Chapter Thirty Seven.
A Scoundrel Safely Screened.
Though for the time disconcerted, we had no thought of retreating. The unsuccessful assault but rendered my men more determined—besides still further embittering them against the despised foe.
Fortunately the wounds received by their comrades were not mortal, though it needed not this to provoke their vengeance. The situation of the two captives—now thoroughly comprehended by every one—was sufficient to check all thoughts of retiring from the strife—even had the enemy far outnumbered us.
As it was, we still believed that we had them in the trap, and it was only a question of time and strategy to bring the affair to a termination.
By withdrawing to the trees we had obtained a more advantageous position. It gave us a better chance of aiming at any object on the azotea; and as the sky was each instant becoming clearer, we could distinguish the loopholes along the parapet.
They were but rude holes—the ragged interstices between the logs—but good enough for the purpose for which they had evidently been left in the fabrication of the dwelling.
We expected to see faces behind them, or something we might fire at. We saw nothing—not so much as a hand!
The brigands had by this time discovered who were their assailants, and no doubt knew something of the skill of the American rifleman. Mistrusting it, they were keeping close—not even daring to look through the loopholes.
They were not far astray in their tactics—if such they were. Not a clear spot on the parapet that was not watched with eager eyes, and fingers ready to press upon the trigger.
For full five minutes did the inaction continue—five minutes that seemed fifty!
To me the delay was intolerable as some slow subtle torture. I was scheming how to put an end to it, when, to my astonishment, I saw a form rising above the parapet. It was that of a tall man, whose dark silhouette became outlined against the lighter background of the sky.
At a glance I recognised Carrasco!
I can scarcely tell what restrained me from sending a bullet through his body. Perhaps surprise at the unexpected apparition?
And my followers seemed to be influenced by a like feeling; since, along their whole line, not a trigger was touched!
The robber-chief must have calculated upon something of the kind, else he would not have so audaciously exposed himself.
He had also made a nice reckoning of the limits to which our surprise could be trusted. The time was short enough; but before we had recovered from it, we saw a white curtain drawn hastily before him, that concealed from our sight more than half of his person!
“A flag of truce!” thought we, as we lowered the muzzles of our guns.
In another instant we were undeceived—so far as to its being a flag. It was the white drapery of a woman’s dress—with a woman inside it! Despite the ambiguous light of the struggling dawn, I could see who the woman was.
Her appearance—quick and instantaneous—was evidently an act of compulsion—as if Carrasco had forced her into the position. I fancied I had seen his arm outstretched, as he hastily drew her in front of him.
Our rifles were instantly dropped to the “trail,” and my comrades uttered a simultaneous cry of “Shame!”
It was enough to challenge their indignation. A young and beautiful woman thus basely used for the shielding of a bandit’s body!
Many of them shivered at the thought of the murder they had been so near committing.
I experienced an emotion peculiar to myself—unknown to them—more painful than that they had been called upon to feel! since I knew the white shield to be Mercedes!
There was now enough of light to enable me to distinguish her features. It needed not this. The undulating outlines of her head, neck, and shoulders, like a cameo cut against the sky—were easily identified.
It was an image too firmly fixed in my memory, and too deeply engraven upon my heart, to be ever more mistaken.
I had just time to see that her dress was torn, her hair tossed, and hanging like a cloud about her shoulders—just time to note that she looked wan and woe-stricken—when the voice of Carrasco, rising above the sibillation of the torrent, summoned us to a parley.
“Caballeros!” he cried out, “in the darkness I have no chance to know who you are; but, from your mode of making approach, I take it you are our enemies. Furthermore, from the fact of your being armed with rifles, you should be Americanos! Am I right?”
I had not sufficiently recovered coolness to make reply. My eyes, my thoughts, were still fixed upon Mercedes.
“What else should we be?” answered the stage-driver by my side, “That same we air, an’ no mistake about it.”
“Why have you come here?”
“To capter the cussdest cut-throat in all Mexiko: for that same ye air, Mister Capting Carrasco.”
“Hola, amigo! You’ve made a mistake this time? You appear to take me for the noted Carrasco; and my people, no doubt, for a cuadrilla of salteadores? We’re nothing of the sort, I assure you. Only a band of honest patriotas; who, loving our country, have continued to fight for it—as you know, after our grand army has seen fit to forsake the field. Por Dios; señores Americanos! You’re not the men to blame us for that? Just now we acknowledge ourselves vanquished; though still only besieged. But as we have no supplies in our castle here—you will give me credit for some candour in confessing it?—moreover, as we believe it hopeless to hold out against you, we have made up our minds to capitulate. All we ask for ourselves is an honourable cartel of surrender.”
Surrender! The word fell sweet upon my ears—and for a particular reason. It promised safety for Mercedes.
