LOVE PROVES TRUE
The hammering at the door of the mortuary chapel ceased after a time,
for those in the main part of the church had more serious business
to occupy their attention than the attempted capture of Captain
Fly-by-Night.
The front doors of the church had been battered in, and several times
hostiles had invaded the building, but always to be driven back after
suffering heavy losses, for men can fight with thrice their usual
strength and courage when making a last stand against an overwhelming
foe.
Now storehouse and hospital building and guest house were burning, the
most of the loot having been removed, and clouds of heavy smoke poured
into the church, half suffocating the defenders there, yet at the same
time proving a blessing, since the dense pall made it impossible for
those in the plaza to get good aim at a defender.
In a corner Señora Vallejo, some wives of ranchers and a few loyal
Indian women and children crouched, the most of the time at their
prayers. Dead men were against one wall, wounded against another, a
fray attending to the latter. At the windows and both sides of the
doorway stern men waited with muskets and pistols to fire whenever a
hostile could be seen through the smoke. Thanks to the action of the
_comandante_ in removing supplies from the presidio, there was an
abundance of ammunition.
Yet the defenders were being cut down one at a time, and it seemed only
a question of hours until the enemy would triumph. It was the sudden,
unexpected rushes those in the church feared, for if enough hostiles
could invade the church at one time the defenders would be scattered
and cut down.
“A ghost, eh?” Cassara was shouting in Gonzales’s ear. “So this Captain
Fly-by-Night is in the mortuary chapel, eh? I told you I saw him go
into the church. He has been hiding there!”
“The imbecile trooper declares Señorita Anita is with him, and how can
that be?” Gonzales wanted to know. “We are all aware that she was left
behind in the guest house, and that Rojerio Rocha went there to save
her. Since the guest house is in flames, it is to be supposed both died
there.”
“The trooper saw double,” Cassara replied. “He had been wounded. But
Captain Fly-by-Night is there, nevertheless, and presently we shall
attend to him. Hah! When I stand before him----”
“If I do not face him first,” Gonzales interrupted.
“Bar the door, will he? ’Twill not take me long to break it in when I
am at liberty to do so. ’Ware the window, good pirate! They are coming
again!”
The hostiles had prepared for another rush, and now they made it,
plunging through the smoke and into the church in an effort to
exterminate their foes. A concentrated fire met them, as it had several
times before. Some fell; others rushed on.
Here and there the combat was hand-to-hand. Every foot of the way they
found disputed by a determined man. They were driven out again, leaving
dead and wounded behind them; and those inside placed another man
against the wall and bound up more wounds.
The smoke was stifling now. Women and children hung around the big
water jars, gasping for breath. The faces of the men were grimy, their
eyes red. _Comandante_ and ensign rushed from one part of the church
to another, alert for possible tricks of the enemy, taking advantage
where it was possible. Frailes were building a barricade in a corner,
preparing for the forlorn hope.
The Indians in the plaza seemed to be quiet for a moment, and then
their shrieks were redoubled, and another assault was launched. Hoarse
voices of chiefs shouted orders, a fusillade of shots tore through the
doorway, and for a moment no man could live at the windows. Then came
the rush!
More than one man felt that it was the last. The ranks of the defenders
had been cut down until a mere handful remained. The frailes hurried
women and children behind the barricade in the corner, and the soldiers
retreated foot by foot, resisting stubbornly but in vain. At close
quarters shots were exchanged, blades rang, fingers tore at throats.
“Back--back! The barricade!” the _comandante_ ordered.
Back they fell, step by step, still resisting, carrying wounded with
them. Behind them the frailes and women were loading muskets and
pistols, for the soldiers had no time to load now. One by one they
gained the shelter of the barricade, until all were behind it, and then
the hostiles faced a volley that drove them raging back toward the
doorway. But they were inside the church--and the end was near.
* * * * *
In the mortuary chapel the caballero had been listening at the door,
and when he turned to face the _señorita_ his face held an expression
she never had seen in it before.
“What is it?” she asked.
“The hostiles are inside--they have driven the defenders to a corner,”
he replied.
“Then----?”
“Everything may end for us here. They will be before us and behind us.
Either they will enter, or else fire the building. It is best to tell
you the truth, _señorita_; we are in a trap.”
“If--they enter--you will remember your promise?”
He held out his arms, and she slipped into them, and for a moment their
lips met. He was almost sobbing when he answered.
“I’ll remember.”
“You’ll not let them take me alive?”
