“Lecomte getting ready, sir,” were Ropes’ first words to me next morning;
“and I’ve brought our car to the door.”
He had other news, too. An automobile had come in last night from Madrid,
a sixty horse-power Merlin, and the chauffeur had reported snow half a
metre deep on the mountains. The Merlin had stuck, he said, and had to be
pulled out with oxen. Supposing the Duke intended going to Madrid instead
of turning off by way of Salamanca, he—and incidentally we—seemed likely
to come in for an adventure.
We had all taken coffee and rolls in our rooms, as nobody dreams of going
downstairs for breakfast in a Spanish hotel; and soon after eight we were
jolting out of “Val” through streets as execrably paved as those by which
we entered. We had kept Ropes waiting after his announcement only long
enough to strap our luggage on the roof; and as the other car had luggage
and passengers also to pick up, we were just in time to see it leaving the
house of the Duke’s relations with everyone on board.
As the Lecomte took the road to the south on leaving town, it gave us an
assurance that it would not make for Salamanca; but there was still doubt
as to its movements. It could go to Madrid direct over the snow heights of
the Sierra Guadarrama, or it could pay a visit to the Escurial. It might
even halt there for the night; and as there were so many alternatives, we
were anxious to keep our leader continually in view.
The wind was bitter cold, and Pilar shivered in her cloak, which was not
made for motoring. When Dick saw this, before I could speak he had his own
fur-lined coat off, insisting that she should put it on. “I can take Casa
Triana’s,” said he, “since he’s still posing as a soldier of Spain.” And a
glance warned me not to blunder by asking why, in the name of common
sense, she shouldn’t have mine which I wasn’t using, instead of his, which
was on his back. He _wanted_ her to wear his coat, and hang common sense!
After an instant’s stupid bewilderment I saw this, and could hardly help
chuckling. How many days had he known her? Two and a bit. At Biarritz he
had given me sound advice on my affairs; couldn’t understand this
fall-in-love-at-sight business; thought a girl wasn’t worth a red cent
till she was twenty-two couldn’t see himself being sentimental in any
circumstances; was going to wait to make his choice till he went back to
America; believed a man owed it to his own country to put his
country-women first; and anyhow couldn’t stand a girl who wasn’t able to
converse rationally. Yet Pilar, if she were to talk with him in his own
tongue, must perforce limit her scintillations to “Varry nice, lo-vely,
all raight”; while, if he wrestled with hers, he could scarcely go beyond
phrase-book limits.
The language of the eyes remained; but that has no place in the realm of
common sense. My overcoat was singularly unbecoming to Dick; but he beamed
with happiness in it, as he regarded Pilar cosily folded in his; and
looking on the picture, certain things occurred to me which I might say to
Dick when I got him alone. But after all, I thought I would keep them to
laugh over myself.
On this morning of biting wind and brilliant sun, there was still more
dazzle of snow to illumine the mountain tops; and though the road was
dull, the beauty of the atmospheric effects was worth coming to Spain to
see. The road we travelled and the near meadows seemed, as we went
speeding on, the only solid ground in sight; as if we had landed on an
island floating at the rate of thirty miles an hour, through a vast sea of
translucent tints that changed with the light, as an opal changes.
Forests of strangely bunchy “umbrella” pines were blots of dark green ink
splashed against the sky; and scarcely five minutes passed but we saw the
finger of an old watch-tower pointing cloudward from a hill. Sometimes our
road, dividing endless cornfields, stretched before us long and straight
for miles ahead, over switchback after switchback, as if the hills chased
each other but never succeeded in catching up. Then, when we had grown
used to such an outlook, the road would twist so suddenly that it seemed
to spring up in our faces. It would turn upon itself and writhe like a
wounded cobra, before it was able to crawl on again.
Ours was a silent, uninhabited world, without a house visible anywhere,
save here and there some stony ruin—a landmark of the Peninsular War. One
could but think that gnomes stole out at night from holes under the hills,
to till the land for absentee owners; for the illimitable fields were
cultivated down to the last inch. We shared a queer impression that we had
strayed into a country which no human eye had seen for centuries; but when
we crossed the broad Douro running to the Bay of Biscay and Oporto, and
steered the car jerkily through the ragged village of Mojales, at an
abrupt turn of the road we were in a different world—a desert of stones.
