For some time after their arrival at the old monastery, neither Kearney
nor Cris Rock saw aught of their late "fourth fellow" prisoner--the
hunchback. They cared not to inquire after him; the Texan repeating
himself by saying,--"This chile don't want ever to sit eyes on his ugly
pictur agin." They supposed that he was still there, however, somewhere
about the building.
And so was he, with a chain attached to his leg, the same he had shared
with Rock, its severed end now padlocked to a ring bolt; and the
apartment he occupied had as much of the prison aspect as any cell in
the Acordada. No doubt, in days gone by, many a refractory brother had
pined and done penance therein for breach of monastic discipline.
Why the mis-shapen creature was so kept needs little explanation; for
the same reason as prompted to bringing him thither. Helpless as he
might appear, he was not harmless; and Don Ruperto knew that to restore
him to liberty would be to risk losing his own, with something more.
Though safely bestowed, however, no severity was shown him. He had his
meals regularly, and a bed to sleep on, if but a pallet, quite as good
as he had been accustomed to. Moreover, after some time had elapsed, he
was relieved from this close confinement during the hours of the day. A
clever actor, and having a tongue that could "wheedle with the devil,"
he had wheedled with the mayor-domo to granting him certain indulgences;
among them being allowed to spend part of his time in the kitchen and
scullery. Not in idleness, however, but occupied with work for which he
had proved himself well qualified. It was found that he had once been
"boots" in a _posado_, which fitted him for usefulness in many ways.
In the _cocina_ of the old convent his temper was sorely tried, the
other "mozos" making cruel sport of him. But he bore it with a meekness
very different to what he had shown while in the Acordada.
Thus acquitting himself, Gregorio, who had him in special charge, began
to regard him as a useful if not ornamental addition to his domestic
staff of the establishment. Notwithstanding, the precaution was still
continued of locking him at night and re-attaching the chain to his
ankle. This last was more disagreeable than aught else he had to
endure. He could bear the jibes of his fellow-scullions, but that
fetter sorely vexed him; as night after night he was accustomed to say
to the mayor-domo as he was turning the key in its clasp.
"It's so uncomfortable, Senor Don Gregorio," was his constantly
recurring formula. "Keeps me from sleeping and's very troublesome when
I want to turn over, as I often do on account of the pains in my poor
humped shoulders. Now, why need you put it on? Surely you're not
afraid of me trying to get away? Ha, ha! that would be turning one's
back upon best friends. _Cascaras_! I fare too well here to think of
changing quarters. Above all, going into the Acordada; where I'd have
to go sure, if I were to show my face in the city again. Oh no, Senor!
you don't catch me leaving this snug crib, so long's you allow me to
board and bed in it. Only I'd like you to let me off from that nasty
thing. It's cold too; interferes with my comfort generally. Do, good
Don Gregorio! For this one night try me without it. And if you're not
satisfied with the result, then put it on ever after, and I won't
complain, I promise you."
In somewhat similar forms he had made appeals for many nights in
succession, but without melting the heart of the "Good Don Gregorio."
At length, however, it proved effectual. Among various other avocations
he had been a _Zapartero_, of the class cobbler, and on a certain day
did service to the mayor-domo by mending his shoes. For which he
received payment in the permission to pass that night without being
discommoded by the chain.
"It's so very kind of you, Don Gregorio!" he said, when made aware of
the grace to be given to him. "I ought to sleep sound this night,
anyhow. But whether I do or not, I shall pray for you before going to
bed all the same. _Buenas noches_!"
It was twilight outside, but almost total darkness within the cell, as
the mayor-domo turned to go out of it. Otherwise he might have seen on
the dwarfs features an expression calculated to make him repent his act
of kindness, and instantly undo it. Could he have divined the thoughts
at that moment passing through Zorillo's mind, the clasp would have
quickly closed around the latter's leg, despite all gratitude due to him
for the patching of the shoes.
"If I can get out," he commenced in mental soliloquy, as the footfall of
the mayor-domo died away in the distant corridor, "out and away from
them, my fortune's made; all sorts of good things in store for me. From
this time forth I needn't fear to present myself at the door of the
Acordada; walk right into it. No danger of Don Pedro keeping me there
now. Instead, I should be sent out again with a free pardon and a full
purse. _Chingara_, talk of a cat in the cupboard, here are a score of
them--half a hundred! And when I let them out--aha!"
He paused; then rising to his feet, moved across to the door, and laid
his ear against it to listen. He heard sounds, but they were sounds of
merriment--the counterfeit monks at their evening meal--and did not
concern him.
"What a bit of luck it may turn out, after all, my getting coupled to
that great brute and brought here! That is, if all goes well, and I can
give them the slip. First, to make sure about the possibility of
getting out of this hole. _Carrai_! I may be counting my chickens in
the eggs."
