"SURRENDER!"
If the carriage horses were startled by the apparition, no less so were
the Hussars formed round. Equally frightened these, though not from the
same cause. The hunchback--for it was he--had become a familiar sight
to them; but not agitated as he appeared to be now. He was panting for
breath, barely able to gasp out the interrogation, "Adone 'stael
Coronel?"
His distraught air and the tone told of some threatening danger.
"Here!" called out Santander, springing his horse a length or two
forward, "What is it, sirrah?"
"The enemy, S'nor Colonel," responded the dwarf, sliding close in to the
stirrup.
"Enemy! What enemy?"
"Them we missed catching--Don Ruperto, the Irlandes, the big Tejano."
"Ha!--They!--Where?"
"Close by, S'nor. I saw them round a great camp-fire up in the
mountains. They're not there now. I came on to tell you. I ran as
fast as ever I was able, but they've been following. I could hear the
tramp of their horses behind all the way. They must be near at hand
now. Hark!"
"Patria y Libertad!"
The cry came from without, in the tone of a charging shibboleth, other
voices adding, "Mueran los tyrannos!"
Instantaneously succeeded by the cracking of carbines, with shouts, and
the clash of steel against steel--the sounds of a hand-to-hand fight,
which the stamping and snorting of horses proclaimed between cavalry.
Never was conflict of shorter duration; over almost before they in the
courtyard could realise its having commenced. The confused sounds of
the _melee_ lasted barely a minute when a loud huzza, drowning the
hoof-strokes of the retreating horses, told that victory had declared
itself for one side or the other. They who listened were not long in
doubt as to which sent up that triumphant cheer. Through the front
gate, standing open, burst a mass of mounted men, some carrying lances
couched for the thrust, others with drawn sabres, many of their blades
dripping blood. On came they into the courtyard, still vociferating:
"Mueran los tyrannos!" while he at their head, soon as showing himself,
called out in a commanding voice, "Rendite?"
By this a change had taken place in the tableau of figures beside the
carriage. The Hussars having reined back, had gathered in a ruck around
their colonel, irresolute how to act. Equally unresolved he to order
them. That cry, "Country and Liberty," had struck terror to his heart;
and now seeing those it came from, recognising the three who rode
foremost--as in the clear moonlight he could--the blood of the craven
ran cold. They were the men he had subjected to insult, direct
degradation; and he need look for no mercy at their hands. With a spark
of manhood, even such as despair sometimes inspires, he would have shown
fight. Major Ramirez would, and did; for at the first alarm he had
galloped out to the gate and there met death.
Not so Santander, who, although he had taken his sword out of its
scabbard, made no attempt to use it, but sat shivering in his saddle, as
if the weapon was about to drop from his hand.
On the instant after a blade more firmly held, and better wielded,
flashed before his eyes; he who held it, as he sprung his horse up,
crying out:
"Carlos Santander! your hour has come! Scoundrel! _This time_ I intend
killing you."
Even the insulting threat stung him not to resistance. Never shone
moonlight on more of a poltroon, the glitter and grandeur of his warlike
dress in striking contrast with his cowardly mien.
"Miserable wretch!" cried Kearney--for it was he who confronted him--"I
don't want to kill you in cold blood Heaven forbid my doing murder.
Defend yourself."
"He defend hisself!" scornfully exclaimed a voice--that of Cris Rock.
"He dassen't as much as do that. He hasn't the steel shirt on now."
Yet another voice at this moment made itself heard, as a figure,
feminine, became added to the group. Luisa Valverde it was, who,
rushing out of the carriage and across the courtyard, cried out--
"Spare his life, Don Florencio. He's not worthy of your sword."
"You're right thar, young lady," endorsed the Texan, answering for
Kearney. "That he ain't--an' bare worth the bit o' lead that's inside
o' this ole pistol. For all, I'll make him a present o' 't--thar, dang
ye."
The last words were accompanied by a flash and a crack, causing
Santander's horse to shy and rear up. When the fore hoofs of the animal
returned to the flags, they but missed coming down upon the body of its
rider, now lying lifeless along them.
"That's gin him his quieetus, I reckin," observed Rock, as he glanced
down at the dead man, whose face upturned had the full moonlight upon
it, showing handsome features, that withal were forbidding in life, but
now more so in the ghastly pallor of death.
No one stayed to gaze upon them, least of all the Texan, who had yet
another life to take, as he deemed in the strict execution of duty and
satisfaction of justice. For it too was forfeit by the basest betrayal.
The soldiers were out of their saddles now, prisoners all; having
surrendered without striking a blow. But crouching away in a shadowy
corner was that thing of deformity, who, from his diminutive size, might
well have escaped observation. He did not, however. The Texan had his
eyes on him all the while, having caught a glimpse of him as they were
riding in at the gate. And in those eyes now gleamed a light of a
vengeance not to be allayed save by a life sacrificed. If Santander on
seeing Kearney believed his hour was come, so did the dwarf as he saw
Cris Rock striding towards him. Caught by the collar, and dragged out
into the light, he knew death was near now.
In vain his protestations and piteous appeals. Spite of all, he had to
die. And a death so unlike that usually meted out to criminals, as he
himself to the commonality of men. No weapon was employed in putting an
end to him: neither gun nor pistol, sword nor knife. Letting go hold of
his collar, the Texan grasped him around the ankles, and with a brandish
raising him aloft, brought his head down upon the pavement. There was a
crash as the breaking of a cocoa-nut shell by a hammer; and when Rock
let go, the mass of mis-shapen humanity dropped in a dollop upon the
flags, arms and legs limp and motionless, in the last not even the power
left for a spasmodic kick.
"Ye know, Cap," said the Texan, justifying himself to Kearney, "I'd be
the last man to do a cruel thing. But to rid the world o' sech varmint
as them, 'cording to my way o' thinking, air the purest hewmanity."
A doctrine which the young Irishman was not disposed to dispute just at
that time, being otherwise and better occupied, holding soft hands in
his, words exchanging with sweet lips, not unaccompanied by kisses.
Near at hand Don Ruperto was doing the same, his _vis-a-vis_ being the
Condesa.
But these moments of bliss were brief--had need be. The raid of the
Free Lances down to San Augustin was a thing of risk, only to have been
attempted by lovers who believed their loved ones were in deadly danger.
In another hour or less, the Hussars who had escaped would report
themselves at San Angel and Chapultepec--then there would be a rush of
thousands in the direction of Tlalpam.
So there was in reality--soldiers of all arms, "horse, foot, and
dragoons." But on arrival there they found the house of Don Ignacio
Valverde untenanted; even the domestics had gone out of it; the
carriage, too, which has played such an important part in our tale,
along with the noble _frisones_. The horses had not been taken out of
it, nor any change made in the company it carried off. Only in the
driver, the direction, and _cortege_. Jose again held the reins,
heading his horses up the mountain road, instead of towards Mexico;
while, in place of Colonel Santander's Hussars, the Free Lances of
Captain Ruperto Rivas now formed a more friendly escort.