IN THE CAVE AND OUT OF IT.
As the Jarocho’s prisoner heard these words spoken by Garote Ventura, he
approached, but with the hesitating step of one who doubts, while yet he
hopes. The glow of the lamplight shone full upon him, and Ventura’s eyes
quickly and keenly scrutinized his form and every feature.
In stature he was tall, unusually so, and although now greatly
emaciated, had once been a robust and powerful man. The muscles of his
arms and chest still stood out like bands of steel, showing plainly
through the tatters that served him for clothes. Although his hair was
thickly threaded with silver lines, his form was not yet bowed, nor the
fire quenched in his large, keen black eyes.
The remnants of his former beauty could still be discerned—the proud,
well-cut profile and noble features, although marred somewhat by grims
and wrinkles, were yet plain enough for any one who had known him in
better days, to be enabled to recognize him now.
“A friend, and if you are he whom I think, a rescuer,” Garote Ventura
had said.
“The Virgin grant that I may be! But it can not be. A friend to me, and
here? No, no, I was foolish to think so,” bitterly exclaimed the
prisoner.
“Perhaps not,” added Ventura. “I think you are the one I seek, and if
so, in an hour’s time you may be far from here, if you wish it.”
“If I wish it!” echoed the captive.
“Yes. But tell me who you are. Stop. If you are he whom I mean, you have
committed fearful crimes. But you have reparation in your power; and if
you perform it faithfully, I think I may promise that you can live in
peace, to go whither you will,” he added, impressively.
“You ask my name. If it were stained with a tenfold blackness, I would
speak it, in the chance of escaping from here. And yet it was a noble
one once, until _I_ defiled it! I am, or _was_, Agustin Canelo,”
answered the prisoner.
“I thought so. But, holy Mother of Mercy, what a change!” murmured
Garote, as he gazed at the man. “It is good. You are the man that I
seek, and I will keep my word, although you murdered my master.”
“Your master? Who are you?”
“Look. You should know me. I have not changed so much. Think; can you
not remember the time that I used to carry you upon my back, playing
horse?”
“Tadeo Campos?”
“Yes, I am Tadeo Campos. But we have no time to lose. Remove your rags,
while I haul in this drunken scoundrel.”
In a few moments Andrez was pulled inside the cell, and his clothes
donned by the prisoner, although not without some difficulty, for they
were several sizes too small. Tadeo Campos, as we must now call him,
relocked the door from the inside, and coolly seated himself upon the
body of Andrez, much to the surprise of Canelo.
“Why do you stop here, Campos? Every moment seems an age until I am free
from this cursed hole once more,” impatiently exclaimed the latter,
fingering nervously the weapons that he had taken from the drunken
Jarocho.
“For two reasons. One is, that it is best to give the gentlemen outside
a little more time to swill their wine, for, unless their wits are
somewhat foggy, you would never pass for our dumpy friend Andrez, here.
And the other, is to do justice to your brother’s family—to prove who
their son is. Will you promise to do this?”
“I will; any thing so that I can get away from this hole and the
tortures of that cursed _padre_ Gayferos. But, supposing the _boy_ is
dead?” added Canelo, anxiously.
“It may be. But the one you sent is an impostor, at any rate. But we
will settle that afterward. Will you do all that lays in your power to
do?”
“I will!” emphatically replied the other.
“Well, it may be so, but I am a cautious man by nature, and experience
has doubled it. If you will swear to tell the entire truth, to answer
fully and explicitly all questions that may be asked you—if you swear
this, I say, and kiss the holy cross, I will set you free. If—”
“If not?”
“Then I will raise the alarm, and you may do the best you can.”
“Enough, I will swear it,” hastily said Canelo.
The crucifix was produced, and the required oath taken, when Tadeo said:
“Now you remain here while I go and reconnoiter. If all is right we will
be free in half an hour. But blow out the light, as it might be seen as
I open the door.”
“You will come back?” faltered Canelo.
“If I meant to betray you or do you harm, would I have taken all this
trouble?” returned Campos, impatiently.
“Pardon, good friend; I am sadly changed from what I once was.”
