THE HUT IN THE COVE
John Bedford forgot everything in those moments of wild exultation save
the fact that he was free. The miracles had begun, and the whole chain
was now complete. After three years in one cell he had left behind him
forever, as he believed, the Castle of Montevideo, and he was going
straight to his brother and powerful friends. He cast back only a
single look, and then he saw the huge dim bulk of the castle showing
through the mists and the rain. But presently the woods shut it from
view, and he could not have seen it had he looked again. John's
exultation, the vast rebound, grew. He had escaped, and he had struck
down the enemy who had struck him. He felt equal to anything, and he
forgot for the moment that the man who had rescued him in such an
extraordinary way was wounded. But the man himself stopped soon.
"We'll wait here, Sir John of the Fleet Foot," he said. "Our friends
who are frolicking in this thorny Forest of Arden were to come if they
heard the sound of firing, and we must not go far away lest we miss
them. Truly that was a fine and timely shot of yours, Sir John of the
Bold Escape, and I judged by the look of your face that you had no love
for the man at whom you fired."
"I did not," replied John. "He beat me, when I was in chains."
The other man uttered a low whistle.
"That was a nasty thing to do, but you are even. If he's still alive
he'll have a face that will scare a dog.
"Whate'er you do
Unto another,
Some day that other
Will do unto you.
"Bear that in mind, young sir. In the hour of triumph do not rejoice
too much in the fall of the man who has failed, because when he achieves
his triumph and you have failed, which is likely to come to pass some
time or other, he may make some moments exceedingly bitter unto thee.
And now I shall dress myself, as I think I hear the footsteps of
visitors."
John remembered that he, too, was clad lightly, and hastily put on his
upper garments, while his friend did likewise. He now heard the steps,
also, and they were rapidly coming nearer.
"Shouldn't we move?" he whispered. "Those must be Mexicans."
"No, we shouldn't move, because those are not the footsteps of Mexicans.
Those sounds are made by the hardy feet of just two persons. One of
them is a large brave German man, whose tread I would know a mile away,
and the other, the lighter tread of whom is drowned in the volume of
sound made by his comrade, is a boy, a strong, healthy boy who comes
from a little town in Kentucky, which has the same name as a big town in
France."
John began to tremble all over. He knew what these words meant. His
friend uttered a low whistle, and quickly a low whistle in reply came
from a point not twenty feet away. There was a moment of silence, then
the approaching footsteps were resumed, the bushes were parted, and, as
the lightning flared once more across the sky, John Bedford and Philip
Bedford looked into the faces of each other.
They wrung hands in the darkness that followed the lightning flash, and,
after the Anglo-Saxon fashion, said brief, inconsequential words. Yet
the hearts of the two were full, and both Bill Breakstone, who had done
the last miracle, and Hans Arenberg were moved deeply.
"Your letter came, John," said Phil simply, "and we are here. These are
the best friends I ever had or that anybody ever could have. The man
who brought you out of the castle was Bill Breakstone, and the one with
me is Hans Arenberg. Without them I never could have reached you in the
castle."
"You talk too much, young sir," said Bill Breakstone.
Then John suddenly remembered.
"Mr. Breakstone is wounded," he exclaimed. "We took off most of our
clothes to swim the moat and I remember seeing a red spot on his side."
"Like your brother, you talk too much," said Bill Breakstone. "It seems
to be a family failing with the Bedfords. It's a mere scratch."
"No harm iss done where none iss meant," said Arenberg sententiously.
"It iss also well for us soon to be away from where we now are."
"That is true," said Breakstone. "The Mexicans undoubtedly will make
some sort of a search and pursuit, though I don't think they'll carry it
far on such a night. Come on boys, I'll lead, and the reunited family
will bring up the rear. But no talking is best. You can't tell what we
might stir up."
He led the way, and the others followed in silence. They crossed a
valley, reached a mountain slope and began to climb. Up they went for
at least two hours, pausing at times for John to take breath and rest.
