The Crimson Conquest 28

The Crimson Conquest 28

Leaving the palace, he went directly to his house, half expecting

Mendoza’s blade between his civil-official ribs at almost any moment.

He reached it safely, and sat the greater part of the evening blinking

at the light, laboring with a thought. He heard Riquelme come in with

companions, and going to the rear of the patio later, roused one of his

servants and beckoned him out.

 

"Vilpalca," he said, "dost know Felipillo? Good! Go fetch him."

 

He returned and sat again blinking at the light, slowly rubbing his

hands, now chuckling without mirth, now communing with himself in

emphatic whispers with many a sniffle interspersed. Within an hour his

servant returned, leading Felipillo. The young renegade entered

sulkily, twirling his plumed cap and looking shiftily at Rogelio, who

greeted him with effusive condescension.

 

"Ah, Felipillo," he twittered; "I am glad to see thee, Felipillo. How

hath it gone with thee? Sit, boy, and I’ll pour thee a bit of _chicha_.

Here."

 

Felipillo seated himself on the edge of a chair, glanced contemptuously

at the very small drink, and tossed it off at a gulp.

 

"Well, how hast prospered?" continued the _veedor_. "Hast played in

luck? Not in excessive luck, eh, chico! Thou ’rt a bit seedy, not so?

He, he! But we all have varied fortunes at play, Felipillo, now high,

now low. But I would rejoice to see thee in better feather, my young

friend. I would, on my soul!"

 

Felipillo regarded him with suspicious surprise, and the _veedor_ went

on: "I’ve sent for thee on a little matter of business, my boy. A

matter, in fact, of—he, he!—diplomacy. We Spaniards, as thou knowest,

are great in diplomacy. I hope thy coming did not incommode thee!"

 

"I was going to bed," grunted Felipillo, with bad grace.

 

"To bed so early? Wise boy! But ’tis a sign of a thin purse, is it

not?—or want of favor among the ladies—or both, eh? Sometimes they go

together. Too bad, too bad!"

 

The _veedor_ grinned upon him, meeting a sour glance in reply, then

resumed.

 

"Now, Felipillo, what dost think I had in mind in sending for thee? Eh,

boy? What dost imagine? Suppose I should say it was to offer thee—say,

a hundred _castellanos_!"

 

Felipillo looked as if he would consider the statement a lie if made,

but did not say so.

 

"A hundred _castellanos_, or maybe a hundred and fifty," continued

Rogelio, rubbing his hands and peering into the face of the interpreter.

The youth gave him a brief, searching glance, and looked away.

 

"I really think of it," said the _veedor_. "Upon my honor I do! A

hundred and fifty _castellanos_—but not more, understand—not more. Of

course, my young friend, thou wouldst naturally hope to make some return

for it, now wouldst thou not? He, he! Beyond a doubt, beyond a doubt!

I see it in thy generous eye. _Bien_! Now, this is what I have to say.

The Ñusta Rava—my Ñusta Rava!—hath fled, as thou knowest, with that

bullying, swearing, blood-drinking scoundrel, Peralta. I want her back.

Mendoza wants her back. I won her fairly at play, and she is mine; but

I see that it grateth him to give her up. If he taketh her, he may not

give her up. May the plague torture him a thousand years! Now, seest

thou, I am not a man of arms. If I were, I would pursue her myself.

But I am a civilian—an officer of the Crown, with a wife and—that is to

say, Felipillo, I must not endanger myself in the hardship of a pursuit.

I am not inured to it. I am too old—at least, my life and services are

too valuable." The _veedor_ paused here to inflate his cheeks while he

leaned back and surveyed the youth with dignity. But the dignity was

marred somewhat by the snuffle with which he ended.

 

"Dost follow me? Good! Now, what I want of thee is this. Go to the

camp of the Cañares, over the river, and set a pack of them on the scent

of the runaways. What sayst thou? Mind thee—a hundred and fifty

_castellanos_, good yellow gold!"

 

Felipillo had kept his eyes upon him with unusual steadiness. Now he

looked aside, weighed the proposition, and shook his head. "Impossible,

Señor."

 

"Impossible! Why impossible?" demanded the _veedor_; leaning eagerly

forward. "One hundred and fifty _castellanos_ for thine own purse, boy!

