THE WAY IN
An hour after nightfall the well in the orchard at the mission gave
forth a man. Mud and dust were mingled on his clothes, the ends of
his moustache drooped, and there was a scraggy beard on his face. The
dainty caballero was gone, and in his place was a warrior of stern
visage and flashing eyes, who stood beside the well curb for a few
minutes listening and then lost no time in crossing the orchard and
climbing the adobe wall.
Once outside, his progress was rapid over the uneven ground. Now he
walked and now he ran, making his way to the crest of the slope behind
the mission buildings. He turned west and hurried on, making as little
noise as possible, stumbling over rocks and roots and small brush, for
there was no moon and a man could see scarcely two feet in front of his
face.
He came to a small dry watercourse and turned into it, running
continually now through the heavy sand, less liable to attract
attention, but panting from the exertion. Finally he stopped, listened
again and appeared to be uncertain of his surroundings. A soft whinny
came to his ears, and with a subdued gasp of thankfulness he ran on.
Beneath a ledge of rock in a natural cup in the earth his horse was
picketed. Working swiftly, the caballero put on saddle and bridle and
led the animal from beneath the ledge and down the watercourse. A few
minutes later he had mounted, and the horse was trotting slowly along
the crest of the hill.
The caballero did not under-estimate his danger. He knew the
_comandante_ might have sent troopers to scout in the surrounding
country in an endeavour to learn the intentions of the hostiles. Men
and women were driving in from the villages and every rancho was
sending its people to the protection of the mission, for the alarm
had gone out that afternoon, and he did not wish to be seen by any of
them. Moreover, scouting Indians might be met, and these the caballero
feared most of all, not alone because of an attack they might make, but
because they might give chase, drive him out of his course, delay him
when delay was the last thing he desired.
Yet he rode swiftly where he could, and trusted a great deal to his
horse, not following the principal highway, but breaking a new trail
over the hills, avoiding the cañon where the old Indian camp had been,
striving to reach the Fernandez rancho from the opposite side, where it
was less likely sentinels had been posted.
He had to guess at his location continually; had to stop now and
then to listen for sounds that would have meant danger; had to use
caution and make speed at the same time, a difficult thing under such
conditions.
In time he saw the reflection from fires ahead of him, and knew he was
not far from the cañon where the Indians had been camped.
He approached warily, riding slowly around the base of the butte as
Sergeant Cassara had done. Dismounting, he threw the reins over his
horse’s head and went forward alone, silently, foot by foot, fearing
a stumble over a stone might attract the attention of some Indian
sentinel and cause an alarm.
He reached the edge of the precipice and looked down. Scores of fires
were burning; scores of Indian warriors were dancing; the groups of
teepees told how the savages had gathered, gentile and neophyte, for
this attempt to drive white men from the coast country and reclaim the
territory for their own.
For several minutes the caballero watched the scene below, noting
especially where a group of chiefs had gathered before a large wigwam
as if for a conference. Then, fully determined, he slipped over the
edge of the precipice and started down to the floor of the cañon, a
perilous descent made more perilous by the fact that escape would be
difficult if his presence were discovered.
He reached the bottom, and for a time rested behind a clump of bushes,
where the light from the fires did not penetrate, breathing heavily
because of his exertion, listening to the chatter of a band of
neophytes near--neophytes who already quarrelled regarding the division
of certain goods in the mission storehouse.
Forward again, toward the wigwam, keeping out of the light from the
fires, going step by step and cautiously, now backing into the brush
when he came across a slumbering hostile, now daring a nearer approach
to the fires when the country made it necessary.
He reached a jumble of rocks directly behind the wigwam, and stopped to
rest again. He heard Indians shrieking in the distance, heard the sound
of galloping hoofs, and saw riding down the line of fires the man he
had warned the _comandante_ to watch.
“Then I was right, after all,” the caballero said, and gripped his
pistol for use in case of discovery.
The chiefs were standing now, awaiting the approach of their white
leader with evident courtesy, and one of them stepped forward and
grasped the reins of the horse as he dismounted. An Indian took the
horse away; the chiefs and their white leader sat down before the fire.
“You have satisfaction, Señor Rocha?” one of the chiefs asked.
“Things appear to be as I had wished,” was the reply. “We will attack
to-morrow night, as we have planned. The men have all arrived?”
“Except perhaps half a hundred who will be here by morning,” said a
chief. “A scout came in some time ago, with the report that they are
preparing for defence at the mission.”
“Hah! Small good it will do them, except to cause us more annoyance.”
“A soldier warned them, _señor_, it is said--a big soldier who belongs
not to the presidio here, but at Santa Barbara.”
“I know him; I expected as much. Do some of you remember this certain
soldier when we attack, and take account of him. There has been
nothing seen of the man who tricked you?”
“None have seen him, _señor_. Either he has ridden up El Camino Real to
spread the alarm, or else is hiding in the hills.”
“He is not to be slain, remember. I want that word passed around. That
man is mine when we take him prisoner. Small wonder it is that he did
not ruin our plans!”
“How were we to know, _señor_? Those at the mission treated him like a
pestilence, and he led our men to believe he was who he seemed. We did
not guess until he came here to the cañon and escaped when we would
have held him prisoner. Yet he is an outlaw now--both white men and red
seek him.”
“There is amusement to be found in that fact,” was the laughing reply.
