UNMASKED
It was to Anita’s old room in the house at the rancho that she was
carried after the sight of the two murdered overseers had caused her
to faint. Señora Vallejo, assisted by one of the troopers, followed,
and when Anita had been put on the bed the older woman crouched at the
foot of it, still weeping hysterically. The trooper hurried back to the
patio.
“Get some of the native women, Rojerio Rocha!” the _señora_ commanded
them, trying to control herself. “Tell them to bring cool water.”
She went to Anita’s side as the man left the room, opened the girl’s
dress at the throat and began chafing her hands, meanwhile looking
toward the door and patting the toe of one shoe on the floor because
Rojerio Rocha was so long about his task.
Señorita Anita moaned and opened her eyes, and Señora Vallejo, clasping
her in strong arms, they wept again together, still terrified by the
recollection of what they had seen, a gruesome sight for which they had
not been prepared.
Then the door was thrown open and Rojerio Rocha stood before them, his
sombrero in his hand.
“Ah! Señorita Anita is herself again?” he said. “That is well, indeed,
for there is not an Indian woman about the place, nor a male servant.
They have run away, it seems.”
“Run away?” the two women gasped in unison.
“Nor is that all. All the Indians employed at the rancho have deserted
the buildings and fields and are hurrying toward the cañon near by.
’Tis a well-ordered piece of property I have inherited, it appears.”
He laughed and swaggered across the room to a window, to look down into
the patio. The women were quick to sense some change in his manner, and
again fear gripped their hearts.
“Run away?” Señora Vallejo exclaimed again. “What does it mean? There
is danger--grave danger? Rojerio Rocha, let us return to the mission
immediately. Ah, if you only had listened and had not come!”
“Enough of that, _señora_!” he cried, whirling toward them.
“Have you forgotten your gentle blood, that you speak in such a tone to
a woman?” Anita demanded, sitting up on the bed.
“There are times when a woman must be brought to her senses,
_señorita_. Allow me to handle this affair in my own way. I am going
down into the patio now, and do you both remain in this room until I
return. At that time I may have better information to give.”
He went out without looking at them again, closed the door behind him,
and they heard the bolt shot into place. Anita sprang to her feet and
ran across the room to try the door before the beating of the man’s
steps had ceased to be heard. It was indeed fastened.
“I am beginning to hate him!” the girl exclaimed. “It will be
difficult, I fear, to do as my father wished. And I--I am beginning to
be afraid. The house is so quiet. Señora Vallejo, can you hear Indians
shrieking in the distance?”
“I have heard them for some time,” the _señora_ replied. “We have
walked into a trap, I fear.”
“Why do the men not start to return to the mission immediately? Señor
Lopez and the four soldiers surely can guard us well, and one of them
ride ahead for help if we need it.”
“It may be possible,” said the _señora_, “that the Indians have run
away merely because they fear punishment for the killing of their
overseers.” But she said it merely to allay the girl’s fears, not
because she believed it.
There was a clatter of hoofs at the end of the patio, and the two women
hurried across to the window in time to see Señor Lopez and the four
soldiers dash away. They turned to the right toward the cañon, and the
women could watch them no longer; and so they stood before the window
and looked down into the patio, awaiting the return, watching Rojerio
Rocha as he paced back and forth beside the fountain, now fumbling at
the hilt of his sword, now pulling at the pistol in his belt, always
with head bent and a scowl on his handsome face.
In time he stopped at the end of the patio and shaded his eyes with
his hands to look toward the cañon. A chorus of shrieks and cries came
from the distance. They heard Rojerio Rocha laugh, and then he grasped
the reins of his horse, jerked the animal around and vaulted into the
saddle to gallop away.
Clasped in each other’s arms, silent, fearful, the two women remained
standing before the window. An hour passed that seemed like an age. And
then they heard the cries and shrieks again, doubled now, seemingly
coming nearer--cries and shrieks that the older woman translated as
easily as if they had been spoken words. Even the girl seemed to
recognise a new note in the bedlam, for she looked up into the older
woman’s face wonderingly, questioningly, and she felt Señora Vallejo’s
arms tighten about her.