Prehistoric giants had played with dolmens and cyclopean boulders, and
left their toys scattered in confusion. Stonehenge might have been copied
from one of their strange structures; and they had given later races a
rough idea of forts and cities. Giant children had fashioned stone
elephants, heads of warriors, dogs sitting on their haunches, granite
drinking cups, and misshapen baskets, all of astonishing size. Or was it
water, slow as the mills of the gods, and as sure, which had wrought all
these fantastic designs, and piled these tremendous blocks one upon
another?
A high stone bridge spanned a rocky ravine carved by that slow power in a
few leisure millions of years; and there, sheltered from the wind, would
have been an ideal place for motorists to picnic. But the Duke did not
picnic, therefore we must not. Following hard upon his heels we went on,
up and up into the mountain world, still in the playground of vanished
giants, winding along a road as wild as the way to Montenegro. Rising at
regular intervals before us, on either side stood tall stone columns,
sentinel-like, placed in pairs to guide wayfarers through white drifts in
time of winter storms. The country was wooded, and began to have the air
of a private park, though the heights were close above us now, and our
road ascended steadily. From the scenery of Montenegro we came plump into
the Black Forest; and Baden-Baden might have lain in the valley below
these pointed mountains clothed in mourning pines.
Squish! The brown slush of melted snow gushed out in fountains as our fat
tyres ploughed through, and on either hand it lay unbroken in virgin
purity beneath the pines. Half a mile higher, and even the traffic of
heavy ox-carts and the sun’s fierce fire had had no power to break the
marble pavement. It was shattered and chipped, and carved into deep ruts
by wooden wheels; but there were no muddy veins of brown. Ten minutes
more, and our engine began to labour. Then, before there was time to count
the moments, we were in snow to our axles.
The motor’s heart beat hard, but with a sturdy, dependable noise which
comforted Pilar, who was half laughing, half frightened, at this her first
adventure. At any instant now we might come upon the Lecomte held in the
snow-trap which threatened to catch us.
Ropes kept the car in the wide ruts made by ox-carts, but even with his
good driving we swayed to right and left, leaving the rough track and
ploughing into drifts dangerously near the precipice edge, or skidding as
if we skated on polished ice, failing to grip the frozen surface.
Now was the time to relieve the willing engine. Dick and I sprang out, and
Colonel O’Donnel followed, though we would have persuaded him to keep his
place. Only Pilar was left in the car, with Ropes driving, while we three
men, knee deep in snow, set our shoulders to help the Gloria as she made
the supreme effort. Pushing, and slipping at every step, our blood (which
had run sluggishly with cold) racing through our veins, we were putting on
a great spurt of united force, when gallantly rounding a bend we all but
rammed the back of Carmona’s car.
There it was, stuck in a drift like a frozen wave; and there was Carmona
himself up to his knees in diamond dust, gloomily superintending his
chauffeur who packed snow into the radiator to cool the overheated motor.
All the extra power of the Lecomte gave no advantage over the Gloria here.
Fate had set the stage for us, and we must obey the cue. No ingenuity of
Pilar’s could hide us in the wings any longer, and we must play our parts
as Destiny prompted.
Only one thing was clear. Carmona could have had no idea until now that
the O’Donnels (with that young soldier so like the Forbidden Man) were
travelling in the red car whence he had already plucked a suspected
passenger. The coincidence would seem strange to him; and if he were sure
enough of his ground to risk another error, he would probably denounce me
to the police in the next big town. Disguising my outcast self as an
officer in a Spanish regiment would not be a point in my favour; but—he
could do nothing now. Monica was here, and the moment was mine.
There was a savage joy in the situation, born of exaltation, of the high
altitude, and of uncertainty as to what might come next.
“Shall you keep out of the way?” asked Dick; for we were still screened
from Carmona’s sight by our own car, which Ropes had stopped with a
grinding of the brake; and Pilar’s face was veiled.