“Come then, caballeros!” pursued the robber-chief; “state your terms; and let me entreat you not to be too exacting!”
For some seconds I refrained from making reply—partly astounded by the audacity of the robber—partly considering the answer that should be returned to him.
Had it been any other man I might have talked about terms. But it was the wretch Carrasco; and just then I remembered the deception practised upon me in Puebla. I thought of Francisco Moreno lying on his death-bed below, and of my artist friend, who, in all probability, had fallen by the same hand.
With the remembrance there sprang up in my mind, not only suspicion, but a fresh feeling of revenge; and by these, not prudence, was my answer inspired.
“Terms!” I shouted back, in a tone of undisguised scornfulness; “We make no terms with such as you. Surrender; and then trust to such mercy as may be shown you!”
“Mil demonios!” screamed the bandit, now for the first time recognising me. “Carajo! you, it is! You, my saintly friend, whose devotions I had the pleasure of witnessing, and the pain of disturbing, in the Cathedral of La Puebla! May I ask why I am honoured by this early call—in a mansion so remote from the ordinary walks of life?”
“Come, Captain Carrasco,” I replied, “if such be your title. I don’t intend to lose time in talking to you. I call upon you to surrender, and at once!”
“And suppose I don’t choose to take it in that way, what then?”
“You need expect no mercy.”
“From you, caballero, I have no idea of asking it?”
“You have need, then, unless you desire to die. You have no chance of escape—not the slightest. I tell it you in all seriousness, and without thought of triumph. My men are stationed, so as to command every path that leads from the place. They are all armed with rifles and revolvers.”
“Listen to reason!” I went on almost entreatingly, having now become convinced of the mistake I had made, in doing what might drive the brigand to desperation. “Give up your captives, and I promise to spare the lives both of yourself and your comrades.”
“Ay, Dios! how generous you are! Ha! Ha! Ha! Is that all you can promise, noble captain?”
“No—not all,” I answered, stung by the taunting speech. “Something more. If you reject the terms offered, I promise that in ten minutes from this time your soul will be in eternity, and your body hanging from the branch of yonder tree!”
I pointed to one of the pines that stood conspicuous on the cliff.
“What, so soon?” was the cool rejoinder. “It will take you more than ten minutes to force an entrance into this citadel of ours. Don’t mistake it for a jacalé. Though our fortress be of wood, it is stronger than you suppose, señor captain.”
“We can set fire to it!”
“Ah! you won’t do that. I’ve no fear of being burnt up, or smoked out, so long as I am in such goodly company.”
The sneer with which the speech was accompanied goaded me to frantic rage—at the same time that it made me feel my impotence to carry out the threat I had so boastingly pronounced.
“We shall not need to set the house on fire,” was my reply; “we shall get at you without that. My men are provided with axes. They are backwoodsmen, and know how to use them. It won’t take us ten minutes to break open your door.”
“Open it!” interrupted the robber, “and one half of you will never live to stride across the threshold. Those who do, will be witnesses to a scene which I know, noble captain, you won’t love to look upon.”
“What scene?” I involuntarily asked, as a horrid fancy flashed across my brain.
“A woman—a beautiful woman—with a poignard in her breast! By the Holy Virgin, you shall see that!”
I felt as if a dagger had been plunged into my own. I knew it was no idle vaunt. There was a terrible firmness in the tone of the brigand’s voice that told of his being in earnest.
“Let me take a shot at him,” whispered the sergeant by my side. “I think I can fetch him ’ithout touchin’ the gurl.”
“No—no!” I hastily answered, “Leave it to me. For your life, don’t fire—not yet!”
I stood trembling—uncertain what course to pursue. I had my own rifle in hand, and was considering whether I should not risk taking a shot at the ruffian. Under other circumstances I should have been confident enough of making a sure one; but just then I felt my nerves shaking through the throes of my excited heart. It was a terrible crisis. The sinews of Tell could not have been more severely tried, as he adjusted his arrow to the string.
The bandit seemed thoroughly to comprehend my hesitation.
There was something fiendishly exultant in the laugh with which he followed up his last speech.
“Now, señor Yankee!” he went on, without waiting for a reply. “I hope you are ready to accede to my request. If so, state your terms for our release; and remember! make them easy, or it will be impossible for us to accept them. I don’t wish to hurry you. As it’s a matter of some importance to both of us, and to her as well,”—I could see him nod towards Mercedes—“I beg you will take time to consider. Meanwhile, we shall retire, and patiently await your answer.”
Saying this, he receded from the parapet—as I supposed, still staying on the azotea.
The white shield was drawn back along with him: and once more Mercedes was out of sight—leaving me to fell fancies, more torturing than the sting of the tarantula.