“What is it?” she asked.
“The blood cry--I know it well.”
“And it means----”
“It means that the fiends have had blood, that there has been murder
done.”
“Ah, yes! The overseers.”
“I did not mean the overseers,” Señora Vallejo said, turning her face
away and looking out of the window.
“You mean that Señor Lopez--the soldiers--Señor Rocha----”
“Some of them, perhaps all. We shall know soon.”
The girl moaned and hid her face against the older woman’s shoulder and
tried to shut out the cries by putting fingers in her ears. But she
could not shut them out, and in time ceased to try.
“They are approaching,” Señora Vallejo said.
“Coming here?”
“Here or else to the adobe buildings. And we have not a weapon in the
room, nor any man to protect us. The door is locked--we cannot escape
and attempt to hide.”
“Oh, why did he lock it?” the girl cried.
The end of the building shut off the view as they looked from the
window. But they knew the horde was approaching, and rapidly, and with
the blood shrieks were mingled other cries the meaning of which Señora
Vallejo could not understand at first.
“They are acclaiming someone,” she said, finally. “Some chief who has
performed a murderous assault, I suppose. May the saints curse the man
whose treason agitated them!”
Then she grasped the girl and drew back from the window quickly,
letting the draperies that hung there fall back into place. An Indian
had appeared at the end of the patio--a tall, young Indian streaked
with war paint and with a musket in his hand. They watched as he
glanced around the enclosure, then slipped like a snake past the
fountain to the door to listen there. Finally he whirled around and ran
to the end of the patio again, to wave his musket and shriek at the
others.
Then, like a wave breaking on a rocky beach, the horde poured into the
patio--dancing, shrieking, screeching--charging across the veranda,
splashing through the water of the fountain, tearing at the palms old
Señor Fernandez himself had planted and tended until they were grown.
And, in their midst, sitting his horse with shoulders squared, his
face devoid of all expression, was the man Señor Fernandez had said his
daughter was to marry.
“They have brought him here to kill him!” the girl moaned. “And, the
others----?”
“Dead, else ridden for help,” replied the _señora_. “If we had but a
poniard----”
The horse had stopped beside the fountain. A chief grasped the animal’s
mane and was shouting to the maniacs who shrieked around him. They
stopped their dancing and their cries died down. Half a dozen men
raised hands to take the rider from his horse and carry him toward
the door, half a dozen more led the animal from the patio, scores
ran toward the adobe buildings, and others gathered in groups in the
enclosure to hold animated conversation, now and then screeching their
enthusiasm and shaking muskets and bows above their heads.
Señora Vallejo drew the girl back from the curtained window, and they
stood at the foot of the bed, still clasped in each other’s arms,
looking toward the door. They heard steps in the corridor outside--the
steps of but one man, it seemed--and they feared a skulking gentile
reconnoitering, one who soon would send a shriek ringing through the
house to inform the others he had found women there.
Silence for an instant, then they heard the bolt withdrawn. Another
instant, and the door was thrown open.
“Rojerio Rocha!” Señora Vallejo exclaimed.
He closed the door behind him, bowed before them, and advanced a step
into the room.
“You have come to say that there is no hope?” the woman asked.
“I have come to say, first of all, _señora_, and you, _señorita_, that
there is absolutely no danger for either of you, if you are obedient.”
“No danger? What mean you, Rojerio Rocha? No danger with that mob of
howling savages in war paint, crowding the patio and overrunning the
house?”
“They are not overrunning the house, _señora_, pardon me. None are in
the house except chiefs and a few servants. Already they have the fires
going, and a roast of beef is being prepared. You shall have food soon.”
“Are you an imbecile in truth?” the _señora_ cried. “You trust such
wretches? Do you not know that, if they do not slay us at once, they
are but playing with us as a cat plays with a mouse before she kills
it? Where are your brains, Rojerio Rocha? Is there to be no attempt at
rescue? Give us at least a poniard, that we may protect ourselves or
take our own lives to save honour! Where is Señor Lopez? Where are the
troopers? Have they ridden for help?”
