The Crimson Conquest 40

The Crimson Conquest 40

"Damnation!" squeaked the _veedor_; then stifling his rage, he

continued: "No, no! Not that. By thy happiness I mean thine

_inamorada_, the Señora Bolio——"

 

"Oh, blessed saints!" interrupted Pedro. "Thou wouldst share my

happiness in the Señora? Take it all, Señor! Take the whole of her.

By heaven, I’ll send her up entire! Wait but an hour." He started to

turn his mule.

 

"Stop, fool!" choked the exasperated _veedor_; and grasping at a rein,

narrowly escaped a kick. He sprang out of range with a gasp.

 

"Well," said Pedro, complacently, "I gave thee warning, Señor. But hast

more to say?"

 

It was a minute before Rogelio regained his speech. "Yes!" he shrilled.

"Perdition! Yes! If thou wilt but hold thy tongue!"

 

"_Bueno_! I listen. Proceed, Señor _Veedor_."

 

Rogelio drew near again and said, with difficulty, forcing a grin: "Now,

in the devil’s name, give heed; and forbear to fly off the bowstring

until I have finished! What I’ve tried to get into thy pate is this. In

a few days I shall have a guest, Pedro." He looked cautiously about and

whispered, "A maiden, my friend—the fairest heathen in the land. I’ll

not say her name—he, he!—that shall be a secret. But, I would have a

woman servant—one worthy of dependence, dost mark? Canst find me one?

Thou ’rt known to the townsfolk, and I am not. What sayst? There will

be some moderate compensation for thy time and trouble, Pedro,—moderate,

mind thee, for I am a poor man; though," he looked about again, "I’ll

tell thee this, once I have her safe, there will be treasure untold at

my command—Ah! Hum!—That is, Pedro, a fair sum—rather small, in

fact—little more than enough for my requirements, for I have a fam——"

He stopped short, snuffled, and went on hastily, "I’ll pay thee, Pedro.

Wilt find me a servant?"

 

Pedro concealed both his contempt and his suddenly roused interest, and

after brief scrutiny of the tallowy face and protuberant eyes, looked

away. "Why," he drawled, "for the time it hath taken thee to get it

out, ’t is a simple matter. Doubtless I can find a woman. I’ll look

about."

 

"Do so, my worthy friend," said Rogelio, rubbing his hands. "It will be

worth thy while."

 

"No doubt," answered Pedro. "_Adiós_, Señor." He rode away.

 

"Dolt, lunk-head, clod-pate!" muttered Rogelio, looking viciously after

him.

 

"Oily scoundrel!" muttered Pedro. "Slimy dastard." Then he chuckled.

"Oh, give me but an hour, and I could work him into a fit! His rage

striketh at his vitals. But, let us see! A maiden, the fairest in the

land, and treasure untold! God’s love! Can it be she?" He reined up,

the better to think, and sat in study, his geniality of countenance

giving place to grave concern. Shortly he rode on, still pondering.

 

Pedro’s mission to the fortress was to see the sick armorer and warn him

against Fray Mauricio, with the advice that José go straightway to

Cuzco, where Pizarro would hold him safe. The Morisco was so ill,

however, that he said nothing of his errand, and after an hour at the

bedside, took his departure.

 

Pedro rode back much occupied with uneasy thoughts of Cristoval and

Rava. He had heard nothing of their fate, and it was generally believed

that they had perished in the mountains. After De Valera had been found

in the canyon by his companions even the Cañares had lost the scent.

Still Pedro hoped, and better, prayed with right good-will. Now he

determined to watch for Rogelio’s expected guest, his suspicion

thoroughly roused by the morning’s conversation.

 

Two days later he was again riding toward the fortress. On this

occasion, however, he went beyond, making inquiries for the _huasi_ of

one Municancha, master-mason. Rewarded at length, he was received with

distinction by the dignified Indio and his interesting family, to whom

he made himself so agreeable that he was pressed to come again, the

small children chasing the dust of his mule for many yards, with shrill

farewell and reiterated invitation.

 

Pedro rode back in an enviable frame of mind. It was dark when he

passed the road to the fortress, and he had gone a little beyond when

his mule stopped with a suddenness that sent his hand smartly to his

sword-hilt. He distinguished a shadowy group of figures ahead, and

hearing a word in Spanish, he prodded his animal with his single spur

and rode forward. The strangers had drawn off to let him pass. As he

neared them Pedro hailed:—

 

"Hob, _compadres_! A good-night to you."

 

"Oh, ’t is Pedro!" he heard one say in relief, then the ring of ordered

pikes, and, "Good-night, Pedro!" briefly.

 

"What cheer, friends?" asked the cook, drawing rein; but they moved on

without response. He grunted at their discourtesy and went his way,

failing to observe in the darkness that two of the number bore a

_hamaca_.

 

The party halted near the fortress gate. Duero was challenged by the

sentinel, seating himself wearily while the soldier drawled his call for

the sergeant. The officer appeared, a parley followed, and the gate

swung open.

 

"Well, and what fortune, _amigo_?" asked the old sergeant, surveying

Duero as he stood scowling in the lantern light. "Why, man, thou’rt

haggard!"

 

The other replied with an oath: "Not the worst fortune, but so near the

worst that, curse me, ’t would be no easy choice between them. Dost

pass my party?"

