THE DUEL
Now we placed our ears against the panelling and listened. First we
heard creaks that were loud in the stillness, then soft heavy noises
such as are made by a cat when it jumps from a height to the ground,
and a gentle rubbing as of stockinged feet upon the floor. After this
for some seconds came silence that presently was broken by the clink
of steel, and the sound of heavy blows delivered upon a soft substance
with swords and knives. The murderers were driving their weapons
through the bed-clothes, thinking that we slept beneath them. Next we
heard whisperings and muttered oaths, then a voice, Don José’s, said:
“Be careful, the beds are empty.”
Another instant and candles were lit, for their light reached us
through small peep-holes in the panel, and by putting our eyes to
these we could see what passed in the room. There before us we beheld
Don José, Don Smith, and four of their companions, all armed with
knives or _machetes_, while, framed, as it were in the wall, in the
place that had been occupied by the picture of the abbot, stood our
host, Don Pedro, holding a candle above his head, and glaring with his
fish-like eyes into every corner of the room.
“Where are they?” he said. “Where are the wizards? Find them quick and
kill them.”
Now the men ran to and fro about the chamber, dragging aside the beds
and staring at the pictures on the wall as though they expected to see
us there.
“They are gone,” said José at length, “that Indian, Ignatio, has
conjured them away. He is a _demonio_ and not a man; I thought it from
the first.”
“Impossible!” cried Don Pedro, who was white with rage and fear. “The
door has been watched ever since they entered it, and no living thing
could force those bars. Search, search, they must be hidden.”
“Search yourself,” answered Don Smith sullenly, “they are not here.
Perhaps they discovered the trick of the picture and escaped down the
passages to the chapel.”
“It cannot be,” said Don Pedro again, “for just now I was in the
chapel and saw no signs of them. We have some traitor among us who has
led them from the house; by Heaven, if I find him out----” and he
uttered a fearful oath.
“Shall we bring the dogs?” asked José,--and I trembled at his words:
“they might smell their footing.”
“Fool, what is the use of dogs in a place where all of you have been
tramping?” answered the father. “To-morrow at dawn we will try them
outside, for these men must be found and killed, or we are ruined.
Already the authorities suspect us because of the disappearance of the
two _Americanos_, and they will send soldiers from Vera Cruz to shoot
us down, for without doubt this _Inglese_ is rich and powerful. It is
certain that they are not here, but perhaps they are hidden elsewhere
in the building. Come, let us search the passages and the roof,” and
he vanished into the wall, followed by the others, leaving the chamber
as dark and silent as it had been before their coming.
For a while the danger had passed, and we pressed each other’s hands
in gratitude, for to speak or even to whisper we did not dare. Ten
minutes or more went by, when once again we heard sounds, and a light
appeared in the room, borne in the hand of Don Pedro, who was
accompanied by his son, Don José.
“They have vanished,” said the old man, “the devil their master knows
how. Well, to-morrow we must hunt them out if possible, till then
nothing can be done. You were a fool to bring them here, José. Have I
not told you that no money should tempt me to have more to do with the
death of white men?”
“I did it for revenge, not money,” answered José.
“A nice revenge,” said his father, “a revenge that is likely to cost
us all our lives, even in this country. I tell you that, if they are
not found to-morrow and silenced, I shall leave this place and travel
into the interior, where no law can follow us, for I do not wish to be
shot down like a dog.
“Listen, José, bid those rascals to give up the search and go to bed,
it is useless. Then do you come quietly to my room, and we will visit
the Indian and his daughter. If we are to screw their secret out of
them, it must be done to-night, for, like a fool, I told that
Englishman the story when the wine was in me, thinking that he would
never live to repeat it.”
“Yes, yes, it must be to-night, for to-morrow we may have to fly. But
what if the brutes won’t speak, father?”
“We will find means to make them,” answered the old man with a hideous
chuckle; “but whether they speak or not, they must be silenced
afterwards----” and he drew his hand across his throat, adding,
“Come.”