She stopped speaking, standing before him with her hands clutching at
her breasts--fear-stricken, desperate, but angry above all.
“Señor Lopez and the four troopers,” he replied, “rode down into the
cañon to make an investigation, disregarding my orders to the contrary.
They are dead.”
“Dead?” Anita cried.
“Dead, _señorita_.”
“But you----? Why have they let you live, Rojerio Rocha? They will
torture?”
“I already have informed you that no harm shall come to you if you are
obedient.”
“And, to be obedient----?”
“Is to remain in this room, _señorita_, and you, _señora_, until you
are told you may depart elsewhere. Food will be fetched you regularly;
you may have anything you wish. Be not afraid of the Indians in the
patio and surrounding the house. They are not a menace--they are here
for protection.”
“Protection?” sneered the _señora_.
“Your protection--and yours, _señorita_--and mine.”
“Yours?” the women cried.
“What mean you?” the _señora_ demanded, as an afterthought.
“That these Indians call me master. Do you understand? That I am their
commanding officer. That the time to drop the mask has come, _señora_,
and you may consider the mask dropped. To-night and to-morrow we
prepare; to-morrow night we take the mission and presidio. After that
the other things will follow--every rancho and village will be visited.”
“You--you----!” Anita gasped.
“You will get used to the idea, _señorita_. Within half a score of days
I shall be a king. You did not think to wed the ruler of the coast,
did you, _señorita_? Why did you think I am so anxious to come to the
rancho to-day? Because my armies had been gathering here, _señorita_,
and because it was my place here, instead of at the mission. And I
desire to get you here, with the _señora_, where you will be out
of harm’s way until after we have succeeded. As for Lopez and the
troopers--they walked into the trap, and we have five men the less to
fight to-morrow night.”
He laughed loudly and took another step toward them, and the women
recoiled.
“You realise--what you are saying?” the _señora_ gasped.
“Fully, _señora_.”
“You--Rojerio Rocha--with the blood of the Rochas and the Fernandez in
your veins--you turn renegade, lead hostile Indians, play at treason,
countenance murder and rapine? Fear has turned your brain! You could
not do such a thing!”
“It takes a man with good brain to do it, and travel on the Governor’s
pass at the same time,” he returned, laughing again. “Rest assured I
speak the truth, _señora_. It has taken much planning, but soon we see
the culmination.”
“But--this Captain Fly-by-Night----?”
The man’s face darkened.
“A meddling fool,” he said, “who shall be sent to eternity if ever I
cross blades with him again. A nothing, a novice--this man of whom you
speak! Captain Fly-by-Night, eh? The fools sent out alarms concerning
him, eh? They chase him and hunt him like a mad bull--while I am guest
at the mission, and smile, and send out my plans and orders under the
very noses of the frailes. I do not deny this man has had his uses. But
I command--not he!”
The first horror was over now; full realisation was coming to the
women. Señorita Anita stepped out to the middle of the room and
confronted him, and she showed no fear now. Her head was lifted
proudly, her breast heaved with emotion, outraged pride and anger
struggled in her face for expression.
“So it was all a farce?” she cried. “You and this Captain Fly-by-Night
were not such deadly enemies as report had it, eh? Partners in treason
you were, playing your nefarious game! And the duel down by the
creek--how came it he ran you through? Was that a part of the game,
too?”
“We fought because of an argument concerning Señorita Anita Fernandez,
I believe.”
“Traitors fell out, and you would say it was over a woman? Say, rather,
that you both sought leadership--that there was one general too many!
Say, rather, that even before the culmination of your plans you fought
regarding the division of the loot--myself being desired by both pretty
traitors!”
“Say what you please, _señorita_, so long as you let the fact remain
that this man of whom you speak has nothing in common with me. As for
yourself--you please me very much, and I shall claim you when this more
serious business is at an end.”
