Señor Merriwell. I have
warned you, and now I will go.”
Still she seemed reluctant to leave him. Her eyes smiled up into his,
and he thought he had never before seen such wonderful eyes. At last,
with a sudden impulse, she gave him her hand. Then she turned to go.
As Frank was accompanying her to the door, there came a sudden, sharp
knock.
Zuera stopped abruptly, betraying agitation. Her hand dropped on Frank’s
arm.
“If it should be Villasca!” she whispered.
“He will meet with a warm reception,” said the boy, as he strode toward
the door, which he unhesitatingly flung open.
A small man, in plain clothes, stood at the door. He was a stranger to
Frank, but Zuera recognized him instantly.
“Señor Rodriguez!” she exclaimed, in great surprise.
“Señorita Zuera!” cried the man, with an astonished lifting of the
eyebrows.
Plainly he had not expected to see her there.
Frank looked from one to the other, and then, bowing politely, he
invited the man to enter. The boy was still ready to defend Zuera if
needs be, but something told him it was not necessary.
Rodriguez came in, hat in hand. His eyes were keen and restless, his
step brisk, and his manner that of a man of business.
“I hardly thought to find you here, señorita,” he said.
“And I did not fancy I should meet you here, señor,” she returned, with
a faint smile. “I came to express my thanks to the brave young
American.”
“Very good. I came to express my admiration of his skill, and to make
him a business proposition.”
Frank pricked up his ears. Just what did the man mean?
“Will you be seated, señor?” and the lad motioned toward a chair.
“Señorita Zuera is standing,” said the little Spaniard, with a polite
bow. “I thank you.”
“I am going, Señor Rodriguez,” assured the girl.
“Not because I have come. Wait, señorita. You saw it all. My business
with Señor Merriwell is not of a private nature, and I should prefer
that you were present when I make him the proposal. Will you sit down
and wait?”
She hesitated, and then, seeing that he really meant it, returned to a
chair and sat down.
Ephraim Gallup, who did not understand Spanish, was bewildered. He
wondered what it meant. He had prepared to fight when Rodriguez
appeared, and he seemed somewhat disappointed now that there seemed no
prospect of an encounter.
“Kinder guess he’s here to tell us to git aout uv taown in a hurry,”
muttered the Vermonter. “Can’t hurry too much to suit me, b’gosh! I
ain’t stuck on this air taown.”
Rodriguez was indeed a man of business. He did not beat around the bush,
but he came at once to the point.
“Señor Merriwell,” he said, “I saw you kill the bull. It was most
beautifully done. I was not aware that bull fighters were raised in
America, but it was plain to me that you have had experience in the art.
To-day I lost one of my espadas. Villasca’s place must be filled for the
fights that are to come. I am sure you would be a great attraction. What
you did to-day is known all over Madrid, and the papers will spread the
report all over Spain. There will be great curiosity to see you. I will
engage you to fill Villasca’s place.”
Frank was thoroughly astonished. In a moment he fell to laughing.
“It is impossible, señor,” he declared. “I have been warned to leave
Madrid within forty-eight hours.”
“That is nothing. I can attend to that, and I will arrange it so you
need not go. It will pay you to remain.”
“But I am not a professional bull fighter.”
Rodriguez looked as if inclined to be doubtful.
“You are skillful. You pierced the bull’s heart with a single stroke.
Never have I seen it done more handsomely.”
“It was an accident.”
“You are far too modest, señor. Such accidents do not happen. You stood
your ground like a veteran, and it was plain you felt your ability to
kill the bull. If you had not killed him with that stroke, he must have
killed you.”
“It was my luck. In a tight place, my luck never fails me. That is all.”
“Ah, you Americans! I have been led to believe you were all boasters. It
is not true. Señor, I beg you to consider. You are to name your price.”
“And I assure you that never before in all my life have I killed a
bull.”
“Then how dared you enter the ring and place yourself before the bull
to-day? Can you answer me that?”
“I did not pause to consider the danger, Señor Rodriguez. I saw a girl
in deadly peril, and I hastened to her rescue. I could not help doing
so. The impulse came upon me too strongly to be resisted. It was the
most natural thing in the world to do.”
The manager of the circus seemed unable to believe that any one who knew
nothing of bull fighting would dare do what Frank Merriwell had done
that day, even though it were in defense of a girl who was in deadly
peril. He was much too polite, however, to openly say as much.
“It is plain that you must swiftly become a skillful bull fighter,” he
declared. “I will give you an opportunity. You are to name your price.”