An hour passed while we stood in the hole trembling with excitement,
hope, and fear, and then once more we heard footfalls, followed
presently by the sound of a voice whispering on the further side of
the panel.
“Are you there, lord?” the whisper said. “It is I, Luisa.”
“Yes,” I answered.
Now she touched the spring and opened the panel.
“Listen,” she said, “they have gone to sleep all of them, but before
dawn they will be up again to search for you far and wide. Therefore
you must do one of two things; lie hid here, perhaps for days, or take
your chance of escape at once.”
“How can we escape?” I asked.
“There is but one way, lord, through the chapel. The door into it is
locked, but I can show you a place from which the priests used to
watch those below, and thence, if you are brave, you can drop to the
ground beneath, for the height is not great. Once there, you can
escape into the garden through the window over the altar, which is
broken, as I have seen from without, though to do so, perhaps, you
will have to climb upon each other’s shoulders. Then you must fly as
swiftly as you can by the light of the moon, which has risen. The dogs
have been gorged and tied up, so, if the Heart is your friend, you may
yet go unharmed.”
Now I spoke to the señor, saying:
“Although the woman does not know it, I think it likely that we shall
find company in this chapel, seeing that the Indian and his daughter
are imprisoned there, where Don Pedro and José have gone to visit
them. The risk is great, shall we take it?”
“Yes,” answered the señor after a moment’s thought, “for it is better
to take a risk than to perish by inches in this hole of starvation, or
perhaps to be discovered and murdered in cold blood. Also we have
travelled far and undergone much to find this Indian, and if we lose
our chance of doing so, we may get no other.”
“What do you say, Molas?” I asked.
“I say that the words of the señor are wise, also that it matters
little to me what we do, since whether I turn to left or right death
waits me on my path.”
Now one by one we climbed through the false panel, and by the light of
the moon Luisa led us across the chamber to the spot between the beds,
where hangs the picture of the abbot, which picture, that is painted
on a slab of wood, proved to be only a cunningly devised door
constructed to swing upon a pivot.
Placing her knee on the threshold of the secret door, Luisa scrambled
into the passage beyond. When the rest of us stood by her side, she
closed the panel, and, bidding us cling to one another and be silent,
she took me by the hand and guided us through some passages till at
length she whispered:
“Be cautious now, for we come to the place whence you must drop into
the chapel, and there is a stairway to your right.”
We passed the stairway and turned a corner, Luisa still leading.
Next instant she staggered back into my arms, murmuring, “Mother of
Heaven! the ghosts! the ghosts!” Indeed, had I not held her she would
have fled. Still grasping her hand, I pushed forward to find myself
standing in a small recess--the one I showed you, Señor Jones--that
was placed about ten feet above the floor of the chapel, and, like
other places in this house, so arranged that the abbot or monk in
authority, without being seen himself, could see and hear all that
passed beneath him.
Of one thing I am sure, that during all the generations that are gone
no monk watching here ever saw a stranger sight than that which met my
eyes. The chancel of the chapel was lit up by shafts of brilliant
moonlight that poured through the broken window, and by a lamp which
stood upon the stone altar. Within the circle of strong light thrown
by this lamp were four people, namely, Don Pedro, his son Don José,
an old Indian, and a girl.
On either side of the altar then, as now, rose two carven pillars of
_sapote_ wood, the tops of which were fashioned into the figures of
angels, and to these columns the old Indian and the woman were tied,
one to each column, their hands being joined together at the back of
the pillars in such a manner as to render them absolutely helpless. My
eyes rested first upon the woman, who was nearest to me, and seeing
her, even as she was then, dishevelled, worn with pain and hunger, her
proud face distorted by agony of mind and impotent rage, I no longer
wondered that both Molas and Don Pedro had raved about her beauty.
She was an Indian, but such an Indian as I had never known before, for
in colour she was almost white, and her dark and waving hair hung in
masses to her knees. Her face was oval and small-featured, and in it
shone a pair of wonderful dark-blue eyes, while the clinging white
robe she wore revealed the loveliness of her tall and delicate shape.