“Remember that man is mine when he is taken. And remember, also, what I
said about a guard to be left behind here at the rancho. The women in
the ranch-house are to be kept in their room, and no one is to enter.
No harm is to be offered them. The younger one is to be my wife, you
understand, and the elder must remain with her to keep her from being
frightened.”
“It will be done, _señor_,” the chief replied, “though every man wants
to join in the attack on the mission.”
“Say to those left behind that I’ll see personally they receive their
share of any loot.”
“Very well, _señor_.”
“And now let us consider the plans for attack. It will be a task of
some hours, but we want no mistakes!”
The caballero waited to hear no more. Step by step he withdrew from the
wigwam and went back into the brush. One thought rang in his brain--no
harm had come to Señorita Anita Fernandez and her _duenna_; they merely
were being held prisoners.
It was more difficult getting back to the crest than it had been
descending, and there was as much need for caution. Through the
darkness the caballero fought his way upward, fearful of dislodging
pebbles and starting an avalanche that would betray him, grasping
carefully at projecting rocks and roots, straining his muscles while
the perspiration streamed from his face and neck, urged on by the
thought of the scant time he had for his purpose.
In time he reached the top, and for a moment was stretched exhausted on
the ground, gasping for breath. Then he arose and walked slowly toward
where he had left his horse, alert again, fearing discovery at every
step.
He mounted and rode slowly around the base of the butte, and then
across a pasture where there was no reflection from the fires in the
cañon. He could see the lights in the ranch-house, heard Indians
screeching around it, and before one of the long adobe buildings there
was a great fire where the hostiles were cooking.
The caballero estimated the task he had set himself to do, and strove
to keep from feeling downhearted; for it seemed almost an impossible
thing with a couple hundred hostiles scattered about the place. How
was he to reach the house, enter it, rescue two women and escape again?
He stopped his horse in an angle of fence that protected the yard of
the ranch-house from grazing herds, and fastened the animal there, then
went forward afoot, keeping in the shadow of the nearest adobe building.
He was within half a hundred yards of the Indians about the fire, but
they seemed to be giving all their attention to the preparation of
food, trusting sentinels posted on every road and trail to give warning
of approach.
He came to another horse tethered to the fence, a splendid animal
belonging to the rancho. It evidently was being used by some chief or
scout, for saddle and bridle were on it, and remembering that he would
need a second horse, he untied the beast, led it back to his own, and
fastened it again.
Then he went forward once more, this time swinging far out to one side
and reaching a clump of palms planted long ago by Señor Fernandez for a
windbreak. From there he could get a good view of the house. The patio
was filled with Indians; hostiles were on the front veranda; they slept
against the walls and roamed through the vegetable garden on the other
side of the building.
A room in the front of the house was illuminated, but none except
Indians were in it, and they seemed to be servants. To the rear was an
additional half-storey, and here was another room with a light in it;
and as the caballero watched the windows he saw a shadow cast on the
curtains.
The draperies were heavy and of brocaded stuff, yet the outlines of
the shadow could be discerned plainly. Here was no squaw or hostile
brave--here was a white woman dressed in the mode of the times, and the
shadow, passing and repassing before the window, told the caballero she
paced the room in an agony of fear.
Now he stretched himself on the ground and began worming his way
forward like an Indian, stopping every few feet to listen, keeping to
the shadows, ready to curl up and pretend to be asleep if any came
near, hoping he would be taken for a sleeping hostile. Fifty feet from
the side of the house he stopped, disheartened as he realised the
futility of the plan. No human being could reach the house and enter
without being seen, not with Indians scattered every few feet along the
walls and others continually running back and forth from the veranda to
the patio. He would have to resort to a trick.
But tricks were not easily planned under such conditions. No expedient
could he contrive; every plan was rejected as being worse than useless.
He heard a commotion behind him, and realised that the hostiles were
driving up the horses of the rancho in preparation for to-morrow
night’s raid. Two or three hundred head were in the drove now milling
near the fence before the house. Cries of relief came from the herders
as they sprang over the fence and hurried toward the house for wine
and food; and relief came to the caballero as he crouched in the
shadows, for now he believed the way was clear.
He slipped back to the clump of palms, made another circle, and so
gained the fence, to climb it and slip along it silently until he came
to bars directly before the ranch-house. Working swiftly to throw them
down, he then slipped back again and circled the drove until he was
behind the high-spirited, half-frightened animals.
He grasped pistol in one hand; zarape in the other. A moment of
silence, then a shot, a screech, the snort of a frightened steed, the
sudden crowding of those nearest him--then the drove was in frenzied
fear--rearing, kicking, plunging--striving to flee from this unknown
horror that had come behind them out of the night.
The leaders broke through the bars; the others followed. By scores they
stampeded into the yard, carrying all before them!
Shrieking hostiles fled from the raging beasts; a chorus of cries came
from the Indians scattered along the walls. Around the end of the
building and into the patio itself the animals fled, crashing into
the arches, stumbling across the fountain, tearing down vines and
trees--flying menaces of hoofs and teeth that scattered gentiles and
neophytes as a volley from troopers never would have done.
The caballero stopped beneath the palms to recharge his pistol, and
then he slipped quickly to the wall of the house and the nearest
window. The yard was clear save where mangled bodies of hostiles told
of the horses’ frenzy. Another moment--and the caballero was inside
the house, standing in a dark room directly under the window where the
shadow crossed and recrossed as a woman paced the floor.