Chapter Fifty Two.
A Friend Unexpected.
Straight across the cemetery goes Gaspar, with Shebotha in his arms, nor stops he till back on the spot where the path leads down to the outer plain. Arriving there, he deposits his living burden upon the earth; not gently, but dumping her down with a rude violence, as though it were a bunch of faggots. Still he does not let her out of his arms altogether; but with a threat, once more warning her to be silent, retains fast hold of her, till Cypriano has brought him a lazo from the saddle of one of the horses near by. Looping this round the body of the sorceress, and taking a few turns of it about her arms and ankles, he spreads his poncho over her head, then knots the rope around her neck, and so muffles her beyond the chance of either hearing or making herself heard. All this done, he again raises her from the ground, and carrying her some distance back among the scaffolds, he binds her to a corner post of one with the end of the lazo yet unused. His purpose in thus disposing of her is not clear to his companions, both of whom he has left in charge of the Indian girl; who, on her part, makes no attempt to escape. Instead, released from Ludwig’s arms, she stands silently by his side, neither trembling nor showing sign of fear. Why should she, with those words of friendly assurance which have been once more whispered in her ear?
And now Gaspar getting back to where they stand, and speaking in the Tovas tongue sufficiently well to be understood by her, says to Nacena—
“Muchacha mia! you see who we are, and know all three of us. We know you, Nacena—even to your tenderest secret; which has been revealed to us in the dialogue just held between yourself and Mam Shebotha. Every word of that we’ve heard, with the lies she’s been telling you. And let me tell you, that of all the wicked impostor’s promises, there’s but one she could have kept—that to rid you of her you deem a rival. And she could only have done that by doing murder; which was what she meant by her sleeping draught.”
The young girl shudders listening to what she knows is but the truth.
“’Twas good of you to reject the foul proposal,” goes on the gaucho, “and indignantly, as we know you did. We saw and heard it all. And now, I have a proposal to offer, which you won’t reject; I’m sure you won’t, Nacena.”
She makes no rejoinder, but stands waiting to receive it.
“It is,” he continues, “that you can still rid yourself of that rival, not by doing wrong, but right and justice. With your help we shall take her away to a place where Aguara will never more set eyes upon her. But as I’ve said, we stand in need of your assistance, and you must give it.”
“You will, you will!” interposes Cypriano, in tones of earnest appeal.
“Yes, dear Nacena,” follows Ludwig, in tenderer tones; “I’m sure you will. Remember, she is my sister, and that you yourself have a brother!”
Had they but known it, there was no need for all this petitioning. Even while Gaspar was speaking, and long before he had finished, the Indian girl, with the quick, subtle instinct of her race, divined what they were aiming at—the very end she herself desires, and might have proposed to them. The same instinct, however, prompts her to feign ignorance of it, as evinced by her interrogative rejoinder:—
“How can Nacena assist you? In what way?”
“By helping us to get the paleface out of her prison.” It is Gaspar who speaks. “She is imprisoned, is she not?”
“She is.”
“And where is she kept?” further questions the gaucho.
Cypriano trembles as he listens for the answer. He fears, half expecting it to be, “In the toldo of the cacique.”
It is a relief to him, when Nacena, pointing towards the dark object bound to the scaffold-post, says: “She has charge of the paleface captive.”
“Bueno!” ejaculates Gaspar with delight in his eyes, as in those of Cypriano. “Nothing could be better than that. And now that we have Shebotha here, no one will be guarding the prisoner—will there?”
“Alas, yes!” responds the Indian girl, her words with their tone telling that she has entered into the spirit of their enterprise.
“Who?” interrogates Gaspar. “What is he—if it be a man?”
“Yes, a man. A white man, like yourselves; one who has been long with our tribe—a captive taken many years ago from some of the countries south. He is Shebotha’s own slave, and watches over the paleface when she is out of the toldo.”
Again the gaucho ejaculates, “Bueno!” adding, in sotto voce, to his two companions, “It seems better still; a bit of rare good luck; that is, if this white man, whoever he be, isn’t grown Indianised, as I’ve known some to be.” Then to the girl. “Shebotha’s slave, you say? In that case, he should be wanting to regain his liberty, and we may give him the chance. If need be, we can take him along, too. You understand, Nacena?”