Bad as was the girl’s plight, that of the old man her father, who was
none other than the Zibalbay we had come to seek, seemed even worse.
As Molas had described him, he was thin and very tall, with white hair
and beard, wild and hawk-like eyes, and aquiline features, nor had Don
Pedro spoken more than the truth when he said that he looked like a
king. His robe had been torn from him, leaving him half naked, and on
his forehead, breast, and arms were blood and bruises which clearly
had been caused by a riding-whip that lay broken at his feet.
It was not difficult to guess who had broken it, for in front of the
old man, breathing heavily and wiping the perspiration from his brow,
stood Don José.
“This mule won’t stir,” he said to his father in Spanish; “ask the
girl, it must wake her up to see the old man knocked about.”
Then Don Pedro slipped off the altar rail upon which he had been
seated, and, advancing to the woman, he peered at her with his leaden
eyes:
“My dear,” he said to her in the Maya language, “this sight must
grieve you. Put an end to it then by telling us of that place where so
much gold is hidden.”
“As with my last breath, daughter,” broke in Zibalbay, “I command you
to say nothing, no, not if you see them murder me by inches before
your eyes.”
“Silence, you dog,” said Don José, striking him across the lips with
his hand.
“Oh! that I were free to avenge you!” gasped the girl as she strained
and tore at the ropes which held her.
[image: img_126.jpg
caption: ‘Oh! that I were free to avenge you!’]
“Don’t be in a hurry, my love,” sneered Don José, “wait a while and
you will have yourself to avenge as well as your father. If he won’t
speak I think we can find a way to make you talk, only I do not want
to be rough with you unless I am forced to it. You are too pretty,
much too pretty.”
The girl shivered, gasping with fear and hate, and was silent.
“What shall we try him with now?” he went on, addressing Don Pedro;
“hot steel or cold? Make up your mind, for I am growing tired. Well,
if you won’t, just hand me that _machete_, will you? Now, friend,” he
said, addressing the Indian, “for the last time I ask you to tell us
where is that temple full of gold, of which you spoke to your daughter
in my father’s hearing?”
“There is no such place, white man,” he answered sullenly.
“Indeed, friend! Then will you explain where you found those little
ingots, which we captured from the Indian who had been visiting you,
and whence came this _machete_?” and he pointed to the weapon in his
hand.
It was a sword of great beauty, as I could see even from where we
stood, made not of steel, but of hardened copper, and having for a
handle a female figure with outstretched arms fashioned in solid gold.
“The _machete_ was given to me by a friend,” said the Indian, “I do
not know where he got it.”
“Really,” answered José with a brutal laugh, “perhaps you will
remember presently. Here, father, warm the point of the _machete_ in
the lamp, will you, while I tell our guest how we are going to serve
him and his daughter.”
Don Pedro nodded, and, taking the sword, he held the tip of it over
the flame, while José bending forward whispered into the Indian’s
ear, pointing from time to time to the girl, who, overcome with
faintness or horror, had sunk to the ground, where she was huddled in
a heap half hidden by the masses of her hair.
“Are you white men then devils?” said the old man at length, with a
groan that seemed to burst from the bottom of his heart, “and is there
no law or justice among you?”
“Not at all, friend,” answered José, “we are good fellows enough, but
times are hard and we must live. As for the rest, we don’t trouble
over much about law in these parts, and I never heard that unbaptised
Indian dogs have any right to justice. Now, once more, will you guide
us to the place whence that gold came, leaving your daughter here as
hostage for our safety?”
“Never!” cried the Indian, “better that we two should perish a hundred
times, than that the ancient secrets of my people should pass to such
as you.”
“So you have secrets after all! Father, is the sword hot?” asked
José.
“One minute more, son,” said the old man, quietly turning the point in
the flame.
This was the scene that we witnessed, and these were the words that
astonished our ears.
“It is time to interfere,” muttered the señor, and, placing his hand
upon the rail, he prepared to drop into the church.
Now a thought struck me, and I drew him back to the passage.
“Perhaps the door is open,” I said.
“Are you going in there?” asked the girl Luisa.