The _capataz_, after extinguishing the light, softly opened the door and
stepped forth. Then he saw the wisdom of having put out the light, for,
just turning the nearest angle, he saw a man bearing a light, and then
recognized it to be none other than _padre_ Gayferos. He only paused
long enough to note that the worthy priest had imbibed such a quantity
of the confiscated wine, that he was laying off a somewhat irregular
pattern for a “Virginny rail fence,” and muttering incoherently to
himself. Then he slipped inside the cell, and after silently locking the
door, told his companion of the approaching visitor.
Canelo shuddered and shrunk back as if in fear, so great had been the
tortures that he had endured at the monk’s hands, when unable to resist.
But as his hand touched the knife at his waist, this vanished—the sudden
change boding ill for the enemy, should he fall into the ex-prisoner’s
hands.
They both stood close to the door, and soon heard the tipsy priest
fumbling at the lock for some time before he could fit his key into
place, cursing fearfully at every breath. But at last the bolt yielded,
and he kicked the door wide open. Canelo sprung forward with a howl like
a wild beast, and clutched the monk by the throat, while Tadeo grasped
the lamp.
The two foes fell to the ground, and by some means the light was dashed
from Tadeo’s hand, and shattered to pieces upon the rocky floor. He
turned to light the other, for he could do nothing in the dark, and knew
that their safety depended upon the monk’s capture without an alarm
being raised. A few moments sufficed for this, but when he turned the
light upon the two men, a horrible, sickening sight met his gaze.
The half-crazed Canelo was kneeling upon the breast of _padre_ Gayferos,
brandishing a gory knife in one hand, while the other clutched his
victim’s throat. He had slit the unfortunate man’s mouth from ear to
ear, and actually torn out his tongue by the roots, and then thrust it
down his throat!
Acting on the impulse, Tadeo leaped forward and knocked Canelo from his
victim’s body, and then buried his long knife to the hilt in the
priest’s breast, at once putting an end to his tortures. As he turned,
it was just in time to avoid the rush of Canelo, and elude the vicious
plunge of a _cuchillo_, that slit open the clothes upon his side. Then,
before the mad man could turn, he was upon his back, driving him head
first to the floor; when, placing a knife at his throat, Campos hissed:
“_Mil diablos_, ingrate! Is that my reward for risking my life to save
yours? By the Virgin of Atocha, I have a mind to serve you the same
trick that you did the _padre_, cursed dog!”
“I was mad, good Campos, and knew not what I did. And if you only knew
the tortures that man has subjected me to, you would praise not blame
me. But let me up now. It has passed and I am myself again.”
“I will. But look you. If you make a motion toward me, I will plaster
the wall with your brains, as I’m a living man. Do you hear?”
“You may. Take my weapons if you will, but let me up. We must be going.
They may discover us, and then—”
“And then; yes, I know,” said Campos, as he arose, keeping a watchful
eye upon his companion. “Come, drag this carrion into the cell, and then
we will be going. It is time now, if ever.”
This was quickly done, and as the monk was fully as large as Canelo, he
exchanged clothes once more, knowing that he would run less risk of
detection in that garb than the other, for no one of the Jarochos would
venture to address him unless spoken to first, so great were their fears
of the _padre_.
“I will lead the way,” said Canelo, “and you follow close. I know every
inch of the passage, even in the dark.”
The lamp was extinguished, and, after locking the cell door and
retaining the key, the two adventurers stole cautiously along the
passage. The sounds of the outlaws carousing grew rapidly plainer, and
from the number of voices combined it was plain that Tadeo had either
overrated the strength of the wine, or underestimated the strength of
the reveler’s brains. Still they did not despair, but resolved to run
the risk at once, and trust to their good fortune and the priestly
disguise to carry them through, rather than delay longer.
“Will you risk it?” asked Campos.
“We _must_. I can imitate the _padre’s_ air and motion.”
“Remember that he was slightly tipsy, and if you shroud your face and
long hair in the cowl, I think there will be no particular danger,”
whispered Tadeo, as they paused at the angle from whence the first
glimpse could be caught of the orgies.
