opened to admit a character very different from the weaklings who made
his tavern their rendezvous. He was dark-skinned as the rest of the
crew, red-faced as old Pedro (from the same faithful indulgence in
vintages), not younger than forty, yet aggressive, vibrating with
physical power, elasticity, and an overweening insolence. His manner of
approach--and he entered this tavern with the same studied grace with
which he swaggered into half a hundred others--seemed to indicate that
he delighted in disorganizing and terrorizing whatever he might find
established and orderly--wherever he might find it!
Beholding the somnolent proprietor, he advanced quietly to the middle
of the big room. Then, with malicious enjoyment of the effect, he
banged his riding-crop violently upon the table, close to the tavern
keeper's ear.
"Hey, you Pedro!" he roared. "Wake up, you blockhead--wake up, I say!"
There was only a response of snores.
"You, Pedro, attention! What's the matter here? Where are you? Wake up
and stop your dreaming!"
At this the startled landlord leaped to his feet, bowing through force
of habit.
"Ah, Senor Robledo! One thousand pardons!" he gasped timorously. "What
can I do for you, sir?"
"You're a wretch of a tavern keeper," and the newcomer advanced upon
the unhappy Pedro as though about to slay him for his drowsiness.
"Yes, senor! You are always right." The man humbly endeavored to
collect his wits. "How may I serve your lordship?"
The bully swaggered, puffed his cheeks, and feeling that his host was
finally awake to the seriousness of the situation, he cried out once
more: "My horse stands outside by the post. He has been hard ridden,
for I have come on an important mission. Varlet, go out and wash his
mouth, dry him down, and don't give him water until he has cooled off.
Are you finally awake, you idiotic Pedro?"
The tavern keeper gulped fearsomely, and bowed his most fetching bow,
without result.
"My horse is almost dead on his legs. Be kind to him. I've had a hard
ride over these miserable province roads. As for me--I want a flask of
... well ... of something decent. I know that's not in your line. Step
lively now; and mind you, draw it from your private cask. My temper is
no better than it should be, to-night."
The old man bowed and started to leave the big room.
The blustering guest howled at him once more, punctuating his remarks
with the butt of the whip.
"Where's your daughter?"
The old man trembled and bowed once more.
"I'll call her," Pedro said apologetically. "She'll be right here,
sir."
He went to the door at the right, and shouted quaveringly: "Dolores!
Dolores! Dolores!... There, senor, she will come at once."
"And, Pedro--if that rat-infested larder of yours is empty, get it
filled before the Duke arrives," added Robledo. "Yes ... the Duke. He
is coming to-night. Don't stand and stare, but hurry up and see to my
horse."
"Yes, senor!... Yes, yes!"
And he tottered away on his errands.
Dolores had entered in response to the call. At first she did not
observe the newcomer, whose back was toward her.
"Yes, father," she began. "Why do you wish me?"
"Dolores," Robledo turned toward her impatiently. "Did you not know I
had come?"
"Oh, it's you?" and there was a scornful sniff from the girl.
"Well, well, can't you say you're glad to see me?"
The jade was hard to impress, where others showed abjection before the
terrorist.
"I can, but I won't. Where's my father?"
"Never mind your father--I want to talk to you."
"Is it so, Senor Robledo? Well, you won't in that tone."
He intercepted her in the center of the room, catching her wrist and
turning her about to face him.
"What do you want to say to me?"
"You little devil!... Come here, don't try to get away." The girl was
tugging to release herself. "What's come over you these days? You are
about as fond and sweet-tempered as a tigress. Anyone would think that
you didn't care for me at all. What have I done, Dolores?"
"It is what you have not done. For fifteen days your Prince has been in
need of you, and you have not had the courage to go to him. Let go my
wrist."
Don Robledo laughed, yet with a quaver in his voice, for there was a
depth of passion here, intensified by the spirited resistance of the
girl.
"Who's the little spitfire trying to tear to pieces now?"
"You!" she snapped back. "Don Robledo--sword-fighter--toreador--fire-eater
--hero of a hundred duels!... You--Don Robledo--_coward_!"
He clumsily chuckled her under the chin.
"I asked you to-day," she continued, as she threw his hand away from
her face, "I begged you to go into the castle and rescue your Prince. I
ask you now to answer the signal that I just saw in the tower window,
where he can see our lights. Perhaps he has burned something, a scrap
of paper, in the hope that some of you, his retainers, would notice it
and come to his assistance. But--he doesn't know what a pack of cowards
you all are, or he would have saved his matches. So, it's Don
Robledo--_coward_!"