“I do.”
“Then you agree to assist us?”
“Say yes!” urges Cypriano.
“My sister, Nacena!” adds Ludwig.
In response to their united appeals, she points to the sorceress, saying—
“Her vengeance is to be dreaded. If I do as you wish me, Shebotha—”
“Won’t hurt a hair of your head,” says Gaspar, interrupting. “Nor can’t. She’ll not be near enough to do you any injury. That worthy woman is on the eve of a long journey, to be made in our company, if you agree to assist us in getting the paleface away. You do agree to it, amiga mia?”
The girl fully comprehending, and relieved at the thought of the dreaded sorceress being taken out of the way, at length not only signifies assent to their scheme, but embraces it with alacrity. Its success will be to her advantage as theirs, ridding her of that rival feared, and it may be, restoring to her the affections of him on whom she has fixed her own.
And now that confidence is established between her and her captors, she gives them a full account of how things stand in the tolderia, and the place where the captive is confined. Having heard which, Gaspar counsels her how to act, as a last word, saying—
“Tell this white man, who has charge of the niña, he need no longer be a prisoner himself, nor Shebotha’s slave. Say to him, that men of his own race and colour are near, ready to rescue and take him back to his people, wherever they may be. Surely that will be enough to gain him to our side, and get his help also.”
Nacena hesitates for a time; then answering, says—
“No, not enough, I fear.”
“But why?”
“The white man is not in his senses. He has lost them long ago. The little left him is given to Shebotha. He fears her, as all our people do; but he more than any. She has surely left him with commands to keep a close watch. He does not disobey her; and it may be impossible for me to speak with the paleface, much more get her away from him.”
“Caspita!” exclaims Gaspar, his countenance again turning grave. “There will be a difficulty there, I see it; if the man’s crazed, as you say he is, Nacena. You think he won’t let you speak with the prisoner, unless you have permission from Shebotha?”
“He will not—I am sure he will not.”
“In that case all may be idle, and our scheme go for nought. Por Dios! what’s to be done?”
Pressing his head between his hands, the gaucho stands considering, while the other three in silence await the result. His deliberation is not for long; a bright idea has flashed across his brain, and with his countenance also recovering brightness, he exclaims—
“Gracios a Dios! I know how it can be managed; I think I know.”
Ludwig and Cypriano have it on their tongues to inquire what he means. But before either can say a word, he is off and away in a rush toward the scaffold-post to which Shebotha is tied.
Reaching it, he is seen with arms outstretched and in rapid play, as though he were setting her free. Far from that, however, is his intention. He but undoes the knot around her neck, and raising the poncho, clutches at something which encircles her throat. He had noticed this something while throttling her when first caught; it had rattled between his fingers as the beads of a rosary, and he knew it to be such, with a slight difference—the beads being human teeth! A remembrance, moreover, admonishes him that this ghastly necklace was worn by the sorceress, not for adornment, but to inspire dread. It is, in fact, one of her weapons of weird mystery and power, and an idea has occurred to him that it may now be used as an instrument against herself.
Having detached it from her neck, and replaced the poncho upon her head, he returns to where he had left the others, and holding out the string of teeth, says to Nacena—
“Take this. Present it to the crazy paleface; tell him Shebotha sent it as a token authorising you to act for her; and, if he be not altogether out of his wits, I warrant it’ll get you admission to the presence of the paleface. For anything beyond, you will best know how to act of yourself.”
The girl grasps the hideous symbol, a gleam of intelligence lighting up her swarth but beautiful face. For she, too, anticipates the effect it will have on Shebotha’s slave, from actual knowledge—not by guessing, as with Gaspar.
Knowing herself now at liberty and free to depart, without saying another word, she turns her back upon them; and gliding away with the agile, stealthy step peculiar to her race, soon passes beyond their sight.
They stand looking after her, till her dark figure disappears amid the shadows of the scaffolds. But they have no doubt of her fidelity—no fear that she will fail to do what she can for the fulfilment of her promise. The keeping it is secured by her own interested motives: for the passion impelling her to act on their behalf, though purely selfish, can be trusted as truth itself.