"What do you do here, Quesada?" asked Pepe Flammenca.
Quesada ignored the question.
"Tell me," he said, "how long have you been encamped in this spot?"
"Four of our wagons have been here a fortnight. But three that had been
delayed on the way joined us in this spot only this afternoon. I and my
daughter, Paquita, came with the vanguard."
"There is a singular troop of cabalgadores somewhere upon the plains,"
remarked Quesada, studiously regarding him. "They are nine--all
strangers to the countryside. They are led by a man known from end to
end of Spain, the redoubtable espada, Manuel Morales. Two among them are
outlanders; the one a Frenchman, the other an American.
"I seek news of them, Count. Perchance you may have encountered them in
traversing the high parameras of La Mancha? Perchance you may have
entertained them with a puchero in your encampment here?"
"Neither have I bespoke them nor have I had sight of them," returned
Pepe Flammenca with great certitude.
"No? But of course not! It is only four days ago that they first
enterprised abroad. However, the wagons of your caravan that just came
up to-day will surely have some word of them. These cabalgadores of
Manuel Morales are an uncommon looking lot; some of them are outfitted
in the full ring regalia of bullfighters; and the bright reds, greens
and yellows of their costumes have caused the vaqueros and herders, who
chanced across their path, to become puzzled and amazed and
extravagantly talkative. Then, too, they bristle with Mausers and
Mannlichers, and are heavily weighted with bandoleers in which
cartridges are as thick as teeth in a man's mouth.
"Small wonder, Pepe Flammenca, that tongues have wagged and legends been
fabricated--Morales and his men are nine of the most outlandish
cabalgadores ever seen in these parts; they are nine Quixotes, as
fantastic looking and out of place upon La Mancha as was the Ingenious
Gentleman himself! Myself, I had word of them borne me across the wastes
by a dozen different arrieros, and by the hard-riding horseboys of
certain innkeepers of my acquaintance.
"It is strange, but I, and I alone, know on what business they ride. But
then, I am the man they seek--I, Jacinto Quesada! But, Count, you are
not making any inquiries among the men of the three wagons that joined
you to-day. Do so at once!"
"There is no need, Don Jacinto. Already I have asked questions of them."
"But, man, you have not budged a foot! Carajo! do you think to trifle
with Jacinto Quesada?"
"God forbid, no!" returned the gigantic Gypsy hastily. "But I speak the
truth, Senor Quesada--already have I made inquiries among my men for
news of this Morales and his cabalgadores. Don Jacinto, it may surprise
you, but others have been here no more than an hour ago seeking news of
this selfsame Morales and his fantastic troop. They were two men of the
Guardia Civil and--"
"Hola! Two Guardias Civiles? And no more than an hour ago? When they
left you, which way did they ride?"
"Right on up the barranca--towards the mountains--and they did not stop
for food."
Jacinto Quesada, keeping the Gypsy chieftain transfixed with his eye,
raised his voice so that it carried all through the clearing and even
out to the shadows beyond:
"Carajo! they were here, eh? Two Guardias Civiles--and they went right
on up the barranca!"
At once and silently, two of the cabalgadores waiting in the shadows
moved off up the dark defile. It was as though they were play-actors
hidden in the wings of a stage, and the loudly shouted words of Jacinto
Quesada were to them an awaited signal, a cue to be immediately obeyed.
"What do you desire of us, Don Jacinto?" asked Flammenca of Quesada,
without seeming to notice his change of voice.
"Food."
"Sit down and eat. You are most welcome."
"Do you think Jacinto Quesada will be satisfied with your leavings and
the leavings of your brats and wenches? Besides, there is not enough
stew left to satisfy my stomach. I have the appetite of three men."
He looked at Flammenca a long moment, then added, "And again, I have a
following of four cabalgadores who will be here shortly. Their stomachs
must be well garnished. They have ridden hard and steadily these last
four days."
"Any you bring with you are most welcome here, Senor Quesada, my friend.
Are not the Gypsies forever the friends of outlaws?"
"One of those who will come will be a lady, a gentle highborn lady--"
"Tell her to come forward out of the shadows, man! Why keep her waiting
outside the clearing because of your foolish distrust of us? We Gypsies
mean no treachery by you or yours, _ley tiro solloholomus opre
lesti_--you may take your oath on that!"
The two men looked at each other for a long minute. Then Jacinto
Quesada, in perfectly good grace, turned his head and called, "Forward,
my Felicidad!"
She came forth, the golden-haired girl, riding a tobacco colored mare of
the small but hardy Manchegan breed. She looked very proud and highborn
and lonely, as she walked her horse slowly toward them.
"You are safe from all harm here, _madama_," said Flammenca, bowing low.