Frank saw that a flat refusal was the only thing that would turn the man
away.
“Señor Rodriguez,” he said, “you have not money enough in Madrid to
purchase my services, even though I was certain I would be successful at
it. I am an American, and Americans do not fancy bull fighting. I
attended the fight to-day out of curiosity—nothing more. I do not care
to see another bull fight. To your people it is a pleasant pastime; to
an American it is something quite different. I trust you will pardon me
for speaking so plainly, but I felt that I must make you understand. I
thank you for the honor you have done me, but I assure you it is quite
impossible to induce me to accept such an offer.”
Professor Scotch came forward.
“Señor,” he said, in rather poor Spanish, “I am this youth’s guardian,
and I can tell you that he speaks the truth. I would not permit him to
engage in such a degrading and brutal occupation, and that settles it.”
The professor’s face flushed, and he repressed his excitement with great
difficulty. He had cast aside his timidity, and was ready to express
himself in still more forcible language, but Frank checked him.
Rodriguez arose, politely expressing his regret. He saw it was useless
to say anything more.
Señorita Zuera also arose, and Frank accompanied them to the door.
When they were gone Frank found Professor Scotch tearing around the room
like a maniac, and almost frothing at the mouth.
“An insult!” roared the little man. “The idea! To think that an American
would have anything to do with a brutal bull fight!”
“You should take the offer in the spirit in which it was made,
professor,” smiled the boy. “Señor Rodriguez considered that he was
doing me an honor.”
It was some time before the professor cooled down.
Frank explained everything to Ephraim, who had been wondering what it
was all about.
“Wal, I be hung!” exclaimed the Vermonter. “I kinder cal’late yeou’re
the fust Yankee boy that was ever made such an offer.”
It was growing dark, and the boys were hungry. The trio finally
descended and obtained supper.
After supper, seated comfortably in their rooms, they discussed the
events of the day until Professor Scotch fell asleep in his chair.
“Now, Ephraim,” said Frank, “as long as we are to leave Madrid so soon,
I propose to go out and look the city over once more in the evening.
Will you come?”
“What’ll the professor say?”
“He is asleep, and he can say nothing till we return. Are you with me?”
“Ain’t we liable to run inter some kind uv trouble?”
“Not if we mind our own business. I will just write a little note for
the professor, telling him not to worry, and leave it where he will find
it in case he awakens before we return.”
Frank did so, and the two lads stole out of the room, leaving Professor
Scotch snoring in the easy-chair.
The Square of Puerta del Sol was aglow with lights and swarming with
people. The sidewalks were wide enough for four carriages to pass along
side by side, and these sidewalks were thronged with crowds. Carriages
were darting here and there across the square. By the fountain, on a
single paving stone, were a match vender, a civil guard, a student, a
beggar and a soldier, all in one group. Generals, officials, peasants,
ladies and toreadors were passing everywhere. And every one seemed
talking about the bull fights.
There were boys with newspapers for sale, the same as in the United
States. On every hand persons were lifting hats and greeting friends.
Street venders, with their wares hung about their necks, were crying,
“_Largo, largo._” A band of music was playing. The fountain shot streams
of water high into the air.
The streams crossed beautifully, shimmering in the gaslight, and fell
tinkling into the fountain basin. There was a feverish gayety that
immediately seized upon the two American lads, causing their blood to
leap through their veins and bringing laughter to their lips.
“By Jove!” exclaimed Frank. “This is the only city that I have seen in
Spain that impresses me favorably. It is like Paris, or a little more
so, if anything.”
“I dunno but this air travelin’ will sp’ile me for ther farm,” grinned
Ephraim. “It’ll be kinder monotonous to go back there and dig ‘taters
arter seein’ so much uv the world.”
They strolled about, taking note of everything that pleased them. They
gazed into the lighted windows of the shops, and they watched the
shifting crowds. As the hours advanced, the crowds seemed to grow
denser.
More than once did Frank hear himself spoken of by those who were
discussing the bull fights. He heard enough to learn that his action was
regarded with surprise, wonder and admiration. It was universally
acknowledged that he must be a trained bull fighter.
At length he was recognized, and it was not long before the boys found a
group of young men and boys following them about. That was not pleasant,
and they set about shaking them, which was found rather difficult. After
making some quick turns, Frank darted into a café, with Ephraim at his
heels.
The café was an immense saloon, ornamented with large mirrors. There
were tables everywhere, and from two to eight persons were seated around
each table, smoking and playing dominoes. The clicking of the markers as
they were turned and re-turned by a hundred hands sounded like a rain of
hailstones. Mingled with this was a steady hum of voices.