“Never that, _señorita_! I wish we might face a different future. I am
just beginning to find life worth the living,” he said. “But at least I
can die knowing your heart is mine.”
Hostiles in the tunnel were still battering against the wall, trying
to gain entrance. The caballero had been watching there carefully, yet
found no cause for alarm. One shot had come through the crack, but it
was an easy matter to stand in such part of the chapel that no bullet
could reach them.
He crept to the door again and listened, Anita close behind him. The
shots seemed to be scattering now, and he sensed that the Indians were
preparing for the last rush. He heard the _comandante_ shouting orders.
Children were crying; the voice of a fray in prayer could be heard
above the din.
Again the men in the tunnel assaulted the wall, and the caballero left
the door quickly to stand in the centre of the room, pistol and sword
ready in case an entrance should be made. But the barricade he had
constructed against the section of masonry held despite the furious
attack upon it.
In the church there was another chorus of shrieks, a volley, cries of
pain and rage--for the final attack had begun. The caballero clasped
Anita in his arms again, and so they waited for the end, the girl with
her face against his shoulder and fingers in ears to keep out the death
wails and frenzied cries.
The defenders were shouting now, in mock courage the caballero thought,
going down to their deaths fighting, dying like men. Suddenly the
battering at the wall ceased, and cries from the tunnel told that the
Indians were retreating quickly. Word had been passed to them, he
supposed, that victory was in the front, and they were eager to be in
at the death. They would watch the outlets of the tunnel, of course;
there could be no escape that way.
“It is the end, beloved,” the caballero breathed. “Our love dies almost
as soon as ’twas born. You do not regret----?”
“I regret only that we cannot spend a life together, my caballero,” she
replied. “Ah, ’tis cruel!”
Again their lips touched, and then he half turned from her, and
motioned to the corner.
“Pray,” he whispered. “Pray there, beloved, with your back to me. I
could not do it if I looked into your face. Pray until the end----”
Now she was white of face, and her lips were trembling, but she only
looked him once in the eyes and then did as he said. Facing the wall,
she knelt and prayed, while the caballero looked to his pistol to see
that it was properly charged, and himself said a prayer under his
breath.
Six feet behind her he stood, his eyes upon the floor, his ears
strained to catch every sound from the church. The defenders were
putting up a stubborn resistance, for the _comandante_ was still
screeching orders, and the volleys crashed, and the hostiles shrieked
their anger at being held from their prey.
And then the tone of the shrieks changed from anger to fear! The
caballero stepped swiftly close to the door. He heard the defenders
cheering; heard heavy volleying that was not inside the church; heard
strong voices raised in shouts and the sound of galloping hoofs, the
wailing cry of a fray.
“My God, I thank Thee!”
Sergeant Cassara’s great voice was raised in a howl of relief and
encouragement. Running feet sounded in the church. The caballero’s
heart was pounding at his ribs, and he was trying to beat from his
brain the sudden hope he felt for fear it would prove unfounded.
Another volley; another chorus of shrieks as from a far distance; more
cries of anger, and gladness, and surprise! Then a strong voice that
had not been heard before:
“At those flames, some of you men! Help the wounded here! Get the women
and children out of the smoke! Lieutenant, see that every hostile is
run down--we want not one to escape! If we had been a minute later----”
Señorita Anita, busy with her prayers and her agony of mind, had not
noticed these things. And now the caballero, with a glad cry, ran to
her, lifted her bodily from the floor, and covered her face with kisses.
“The Governor, beloved!” he cried. “His excellency has come--in time!
Oh, beloved--beloved!”
Once more the pounding on the door!
“Open, in the Governor’s name! We know you are there, Captain
Fly-by-Night! There is no escape! Open!”
The caballero stood in the centre of the chapel with Anita nestling
against his breast, and he spoke in whispers, giving no attention to
the summons at the door.
“You are safe now, beloved,” he said. “The world has not come to an
end, you see. It is pretty much as it was before this revolt. You
can be again with your friends, with people of your rank. Is life not
good--after all?”
“With you it is,” she whispered in reply.
“When all was dark you spoke of love to me,” he went on. “There was
nothing in the future for you then. But now there is everything in the
future. You can face the world again----”
“Stained by a relative’s act, caballero?”
“Who knows of that? It is believed Rojerio Rocha died a loyal man.
You know differently, and your _duenna_, and myself. None ever will
open lips to speak of it. None other ever will know, _señorita_. You
can hold up your pretty head as before, and live, and be happy. At
the rancho the months will dim the memories of this thing. Think,
_señorita_! You have no need of me now.”
“No need of you?” she asked.