“Not I. I’m going to have some fun,” I answered. “It must come sooner or
later, better sooner, or what’s the good of playing Cristobal O’Donnel?”
With that, I appeared from behind the car, and the others were following,
while Pilar leaned out in anxious expectancy.
“How do you do?” said I, in Andaluz as lazy as the other Cristóbal could
have used. I took off my cap to the ladies, and so did Dick and the
Cherub, exposing heated foreheads, damp from honest toil. “Sorry to find
you in such a difficulty. But we’ll soon get you out of that, won’t we,
Señor Waring? Here are three of us with stout shoulders and willing
hearts.”
“Four, counting my chauffeur,” said Dick in English, playing up to my
lead, since there was no stopping me now. “We’re delighted to do anything
we can.”
Carmona glared as an animal glares when it is at bay; only, an animal can
attack his enemies, and he could not attack us; for he was not sure
whether we were enemies or no, and whether he would not be making a fool
of himself if he let us know what passed in his brain.
It was evident that he thought very hard for a moment, and was of two
minds as to what he had better do. But suddenly the baited look vanished
from his face, as a shadow is chased away by the sun, and I guessed that a
course of action had occurred to him with which he was well satisfied.
This seemed ominous for me, and I would have given something to read his
thoughts.
He answered our “How do you do?” with great cordiality—for him; said that
he had been taken by surprise, at first, as he had no idea the motoring
tour of which Señorita Pilar spoke would begin so soon, or bring us upon
his track. It was a good thing for him, however, that we were here, and
not only was he pleased to see us for our own sakes, but would be glad to
accept our kind offer.
Meanwhile Pilar had pushed up her veil, and she and Monica were exchanging
greetings. As for Lady Vale-Avon, her veil was up, too, and her lorgnettes
at her eyes. I did not doubt that she and the Duke had compared
impressions concerning our family party, after the episode at Burgos,
impressions startlingly confirmed now, and Carmona’s cordiality in such
circumstances must have puzzled her. As to the Duchess, her large face was
hidden behind a thick screen of lead-coloured tissue, and I could judge
nothing of her feelings.
When Monica heard the proposal for propelling the grey car through the
drifts, she had the door open in an instant, and would have been out in
the deep snow, if we had not stopped her.
“You must all stay where you are,” said Carmona hurriedly, fearing,
perhaps, that some opportunity for a word would be snatched in spite of
him, if I were really Casa Triana. “The weight of three women makes no
difference whatever; isn’t that true, señor?” and he turned to Dick, who,
according to our story, was the owner of the red automobile as well as the
host of the party.
Of course Dick agreed, and so did we all, that the ladies were not on any
account to get out. The Duke’s chauffeur jumped into his place again, and,
with a twist of the starting handle, the tired motor quivered to its iron
entrails. There was a sudden awaking of carburetor, pistons,
sparking-plugs, valves, trembler, each part which had been resting after
the long pull, striving to obey its master. With a sighing scream of the
gearing, the car stumbled forward and up, our united force pressed into
service. Staggering, plunging, pushing, we gave all the help we could, and
for a few minutes it seemed that with our aid the motor would claw its way
to the highest point.
Our hearts drummed in our breasts, and sent the hot blood jumping to our
heads as if in sympathy with the mighty struggle of the engine. But the
Lecomte’s forty horses, and the strength and goodwill of five men—counting
Carmona, who did as little work as he could—were not enough. The wheels
sank to the axles, whizzing round in the snow without propelling the car;
with the motor unable to do its part, we men alone could not do all. The
automobile would not budge for all our pushing; and, seeing that labour
was lost, we stopped to breathe and raise our eyebrows questioningly at
one another. Carmona, alarmed at finding that his chestnuts could not be
pulled out of the fire by any cat’s-paws at his service, wondered audibly
what he ought to do.
“Someone who came to Valladolid last night was hauled through the drifts
by oxen,” said I. And even as I spoke, like a ram caught in the bushes
ready for the sacrifice, I spied in the white distance the black
silhouette of an enormous ox.
