Chapter Thirty Eight.
The Swing Bridge.
I stood for some time chafing, irresolute.
There seemed no help for it, but complying with the brigand’s request. The log cabin could not be successfully stormed without a fearful sacrifice of the lives of my men—which I was unwilling to make.
Not but that they were willing—one and all of them. Stung by the insulting tone of the robber-chief, they were ready to rush forward, defiant of death, and die in the act of obtaining vengeance.
The vile threat still ringing in their ears alone restrained them—as it did myself. No one doubted that the monster meant what he had said; and we knew that, if driven to desperation, he would carry out his atrocious design.
There was no alternative but to make terms with him—the best we could obtain.
Stepping back behind the trees, and summoning around me half a dozen of my most experienced men, we proceeded to discuss the points of capitulation.
No words were wasted. Tortured by the thought of that loved form still trembling in the loathsome embrace of the brigand, I lost no time in taking the opinions of my comrades.
As my voice ruled the council, they coincided with my own; which was: that the robbers should be permitted to leave the place without further molestation—their captives to remain with us.
To let these scoundrels escape, after having them so completely in our power, was a source of the bitterest chagrin to every one of our party It was like abandoning the object of our expedition. But, from the high tone taken by Carrasco, I could tell that less liberal terms would be rejected; and I was far from being confident of his compliance with these. I had a thought—shared by my comrades—that there was still something behind, and that another trick was intended to be played upon us. In the speeches addressed to us, there was an ambiguity we could ill understand. Despite his professed fearlessness, the robber-chief could not but be sensible of the danger he was in; and the sang froid displayed by him was scarcely reconcilable with the situation.
Perhaps at this moment he was in the act of perpetrating some piece of strategy—some villainous ruse?
We could not think what it might be, nor even that any was possible; and therefore no one gave speech to the vague suspicion, though all felt it. It was only as a presentiment—and for this reason remained unspoken.
It had the effect, however, of urging us to hasten our deliberations, and bring them to a more speedy conclusion.
The terms settled, I stepped once more to the front—with the intention of making them known to the enemy.
There was no one in sight; but I supposed that the bandit was still upon the housetop—crouching below the level of the parapet.
I shouted to attract his attention.
There was no response, save the echoes of my own voice, that reverberated in duplicate along the twin cliffs of the chasm.
I shouted a second time, louder than before.
Still only echoes—mingling with the cries of a caracara eagle, that soared scared-like into the air.
Again I put forth my voice—calling the robber by his name, and summoning him to listen to our proposal.
But there was no answer—not even a responding exclamation!
Outside the hut there was heard the hoarse roaring of the torrent, that rose continuously from below—above, the caracara still repeating its shrill screech; but inside there was only silence—ominous, deathlike, appalling!
I could bear the suspense no longer.
Directing one half of the men to keep their places—and cover our approach with their rifles—with the other half I started towards the dwelling.
With a rapid rush we reached it—coming to a stop in front of the doorway.
There was no need for such haste. We were permitted to make approach unmolested. No shout heard—not a shot fired—not a missile hurled from above!
We stayed not to give expression to our surprise. The door was instantly assailed; and, before the strokes of the Collin’s axe, soon gave way—going inside with a crash.
We entered in a confused crowd—unopposed, not caring for opposition. We did not expect it. Despite its improbability, we were more than half prepared to find the fortress forsaken.
And so did we find it. The bandits had gone off; and, O God, they had again carried their captives along with them!
There was no mystery about their disappearance. The mode by which they had made escape—as well as the way taken—was before our eyes the instant we entered the hut.
There was another doorway at the back—with a door upon it, standing slightly ajar.
Hastening across the floor, and drawing it wide open, I looked out.
At a glance everything was accounted for.
A swing bridge (puente-hamaca), constructed of llianas, with sticks laid across, extended over the chasm. One end was attached to the door post; the other to a tree standing out from the opposite cliff.