"Rest yourself and soon you will eat. My own daughter, Paquita, will
serve you. We are your good friends even as we are the good friends of
Jacinto Quesada."
Very courteously, he helped her dismount.
Just then sounded, very suddenly, the hoot of the eagle owl. It came
from up the barranca. As it vibrated sharply between the steep high
walls of the canyon, Flammenca turned and looked at the young
bandolero, cocking his ears the while. Quesada, in the act of
dismounting, paused also and listened. The sound came again, a singular
bird note, not much the ordinary hoot of an owl, but more a growl and
something of a gruff scream.
Pepe Flammenca strode quickly to Quesada's side.
"The men you sent up the canyon after the Guardias Civiles have
returned, I see," he said. "Call them in! You are overwary of me and my
people, Don Jacinto. Such caution is commendable in most circumstances,
but not when you deal with the Zincali. Trust us, Quesada; we will not
betray you! Have we not for hundreds of years been outlaws hunted like
wolves? Do you think the men of the Guardia Civil look upon us as their
allies? We of the Zincali are thieves, and we honor you for being a
greater thief than we. No reward the police of Spain can offer would
make us prove false to you and yours!"
A long silence followed. Again Jacinto Quesada looked steadily into
Flammenca's eyes and strove to read the soul of the man.
"Very well!" he said at length. He raised his carbine aloft and fired it
into the air.
Briskly his three dorados, Rafael Perez, Ignacio Garcia, and Pio
Estrada, rode into the clearing. It was noticeable then, in the light
from the replenished fires, that no one of them was laden with the
plunder from the hold-up of the Seville-to-Madrid. The chances were that
they had left the telltale sacks of mail and conglomerate loot in the
posada of some protecting cacique, or buried them between the concrete
feet of some windmill, or cached them between the boulders in some gully
in the foothills.
The three dismounted. With gratification they shook out their
saddle-cramped limbs. Jacinto Quesada led his own horse and that of
Felicidad over to one of the wagons and picketed them to a wheel. As he
did, a nut-brown chit of a girl came and stood before him.
"You are that arrogant and absolute one, Jacinto Quesada!" she asked
with rising inflection.
Jacinto Quesada nodded without speaking. The Gypsy girl looked at him in
a way that gave him a singular feeling. Boldly she measured him with her
eyes, appraised him. Her glance was at once inquisitive, prying,
annoying, and yet ardent and approving. She had, too, the strange slow
stare peculiar to persons of the Gypsy race, that fixed uncouth look
that makes one feel much as if one were being hypnotized by a serpent.
"You are very young to be a bandolero," she remarked, half to herself.
Once again Quesada nodded without speaking.
"You are altogether unlike the bandoleros I have seen."
"It is the deed, senorita," said Quesada. "The deed makes us
bandoleros--not the length of our limbs nor the cast of our faces."
"But you are very handsome!" she said. "You are as handsome as the very
Hyperion himself!"
Surprised at the ardor with which she said these words, Quesada looked
at her with a more curious interest. Small but oddly statuesque, a
superbly shaped figurine in her close-clinging calico dress of glowing
vermilions and blazing saffrons, she stood with head ecstatically
upraised toward him, her dusky eyes radiant with admiration. She
thrilled a little toward him, her olive bosom undulating deeply and
slowly.
"Who are you, child?" he asked.
"Paquita. I am the daughter of Pepe Flammenca."
Without comment, he made to return to the group about the fires. But she
stayed him with a hand upon his arm.
"Tell me," she asked, panting with eagerness; "have you murdered many
men on the mountains and on the plains?"
"Carajo, no! No man have I killed as yet, though I have battled with
many," returned Quesada, wounded in his manhood. "I am but a simple
Moor, not a ferocious beast that lusts to slay."
"But you are magnificent with pride and courage!"
"I love the fierce ecstasy of the running fight, the hand-to-hand
skirmish! But there is little cold murder, know you, in my bowels. Now,
leave me, _ninita_!"
Impatiently, he thrust her hand from his arm and started away. But she
put herself before him, and once again uplifted her face and bathed him
in the gaze of her ardent eyes. And she cried, her voice tremulous with
a kind of passion:
"Don Jacinto, I have never before met any one like you! You are bold and
imperious, you are savage and mighty, but you are not weakly cruel! And
ah, you are handsome--handsome as the very Hyperion himself!"
She suddenly burst into tears and fled away. Quesada looked after her,
perturbed, amazed, and sorely puzzled. Her conduct was altogether
inexplicable. But the underwood hid her from further sight. He shrugged
his shoulders as one who should say, "She is only a Gypsy, poor thing!"
and returned to the fires. His meal awaited him.