The big man snarled.
"Coward--never a coward in a fair fight in the open, and I'll meet the
best man that walks the earth." Here he faced the inquisitive and
thoroughly awed villagers. "Any two or three!"
He banged the table with his riding-crop to punctuate the emphasis.
"I don't ask you to kill one or two or three of these poor whimpering
sheep of Seguro. I ask you to dare something, at risk to yourself. To
go to the aid of your Prince.... There isn't a man among you--who
_dares_! _Dios!_ How I could love _such a man_!"
They had not heard the thrum of the motors on the roadway outside. The
door opened, and the first of the party to enter was the Duke. He
walked quietly into the room, overhearing the words of Dolores.
"A pretty little speech!" he observed sarcastically.
"Your Excellency!" cried Robledo, taking off his hat. "Welcome back to
Seguro."
"Yes, I am well come to Seguro."
The natives doffed their hats, and like Pedro bowed and howled in the
time-honored peasant way.
"The Duke! The Duke!"
"Pedro, go out and help the Princess and her servants with the luggage.
I want to speak to you alone, Robledo. Hurry, while the others are
delayed with that execrable car. I walked a hundred yards to get here
first."
He turned toward Dolores with a scowl.
"Those are charming sentiments for your fellow-townsmen, whose healthy
common sense prevents them from rushing to a fool's death. Still, all
fools are not dead yet. One of them will be here to-night. And you,
senorita, will doubtless be pleased to look over him, as he has come
all the way from America for the privilege of entering the castle and
playing your hero."
Dolores looked at Robledo, as she parried:
"And did her Highness have to go all the way to America to find him?"
"Yes, indeed. He's from America, where all the fools come from!"
And the villagers joined in a merry chorus of intelligent laughter!
XIII
"GENTLEMEN, A MAN!"
Dolores had hurried upstairs, where she well knew there was a tiny
attic in the rambling old building which acted as an excellent
whispering gallery. Every word spoken in the larger room below could be
heard from this vantage. She was no sooner secreted there than she
heard the voice of the Duke.
"You received my telegram sent to San Fernandez?"
"Yes, Excellency. Antonio brought it over with the mail-bags."
"What about the Prince?"
"Ah, Excellency ... why ask? The same news as before. This stupid
Vardos has been taking food to the castle every day, but he is too
frightened to venture into the miserable old pile of stones. It is most
droll, your Excellency."
"Well then, Robledo, I am satisfied as far as that goes. But you have
work before you of a new character."
The swordsman struck a chair with his riding-crop. It seemed a favorite
stage effect with him; the Duke was not slow in catching its
significance.
"Just forget these little affectations, my good man," he said
haughtily. "None of this blustering around me. I know that you do your
work well, and at other times there is much to be desired. Now, in this
case, you have a dangerous man to combat. And the combat must be final,
no matter how difficult."
"How is he dangerous?" and there was a new note in Robledo's blustering
voice.
"Unless he is stopped he may cause trouble for the traditions of
Seguro. He is crafty as a _contrabandisto_, cunning as the snakes of
the Pyrenees! He has been brought here by my cousin the Princess to
make some special investigations." He laughed, with that cruel,
mirthless inflection so characteristic. "She should have left that to
me--and she will be sorry ere it is all over. This man has thwarted me
twice already. Coming over on the steamer from America the scoundrel
disappeared from the ship most remarkably, just when I had all arranged
to put him into duress in Liverpool. I have yet to learn the secret of
it. He must be discouraged ... you understand, Robledo?"
"Excellency, I can assure you that the Yankee pig will be convinced, in
a language which he will understand, that his presence in the castle
to-night is quite unnecessary. Have you any particular instructions?"
The Duke shook his head and grimaced suggestively.
"Any way you please, Robledo. You understand my general ideas on such
subjects. Means are of no consequence to a born statesman. Results are
the only permanent things in this world. However--I warn you. Don't
underestimate your man. He will shoot; I imagine that he can shoot
quickly and without a tremor."
"Ha, ha! Good opposition. I welcome such an antagonist--these
fat-brained peasants about here are too simple to stimulate me to good
work. I have been growing dull and commonplace--I am almost out of
training, as they call it in the bull-ring."