“Certainly,” I replied; “we must rescue these people, or die with
them.”
“Then, señors, farewell, I have done all I can for you, and now the
saints must be your guide, for if I am seen they will kill me, and I
have a child for whose sake I desire to live. Again, farewell,” and
she glided away like a shadow.
We crept forward down the stair. At the foot of it was a little door,
which, as we had hoped, stood ajar. For a moment we consulted
together, then we crawled on through the gloom towards the ring of
light about the altar. Now José had the heated sword in his hand.
“Look up, my dear, look up,” he said to the girl, patting her on the
cheek. “I am about to baptize your excellent father according to the
rites of the Christian religion, by marking him with a cross upon the
forehead,” and he advanced the glowing point of the sword towards the
Indian’s face.
At that instant Molas pinned him from behind, causing him to drop the
weapon, while I did the same office by Don Pedro, holding him so that,
struggle as he might, he could not stir.
“Make a sound, either of you, and you are dead,” said the señor,
picking up the _machete_ and placing its hot point against José’s
breast, where it slowly burnt its way through his clothes.
“What are we to do with these men?” he asked.
“Kill them as they would have killed us,” answered Molas; “or, if you
fear the task, cut loose the old man yonder and let him avenge his own
and his daughter’s wrongs.”
“What say you, Ignatio?”
“I seek no man’s blood, but for our own safety it is well that these
wretches should die. Away with them!”
Now Don Pedro began to bleat inarticulately in his terror, and that
hero, José, burst into tears and pleaded for his life, writhing with
pain the while, for the point of the sword scorched him.
“You are an English gentleman,” he groaned, “you cannot butcher a
helpless man as though he were an ox.”
“As you tried to butcher us in the chamber yonder,--us, who saved your
life,” answered the señor. “Still, you are right, I cannot do it
because, as you say, I am a gentleman. Molas, loose this dog, and if
he tries to run, put your knife through him. José Moreno, you have a
sword by your side, and I hold one in my hand; I will not murder you,
but we have a quarrel, and we will settle it here and now.”
“You are mad, señor,” I said, “to risk your life thus, I myself will
kill him rather than it should be so.”
“Will you fight if I loose you, José Moreno?” he asked, making me no
answer, “or will you be killed where you stand?”
“I will fight,” he replied.
“Good. Let him free, Molas, and be ready with your knife.”
“I command you,” I began, but already the man was loose and the señor
stood waiting for him, his back to the door, and grasping the Indian
_machete_ handled with the golden woman.
Now José glanced round as though he sought a means of escape, but
there was none, for in front was the _machete_ and behind was the
knife of Molas. For some seconds--ten perhaps--they stood facing each
other in the ring of the lamp-light, whilst the moonbeams played
faintly about their heads. We watched in utter silence, the Indian
girl shaking the long hair from her face, and leaning forward as far
as her bonds would allow, that she might see this battle to the death
between him who had insulted and tormented her, and the noble-looking
white man who had appeared out of the gloom to bring her deliverance.
It was a strange scene, for the contrast of light and darkness, or of
good and evil, is not greater than was that of these two men, and what
made it stranger were the place and hour. Behind them was the half-lit
emptiness of the deserted chapel, before them stood the holy crucifix
and the desecrated altar of God, and beneath their feet lay the bones
of the forgotten dead, whose spirits mayhap were watching them from
the shadows as earnestly as did our living eyes. Yes, that midnight
scene of death and vengeance enacted in the House of Peace was very
strange, and even now it thrills my blood to think of it.
From the moment that I saw them fronting each other, my fears for the
issue vanished. Victory was written on the calm features of the
señor, and more especially in his large blue eyes, that of a sudden
had grown stern as those of an avenging angel, while the face of José
told only of baffled fury struggling with bottomless despair. He was
about to die, and the terror of approaching death unnerved him.
Still it was he who struck the first, for, stepping forward, he aimed
a desperate blow at the señor’s head, who, springing aside, avoided
it, and in return ran him through the left arm. With a cry of pain,
the Mexican sprang back, followed by the señor, at whom he cut from
time to time, but without result, for every blow was parried.