He was not alone, for a more penetrating glance showed that he had a
yoke-fellow as big and black as himself; and guided by a red-sashed boy in
scarf and shawl they advanced towards us slowly but so surely that I
suspected something more than a coincidence. The great lumbering animals
were like blobs of ink against the snow, and the lithe figure of the boy
made a fine spot of colour as he walked before his beasts, his stick to
their noses as if it were a magnet which they, anchored head to head with
a beam of wood, were compelled to follow.
It flashed into my mind that this youth and his oxen were not wandering
through mountain snow-drifts for nothing. The wolves which howl in these
same wild fastnesses on a winter night scent prey; and so I thought did
the boy, with the trifling substitute of petrol for blood. This youth had
made a good haul (in every sense of the word) by accident yesterday; was
out searching for other hauls to-day, and would be while the snow lasted.
We hailed him. He feigned surprise, and hesitated, as if to enhance his
value. Then, casting down long lashes as he listened to our proposal,
pretended to consider pros and cons. It would be a terrible strain for his
animals to drag such a great weight, but—oh, certainly they would be
_able_ to do it. They were docile and strong. Every day nearly they drew
heavy loads of cut logs over the mountains. For twenty pesetas he would
risk injuring his oxen, but not a _real_ less; and they would drag the
grey car to the top of the pass, that he could promise.
“What extortion!” protested Carmona, who is not famed for generosity,
except when something can be made out of it.
“Oh, he’s too handsome to beat down!” pleaded Monica.
That settled it. To please her he would have given twice twenty pesetas
for half the distance. The boy was engaged without further haggling; the
animals were harnessed to the big Lecomte with rope which the youth
“happened” to have; and with a thrilling cry of “A-r-r-r-i! O-lah!” he
struck the two black backs with his goad.
“I can’t bear to see it!” Monica cried, covering her eyes, as the great
heads were lowered to adjust the strain, and every muscle in the powerful,
docile bodies writhed and bunched with the tremendous effort. Big as they
were, it seemed impossible that two oxen could do for the car, with
passengers and luggage, what its own engine refused to do; nevertheless
the huge thing moved, at first with a shuddering jerk, then with a steady,
if lumbering crawl.
“O-lah!” shouted the boy; “thump” on the thick hide over the straining
muscles fell the goad, and thus the car lurched through the deep snow, all
of us following except Ropes, who having poured melted snow into the
radiator, and let the cooling stream flow through the waterpipes, was
bringing on the Gloria slowly, by her own power. She had now but two
passengers, and not half as much luggage as the Lecomte, which perhaps
explained her prowess; nevertheless I was proud. “Brava, Gloria!” I should
have liked to shout.
I could now have pushed ahead, and keeping pace with Carmona’s car, as the
oxen struggled nobly up the pass, have tried for a word or two with
Monica. But perhaps Lady Vale-Avon expected such a move on the part of the
troublesome young officer; and by way of precaution she had crowded near
to the girl in the tonneau. A conversation worth having would have been
hopeless thus spied upon, and I disappointed the chaperon by making no
such attempt.
To my surprise, Carmona walked with us, instead of forging on beside his
own car. His friendliness puzzled me. Each look directed at my face was
sharp as a gimlet, though his words were genial; but the final shock came
when he announced that he was bound for the Escurial, and asked if we
would like to join his party.
“I know the palace like a book—better than I know most books,” said he;
“and if you’ve never been, I can get you into places not usually shown.”
The Cherub thanked Heaven that he had never been; and far would it be from
him to go to-day or any other day. He had beheld the Escurial from
outside, and had been depressed to the verge of tears. Often since he had
consoled himself for various misfortunes by reflecting that, at worst, he
was not enduring them at the Escurial. But he would sit in the automobile
and compose himself to doze while his dear children and friends were
martyred in the Monastery.
“You’re very good to personally conduct us,” Dick answered the Duke, “but
we’ve no time for the Escurial.”
“It will be worth while to make time,” I hurried to break in, though Dick
glared a warning which said, “You silly ass, don’t you see the man’s
laying a trap, and you’re falling into it?”
I was ready to risk that trap, and realizing that I meant to see the thing
through, Dick urged no further objections.