Hearts of Three 26

Hearts of Three 26

CHAPTER XI To all intents it might have been a tiny bull-ring, that pit in the

heart of the Blind Brigand’s domain. Ten feet in depth and thirty in

diameter, with level floor and perpendicular wall, its natural formation

had required little work at the hands of man to complete its symmetry.

The sackcloth men, the haciendados, the gendarmes—all were present, save

for the Cruel Just One and the mestiza, and all were lined about the rim

of the pit, as an audience, to gaze down upon some bull-fight or

gladiatorial combat within the pit.

 

At command of the stern-faced leader of the sackcloth men who had

captured them, Henry and the Jefe descended down a short ladder into the

pit. The leader and several of the brigands accompanied them.

 

“Heaven alone knows what’s going to happen,” Henry laughed up in English

to Leoncia and Francis. “But if it’s rough and tumble, bite and gouge,

or Marquis of Queensbury or London Prize Ring, Mister Fat Jefe is my

meat. But that old blind one is clever, and the chances are he’s going

to put us at each other on some basis of evenness. In which case, do

you, my audience, if he gets me down, stick your thumbs up and make all

the noise you can. Depend upon it, if it’s he that’s down, all his crowd

will be thumbs up.”

 

The Jefe, overcome by the trap into which he had descended, in Spanish

addressed the leader.

 

“I shall not fight with this man. He is younger than I, and has better

wind. Also, the affair is illegal. It is not according to the law of the

Republic of Panama. It is extra-territorial and entirely unjudicial.”

 

“It is the Snake and the Bird,” the leader shut him off. “You shall be

the Snake. This rifle shall be in your hands. The other man shall be the

Bird. In his hand shall be the bell. Behold! Thus may you understand the

ordeal.”

 

At his command, one of the brigands was given the rifle and was

blindfolded. To another brigand, not blindfolded, was given a silver

bell.

 

“The man with the rifle is the Snake,” said the leader. “He has one shot

at the Bird who carries the bell.”

 

At signal to begin, the bandit with the bell, tinkled it at extended

arm’s length and sprang swiftly aside. The man with the rifle lowered it

as if to fire at the space just vacated and pretended to fire.

 

“You understand?” the leader demanded of Henry and the Jefe.

 

The former nodded, but the latter cried exultantly:

 

“And I am the Snake?”

 

“You are the Snake,” affirmed the leader.

 

And the Jefe was eager for the rifle, making no further protests against

the extra-territoriality of the proceedings.

 

“Are you going to try to get me?” Henry warned the Jefe.

 

“No, Senor Morgan. I am merely going to get you. I am one of the two

best shots in Panama. I have two score and more of medals. I can shoot

with my eyes shut. I can shoot in the dark. I have often shot, and with

precision, in the dark. Already may you count yourself a dead man.”

 

Only one cartridge was put into the rifle, ere it was handed to the Jefe

after he was blindfolded. Next, while Henry, equipped with the tell-tale

bell, was stationed directly across the pit, the Jefe was faced to the

wall and kept there while the brigands climbed out of the pit and drew

the ladder up after them. The leader, from above, spoke down:

 

“Listen carefully, Senor Snake, and make no move until you have heard.

The Snake has but one shot. The Snake cannot tamper with his blindfold.

If he so tampers it is our duty to see that he immediately dies. The

Snake has no time limit. He may take the rest of the day, and all of the

night, and the remainder of eternity ere he fires his one shot. As for

the Bird, the one rule is that never must the bell leave his hand, and

never may he stop the clapper of it from making the full noise intended

of the clapper against the sides of the bell. Should he do so, then will

he immediately die. We are here above you, both of you Senors, rifles in

hand, to see that you die the second you infract any of the rules. And

now, God be with the right, proceed!”

 

The Jefe turned slowly about and listened, while Henry, essaying

gingerly to move with the bell, caused it to tinkle.

 

The rifle was quick to bear upon the sound, and to pursue it as Henry

ran. With a quick shift he transferred the bell to the other extended

hand and ran back in the opposite direction, the rifle sweeping after

him in inexorable pursuit. But the Jefe was too cunning to risk all on a

chance shot, and slowly advanced across the arena. Henry stood still,

and the bell made no sound.

 

So unerringly had the Jefe’s ear located the last silvery tinkle, and so

straightly did he walk despite his blindfold, that he advanced just to

the right of Henry and directly at the bell. With infinite caution,

provoking no tinkle, Henry slightly raised his arm and permitted the

Jefe’s head to go under the bell with a bare inch of margin.

 

His rifle pointed, and within a foot of the pit-wall, the Jefe halted in

indecision, listened vainly for a moment, then made a further stride

that collided the rifle muzzle with the wall. He whirled about, and,

with the rifle extended, like any blind man felt out the air-space for

his enemy. The muzzle would have touched Henry had he not sprung away on

a noisy and zig-zag course.