Meanwhile the storm continued, with cold rain, an alternate groaning and
whistling of the wind through the valley, deep rumblings of thunder, and
now and then a bright flare of lightning. John caught only one other
glimpse of the huge, ominous bulk of the Castle of Montevideo, but it
was far below him now. He knew, too, that it was impossible for anybody
to follow a mountain trail in such darkness and storm. But, despite his
great joy, he was feeling an exceeding weariness of the body. The long
confinement had told heavily, but he would utter no complaint.
A half hour more, and they turned into a deep cove which led three or
four hundred yards into the Sierra. At its end stood a small cabin,
built of logs and almost hidden under the overhang of the cliff.
"Welcome to our home, Sir John," said Bill Breakstone, "we have no title
to it, and it probably belonged to some Mexican sheep herder or hunter,
but since our arrival none has appeared to claim it."
He threw open the door, and all went inside into the dry dark. John
heard the door close behind him, a bar fell into place, and then the
striking of a match came to his ear. A little blue flame appeared and
grew. Arenberg, who had struck the match, lighted a pine torch, which he
stuck at an angle in a hole in the wall, and a fine red flame lighted up
the whole interior of the little cabin. Cabin! It was no cabin to John
Bedford. It was a gorgeous palace, the finest that he had ever seen,
and he was surrounded by the most devoted and daring friends that man
ever had. Had they not just proved it?
The little torch disclosed a hard earthen floor, upon which the skins of
wild animals had been spread, log walls with wooden hooks and pins
inserted here and there, evidently within recent days, a strong board
roof, rafters from which skins and some tools hung, a fireplace with a
stone hearth, and four narrow skin couches, three of which had been
often occupied, the fourth never. Outside, the wind still wailed, and
the cold rain still beat upon the logs, but here it was warm, dry, and
light. The greatness of it all suddenly overwhelmed John, and he sank
forward in a faint.
Phil instantly seized his brother and raised him up, but Breakstone and
Arenberg told him not to be alarmed, that it was merely the collapse of
a weakened frame after tremendous tension, both physical and mental.
Breakstone brought water in a gourd from a pail that stood in the
corner, and soon John sat up again, very much ashamed of himself, and
offering many apologies, at all of which the others laughed.
"Considering all you've been through to-night," said Bill Breakstone,
"it's a wonder that you held out so long. I wouldn't have believed that
you could do it, if I hadn't known your brother so well. Good thing I
learned to be an actor. I was always strong in those Spanish parts.
Wide hat brim, big black cloak coming up to meet the hat brim, terrible
sword at my thigh, and terrible frown behind the cloak and the hat brim.
Now, Hans, I think you can light the fire on the hearth there. No
chance that anybody will see the smoke on a night like this, and there's
no reason why we shouldn't dry our clothes and have a gay party. We've
carried through our great adventure, and we'll just royster over it
awhile."
Arenberg, without another word, took down the pine torch from its hole
in the wall and ignited the heap of dry pine boughs that lay in the
fireplace. They caught at once, crackled, and blazed pleasantly. Warm
red shadows were soon cast across the floor, and a generous heat reached
them all. They basked in it, and turned about and about, drying all
their clothing and driving the last sign of chill from their bones.
Arenberg also made coffee over the coals, and cooked venison, which they
had in abundance. When John ate and drank in plenty, he felt that life
did not have much more to offer. He sat on one of the skins, leaned
comfortably against the wall, and contemplated his younger brother.
"You have grown a lot, Phil," he said.
"You didn't expect him to stand still, just because you were away locked
up in a castle?" asked Bill Breakstone. "He had to grow up, so he could
come and rescue you. Such tasks are too big for little children."
John Bedford smiled indulgently.
"It was certainly a big job," he said. "I am the one who ought to
appreciate most its size and danger. It was a big thing to get through
Texas even. Of course I learned while I was a prisoner in the castle
that the Mexicans had retaken it. It made me feel mighty bad for a long
time."
Phil and Bill Breakstone looked at each other. Arenberg pushed one of
the pine-knots back into the fire. For a little while there was
silence. Then Breakstone said:
"You tell him, Phil."
John Bedford looked in wonder at the three, one by one. Their silence
impressed him as ominous, and he, too, was silent.
