Sarita, the Carlist

by Arthur W. Marchmont

"Shall we rush on them now?" asked Garcia, trembling with excitement.

"No, no, wait," I said, laying a detaining hand on him.

"Why you're bleeding, José, man. Fine figure you'll cut on parade, with a black eye and a bloody nose. José Balso, promoted sergeant for gallantry in a wood; scouting for nothing and finding it; fought an old olive tree and fell covered with wounds. Here, come out of this, man; I'm going back. I've had enough of this foolery;" and without more ado he went, and we heard his footsteps die away in the distance. His comrade, growling and swearing and abusing him, stumbled to his feet and went after him, staggering about in the darkness as he tried to follow the sound of the other man's calls.

By the lucky chance of his fall we escaped, and I knew peace of mind once more. The men did not stay by the wood, and after a minute or so we heard no more of them; and Andreas came back to tell us they had rejoined the rest of the men, and all had mounted and ridden away on the road back to Daroca.

I told him of the narrow escape we had had from discovery and then he surprised us.

"I did it, senor. I was there when they entered the wood, and I got in his way in the dark and tripped him up when he was getting dangerously close."

"By heavens, but you are as brave as you are sharp, Andreas," I said, enthusiastically, giving him my hand. "And now for Calvarro's."

We continued our journey, riding with the greatest caution, and nothing occurred to interrupt us again. But the unexpected meeting with the soldiers had rendered me profoundly uneasy, and very doubtful of the safety of the place. This evidence that they were patrolling and scouting in the immediate vicinity of Calvarro's farm was very disquieting; and even the indifferent way in which the soldiers were doing the work did not reassure me.

I read in it more than mere chance work; for it looked much more likely that they were acting upon information that some good hiding-places for the Carlists were in the neighbourhood. The remark of one of the pair—"We're looking for houses, not men"—had ominous significance in this respect. They were not merely patrolling the roads in search of me and my two companions in response to messages sent by Rubio from Calatayud, for in that case they would merely have watched the roads and by-paths. They appeared to be one of a thoroughly organised system of search parties sent out to scour the whole country side, to find all the possible hiding-places and farms in the district where any Carlist refugees could possibly be hidden. And if this were so, it seemed to me so improbable as to be virtually impossible for Sarita's hiding-place to remain long undiscovered.

And this brought me once more face to face with a host of disturbing perplexities as to her and my future action. To remain at a place which the soldiers were likely to find was to plunge her into the almost certain danger of arrest; while to leave it in the attempt to steal into Daroca would, if the attempt were successful, bring me into still more imminent peril at the hands of the Carlists who would, unless a miracle chanced, discover my fraud. The dilemma baffled me.