 

"Pass them," said the sergeant, and Duero called to his companions;

then, not wishing to be interrogated, gave the officer good-night. The

sergeant watched the _hamaca_ past the gate, and with a grimace to his

sentinel, retired to the guard-room. Since the death of Atahualpa he

had seen the like more than once.

 

Inside the gate Duero dismissed his remnant of the Cañares. Taking up

the silent and closely curtained _hamaca_, the Spaniards were presently

pounding at the _veedor’s_ door. An Indio servant opened to them, and

the litter was carried into the court. Apprised of its arrival, Rogelio

hurried out.

 

Duero ignored his greeting and demanded bluntly: "Where is the cage,

Señor _Veedor_? Here is the bird."

 

"Oh, my stars!" snuffled Rogelio, rubbing his hands and sidling round

the _hamaca_. "Is she there, indeed?—and in good condition, Duero?

Remember, that was part of the stipulation—that she should be unharmed,

and in good condition."

 

"As to being unharmed, I’ll answer for it," replied the soldier. "As

for her condition, you can figure for yourself what it is like to be

after such a journey. Where will you have her put? Come! We’re

weary."

 

"This way," said Rogelio, in a fluster. "The room is all prepared—a

bower, Duero, a very bower! He, he! Wait! I’ll fetch a lamp." He

scuttled away, reappeared with a light, and led the way to a door

opening upon the patio. It was fastened with a heavy padlock. Fumbling

for a second, he threw open the door. The _hamaca_ was carried in, the

door closed, and while Rogelio edged round eagerly with the lamp,

striving for a glimpse, Duero threw back the curtains and lifted Rava,

almost lifeless, from the litter. She moaned as he bore her to the

couch, and he hastened to remove the bonds and gag she had worn since

nearing Xauxa. She gave no other evidence of animation.

 

"Here—the light!" commanded Duero, gruffly, and took it without ceremony

from the _veedor’s_ hand, bending over the girl in scrutiny. Rogelio

hovered about, twisting his fat fingers, and straining to have a look at

the pale, drawn face almost hidden by her disordered tresses. It was a

face to move the compassion of a savage. The rough soldier felt its

pathos, for he straightened up and said brusquely:—

 

"She needeth looking after, ’t is a certainty. Fetch a woman at once,

Señor _Veedor_."

 

"A woman!" piped Rogelio. "Why, there’s no woman about. I have spoken

for one, and may have her to-morrow."

 

"No woman about!" exclaimed Duero, turning upon him sternly. "Do you

say there is none to give this girl the care she needeth?"

 

"To-morrow—" began the _veedor_ weakly.

 

"To-morrow!—To-night! This night, _Veedor_, or she goeth to Xauxa."

Duero’s black eyes travelled over Rogelio with an __EXPRESSION__ the latter

did not care to meet.

 

"To-night! Impossible, Duero!" he whined. "There is not a woman in the

fortress save two just come from San Miguel, and they—" He shook his

head.

 

"Then, Señor, you will fetch one from Xauxa," said Duero, with

determination.

 

"Curse me if I will!" retorted the _veedor_, angrily. "And look thou,

Duero: this is mine affair. Thy part in it is done. Thou’lt refrain

from meddling."

 

Duero motioned his companions forward, and stepped to raise the Ñusta.

At the move Rogelio forgot himself and sprang forward with a snarl and

curse to interpose, but recollected himself at once when Duero, dagger

half-drawn, thrust an elbow beneath his chin and met his eyes with a

scowl so malevolent that he caught breath with a sudden weakening of his

knees. As the _veedor_ retreated with a gasp Duero followed him

steadily with his glare, then turned again with deliberation to the

couch. The _veedor_ raised a shaking hand to his throat as if he

expected to find it already cut, and quavered:—

 

"My—my soul—and body, Duero! Thou’rt sudden! Wait! I—fiends and

goblins!—I’ll go if it will please thee."

 

"It will," said Duero, briefly. "See that you do. We will tarry until

your return. But first, a small cup of _chicha_. We must warm her

blood, or your woman will find a corpse. Do you hear, _Veedor_? A cup

of _chicha_!"

 

The _veedor_ started painfully and waddled away. He was back in a

moment with the liquor. The soldier forced a few drops between the

pallid lips of the Ñusta, and vigorously chafed her hands and arms. A

fierce, unprincipled rascal in most respects, he was endowed with a

rough warmth of heart to which the helpless state of his captive made

silent appeal. He worked with what gentleness was in him, and when at

last Rava opened her pathetic eyes he motioned his companions out of the

room with the _hamaca_. Rogelio lingered near, but a gesture from Duero

and the menace in his eyes sent him back into the shadow, whispering a

futile anathema. When the unhappy girl revived somewhat the soldier

drew a robe over her, and leaving her sobbing desolately among the

pillows, gripped Rogelio’s arm and led him out. He locked the door, and

to the _veedor’s_ astonishment and rage, pocketed the key. The other

commenced a shrill expostulation, but the burly Duero merely hunched a

shoulder at him with chin thrust out and a sidelong glance of quiet

viciousness that stopped his railing abruptly. Rogelio led the way to

his room with no further word, followed by his four sullen hirelings.