At its farther extremity were two men, engaged as if hammering upon an anvil. But instead of hammers their tools were machetés; and I saw they were hacking at the suspenders of the bridge.
They succeeded in completing their task—in spite of the shots fired to prevent them.
It was the last act of their lives. Both went headlong into the abyss below; but along with their bodies, went the bridge they had been so eager in destroying!
Mingling with their last cries came a peal of laughter from the opposite side of the chasm. It would have sounded fiendish enough without this. It was from the throat of Torreano Carrasco!
I saw him standing upon the cliff—near the point of a projecting rock. He was not using it as a screen. He was sheltered as before. Mercedes was still in front of him. His arm was around her waist. He was holding her in a hug!
Near at hand was her sister Dolores—shielding a second of the ruffians in a similar manner!
“Hola!” cried the robber-chief, intentionally restraining his laughter, and speaking in a tone of loud exultation. “Hola! mio amigo! Very clever of you to have made your way into my mountain mansion? And so quick you’ve been about opening the door? For all that, you see you are too late. Never mind. You can make your morning call upon some other occasion; when perhaps you may find me at home. Meanwhile I have some business with this lady—the Doña Mercedes Villa-Señor—that will carry us a little further up the mountain. Should you want to see her again, you may come after—if you can!”
Another peal of coarse laughter—in which his comrades, hidden behind the rocks, were heard to join—interrupted his taunting speech.
“Hasta luego!” he again cried out. “Good morning, noble captain! I leave you to your matins; while I go to enjoy a little stroll in company with the sweet Mercedes. Va con Dios—o’ si gusta V. al Demonio!” (Go with God, or to the Devil, if you like it better!)
At the close of this profane speech, he commenced making approach to the rock, taking Mercedes along with him.
Rifle in hand I watched his movements, with an earnestness I cannot describe. The feverish anxiety, with which the stalker regards the shifting of the stag, can give but a faint idea of that stirring within me.
I had hopes that the coward might become separated from the fair form he was using as a shield. Six inches would have satisfied me: for his last brutal innuendo proclaimed a terrible emergency; and with six inches of his carcase clear I should have risked the shot.
But, no! He did not allow me even this trifling chance. He seemed to divine my intent; and inch by inch, keeping her body straight between us—O God, to see her in that swarth embrace!—he sidled behind the stone!
The other followed his example, taking Dolores; and before another word could be spoken, both robbers and captives had passed out of sight!
The instant after, half a score of hats started suddenly out of the bushes, that skirted the edge of the cliff; and we were saluted by a volley from a like number of escopetas.
A rifleman, standing in the door by my side, threw up his arms with a shriek, and fell forward upon the stoup.
As I caught hold, to hinder him from going over the cliff, something hot came spurting against my cheek.
It was the life-blood of my comrade, who had been killed by the bullet of an escopeta.
I saw that I was dealing with a dead body; and desisted from the struggle to sustain it.
It glided from my grasp, and fell with a heavy plash upon the swift water below!
My men were by this time more than half mad. It needed not the death of their comrade to excite them to frantic action. The sight of the captive ladies; the disappointment caused by our being unable to rescue them—after supposing ourselves sure of it—and perhaps, as much as anything else, the trick that had been played upon them—rendered one and all thirsty for vengeance.
I need not say that I shared this thirst—so much that I no longer cared for consequences, and had lost even the perception of danger.
I stood upon the projecting doorstep; not looking after the body which had gone below, but across the chasm, in hopes of getting sight of a brigand. Any one now: since I knew there was not much chance of again seeing their chief.
I heeded not the stray shots that came hurtling around my head; and, in all likelihood, one would have consigned me to a fate, similar to what had befallen my comrade, had I been left to a much longer indulgence in my reckless mood.
But I was not. A strong arm seizing me from behind—it was that of my sergeant—drew me back within the cabin; whose thick wooden walls were proof against the bullets of either carbine, or escopeta.