“Claim me--you? Renegade! Traitor! Take you for husband? Do you suppose
my father knew your true character when he made his request? He never
had seen you, Rojerio Rocha, but he supposed--because you had Fernandez
and Rocha blood in your veins--that you were a gentleman and true.
Marry you, Rojerio Rocha? Marry a man the Governor calls friend, and
who plans to stab his friend from behind?”
“Marry, or come to me without marriage--as you wish,” the man said.
“Your will against me will not be so strong, I think, when things are
at an end and I become master.”
“Rather would I wed this Fly-by-Night--this gambler and swindler
and thief and wronger of women--this man who made immodest boasts
concerning me. And before I’d do that, I’d take my own life, Rojerio
Rocha! Call in your savage friends and let them torture, and slay
me! Never can I hold up my head again, whether your conspiracy is
successful or no! That a man of my family and blood should do this
thing----! Where is the pride of the Fernandez now? This stain never
can be washed away!”
“A truce as to your foolish pride! Enough of heroics, _señorita_, and
you, _señora_! We’ll talk further of these matters at a later day. At
present remember that I am master here. You will remain in this room,
and food will be fetched. Every comfort you wish will be furnished. And
when things are settled again, I take you for wife, Señorita Anita,
whether you wish it or not. These Indians will not allow you to escape,
yet they will protect you. Had I left you at the mission, you might
have been injured by mistake during the fighting. Calm your fears and
make the best of things, and try not to change conditions you cannot
affect. There is no need for fear--already the gentiles look upon you
as their queen.”
“Their queen! I, a Fernandez, queen of savages, over a kingdom
purchased by treason and steeped in blood? Have I not shame enough with
which to contend? Go--go!”
She turned half from him, sobbing, hands held to face. Señora Vallejo
had collapsed at the foot of the bed. There was silence for the moment,
and then the man’s laugh rang out--raucous, sneering, malevolent.
“By the saints, you are beautiful when aroused!” he cried. “These
heroics will not outlast the day, I vow! If I took you in my arms,
perhaps----”
She heard his quick step, and turned to confront him. So they stood for
a breath, a foot apart and then the man laughed and raised his arms.
One of her hands darted forward and then, when she sprang back to avoid
him, she gripped the poniard he had worn at his belt. Her arm drove
it forward. Her head was half turned away as she felt it strike his
breast. She dropped the weapon and covered her face with hands again,
waiting for the crash that would tell her his body had fallen to the
floor and that she had slain a man.
But the crash came not, and in its stead there was a muttered
exclamation of surprise, and a chuckle of relief.
“Your blow was strong and sure, _señorita_,” he said. “Fortune favours
me in that the point struck on the buckle of my sword-belt. As for
the poniard--I intended leaving it with you, that you would feel more
secure. I always did fancy a woman of spirit. You will make a right
royal queen for such a warrior as myself.”
“Go--go!” she cried.
“Immediately, though I dislike to leave such good company; yet there is
work to be done and the time is short. Within a short time an Indian
will come with food, and if there is anything you lack for comfort, you
have but to command.”
He turned his back deliberately and walked to the door, and she could
not nerve herself to pick up the poniard and strike again. She felt
herself reeling and knew that reaction soon would be upon her. But she
bit her lip cruelly to force herself to gather her scattering senses,
and once more she addressed him.
“Send no Indian with food. I do not eat what traitors prepare, and
neither does my _duenna_. And when that door is opened again after you
are gone--no matter by whom--I plunge this dagger into my own heart,
Rojerio Rocha, and so pay in part for the stain you have put upon our
family. I swear that I’ll do this--and there will be no belt buckle to
turn aside the point!”
His face sobered for an instant, for there was no mistaking her
determination. He threw open the door and looked back toward her and
finally laughed again.
“_Adios, señorita_,” he called. “When hunger makes you forget what you
have just said, you may call to someone in the patio and they will
carry me word.”
He went out and closed the door. The girl heard the bolt shot into
place. One moan came from between her lips, and then she collapsed at
the foot of the bed beside Señora Vallejo.