TO BE SHOT AT SUNRISE!
The Carlist soldiers conducted Rollo and his three friends to the
granary of the mill-house, where in the mean time they were permitted to
recline as best they might upon the various piles of grain heaped here
and there in preparation for the work of the morrow.
The Carlists were mostly quite young, Basques and Navarrese, whose jokes
and horseplay, even after a long day's marching, were boyish and
natural.
Rollo and El Sarria were placed at one side of the granary, and at the
other Etienne and John Mortimer lay at full length upon a heap of corn.
Between paced a sentry with musket and bayonet.
The kindly lads had, with characteristic generosity, brought their
prisoners a portion of their scanty rations--sausages and dried fish
with onions and cheese, all washed down with copious draughts of red
wine.
As before, owing to the position of Sarria among its mountains, the
night fell keen and chill. The Carlists slept and snored, all save the
double guards placed over the prisoners.
"Shall we try a rush? Is it any use?" whispered Rollo to El Sarria.
The outlaw silently shook his head. He had long ago considered the
position, and knew that it was impossible. The windows were mere slits.
There was only one trap-door in the floor, and that was closed.
Moreover, there were fifty Carlists asleep in the loft, and the floor
below was the bed-chamber of as many more.
Cast back upon his own thoughts, Rollo reviewed many things--his short
life, the reckless ups-and-downs in which he had spent it--but all
without remorse or regret.
"I might have been a lawyer, and lived to a hundred!" he said to
himself. "It is better as it is. If I have done little good, perhaps I
have not had time to do a great deal of harm."
Then very contentedly he curled himself up to sleep as best he might,
only dreamily wondering if little Concha would be sorry when she heard.
Ramon Garcia sat with his eyes fixed on the sentry who had ceased his
to-and-fro tramp up the centre, and now leaned gloomily against the
wall, his hands crossed about the cross-bar of his sword-bayonet.
Across the granary John Mortimer reclined with his head in his hands,
making vows never to enter Spain or trust himself under the leadership
of a mad Scot, if this once he should get clear off.
"It isn't the being shot," he moaned; "it's not being able to tell them
that I'm not a fool, but a respectable merchant able to pay my way and
with a balance at William Deacon's Bank. But it serves me right!" Then a
little inconsequently he added, "By gum, if I get out of this I'll have
a Spanish clerk in the works and learn the language!"
Which was John Mortimer's way of making a vow to the gods.
Etienne, having his hands comparatively free, and finding himself
sleepless, looked enviously at Rollo's untroubled repose, and began to
twist cigarettes for himself and the sentry who guarded his side of the
granary.
Without, the owls circled and cried. A dog barked in the village above,
provoking a far-reaching chorus of his kind. Then blows fell, and he
fled yelping out of earshot.
Rollo was not wholly comfortable on his couch of grain. The bonds about
his feet galled him, having been more tightly drawn than those of his
companions in virtue of his chiefship. Nevertheless he got a good deal
of sleep, and each time that he awoke it seemed to him that El Sarria
was staring harder at the sentry and that the man had moved a little
nearer.
At last, turning his head a little to one side, he heard distinctly the
low murmur of voices.
"Do you remember Pancorbo?" said Ramon Garcia.
Rollo could not hear the answer, but he caught the outlaw's next
question.
"And have you forgotten El Sarria, who, having a certain Miguelete under
the point of his knife, let him go for his sweetheart's sake, because
she was waiting for him down in the valley?"
The sentry's reply was again inaudible, but Rollo was fully awake now.
Ramon Garcia had not abandoned hope, and why should he? When there was
anything to be done, none could be so alert as Rollo Blair.
"I am El Sarria the outlaw," Ramon went on, "and these are my
companions. We are no traitors, but good Carlists to a man. Our papers
are----"
Here the words were spoken so low that Rollo could not hear more, but
the next moment he was nudged by Ramon on the leg.
"Write a note to Concha Cabezos, telling her to bring the papers here at
once if she would save our lives. You are sure she is faithful?"
"I am sure!" said Rollo, who really had no reason for his confidence
except the expression in her eyes.