"Come then, and I will give Pedro some money to buy drinks for the
stupid dolts,--they can drink my health: it is none of the best these
days, Robledo. My American trip was wearing. It is a wretched,
unromantic hole--not a country, just a great mob of people."
"I can well believe your Excellency. This way, sir."
They returned to the big room of the tavern, and Dolores retired from
the temporary confessional box. Her face showed mixed emotions--but
predominating over any other influence was the great desire to serve
the rulers of her family. Curiously loyal are these humble peasants of
the inland Latin districts. Their lives follow the monotonous example
of the generations before them: as their grandsires, their fathers were
tradesmen of a certain calling, so do they follow the strata, contented
to exist with the conventional beginning, moderately happy middle era,
and inevitably stupid ending of their lives.
It is this which is so pleasing to the European aristocrats: no matter
how bankrupt, incompetent, disreputable, the class theory which is
recognized by the masses is, "Once a gentleman, always a gentleman."
It is inconceivable upon the Continent for a peasant's or even a
tradesman's son or daughter to aspire to a higher level than that of
the family. Exceptions to the rule are looked upon with distrust by
superiors as well as the lowly equals: too much ambition is a
temptation to the gods which is hardly respectable.
There is a smug contentment, then, in the feudal countries which is the
surest bulwark of the "divine right of kings"--and courtiers! A
pleasantly distended belly, a mellow thrill from cheap wine, a
certainty about the repetition of regular meals and drinks, with enough
clothes and shelter to maintain relative positions with the
neighbors--this year, next year, and twenty years from now ... these
things are the mess of pottage for which the Esaus of the kingdoms and
principalities sell their birthrights and their souls!
Vardos--for instance--bodyservant and sole military retainer of a
princely line which for generation after generation had considered
itself in humiliating straits unless there were at least a thousand
lances at beck and call--old Vardos had been thrown into a mental
maelstrom by the sudden change in the lifelong existence. Sure of his
meals and a modicum of money for occasional visits to taprooms, he was
now placed in a position of responsibility, one where executive and
aggressiveness were demanded. Here old Vardos failed, because he was a
peasant true to his type. The poor fellow had struggled with his grief
these fifteen days--now he felt, with a helpless aching of the faithful
heart, that he must have been in a sense responsible for the death of
his master. He had pleaded with the young Prince not to enter the
accursed place.
Insanity and suicide though it seemed to be to him, he could not help
it. That was bad enough--but with the prospect of the beautiful
Princess going into the place as well: life had become a horrible thing
to him.
He sought the wayside shrine down the crooked village street. He threw
himself upon his knees before it, vowing candles to every saint who had
granted petty favors to him in the past!
He faced the great cathedral, rearing its pale crest in the dim light
from the stars, vast and exalted above the miserable squalor of those
whose ancestors had created its grandeur with their inspired devotion.
He told the Holy Family and the saints, with tear-choked voice, the
quandary of his noble master, and begged that, though they should never
grant him another request, somehow, somewhere, they find and bring a
gallant adventurer who could turn defeat into victory, one more willing
and competent than himself, to die!
And the answer to this prayer was unburdening his own soul with
semi-religious phrases, in a Kentucky accent, addressed with unwonted
and even picturesque fluency at the stumbling, stodgy Rusty Snow, who
trudged along loaded with luggage and an insatiate hatred of this
"cussed foreign joint," as he labeled it to himself.
The Princess and her maid had, at Jarvis' suggestion, left them with
the automobile in its latest quagmire, to reach the shelter of the inn.
So it was that, as her vassal and his vassal struggled with the luggage
in the dark, she reached the portal of the house of Pedro.
Robledo was hearkening carefully to certain careful instructions from
the Duke of Alva, nodding with a smile of malicious portent at the
final words.
"I will not fall short of my former reputation, your Excellency,"
declared the Don. "When a man reaches my time of life, after a success
in the bull-ring as toreador, in the army as a duelist, and in the
private retinue of so distinguished a nobleman as yourself, he has a
certain pride in his ability.... Indeed, I regret that I must waste my
talents upon a stupid pig of a Yankee."
Shaking his head, Carlos drew out his purse.
"The man is no idiot, unfortunately. He has completely won the
confidence of the Princess, despite his obvious trickeries. Now,
however, I would like to attend to a few little tasks of cleaning up
after that miserable trip."