Leaving the door, he glided across to the window, and set himself square
against it, as if to measure its breadth by that of his own body. It
was but a slit, unglazed, a single iron bar, placed vertically, dividing
the aperture into two. Without removing this he could not possibly pass
through. But he had the means to remove it; that file, already known to
the reader, which he had contrived to get possession of, and for days
kept secret in his cell. First, however, he must see whether it was
worth while using it; for during all the time of his being there he had
never been allowed an opportunity to approach the window and look out.
Leaning forward into the recess, he thrust his head between the bar and
jamb, so far out as to give him a view of the ground below. This was
solid rock, the crest of a steep slope, from which the wall rose as
above a buttress. But there was a ledge, some ten or twelve feet under
the sill, narrow, but wide enough to afford footing, which led off to
more level ground. How was he to reach it?
He knew, or he would not have acted as he now did. For without spending
another second in the survey, he drew back from the window, plunged his
hand under his bed mat, drew forth the file, and commenced rasping away
at the bar. Not noisily or in any excited haste. Even if the obstacle
were removed, the time had not come for his attempt to pass out. He
would wait for an hour after midnight, when all had gone to their beds.
Eaten with rust, the iron was easily sawed through, a clean cut being
made near its lower end. Then, laying aside the file, and grasping the
bar, he wrenched it out of the solderings. If diminutive in body, his
arms were sinewy and strong as those of a coal-heaver.
This task accomplished, he turned to his pallet and taking up the old
blanket allowed him for a covering, began to tear it into strips. He
meant to make a rope of it to lower himself down outside. But finding
it quite rotten, and doubting whether it would bear his weight, he
desisted and sat for a time considering. Not long till he bethought
himself of something more suitable for his purpose--the chain.
"Bah!" he exclaimed, tossing aside the rags he had commenced splicing
together, "why didn't I think of that? Well, it's not too late yet.
Good three yards--long enough. And the stupid has left the key behind,
which fits both ends. So, Mr Chain, considering the world of worry and
trouble you've been to me, it's time, and only fair, you should do me a
good turn by way of recompense. After you've done it, I'll forgive
you."
While muttering this quaint apostrophe, he commenced groping about over
the floor--not for the chain, but the key, which he knew Gregorio had
left, after releasing his leg from the clasp. The mayor-domo had either
forgotten, or did not think it was worth while taking it away.
Having found it, he felt his way to the ring bolt, and unlocking the
clasp at that end, returned to the window, taking the chain with him.
Having made one end fast around the stump of the bar, he lowered the
other down outside, cautiously, without a tinkle of its links. And now
again looking out and below, he was delighted to see that it reached
within a foot or two of the ledge. All this done, he once more sat down
on the side of the bed, to await the hour of midnight.
But he was not long quiescent, when a thought occurring caused him to
resume action.
"Why not try it now?" he mentally interrogated. "They're all in the
Refectory, having a fine time of it, drinking their famous wines. Some
grand occasion, I heard one of the _mozos_ say. There mightn't be a
better chance for me than this very minute--maybe not so good.
_Carramba_! I'll risk it now."
Quickly at the words he glided back to the window, climbed up into it,
and squeezing out through the aperture, let himself down on the chain,
link by link, as a monkey making descent of a _lliana_ in the forests of
the _tierra caliente_.
Soon as he found himself safe landed he let go the chain, and after a
minute or so spent in silent reconnaissance of the ledge, commenced
moving off along it.
Right he was in choosing that early hour, for the way he must needs take
led out into the open ground, in front of the building, where at a later
one a watch would have been stationed. There was none there now, and
without stop or challenge he passed on and down.
Though they had never allowed him to go outside the building, he
perfectly remembered the path by which he and the others had reached it,
on that memorable night after their escape from the chain-gang. He
recalled the two steep slopes, one above the other, with a narrow shelf
between, on which they encountered the sentinel, who had hailed, "_Quien
viva_?"
Sure to be one there now, and to such hail what answer could he make?
On this he reflected while descending the upper slope. The darkness due
to the overshadowing trees made it necessary for him to go slowly, so
giving him time. But it did not hinder his keeping to the path. With
his long arms like the tentacles of an octopus he was able to direct his
course, now and then using them to grasp overhanging branches, or the
parasites dependent therefrom. Withal he went cautiously, and so
silently, that the sentinel--for sure enough one was there--heard no
noise to warn him of an enemy behind. In his monkish garb, he was
standing on the outer edge of the shelf rock, his face turned to the
valley, which was just beginning to show silvery white under the rays of
a rising moon. Perhaps, like Don Ruperto, he was gazing on some spot, a
house endeared to him as the home of his childhood; but from which, as
the leader of the Free Lances, he had been bereft by the last
confiscation. Possibly he was indulging in the hope of its being soon
restored to him, but least of all dreaming of danger behind.
It was there, notwithstanding--in fiendish shape and close proximity. A
creature squatted like a toad, human withal, saying to himself--
"What wouldn't I give for a knife with a blade six inches long!"
Then, with a sudden change of thought, seeing the chance to do without
the knife, making a dash forward, with the ape-like arms extended, and
pushing the sentinel over!
The cry that came from the latter, on feeling the impulse from behind,
was stifled as he went whirling to the bottom of the cliff.