Why not?"

 

"Because one hundred and fifty _castellanos_ would not pay me and hire

them. A thousand _castellanos_ would not hire them, Señor, for they

care not for gold. They know not its worth."

 

"H’m! True!" said Rogelio, his jaw suddenly dropping in disappointment.

"But—well, what would hire them? _Chicha_?"

 

"_Chicha_ might, but they can get it more easily."

 

"Then what would?" snapped the _veedor_. "Beastly savages, not to know

the worth of money!"

 

Felipillo was silent. Rogelio watched him anxiously for a time, then

sat in a study. Finally he exclaimed: "Boy, I have it! These Cañares

chafe under the yoke of Tavantinsuyu, not so?"

 

Felipillo nodded.

 

"Aha! _Bueno_! _Bueno_!" said the _veedor_, rubbing his hands. "We’ll

offer them freedom."

 

"We, Señor?"

 

"I, dolt; I, myself! I’ll promise it them."

 

"Thou, Señor! They will know better."

 

"Bah! We can lie a little. But why not I?" Rogelio became suddenly

pompous. "Thou knowest not my standing at home, boy. A letter from me

to the Colonial Council, or to his Majesty, would have weight, let me

tell thee. But as I say, we can promise."

 

"It will not answer," said Felipillo, positively. "Moreover, they are

like to be free, now, without anybody’s leave."

 

The _veedor’s_ jaw sagged again. He studied heavily, and presently

looked up. "Felipillo, I’ll tell thee what will effect it,—license of

rapine!—liberty to plunder the natives hereabouts after we have marched!

By the sacrament, I can promise them they shall have that, for a

surety!"

 

"They will have it anyway," replied Felipillo.

 

"_Demonio!_" retorted Rogelio, testily. "But they will value a formal

permit. I’ll give it. Bring hither their chiefs to-morrow night.

Smuggle them in, dost understand? and I’ll wag a parchment before their

eyes with a seal and ribbons on it. Thou’lt see! A liberality with

_chicha_ will make the bargain easy. What sayst thou? Wilt deal with

them for me? I know not the language."

 

Felipillo considered long, to the _veedor’s_ impatience, and said at

last, "It would do it, Señor, that is certain, but—"

 

"Well, but what?" demanded Rogelio.

 

The youth shook his head. "One hundred and fifty _castellanos_, Señor—"

 

The _veedor_ wrenched himself about in his chair. "Oh, _infierno_! ’T

is princely—princely, I tell thee! It would brush thee up, stake thy

games, reinstate thee among the ladies! It might be thy making."

 

Again Felipillo shook his head.

 

"Murder and arson!" yelped the _veedor_, beginning to perspire. "Thou

’rt grasping, boy! One hundred and fifty _castellanos_! Oh, _Madre_!

Then make it two hundred."

 

Felipillo arose with a shrug, one of his acquirements from the

Spaniards. It enraged the _veedor_.

 

"Then go to the devil!" he piped. "’T is all thou’lt get. Two hundred

not enough! Oh, my stars!"

 

Felipillo moved toward the door. Rogelio mopped his neck and jowls

vigorously. "Wait, thou varlet!—say two hundred and fifty! Two hundred

and fifty, gold!"

 

Felipillo shrugged again, still moving, and the _veedor_ broke into a

stream of squeaky oaths. When the youth reached the door he sprang up.

 

"Hold, thou tanned son of Belial! Here! Wait! Three hundred, and not a

_maravedi_ more!"

 

"_Buenos noches!_" said Felipillo, with a grin, and went out. Rogelio

stood for a second, choking, then rushed after, collared him in the

patio, and dragged him back. He thrust him into a chair, hurried to a

chest, unlocked it feverishly, whispering curses the while, and drew out

a bag. Waddling to the table, he thrust in his hand, withdrew it full

of coin, and counted. Another handful counted, and he cried: "There,

knave, three hundred! Wilt do it?"

 

Felipillo hesitated, and Rogelio swept them together to return them to

the bag.

 

"_Si, Señor_," said the youth.

 

The _veedor_ sank into his chair, scrubbing his reddened countenance,

while Felipillo gathered up the gold. "I will go to-morrow, Señor,"