From the way Rivas treated the "billetita" after he had finished reading
it, one unacquainted with its contents might have supposed they had made
him either mad angry, or madly jealous. Instead of taking it up
tenderly, and treasuring it away, he planted his muddy boot upon it,
with a back scrape brought it into the main sewer, still keeping it
under the mud and trampling it with both feet, lifted and set down
alternately, the while shovelling away, as though he had forgotten all
about it. Not so, however. The tread-mill action was neither
accidental nor involuntary, but for a purpose. The writer had committed
herself in sub-signing a portion of her name, as by other particulars,
and should the letter fall into hands he knew of, her danger would be as
great as his own.
In a few seconds, however, any uneasiness about this was at an end. The
most curious _chiffonier_ could not have deciphered a word written on
that sheet, which by the churning he had submitted it to must have been
reduced to a very pulp.
During all this time no one had taken notice of his proceedings, not
even the man chained to him, except by an occasional side glance. For
Kearney, well aware of what he was at, to draw attention from him had
got up a wordy demonstration with the dwarf--to all appearance a
quarrel. There was real anger on the side of the latter; for the
"gringo," as he contemptuously called the Irishman, had cruelly mocked
his deformity. A cruelty which gave pain to the mocker himself; but he
could think of no other way to secure inattention to Rivas, and this
efficiently did. Both talking the tongue of the country, their war of
words, with some grotesque gestures which Kearney affected, engrossed
the attention of all within sight or hearing; so that not an eye was
left for the surreptitious reader of the letter.
When the sham quarrel came to an end--which it did soon as he who
commenced it saw it should--the knot of spectators it had drawn around
dispersed, leaving things as before. But not as before felt Rivas and
Kearney. Very different now the thoughts stirring within them, both
trying to appear calm while under the greatest agitation. For they had
again contrived to bring their ears together, and the latter now knew
all about the contents of the Condesa's letter, their purport being
fully explained, nor did they draw apart, till a thorough understanding
had been established between them as to the action they should take.
All this without loss of time was translated to Cris Rock, who was told
also of their resolve to attempt to escape, in which the Texan was but
too glad to take part. Kearney would have stayed there, and gone back
into the Acordada, loathsome gaol though it was, sooner than leave his
old filibustering comrade behind. He could never forget the incident of
El Salado, nor cease to feel gratitude to the man who had offered to
give up life for him.
But there was no need for Rock being left behind. Rivas himself wished
it otherwise, for more than one reason; but one good one, that instead
of obstructing their escape he would be an aid to it.
The hunchback alone was not let into their secret. No doubt he too
would be glad to get free from his chains, since he was under a sentence
of imprisonment for life. But who could tell whether at the last moment
he might not purchase pardon by turning out and betraying them? They
knew him to be vile enough even for that, and so kept him in the dark
about their design.
There was no need of further premeditation or contrivance of plans.
That had all been traced out for them in the singular epistle signed
"Ysabel," and a few whispered words from one to the other completed the
understanding of it, with what was to be done. From the time this was
settled out, never looked three pair of eyes more eagerly along a street
than did theirs along the Calle de Plateros; never was a carriage more
anxiously awaited than a landau which should show itself with hood up,
drawn by a pair of grey horses.
It is now well on the afternoon, and the "beauty and fashion" of the
Mexican metropolis were beginning to appear in carriages, with chivalry
on horseback, along the line of streets leading to the Paseo Nuevo. The
procession of the morning would little affect the usual evening display;
and already several equipages had rolled past the place where the
chain-gang was at work. But as yet appeared not the one so anxiously
looked-for, and the half-hour was up!
Still ten minutes more without any sign of it!
More anxious now were the three prisoners, who contemplated escape,
though not at all to the same degree, or for the same reason. Kearney
feared there had been a failure, from betrayal by the coachman spoken of
as so trustworthy; he did not think of suspecting Pepita. The Texan,
too, believed some hitch had occurred, a "bit o' crooked luck," as he
worded it. Not so Rivas. Though, as the others, chafing at the delay,
he still had confidence in the carriage coming, as he had in the
directing head of one he expected to see inside it. It was being
purposely kept back, he fancied; likely as not, lest it might attract
attention by being too early on the street.
Whatever the cause, his conjectures were soon brought to an end--and
abruptly--by seeing the thing itself.
"_Bueno_!" he mentally exclaimed, then muttering to the others--"Yonder
it comes! _Frisones pardes_ coachman in sky-blue and silver--be ready
_camarados_."
And ready they were, as panthers preparing to spring. Rock and Rivas,
as Kearney himself, were now out of the sewer and up on the street; all
three still making believe to work; while the dwarf seemed to suspect
there was something in the wind, but could not guess what.
He knew the instant after, when a strong hand, grasping him by the
collar, lifted him off his feet, raising and tossing him further aloft,
as though he had been but a rat.