Pedro was approaching them subserviently, a humble, bobbing head
betokening his anxiety to please the fine folk.
"Anything else, your Excellency?" he stammered, overcome with the pomp
and majesty of the situation.
"Here, my good man, take this coin and have the brave lads in the
taproom drink to my health and that of her Exalted Highness, the
Princess Maria Theresa."
With studied carelessness, he dropped the coin upon the floor, and
Pedro chased the rolling golden disk with surprising agility.
"Then bring me up some hot water, soap, and towels. You may prepare a
hasty supper, as well--but let it be fit for a gentleman to eat!"
"Yes, yes! Your Excellency!" and Pedro nearly brought back his
rheumatic spell by the renewed bobbing of the stiff old back, as he
retreated to the barroom.
He returned promptly after breaking the gladsome tidings of the treat,
and led the nobleman up the stairway, as a chorus of cheers rang out
from the alcoholic ward.
"The Duke! The Duke! His Excellency the Duke of Alva!"
Robledo walked to the door, with his characteristic swashbuckler
rhythm, and stirred them up to more enthusiasm.
"Louder, you beggars, or I'll give you something to yell about--louder,
I say!"
Dolores had slipped through the doorway, facing the road.
Suddenly she danced in through the entry again, happy and exultant.
"Her Highness has come, father. Her Highness!"
Old Pedro stumbled toward the balcony and peered over at her
querulously.
"Father, father!"
"What is it, Dolores?"
"Her Highness, the Princess!"
The old man bustled down the stairs, trembling with added excitement,
just as Maria Theresa and Nita were bowed into the tavern by a villager
who had accompanied them from the delayed machine.
The peasants trooped into the room from the tap, howling with mediaeval
enthusiasm.
"Your Gracious Highness does my humble inn great honor," began Pedro,
as his local guests imitated the clumsy courtesy with varying ability.
"Thank you, Pedro," replied the Princess graciously as one would
address a polite child.
She held out her hand to Dolores, who kissed it reverently, with a bow
and a bend of the knee.
"Your Highness, we are poorly prepared for this great favor, ill
prepared indeed," apologized Dolores. "Your exalted cousin gave us but
short warning of your coming. Our humble tavern is hardly fitting for a
great lady."
"My child, any place to remove the dust of travel will do for me." She
turned toward the villager at the door. "Tell my chauffeur that when he
repairs the car I shall want it kept in readiness to use again."
Nita advanced anxiously.
"Your Highness is not thinking of going to the castle to-night,
surely?" Her voice was politely remonstrative, with a note of
apprehensiveness for the welfare of her mistress.
"But I must have news," declared the young woman impatiently. "I am
frantic with worry, and the things which Jose has told me. Come to a
room, Nita."
"Ah, your Highness, you are too brave, too determined. You are all worn
out with this long trip. Better to wait until daylight, if I may be so
bold as to suggest to your ladyship. You are all unstrung just now."
Maria Theresa did indeed show the strain of the nerve-racking trip, but
she valiantly shook her head.
"Show me up, Dolores. When Mr. Warren, my representative, arrives
inform him that I will be down very soon. Come, Nita, for I know that
your hands can rest me, with their skillful massage," and she spoke
wearily.
Pedro stepped forward, bowing.
"Allow me the honor, your Highness. I have the finest chamber in the
tavern prepared for you--a fire to take the night chill from the
largest bedroom."
She started up the steps, followed by her maid and the old man, still
risking a strained back with his excited bows.
Again she turned to Dolores, with a strange nervousness, to say: "Do
not forget to explain to Mr. Warren. He may think I have left the
tavern. I will see him soon."
"I will give your commands to the Senor Americano, your Highness,"
promised the black-eyed Dolores, with a heightened color.
Then the Princess disappeared across the end of the balcony. Dolores
walked to the doorway, and discerned two figures approaching with a
strange slowness.
"Is this the inn?" cried a voice, with a slight foreign accent in the
Spanish.
"Yes, yes, senor. Come in, senor, we are expecting you," replied the
girl.
The villagers were still grouped about the door to the taproom. Dolores
stepped back, as Warren Jarvis and Rusty Snow entered the big front
hallway, and blinked in the unaccustomed glare of light.
They were both burdened with suitcases, and two of the Princess'
hatboxes. These they dropped unceremoniously on the floor, with sighs
of relief.