"The Mexicans have not retaken Texas, John," said Philip Bedford. "They
will never retake Texas. They could never beat the Texans alone, and
the Texans are not alone. There has been war between the United States
and Mexico for a year. An American army under General Taylor beat the
Mexican army at Palo Alto, at Resaca de la Palma, and took the city of
Monterey by storm. Then most of his army were drawn off to help General
Scott, who is invading Mexico by the way of Vera Cruz. General Taylor,
with the rest of his force, between four and five thousand men, nearly
all volunteers, many from our own state, John, and some you knew,
advanced to Saltillo and beyond. He was attacked in the Pass of
Angostura by Santa Anna, the President of Mexico, with more than twenty
thousand men, the best of the Mexican troops, but, John, he won the
victory over odds of five to one. It was long and hard and desperate,
and a half dozen times we were within an inch of losing the battle, but
we won at last, John! We won at last! And we know, because we three
were there, all through it! all day long! Bill Breakstone, Hans
Arenberg, and I!"
John looked at them and gasped. It had all been poured upon him so
suddenly that he was overpowered.
"War between Mexico and the United States!" he exclaimed, "and we've
been winning battle after battle! Why, they never said a word to me
about it in the castle. De Armijo made me think that the Mexicans had
retaken Texas."
"I forgot to tell you," said Bill Breakstone to the others, "that de
Armijo knocked John down, when he was chained, but John got back at him
to-night when he plowed his face with a bullet. In fact, I think John
has the better of the bargain:
"A blow--
He'll rue it.
A bullet--
That pays it.
"Now, I propose, as it's pretty near toward morning, and this is about
the snuggest hotel I know of anywhere in the Sierras, that John and I,
who have been through a lot, go to sleep. Phil, you and Arenberg can
toss coins, or decide in any other way you choose, who's to keep watch.
There's your bed, John; it's been waiting for you quite awhile."
He pointed to the skin couch that had never been occupied, and John lay
down upon it. Complete relaxation of both mind and body had now come.
The room was warm and dry, his friends were near, and, in two minutes,
he was buried in a deep and dreamless sleep. Phil rose and looked at
him. His neck and wrists were thin, his face was wasted wofully.
Arenberg watched Philip with sympathy.
"Much harm has been done to him," he said, "but he will overcome it all
in a month. You have fared wonderfully well in your quest, Herr Philip,
and I take it as an omen that we shall do as well in mine. I come next,
you know, Philip."
"It is true," said Phil, with a great stirring of the heart. "Nobody
ever had such help as you and Breakstone have given to me, and now I
will help you, and John, too, as soon as he is strong enough, to our
utmost power in whatever task you may have."
He held out his hand, and Arenberg took it in a powerful grasp.
"Now you sleep! I will watch," he said. "No, I will not let you stay
awake, because I wish to do so instead. I intend to think much with
myself."
Phil saw that the German was in earnest, and he took his place on his
own couch. Soon he was asleep. Arenberg sat on a piece of wood before
the coals which were now almost dead. He clasped his knees in his
hands, and his rifle, which was between his knees, projected above his
shoulder. So long as the light from the coals endured he cast a black
and almost shapeless shadow on the wall. But the last coal went out by
and by, and he sat there in the darkness, never stirring. He watched
automatically through the faculty of hearing, but his thoughts were not
on that little cabin nor any of its occupants. In the darkness his
chest heaved, and a big tear from either eye rolled down his cheek. But
he did not move. After awhile he felt the dawn, and went to the single
shuttered window, which he opened slightly.
The rain and wind had ceased, but drops of water, turned into a myriad
of glittering beads by the rising sun, hung from trees and bushes. The
air of the mountains at that early hour was crisp and cold, and it felt
good to Arenberg's face. He glanced at his three comrades. They were
still absorbed by that absolute sleep which is the mortal Nirvana. Then
Arenberg took from the inside of his coat something small, which he
looked at for a long time. Again a big tear from either eye rolled down
his cheek and fell on the floor. But the face of Hans Arenberg, in that
brilliant Mexican sun which now shone straight upon it, was curiously
transformed. For the first time in many days it was illumined with
hope.
"It's my turn now! It's my turn!" he murmured. "We have succeeded in
everything so far, and we will succeed again. I feel it. All the omens
are good."