He had no paper, but catching the sentry's eye, he nodded across to
where Etienne was still diligently rolling cigarettes.
"Alcoy?" he whispered.
The sentry shouldered his piece and took a turn or two across the floor,
keeping his eye vigilantly on his fellow guard, who, having seated
himself in the window-sill, had dozed off to sleep, the cigarette still
drooping from the corner of his mouth. Yes, he was certainly asleep.
He held out his hand to Etienne, who readily gave him the last he had
rolled. The sentry thanked him with a quick martial salute, and after a
turn or two more, deftly dropped the crumbled tobacco upon the floor and
let the leaf drop on Rollo's knees with a stump of pencil rolled up in
it.
Then the young man, turning his back upon the dozing guard in the stone
window-sill, wrote with some difficulty the following note, lying on his
breast and using the uneven floor of the granary for a desk.
"Little Concha" (it ran), "we are General Cabrera's prisoners.
Bring the papers as soon as you receive this. Otherwise we are
to be shot at day-break.--ROLLO BLAIR."
There was still a little space left upon the leaf of Alcoy paper, and
with a half shamefaced glance at El Sarria, he added, "_And in any case
do not wholly forget R. B._"
He passed the note to the outlaw, who folded it to the size of a postage
stamp and apparently gave directions where and to whom it was to be
delivered.
"In half an hour we shall be relieved and I will go," said the Carlist
ex-Miguelete, and resumed his steady tramp. Presently he awoke his
comrade so that he might not be found asleep at the change of guard.
* * * * *
There was nothing more to be done till day-break. They had played their
last card, and now they must wait to see what cards were out against
them, and who should win the final trick at the hour of sunrise.
Rollo fell asleep again. And so soundly this time, that he only woke to
consciousness when a soldier in a white _boina_ pulled roughly at his
elbow, and ordered him to get up.
All about the granary the Carlists were stamping feet, pulling on boots,
and flapping arms.
"It's a cold morning to be shot in," said the man, with rough
kindliness; "but I will get you some hot chocolate in a moment. That
will warm your blood for you, and in any case you will have a quick
passage. I will pick you a firing party of the best shots in the three
provinces. The general will be here in a quarter of an hour, and the sun
will rise in another quarter. One is just as punctual as the other. A
cigarette?--thank you. Well, you are a cool hand! I'm off to see about
the chocolate!"
And Rollo Blair, with a slight singing in his ears, and a chill
emptiness about the pit of his stomach, stood on his feet critically
rolling a cigarette in a leaf of Etienne's Alcoy paper.
John Mortimer said nothing, but looked after the man who had gone for
the chocolate.
"I wish it had been coffee," he said; "chocolate is always bad for my
digestion!"
Then he smiled a little grimly. His sufferings from indigestion produced
by indulgence in this particular chocolate would in all probability not
be prolonged, seeing that the glow of the sun-rising was already
reddening the sky to the east.
Etienne was secretly fingering his beads. And El Sarria thought with
satisfaction of the safety of Dolores; he had given up hope of Concha a
full hour ago. The ex-Miguelete had doubtless again played the traitor.
He took a cigarette from Rollo without speaking and followed him across
the uneven floor between the heaps of trodden grain.
They were led down the stairway one by one, and as they passed through
the ground floor, with its thick woolly coating of grey flour dust, a
trumpet blew without, and they heard the trampling of horses in the
courtyard.
"Quick!" said a voice at Rollo's elbow, "here is your chocolate. Nothing
like it for strengthening the knee-joints at a time like this. I've seen
men die on wine and on rum and on brandy; but for me, give me a cup of
chocolate as good as that, when my time comes!"
Rollo drank the thick sweet strength-giving stuff to the accompaniment
of clattering hoofs and jingling accoutrements.
"Come!" said a voice again, "give me the cup. Do not keep the general
waiting. He is in no good temper this morning, and we are to march
immediately."
The young man stepped out of the mill-door into the crisp chill of the
dawn. All the east was a glory of blood-red cloud, and for the second
time Rollo and his companions stood face to face with General Cabrera.
It was within a quarter of an hour of the sun-rising.