"We're here, Rusty, with both feet!"
"Yassir," and the negro groaned with exhaustion, "and I'd jest as lieve
be back in Meadow Green. Dis don't look very scrumptious for a Mrs.
Princessess' plantation house."
"This is no castle, Rusty. This is only the halfway house."
Dolores could not understand their low conversation in English--and
Afro-Americanese! But she had studied the clear features, the
nonchalant bearing of the tall American. She turned toward the
sheep-like, staring villagers, and with an eloquent wave of her hand
she cried out resonantly:
"Gentlemen--_a man_!"
[Illustration: "_Gentlemen--a man_"]
Jarvis was lighting his cigarette, and he laughed, with a side-remark
to his valet:
"Rusty, as the Indians said to Columbus: 'We're discovered!'" He turned
toward the girl. "Did you by any chance address me, fair senorita?"
"I'm calling the attention of these valiant gentlemen of Seguro to the
only man with spirit and bravery enough to enter the haunted castle,"
she declared.
"How did you know?" and his eyes widened with surprise. This was a
queer place.
"All Seguro knows by this time, senor."
At these words, Don Robledo swaggered in through the door from the bar.
He pushed the villagers aside with contemptuous roughness. He even
thrust the girl out of his way as she tried to detain him. He laughed
insultingly into the bland face of Jarvis.
"So, you are the _brave_ American, are you?" he cried, surveying
Jarvis, with hands on hips and stocky legs well spread.
[Illustration: "_So, you are the brave American, are you?_"]
Jarvis puffed cigarette smoke at him and answered with ingenuous
modesty.
"I'm _an_ American. And here" (he waved his hand to Rusty, who saluted
with divination of the tenor of the interchange) "I present to your
notice another American. In fact, we're both Americans!"
"And you both want to die?" cried Don Robledo, drawing a stiff
forefinger suggestively across his brawny throat. Rusty was reading the
pantomime with perfect understanding. He made a wry face and rolled his
eyes at Jarvis, who responded with a droll wink.
"Well, now that you mention it, I'm in no hurry about it. I'm not at
all anxious on the subject."
He sat down in one of the carven chairs and continued to puff his
cigarette with provoking amiability.
Robeldo leaned forward toward him and snarled:
"You had better keep out of the castle then. It has a fatal climate."
Warren laughed, and flicked the ashes of the cigarette upon the sleeve
of his interviewer.
"Oh, you mean the castle ghost--this old rummy who can't sleep in his
grave of nights? Ha, ha! I'm not afraid of a little trifle like that,
senor."
Robledo stepped back threateningly, and yet with hesitation caused by
the perplexing simplicity of this foreigner.
"No?... Well, senorita, we gentlemen of Seguro will gladly drink to
your American hero! Here, lads, is a toast to the maddest fool that
ever came to Spain!"
He turned contemptuously on his heel, with military precision. Then he
chuckled Dolores under the chin with a leer, to have his hand
indignantly pushed aside. As the girl glared at him with a flash of
hatred in her eyes, he stalked into the taproom, followed by the ready
topers.
"Pile these bags on the table, Rusty," ordered Warren, as he smiled
winningly at the girl.
"Yassir. We kin use 'em for one of these yere barracadies, if we has
to."
"It looks as though we're booked for a warm reception in Seguro, Rusty.
Doesn't it?"
Rusty rolled those chalky optics, with an expression of mingled
drollery, apprehension, and confidence in his master's ability to lead
the battle. It is wonderful how much expression can be condensed into a
darky's eyes!
"Yassir. It's some tropical, dat's shore. But, you-all ain't no
cold-storage rooster yohself, Marse Warren. A little Kaintucky
ammanition might make some echoes 'round dis confabulation."
From the taproom came loud howls of derision from the associated
village sports of Seguro.
"That ward heeler seems to be making a campaign speech, Rusty. He may
be making a few promises that he can't fulfill after he gets elected,"
observed the Kentuckian, with pursed lips. "Listen to them holler!"
Rusty looked over his shoulder, while Dolores studied these two types
with girlish curiosity, as they chattered in their alien tongue. She
had never seen a man unafraid of Don Robledo but his distinguished
Excellency, the Duke, before. It gave her a new thrill.
"He's a mighty nice man, he is. Mighty nice, Marse Warren. He's almos'
too nice, ain't he?"
Warren shook his head, with a serious look on the usually laughing
face.