There is something mystic in the German nature, a feeling derived,
perhaps, from the unknown ages passed by the Teutonic tribes in the dark
forests of the Baltic. They were as prolific as the Greeks in seers and
priestesses, and some of this feeling was in Arenberg now, as he gazed
at the dripping forest and the blazing sun rising over a peak ten
thousand feet high. Below him he knew lay the Castle of Montevideo, but
before him the mountains were unrolled, peak after peak, and ridge after
ridge. To his German mind came visions of Valhalla and the great gods
that were.
Hans Arenberg yet felt the great uplift of the spirit. The premonition
of success, of a triumphant end to his quest was very strong within him.
He kissed the little package and replaced it within the inside of his
waistcoat. Then he looked again at his comrades. They were still in
Valhalla.
The German was very kindly and very pitiful. He had noticed the wasted
frame of John Bedford, and he knew how much he needed sleep. Bill
Breakstone, too, had gone through a tremendous ordeal, and Phil Bedford
was but a boy, who had waited, tense and strained, all through the
night.
"Let them sleep," murmured Hans Arenberg. "I will still watch."
He left the window open a little so that the fresh air might come in,
and resumed his seat. The other three slept on soundly. An hour or two
later he opened the door softly and went out into the cove, which he
scouted carefully. It was as silent and desolate as if man had never
been there. At forty yards the cabin itself was invisible in the
foliage and against the dark, volcanic cliff. The German was quite sure
that no one would come, but, for precaution, he examined every bush and
projection of rock. Then he climbed one of the cliffs, and, sheltering
himself well, looked down the valley. There, far below, was the huge,
honey-colored Castle of Montevideo, seeming singularly vivid and near in
the intense sunlight. Arenberg thought that he could make out a figure
or two on its walls, but he was not sure. He also examined the slopes,
but he could not detect human life. Then he returned to the cabin and
found his comrades still sound asleep. Arenberg smiled.
"Let them sleep on," he murmured, "until the sleep that is in them is
exhausted." He opened the door a little in order that he might let in
more fresh air, and also because it gave him a complete view down the
valley. No one could approach the cabin without being seen by Hans
Arenberg, who had uncommonly good eyes.
The German sat there all the morning and listened to the hours as they
ticked themselves away. He listened literally, and he heard the ticking
literally, because he carried a large silver watch in his waistcoat
pocket, and in the dead silence, he could hear it very well. His
comrades slept on, each on his couch. Once Arenberg rose and looked at
John Bedford.
"A fine young man," he murmured. "He iss worthy of his brother."
It was fully an hour after noon when Bill Breakstone began to squirm
about on his couch and yawn mightily.
Then he opened his eyes, sat up, and stared at Hans Arenberg, who sat
placidly by the fireplace, looking down the valley.
"Hans!" said Bill Breakstone.
Arenberg looked at him and smiled.
"I'm thinking," said Bill Breakstone, "that we've overslept ourselves a
bit. I guess from the looks of the light there at the door that the sun
must be up at least an hour."
"It has been up seven hours," replied Arenberg.
"Then we're that much ahead," said Bill Breakstone calmly, "and at least
one of those two has needed it badly."
He looked at the sleeping brothers.
"It iss so," said Arenberg. "The captive who iss a captive no longer
iss, I take it, a good youth, like his brother."
"He surely is," said Breakstone with emphasis, "and I have given him the
honor of knighthood, along with Phil. Besides, he's as smart as a steel
trap. He read the meaning of the thread that we sent him, and he did
everything else exactly as we wished. It's all the more wonderful
because so long a time in prison is apt to make one dull and stupid in
some ways. Anything happen on your long watch, Hans?"
"Nothing. I made a scout all the way up the cove. I am sure there iss
no human being except ourselves on this mountain."
"I move that we boil a little coffee and fry a little venison for the
youngsters. John, in particular, needs it, because he's got to be built
up. I don't think there's any danger."
"Then we'll light the fire and let the cooking wake them up."
John Bedford, in a dream, as it were, felt a delicious aroma in his
nostrils. It was singularly pleasant to a poor prisoner in a bleak
stone cell in the Castle of Montevideo, and he did not wish to destroy
the illusion. In the early morning the air that came through the
loophole was very cold, and there was no reason why he should rise.