 

In the center of the pit he came to a frozen pause. The Jefe stalked

past a yard to the side and collided with the opposite wall. He circled

the wall, walking cat-footed, his rifle forever feeling out into the

empty air. Next he ventured across the pit. After several such

crossings, during which the stationary bell gave him no clue, he adopted

a clever method. Tossing his hat on the ground for the mark of his

starting point, he crossed the edge of the pit on a shallow chord,

extended the chord by a pace farther along the wall, and felt his way

back along the new and longer chord. Again against the wall, he verified

the correctness of the parallelness of the two chords, by pacing back to

his hat. This time, with three paces along the wall from the hat, he

initiated his third chord.

 

Thus he combed the area of the pit, and Henry saw that he could not

escape such combing. Nor did he wait to be discovered. Tinkling the bell

as he ran and zigzagged and exchanging it from one hand to the other, he

froze into immobility in a new place.

 

The Jefe repeated the laborious combing out process; but Henry was not

minded longer to prolong the tension. He waited till the Jefe’s latest

chord brought him directly upon him. He waited till the rifle muzzle,

breast high, was within half a dozen inches of his heart. Then he

exploded into two simultaneous actions. He ducked lower than the rifle

and yelled “Fire!” in stentorian command.

 

So startled, the Jefe pulled the trigger, and the bullet sped above

Henry’s head. From above, the sackcloth men applauded wildly. The Jefe

tore off his blindfold and saw the smiling face of his foe.

 

“It is well—God has spoken,” announced the sackcloth leader, as he

descended into the pit. “The man uninjured is innocent. Remains now to

test the other man.”

 

“Me?” the Jefe almost shouted in his surprise and consternation.

 

“Greetings, Jefe,” Henry grinned. “You _did_ try to get me. It’s my turn

now. Pass over that rifle.”

 

But the Jefe, with a curse, in his disappointment and rage forgetting

that the rifle had contained only one cartridge, thrust the muzzle

against Henry’s heart and pulled the trigger. The hammer fell with a

metallic click.

 

“It is well,” said the leader, taking away the rifle and recharging it.

“Your conduct shall be reported. The test for you remains, yet must it

appear that you are not acting like God’s chosen man.”

 

Like a beaten bull in the ring seeking a way to escape and gazing up at

the amphitheatre of pitiless faces, so the Jefe looked up and saw only

the rifles of the sackcloth men, the triumphing faces of Leoncia and

Francis, the curious looks of his own gendarmes, and the blood-eager

faces of the haciendados that were like the faces of any bull-fight

audience.

 

The shadowy smile drifted the stern lips of the leader as he handed the

rifle to Henry and started to blindfold him.

 

“Why don’t you make him face the wall until I’m ready?” the Jefe

demanded, as the silver bell tinkled in his passion-convulsed hand.

 

“Because he is proven God’s man,” was the reply. “He has stood the test.

Therefore he cannot do a treacherous deed. You now must stand the test

of God. If you are true and honest, no harm can befall you from the

Snake. For such is God’s way.”

 

Far more successful as the hunter than as the hunted one, did the Jefe

prove. Across the pit from Henry, he strove to stand motionless; but out

of nervousness, as Henry’s rifle swept around on him, his hand trembled

and the bell tinkled. The rifle came almost to rest and wavered

ominously about the sound. In vain the Jefe tried to control his flesh

and still the bell.

 

But the bell tinkled on, and, in despair, he flung it away and threw

himself on the ground. But Henry, following the sound of his enemy’s

fall, lowered the rifle and pulled trigger. The Jefe yelled out in sharp

pain as the bullet perforated his shoulder, rose to his feet, cursed,

sprawled back on the ground, and lay there cursing.

 

* * * * *

 

Again in the cave, with the mestiza beside him at his knee, the Blind

Brigand gave judgment.

 

“This man who is wounded and who talks much of the law of the tierra

caliente, shall now learn Cordilleras law. By the test of the Snake and

the Bird has he been proven guilty. For his life a ransom of ten

thousand dollars gold shall be paid, or else shall he remain here, a

hewer of wood and a carrier of water, for the remainder of the time God

shall grant him to draw breath on earth. I have spoken, and I know that

my voice is God’s voice, and I know that God will not grant him long to

draw breath if the ransom be not forthcoming.”

 

A long silence obtained, during which even Henry, who could slay a foe

in the heat of combat, advertised that such cold-blooded promise of

murder was repugnant to him.

 

“The law is pitiless,” said the Cruel Just One; and again silence fell.

 

“Let him die for want of a ransom,” spoke one of the haciendados. “He

has proved a treacherous dog. Let him die a dog’s death.”