Many of the men wore, upon their shoulders, mantles of dark cloth, with
a large hood. All seemed very earnest over their games. They were
sipping chocolate from little cups, or indulging in stronger drinks, and
eating small, soft cakes.
As Frank and Ephraim came in quickly a party of three arose from one of
the tables in a corner not far from the door. Frank made for that table,
and the boys sat down there.
“Who would have thought I should be recognized in the street?” Frank
said, with some vexation. “They stared at me as if I were some wild
animal.”
“Hang me ef yeou ain’t as famous as a Spanish toreador!” exclaimed
Ephraim, proudly. “I ruther guess they’ll begin to think Yankees kin do
some things.”
“Be quiet,” commanded Frank. “Don’t be so ready to tell every one that
we are Yankees.”
Ephraim looked at his companion in profound astonishment.
“I be jeewizzled!” he gurgled. “Yeou ain’t ashamed uv it, be ye?”
“Not in the least, but Yankees are not thought much of in this country,
and there is no reason why we should go around seeking trouble by
proclaiming everywhere that we are from the United States. Caution is
not cowardice.”
“Thutteration! Never heard yeou talk like that afore! Yeou ain’t
generally any too cautious, b’gosh!”
“You never knew me to go around seeking trouble, Ephraim. I intend to
avoid danger when it is possible. After I get into a scrape I want to
see it through. It is the foolish fellow that does foolhardy things when
there is no need of it. If such a person should suddenly and
unexpectedly find himself in a position of great peril, he would be
liable to lose his nerve. At school, as you know, it was not the fellow
who walked nearest the brink of a precipice to astonish and awe his
companions who always turned out to be the pluckiest lad of them all. If
suddenly called on to risk his life to save that of another, it might be
the fellow who kept farthest from the brink who first dashed to the
rescue.”
“Wal,” drawled Ephraim, “yeou’re the funniest feller I ever see!
Sometimes I jest think I be thoroughly acquainted with ye, an’ then
again some other time I think I don’t know ye at all. Yeou’re fuller uv
contradictions than a bar’l uv old cider is uv jags.”
Frank laughed, and ordered some chocolate and cakes of a waiter. The
boys were quickly served with chocolate and bollos, as the little cakes
were called. On the top of each cup of chocolate a little milk was
swimming, but the chocolate itself was almost as thick as molasses, and
it was hot enough to burn one’s throat.
Since entering Spain, Frank had learned to like this chocolate extremely
well, and the little cakes were palatable, to say the least. Ephraim,
who had been reared on pork and potatoes, found it no easy thing to
accustom himself to the different cooking of different countries.
“Never saw a feller like yeou, Frank,” he grumbled, as Frank sipped the
hot chocolate as if it were the most delicious and cooling beverage in
the world. “Why, yeou kin eat the—the—what yer call it?—them things that
burn a chap all aout inside.”
“Chorizos?”
“Yeh, them’s um. Why, clear kayann pepper ain’t in it a minute with them
air things. A feller must hev a cast-iron stomach to keep um from
burnin’ a hole right aout through.”
“You are like the professor about your food. Why, he has nearly starved
since coming to Spain. He will not eat the puchero, which is the
national dish here.”
“Wal, nobody kin tell what it’s made of.”
“Oh, yes; in the first place comes a good slice of boiled meat, around
this are the wings of a fowl, pieces of sausage, vegetables and ham, and
over all this are plenty of beans, such as the Spaniards call garbanoz.
Sometimes there are other things——”
“By gum! yeou’re right; and what them other things be even yeou can’t
tell. Oh, yeou kin eat it ef yeou want to, but I’d give all I’m wuth,
abaout naow, to have one slappin’, heapin’ plate uv yaller-eyed beans,
baked in hog fat.”
Ephraim rolled his eyes and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as
his imagination pictured the delights of such a dish.
Of a sudden, Frank gave a start, and then his hand reached out and
touched Ephraim’s sleeve.
“Don’t turn around—keep still,” he directed. “I want to tell you
something.”
“Let her rip,” said Ephraim, cautiously, aware that his companion had
made an unpleasant discovery.
“Directly behind you, two tables away, is Gonzalez, the fellow whom I
knocked down.”
“Wal, that’s gol dern pleasant!” drawled the boy from Vermont. “Has he
spotted us?”
“I think so.”
“Is he watchin’ us?”
“I am sure he is, although he does not look this way. Keep still; let me
hear what he is saying.”
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