Perhaps he was really dreaming, and, since it was such a pleasant dream,
he would let it run on. But that odor in his nostrils grew more and
more powerful, and it was not like the odor of the frijoles and
tortillas that Diego brought him. He also heard, or thought he heard,
the voices of men, and not one of them bore any resemblance to the harsh
Mexican tones of Diego. Then he remembered it all, and the truth came
in such a sudden flood of delight that he sat up abruptly and looked
around that wonderful cabin, the finest cabin in the world.
Arenberg had just brought the coffee to a boiling point, the strips of
venison, under the deft handling of Bill Breakstone, were just becoming
crisp. Phil was coming in with a canteen of fresh water, and at the
wide-open door, through which he might pass as he pleased, the sunshine
was entering like a golden shower.
"Morning, Sir John the Sleeper," said Bill Breakstone cheerily. "It's
well along in the afternoon, but, if you were to ask me, I'd tell you
that you hadn't slept a minute too long. Phil here has been up only
five minutes before you, but, by running for the water, he's trying to
make you believe that he's an early riser."
John said not a word, but rose to his feet--they had all lain down fully
dressed--and looked at the open door with a gaze so fixed and
concentrated that all stared curiously at him. Something was working in
John's mind, something deep and vital. He walked in a perfectly
straight line across the cabin floor until he came within a foot of the
open door. Then he stood there for a little space, gazing out.
The curiosity of the others deepened. What was passing in his mind?
But John said never a word. Instead, he stepped out in the sunshine and
crisp air, went two or three yards, and then came back again into the
cabin. But he did not stay there. He went out once, came back once
more, and repeated the round trip four more times. All the while he said
never a word, and, at each successive trip, the look of pleasure on his
face grew. At the sixth that look was complete, and he turned to the
three who were staring at him open-eyed and open-mouthed.
"I'm not crazy, as you think, not the least bit of it," he said. "It's
been three years since I could go out of a door and come in at it as I
pleased. I wanted to prove to myself that it was no dream, and to enjoy
it at the same time. I'll never have such an acute joy again in this
world, I suppose. As you haven't been where I've been, you'll never
know what it is to go in and come out when you like."
"We don't know, but we can guess," said Phil.
A little lump came into the throat of Bill Breakstone.
"I was never cooped up like that," he said, "but if I were, I guess I
couldn't stand it. But the coffee and the venison are ready, and while
we set to and keep at it, Phil, you tell your brother how it all came
about."
Phil was willing. He was so full of the story himself that he was
anxious John should hear it all. He recounted how the letter had
reached him at Paris in Kentucky, his journey to New Orleans, and his
successive meetings there with Arenberg, Middleton, and Bill Breakstone;
how they had joined the Santa Fe train and their encounter with the
Comanches, led by Santana and Black Panther, the deeds of de Armijo,
their long trail southward to join Taylor's army, and a description, as
far as he saw it amid the flame and smoke, of the great battle of Buena
Vista. He told of the sharp lava, the pass, and of the woman at the
well who had given the cup of water to the weary prisoner who was but a
boy.
"I remember her, I remember her well," said John, a thrill of gratitude
showing in his tone. "I believe I'd have died if it hadn't been for
that water, the finest that anybody ever tasted. I knew from the voice
that it was a woman."
"We felt sure then," continued Phil, "that we were on the right trail,
and we believed that, with patience and method, we'd be sure to find you
if you were living. We knew that the letter had been brought to the
Texas frontier by Antonio Vaquez, a driver who had received it in turn
from one Porfirio, a vaquero, and we knew from your letter that you were
confined in some great stone prison or castle. We learned of
Montevideo, which is perhaps the greatest castle in Mexico, and
everything pointed to it as the place.
