That was a night of terror for the women. Although Longorio's
discipline was in some ways strict, in others it was extremely lax.
From some quarter his men had secured a supply of mescal, and,
forgetful of Felipe's unhappy fate, they rendered the hours hideous.
There were singing and quarreling, and a shot or two sounded from the
direction of the outbuildings. Morning found both Alaire and Dolores
sadly overwrought. But they felt some relief upon learning that the
general had been unexpectedly summoned from his bed at daylight, and
had ridden to the telegraph office.
Profiting by his absence, Alaire ventured from her room, racking her
brain to devise some means of escape. But soldiers were everywhere;
they lolled around the servants' quarters; they dozed in the shade of
the ranch buildings, recovering from the night's debauch; and an armed
sentinel who paced the hacienda road gave evidence that, despite their
apparent carelessness, they had by no means relaxed their vigilance. A
round of the premises convinced Alaire that the place was effectually
guarded, and showed her the futility of trying to slip away. She
realized, too, that even if she managed to do so, her plight would be
little better. For how could she hope to cover the hundred miles
between La Feria and the Rio Grande when every peon was an enemy?
She was standing in one of the open, sashless windows when her former
protector, the old lieutenant, bade her good morning and paused to
smoke a cigarette.
"Well, it was a great night, wasn't it?" he began. "And we have great
news this morning. We are going to fight you gringos."
"I hope not."
"Yes; it will probably go hard with you. Tell me, this city of
Washington is a fine city, and very rich, is it not?"
"Oh yes."
"It's full of loot, eh? Especially the President's palace? That is
good. One can never believe all one hears."
"Why do you ask?" Alaire was curious.
"I was thinking it would pay us to go there. If your soldiers march
upon Mexico City, it would be a brilliant piece of strategy for General
Longorio to invade the United States, would it not? It would be funny
to capture Washington and hold your President for ransom, eh?"
"Very funny," Alaire agreed, dryly. "How would you go about it?"
Pancho shrugged. "That is the trouble. We would have to march around
Texas, I presume."
"Around Texas?"
"Yes. You see, Texas is a bad country; it is full of--barbarians who
know how to fight. If it were not for Texas we would have the United
States at our mercy." After some consideration he ventured this
opinion: "We could afford to pay the Texans for allowing us to ride
through their country, provided we stole nothing and paid for the
cattle we ate. Well, Longorio is a great one for schemes; he is talking
over the telegraph with somebody at this moment. Perhaps it is the
President of Texas."
"You are a poor man, are you not?" Alaire inquired.
"Miserably poor."
"Would you like to make a great deal of money?"
"Dios! That is why I'm a soldier."
"I will pay you well to get me two horses--"
But old Pancho shook his head vigorously. "Impossible! General Longorio
is going to marry you. We all got drunk last night to celebrate the
wedding. Yes, and the priest is waiting."
"I will make you rich."
"Ho! I wouldn't live to spend a single peso. Felipe disobeyed orders,
and the general shot him before he could cross himself. Boom! The poor
fellow was in hell in a minute. No. We will all be rich after we win a
few battles and capture some American cities. I am an old man; I shall
leave the drinking and the women to the young fellows, and prepare for
my old age."
Seeing that she could not enlist Pancho's aid, Alaire begged him to
fetch the priest.
"You wish spiritual comfort, señora?"
"Perhaps."
"Well, he doesn't look like much of a priest, but probably he will do.
As for me, I don't believe in such things. Churches are all very well
for ignorant people, but we Mexicans are too intelligent; we are making
an end of them."
The priest was a small, white-haired man with a gentle, almost timid
face, and at the moment when he appeared before Alaire he was in
anything but a happy frame of mind. He had undergone, he told her, a
terrible experience. His name was O'Malley. He had come from Monclova,
whence the Rebels had banished him under threat of death. He had seen
his church despoiled of its valuables, his school closed; he himself
had managed to escape only by a miracle. During his flight toward the
border he had suffered every indignity, and finally Longorio had
intercepted him and brought him here, practically in chains.
"What a situation! What chaos!" he lamented. "The land is overrun with
bandits; there is no law, no authority, no faith; religion is made a
mockery. The men are becoming infidels and atheists, and in many places
they will not allow us to give comfort even to their women."
"Is it as bad as that?"
Father O'Malley shook his head sadly. "You've no idea. What do you
think of a people who forbid the mention of God's name in their
schools? That is what the revolutionists are doing. Candeleria claims
that the churches are the property of the State. He confiscates them,
and he charges admission. He has banished all except a few of us
priests, and has shamefully persecuted our Sisters of Mercy. Oh, the
outrages! Mexico is, today, the blackest spot on the map of
Christendom." His voice broke. "That is the freedom, the liberty, the
democracy, for which they are fighting. That is the new Mexico. And the
Federals are not a bit better. This Longorio, for instance,
this--wolf--he brings me here, as his prisoner, to solemnize an unholy
marriage! He treats me like a dog. Last night I slept in a filthy
hovel--"
"Oh! I'm sorry," Alaire exclaimed. "But I'm half crazed with my own
troubles. You must come into the house; the best I have is yours. You
shall be as much my guest as I can make you, and--perhaps you will help
me to escape."
"Escape?" The little man smiled mournfully. "You are watched and
guarded, and so am I. Even if you got away from here, what then? You
can't imagine the condition of the country."
"I won't marry him!" Alaire cried, with a shudder. "I won't!"
"He can't very well force you to do so. But remember, these are war
times; the man is a fiend, and he puts no restraint upon his desires.