Now they were within the altar rails, and now his back was against one
of the carved pillars of _sapote_ wood,--that to which the girl was
tied. Further he could not fly, but stayed there, laying about him
wildly, so that the woman at the other side of the pillar crouched
upon the ground to avoid the sweep of his sword.
Then the end came, for the señor, who was waiting his chance, drew
suddenly within reach, only to step back so that the furious blow
aimed at his head struck with a ringing sound upon the marble floor,
where the mark of it may yet be seen. Before Don José, whose arm was
numbed by the shock, could lift the sword again, the señor ran in,
and for the second time thrust with all his strength. But now the aim
was truer, for his _machete_ pierced the Mexican through the heart, so
that he fell down and died there upon the altar step.
Now I must tell of my own folly that went near to bringing us all to
death. You will remember that I was holding Don Pedro, and how it came
about I know not, but in my joy and agitation I slacked my grip, so
that with a sudden twist he was able to tear himself from my hands,
and in a twinkling of an eye was gone.
I bounded after him, but too late, for as I reached the door it was
slammed in my face, nor could I open it, for on the chapel side were
neither key nor handle.
“Fly,” I cried, rushing back to the altar, “he has escaped, and will
presently be here with the rest.”
The señor had seen, and already was engaged in severing with his
sword the rope that bound the girl, while Molas cut loose her father.
Now I leapt upon the altar--may the sacrilege be forgiven to my
need--and, springing at the stonework of the broken window, I made
shift to pull myself up with the help of Molas pushing from below.
Seated upon the window ledge I leaned down, and catching the Indian
Zibalbay by the wrists, for he was too stiff to leap, with great
efforts I dragged him to me, and bade him drop without fear to the
ground, which was not more than ten feet below us. Next came his
daughter, then the Señor, and last of all, Molas, so that within
three minutes from the escape of Don Pedro we stood unhurt outside the
chapel among the bushes of a garden.
“Where to now?” I asked, for the place was strange to me.
The girl, Maya, looked round her, then she glanced up at the heavens.
“Follow me,” she said, “I know a way,” and started down the garden at
a run.
Presently we came to a wall the height of a man, beyond which was a
thick hedge of aloes. Over the wall we climbed, and through the aloes
we burst a path, not without doing ourselves some hurt,--for the
thorns were sharp,--to find ourselves in a _milpa_ or corn-field. Here
the girl stopped, again searching the stars, and at that moment we
heard sounds of shouting, and, looking back, saw lights moving to and
fro in the _hacienda_.
“We must go forward or perish,” I said, “Don Pedro has aroused his
men.”
Then she dashed into the _milpa_, and we followed her. There was no
path, and the cornstalks, that stood high above us, caught our feet
and shook the dew in showers upon our heads, till our clothes were
filled with water like a sponge. Still we struggled on, one following
the other, for fifteen minutes or more, till at length we were clear
of the cultivated land and standing on the borders of the forest.
“Halt,” I said, “where do we run to? The road lies to the right, and
by following it we may reach a town.”
“To be arrested as murderers,” broke in the señor. “You forget that
José Moreno is dead at my hands, and his father will swear our lives
away, or that at the best we shall be thrown into prison. No, no, we
must hide in the bush.”
“Sirs,” said the old Indian, speaking for the first time, “I know a
secret place in the forest, an ancient and ruined building, where we
may take refuge for a while if we can reach it. But first I ask, who
are you?”
“You should know me, Zibalbay,” said Molas, “seeing that I am the
messenger whom you sent to search for him that you desire to find, the
Lord and Keeper of the Heart,” and he pointed to me.
“Are you that man?” asked the Indian.
“I am,” I answered, “and I have suffered much to find you, but now is
no time for talk; guide us to this hiding-place of yours, for our
danger is great.”
Then once more the girl took the lead, and we plunged forward into the
forest, often stumbling and falling in the darkness, till the dawn
broke in the east, and the shoutings of our pursuers died away.