"The Mexican army retreated in great haste southward after Buena Vista,
in order to meet Scott, who was advancing on Mexico by the way of Vera
Cruz. That left the country comparatively clear for us, and we came
through the mountains, until we saw the Castle of Montevideo. When we
saw it, we believed still more strongly that this was the place, but we
knew that the biggest part of our work was before us. We would have to
spy, and spy, and keep on spying before we could act. Any mule driver
or sheepherder might carry news of us, and we must have a secure
hiding-place as a basis. After a long search we found this cabin, which
I don't think had been occupied for several years. We soon fixed it up
so it was comfortable, as you can now see. There's a little spring at
the west edge of the cove, and on the other side of the ridge there's a
little valley with water and grass, but with walls so steep that a horse
won't climb 'em unless he's led. Our horses are there now, having
perhaps the best time of their lives.
"When we were located, good and snug, we began to spy. I believed after
we met the woman at the well that fortune was favoring us. Arenberg
here talked a lot about the spirits of the forest and the stream, some
old heathen mythology of his, to which Bill and I didn't pay any
attention. But anyway, we had luck. We scouted about the castle for
weeks, but we didn't learn a thing, except that de Armijo was now
governor there. We could find no more trace of you than if you had been
on the moon.
"At last our lucky day came. We ran squarely upon a good-looking young
Mexican, a vaquero. There wasn't time for us to get away or for him to
get away. So we, being the more numerous, seized him. I suppose he
thought he was going to be killed at once, as we were Americans, looking
pretty tough from exposure and hardships, and so to make a play on our
good feelings--Bill Breakstone could understand his Spanish--he said
that once he'd tried to help a Gringo, a prisoner, in the great castle
in the valley. He said he'd carried a letter from him, asking for help,
and that the prisoner was not much more than a boy, taken in a raid from
Texas three years ago.
"It flashed over us all at once that we had found the right man.
Everything fitted too well together to permit of a mistake, and you can
believe that we treated Porfirio, the vaquero, the finest we knew how,
and made him feel that he had fallen into the hands of the best friends
in the world. Were you still alive? We waited without drawing breath
for the answer. You were still alive he answered, and well, so far as a
prisoner could be. He knew that positively from his mother, Catarina,
who was a cook at the castle, although he himself would not stay there,
as, like a sensible man, he liked the mountains and the plains and the
free life. He did not tell us of the blow that de Armijo had given you,
perhaps because Catarina had said nothing of it to him, but we learned
that he hated de Armijo, who had once struck him when he was at the
castle, for some trifle or other--it seems that de Armijo had the
striking habit--and after that we soon made our little plot. Catarina,
of course, was the center of it, and her duties as a cook gave her the
chance.
"It was Catarina who put the thread in the tamale. She might have put
the letter there, but the writing on it would have been effaced, and
even if it could have remained she did not dare. If the paper had been
discovered by the Mexicans, she, of course, would have been declared
guilty, but thread, even a package of it, might have found its way into
the loose Mexican cooking, and if it had been discovered none of the
sentinels or officers could have made anything out of such a slender
thing. We trusted to your shrewdness that you would drop the thread out
of the window, because there was nothing else to do with it, and you
didn't fail us."
"But who tied the note on it?" asked John.
"Catarina, again--that is, she was at the end of the chain, Porfirio was
in the middle, and we were at the other or far end. He passed the
letter in to her--he works about the castle at times--and she tied it on
the end of the thread. The key and the dagger reached you by the same
route. Then we knew that, although you might unlock the door of your
cell, you could never go outside the castle without the aid of some one
within. For that reason we told you the night on which to unlock it, and
the very hour, in order that the right man might be waiting for you at
the head of the stairway. Bill Breakstone had to be that man, because
he can speak Spanish and the Mexican dialects, and because, lucky for
you, he's been an actor; often to amuse others he has played parts like
the one that he played last night in such deadly earnest.
"Catarina got the keys--there are duplicates to all the cells--so we
sent that up early, and on the day before your escape she stole the one
to the big gate that guards the stairway. It was easy enough to steal
the clothes for Breakstone, take him in as a servant, and his nerve and
yours did the rest. But we must never forget Catarina and her son
Porfirio, the vaquero. Without them we could have done nothing."
"I'm prouder of it than of any other thing in which I ever took part,"
said Bill Breakstone.
"It was not one miracle, it was a chain of them," said John Bedford.
"Whatever it was, here we all are," said Phil.