It required a moment for the miscreants to appreciate the fact that the two whom they had thought hidden in the house had escaped in some unknown way. Then a cry of rage went up from many throats, and one man raised his rifle to his shoulder, but the peon next him threw up the muzzle, and the shot flew harmless in the air.
It is one thing to fire at the bidding of a master, on whose shoulders will rest all the blame, and quite another to aim deliberately at a person who is quite within his rights—you peon, he gran' Señor. Escobeda was nowhere to be seen. There was no one to give an order, to take responsibility. The force was demoralized. The men formed in a small group, and watched the little skiff as it shot out to sea, impelled by the powerful arm and will of Silencio. As he rowed Silencio strained his eyes northward, and perceived what was not as yet visible from the shore. He saw the Coco just rounding the further point—distant, it is true, but safety for Raquel lay in her black and shining hull.
When old Guillermina saw Don Gil and the Señora retreat from the patio and cross the large chamber, she knew at once their errand. Had she not lived here since the days of the old Don Oviedo? What tales could she not have told of the secret passage to the sea! But her lips were sealed. Pride of family, the family of her master, was the padlock which kept them silent. How many lips have been glued loyally together for that same reason!
As Guillermina crossed the large chamber she heard the blows raining upon the outer shutters and the large door. She heard Escobeda's voice calling, "Open! open!" as he pounded the stout planking with the butt end of his rifle. The firing had ceased. Even had it not, Guillermina knew well that the shots were not aimed at her. She had withstood a siege in the old Don Oviedo's time, and again in the time of the old Don Gil, and from the moment that Silencio had brought his young wife home she had expected a third raid upon the casa.
Guillermina walked in a leisurely manner. She passed through the intervening passages, and found the counting-house door open. This she had hardly expected. She joyously entered the room and closed the door. Then her native lassitude gave way to a haste to which her unaccustomed members almost refused their service. She quickly drew the rug over the sunken trap-door, smoothed the edges, and rearranged the room, so that it appeared as if it had not lately been entered. It was her step overhead which Don Gil and Raquel had heard at first, and which had caused them so much uneasiness.
As Guillermina turned to leave the room, she heard a crash. Escobeda, having failed to break in the great entrance door, had, with the aid of some of his men, pried off a shutter. The band came pouring into the house and ran through all the rooms, seeking for the flown birds. As Guillermina opened the door of the counting-house to come out, key in hand, she met Escobeda upon the threshold. His face was livid. He held his machete over his head as if to strike.
"So this is their hiding-place," he screamed in her ear.
He rushed past her, and entered the counting-house. Its quiet seclusion and peaceful appearance filled him with astonishment, and caused him to stop short. But he was not deceived for long. He tore away the green hangings, hoping to find a door. Instead a wall of iron stared him in the face. He ran all round the room, feeling of the panels or plates, but nowhere could he discover the opening which he sought. Each plate was firmly screwed and riveted to its neighbour. He turned and shook his fist in Guillermina's face.
"You shall tell me where they have gone," he howled, in fury, and then poured forth a volley of oaths and obscenities, such as no one but a Spaniard could have combined in so few sentences.
Guillermina faced him, her hands on her fat hips.