If he is madly bent on having you, how can you prevent it? In normal
times he would not dare injure one so prominent as you, but now--"
Father O'Malley lifted his hands. "I only wonder that he suggests a
lawful marriage. Suppose you refuse? Will he not sacrifice you to his
passions? He has done worse things." After a moment's consideration he
said: "Of course it is possible that I misjudge him. Anyhow, if you
desire me to do so I will refuse to perform the ceremony. But--I'm
afraid it will just mean ruin for both of us."
"Surely he wouldn't harm you?"
The Father shrugged. "What am I? An obscure priest. Many of my brothers
are buried in Mexico. However, I shall do as you wish."
As the day wore on Alaire realized even more clearly the fact that she
was Longorio's prisoner. His men, in spite of their recent debauch,
kept a very good watch over her, and it was plain that they would obey
his orders, no matter how extreme. It occurred to her finally that he
was staying away purposely, in order to give her a fuller appreciation
of her position--so that she might beat her wings against the cage
until exhausted.
Afternoon came, then evening, and still Longorio did not return, Father
O'Malley could give scant comfort; Dolores was a positive trial.
Half distracted, Alaire roamed through the house, awaiting her captor's
coming, steeling herself for their final battle. But the delay was
trying; she longed for the crisis to come, that this intolerable
suspense might be ended. At such an hour her thoughts naturally turned
to Dave Law, and she found herself yearning for him with a yearning
utterly new. His love had supported her through those miserable days at
Las Palmas, but now it was a torture; she called his name wildly,
passionately. He knew her whereabouts and her peril--why did he not
come? Then, more calmly, she asked herself what he, or what any one,
could do for her. How could she look for succor when two nations were
at war?
Night had come before she finally gave up and acknowledged the
hopelessness of her situation. She had fought bravely, but with
darkness her fears grew blacker. She was on the verge of her first
breakdown when, in the early dusk outside, she heard voices and the
stamping of horses' hoofs. The sounds were muffled by the heavy wooden
shutters she had taken pains to close and bar, but they told her that
Longorio had returned. Since it was futile to deny him entrance, she
waited where she was. Old Pancho's voice sounded outside; then there
came a knock upon the door of the room in which she stood.
"Come in," she said, tensely.
The lieutenant thrust his head in and, removing his hat, announced,
"There is someone here to see General Longorio on important business.
He says you will do."
"I?"
"Yes. He says he is one of us--"
Pancho was pushed aside, the door was flung back, and a man strode
swiftly into the lamplight. He paused, blinking as if momentarily
blinded, and Alaire clutched at the nearest chair for support. A
roaring began in her ears; she felt herself sway forward as if the
strength had left her knees. She heard Dave's voice faintly; he was
saying:
"Take care of my horse. Feed and water her well. Understand? When
General Longorio comes tell him I am waiting here."
As if in a dream, Alaire saw the Mexican go out, closing the door
behind him. Then she saw Dave come toward her, heard him speak her
name, felt his arms around her.
Alaire did not swoon, but she never could remember very distinctly
those first few moments. Scarcely knowing what she did, she found
herself clinging to her lover, laughing, weeping, feeling him over with
shaking hands that would not be convinced of his reality. She was aware
of his kisses upon her lips, her eyes, her hair; he was saying
something which she could not understand because of that roaring in her
ears.
"You heard me calling," she told him at last. "Oh, I was--so
frightened!" She clung closer to him. After a time she discovered that
she was mechanically nodding and shaking her head at the questions he
was putting to her, but had only the vaguest idea what they were. By
and by she began to tell him about Longorio, speaking in a sort of
hypnotic murmur, as if her words issued at his mental suggestion. And
all the time she snuggled against his breast.
"Dearest!" Dave held her away in gentle hands. "I was afraid you'd go
to pieces like this, but I had to break through the best way I could. I
learned you were here and something about what was going on from the
people at the next ranch. But I expected to find HIM here, too."
"How did you manage to get here?"
"I hardly know. I just wouldn't let 'em stop me. This lieutenant
wouldn't let me in until I told him I was from Monterey with important
news. I don't remember all I did tell him. I tried to get here last
night, but I had trouble. They caught me, and I had to buy my way
through. I've bribed and bullied and lied clear from Romero. I reckon
they couldn't imagine I'd risk being here if I wasn't a friend."
It was more Dave's tone than his words that roused Alaire to an
appreciation of what he said.
"Are you alone?" she asked, in vague dismay. "Then what are we going to
do?"
"I don't know yet. My plans ended here."
"Dave! You rode in just to find me! Just to be with me?"
"Yes. And to get HIM." Alaire saw his face twitch, and realized that it
was very haggard, very old and tired. "They lifted my guns--a bunch of
fellows at the Rio Negro crossing. Some of them were drunk and wouldn't
believe I was an amigo. So I finally had to ride for it."
"Can't you take me away?" she asked, faintly. "What will you do
when--he comes?"
"I reckon I'll manage him somehow." His grip upon her tightened
painfully, and she could feel him tremble. "I was afraid I wouldn't
find you. I--O God, Alaire!" He buried his face in her hair.
"I had a terrible scene with him last night. He insists upon marrying
me. I--I was hoping you'd come."
"How could I, when nobody knew where you were?"
"Didn't you know? I wrote you." He shook his head. "Then how did you
learn?"
"From José. I caught him within an hour of the murder, and made him
tell me everything."
Alaire's eyes dilated; she held herself away, saying, breathlessly:
"Murder! Is that what it was? He--Longorio--told me something quite
different."
"Naturally. It was he who hired José to do the shooting."
"Oh-h!" Alaire hid her face in her hands. She looked up again quickly,
however, and her cheeks were white. "Then he won't spare you, Dave."
She choked for an instant. "We must get away before he comes. There
must be some way of escape. Think!"
"I'm pretty tired to think. I'm pretty near played out," he confessed.
"They're watching me, but they'd let you go."
"Now that I'm here I'm going to stay until--"