“Have you, _señorita_? Things are different now. No longer do you need
the worthless caballero like myself. Could you hold up your head if
’twas known Captain Fly-by-Night held your love?”
“I could,” she said, “and proudly!”
“If the man who boasted had won you----?”
“Still, I could!”
“Gambler, thief--renegade----?”
“The caballero who saved me, and whom I love--none other! And no
renegade!”
“Yet there were orders to take me, dead or alive. Think you these dead
and wounded men will change the Governor’s mind? I swear I had no part
in this revolt, _señorita_, but none will think so, except perhaps
your charitable self.”
They were pounding on the door again, but the caballero gave no reply.
“I love you,” she said simply.
“You gave me word of your love while in deadly peril, _señorita_, at
a time when no other man could offer you protection, perhaps through
momentary gratitude at what I had done. Now it is not necessary,
_señorita_, for you to stand by that word. You have but to go through
that door to be with your friends again--you need not lower yourself
longer by companionship with Captain Fly-by-Night.”
“There is no one else,” she answered. “All are gone. And were there a
million, did to stand by you mean to be ostracized by all the world,
yet by your side I’d stand. Anita Fernandez does not give love for
gratitude, _señor_. And she gives it but once!”
“My beloved!” he cried, holding her close.
Now the battering at the door would be denied no longer, and the
Governor’s voice came to them.
“Inside, there! Open, Fly-by-Night, for there is no escape. If you have
harmed the _señorita_----”
“I am here and safe,” the girl called.
“Thank Heaven!” they heard the Governor exclaim. “Open and surrender,
Fly-by-Night! Surrender and take the consequences of your act!”
The caballero looked down at the girl again.
“There is no other way,” he said. “There is no escape----”
“N--no! Have you forgotten? Even if you can prove you had no part in
the uprising, there is still another charge. Did you not slay Rojerio
Rocha? He was the Governor’s friend. My word, the _señora’s_, that
he was the real renegade, would not be taken in the absence of other
proof. Think you the Governor would believe ill of his dead friend?
They’d have your life----”
“There is no other way, beloved. One kiss--again--and I must open the
door!”
“No--no! I cannot lose you now!”
“It would be better for you to pretend no interest in me,” he said.
“Then my death as a felon will not stain you.”
“I stand by you, caballero, in the fact of whatever may occur; I tell
my love to the world as soon as you open that door; I fight to save
you--use every influence--and will be proud to let all know it! What
care I what the world says, caballero? I know the man who holds my
love--know him better than the world that has maligned him----”
“Ah!” he cried, and covered her face with kisses again. “This were love
indeed!”
“Open the door, or we batter it down!” thundered the Governor’s voice.
“I’ll open it presently!” the caballero cried.
In the other room there was quiet for a moment while they awaited the
caballero’s appearance. Before the door were Gonzales, Cassara, Ensign
Sanchez, the lieutenant, all with swords drawn and held ready, all of
them wounded slightly, all fatigued, yet all eager to cross blades with
Captain Fly-by-Night.
“Back!” the Governor was ordering them. “I want this man alive, to make
an example of him!”
Inside, the caballero took his arms from around the girl, and stepped
to the door. In the face of such a predicament he still could smile and
hum a song. But, as he touched the bar, Anita grasped his arm.
“I go out first,” she said.
“No----”
“Ah, do not deny me! There is something I would say----”
“As you please, _señorita_.”
“Kiss me again--again! Now--open the door!”
He took down the heavy bar and threw the door open. Those outside
beheld Señorita Anita Fernandez standing before them, the caballero
behind her. The girl’s head was lifted proudly, and her eyes flashed as
of old, and she looked the Governor straight in the face as she spoke:
“Before this man gives himself to you I want you to know that I love
him better than all the world----”
“Anita!” cried Señora Vallejo from one side.
“I want you to know that he denies being a leader of the hostiles, and
that I believe him. Twice he saved me from dishonour and death. No
affront has he offered. It is true he killed Rojerio Rocha, and, as for
that----”
She stopped; for suddenly the caballero had stepped beside her, the
whimsical smile playing about his face.
“Good day, your excellency!” he said, bowing low.
And his excellency, the Governor, bent forward, eyes bulging, lower jaw
sagging for a brief second, then straightened and roared aloud:
“By the saints! Killed Rojerio Rocha, eh, girl? Hah! By the saints,
this man before us is Rojerio Rocha, my good friend! Ah, boy, boy! They
told me you had been slain!”
Before them all he took the dishevelled caballero in his arms!