Fully one half of the Jarochos were overcome totally by their potations,
and lay scattered about, regardless whether they rolled upon the table
or beside it, as it was all the same hight. In some cases they were used
for seats, in others as pillows, and the crowd amply made up in loudness
what it had lost by the decrease in numbers. Men, women, and children
were mixed in one grand, ever-shifting panorama, but indistinctly
revealed by the faint, flickering light.
Making the best of a bad bargain, the two adventurers entered the grand
apartment, and reeling in a zigzag course, proceeded toward the top of
the “staircase.” But they were destined not to escape without
interruption. Tadeo Campos was recognized (as Garote Ventura), and
recollecting that it was in honor of his having joined the band that
they were carousing, began to call him to come and drink with them,
several of the more sober men rising and staggering toward the two
adventurers.
Then it was that the monk’s garb stood them in good stead. Fearing lest
he should be recognized if they approached too closely, Canelo turned,
with his face and head still shrouded in the cowl, and with a very fair
imitation of the _padre’s_ voice, said:
“Go back to your wine. Our brother Ventura hath something to confide to
me, that may prove of great benefit to the band. _Cuerpo di Cristo!_ ye
dogs, do you hear me? The one who comes a step nearer will drink no
more, for his head will be all mouth! Back with you, you sacrilegious
thieves!”
The Jarochos paused, and then returned to their liquor, for the steely
glitter of the monk’s pistol awed the boldest of them. But there was
considerable muttering among them, and one especially, whose comments
were overheard by our friends.
“By Venus, the _padre_ is in grum humor all of a sudden. I guess _’na_
Jesusita was not in the mood to be confessed tonight.”
A wild, boisterous peal of laughter followed this pointed remark, and
Canelo deemed it best not to notice it, although he well knew what would
have been the _bona fide padre’s_ answer.
They had now nearly reached the edge of the platform and were
congratulating themselves inwardly upon their happy escape, when a man
arose from the face of the cliff, and meeting them, at once dropped upon
his knees before the disguised men, murmuring:
“Your benediction, holy father!”
This renconter was so sudden and unexpected that Canelo started back
with an exclamation of dismay, and at the same moment the cowl dropped
back from his face. The man looked up, and, as the moonlight shone full
upon the ex-chief’s features, he uttered a gasp of terror:
“_Santissima Virgin!_ the captain’s ghost!”
Fortunately Tadeo Campos did not lose his presence of mind, and as the
intruder arose he leaped forward, and shot out his clenched fist, the
blow alighting full upon the unprotected throat of the Jarocho, its
terrible force effectually checking any further outcry, and at the same
time hurled him headlong down the precipice. There was a dull, horrible
thud, and then all was still.
Glancing around at the Jarochos, half expecting to see the band come
rushing in a body to avenge their comrade’s death, the two men grasped
their weapons, determined to sell their lives dearly, if such must be.
But to their great joy they saw that the outlaws were unconscious of the
tragedy just enacted, and then hastily began their perilous descent.
By keeping close to Canelo, and stepping in his footprints, Campos
effected it in safety, and in a few minutes they were both standing in
the firm path at the foot of the precipice. Then Canelo muttered, in a
cautious voice:
“And now the next thing is to procure horses, for we can not go upon
foot, as we may be followed at any moment.”
“I have a horse four miles from here, where I left him at a _jacale_ as
I came,” returned Tadeo.
“We can do better than that. The stable of the band is not far from
here, and in it are the best horses for leagues around, or was, when I
was chief. I do not think that there can be any guard left there, as it
would be almost impossible for a stranger to find it, even in the
daytime. Besides, you said that _padre_ Gayferos bade _all_ the men join
in the carousal?”
“He did; and when it began all were present who were at home, or at
least so I was told in answer to my questions. But that man whom we
threw over the cliff? Who was he?”
“Not one of the regular members, but a sort of spy who lives at the foot
of the mountain. He came with news, I presume.”
“Well, then, if you think best, let us hasten to the stable, for the
further we are away from this den by daybreak, the safer I will feel
about my neck. For my part, I have seen quite enough for one night,
although they do not stint one in wine, and it was first-class, too,”
said Tadeo, as he closely followed his companion, who now turned up a
narrow defile, the bottom of which was thickly strewn with coarse
gravel.
“And a little of that same wine would not be amiss now. But silence; we
are nearly there,” cautioned Canelo.
After making several abrupt turns, the two men paused in front of a
dense thicket, and Canelo uttered a low, peculiar whistle, then repeated
it twice, at short intervals. There was no answer, and again he sounded
the signal, but with the same result.
“It is as I thought. There is no one here. Come; in five minutes we will
be clear of the mountain,” cried Canelo, joyously, and closely followed
by Tadeo Campos, pushed through the yielding screen of bushes, and after
a few steps they entered a spacious chamber, excavated from the earth.
Numerous large, lustrous eyes, in pairs, were turned toward them, and
when Canelo lighted the lamp that he had brought with him from the cell,
the glow showed them the sleek forms of a large number of horses,
standing in rude stalls, with their accouterments ranged along the other
side of the “stable.” A few moments sufficed to saddle and bridle the
two animals they had selected, and then once more extinguishing the
light, they led their steeds out along the way they had entered, and in
a few minutes were clear of the hill and speeding along the valley.
After riding some miles in silence, they drew in their horses to a walk
to breath them, and Canelo broke the silence by saying:
“But you have not told me yet how it was you learned I was a prisoner,
and where they had confined me. How was it?”
“Well, in the first place, I overheard a conversation between master
Felipe, or rather he who passes as such, and a precious scoundrel who
called himself Don Lopez Romulo—”
“Barajo; he goes by both names.”
“Yes. And I then learned that the young man was an impostor, and that
you were yet alive. He did not then hint that you were a prisoner; that
I learned afterward. Well, this Romulo or Barajo gave Don Felipe an
address at Guanajuato, where he was to call and pay him a lot of money
to keep the secret he had got hold of. I heard the address and resolved
to be at the meeting.
“When the night came, I was hanging round the _venta_, which was in a
low part of the city just at the outside edge. I waited until Don Romulo
came out, jingling his pocketfull of golden ounces, and after following
him until he came to a dark alley, I gave him a few inches of cold
steel, and dragged him into the alley, out of the way, and where I would
not be interrupted by any person passing by.
“I had not intended to kill him at once, but only disable him, and then
frighten him into telling where I could find you, and any thing else
that might be of service. He was badly hurt, and it was not hard to
frighten him into doing as I wished, for the beggar vowed that he was
not fit to die, and I did not spare my threats.
“Somehow he mistook me for one Ventura—Tomas Ventura—who had once
belonged to his band, and told me all that I wanted to know. That you
were kept a prisoner by him and a priest, who had forced you to write
the letter given to Felipe, and make him believe that you was dying; and
the place where I would find the band.
“I saw that the poor devil would not live until morning, and as he would
have no use for the gold at the place he was booked for, I transferred
it to my own pocket, and left him where he lay. Then I resolved to act
upon what I had learned, and try to rescue you, that the whole truth of
the matter might be arrived at.
“So I passed myself off as Garote Ventura, seeking for my dear brother
Tomas, and as you know, gained my object after some little trouble. And
now, is this boy, the _real_ Felipe Canelo, alive, or not?”
“I believe that he is dead,” slowly answered Canelo. “Yes, he must be.
He said he killed him.”
“Now look you, Senor Don Augustin Canelo,” hotly replied Campos. “I am a
quick-tempered man, as you know well, and when I make up my mind to a
thing, I generally do it. Now you may be perfectly honest in what you
say, but I don’t believe that you are. I have not told you all I heard
from this Lopez Romulo, and it is a clue that I can follow up, if you do
not satisfy me. It may be hard and require time, but it can be done, if
needs be. And if you play me false, by the Virgin of Atocha, you will
find the hand that set your body free will not hesitate long about doing
your soul the same service. Do you understand me?”
“I do. But there is no need of such heat. I told you I was changed, and
moreover, I have sworn upon the holy cross to reveal the truth. What I
may have to say I will keep until it can be told to Senora Canelo
herself,” proudly answered Don Augustin.
“Good! now I know you again. I will trust you,” exclaimed Tadeo Campos,
as he set his horse once more into a gallop.