Chapter XIX: False Play, or Not?

There was no actual reason why we should feel alarmed; but Lima was an unsafe place in those days, and people who travelled at night generally went well armed.

As yet the bend in the road prevented us from seeing any one, but listening intently, we distinctly heard the sounds of a horse's hoofs.

"There's only one, José," I whispered; and he nodded. I do not know that we should have taken any notice of the man, but for his efforts to conceal his identity. We came upon him suddenly, while the moon shone full in his face, and before he had time either to draw his poncho closer or to pull the slouch hat over his eyes. Both these things he did quickly, but meanwhile we had seen, and a look of keen surprise shot across José's face. Recovering himself instantly, he said cheerfully,--

"Good-night, señor. Fine night for a ride."

"So you seem to think," replied the other surlily.

"You have come from the town, I see," said José, for we lived eastward of Lima; "is all quiet there?"

"Why shouldn't it be? Kindly allow me to pass; I am in a hurry," responded our morose stranger.

"Then 'twas lucky that you knew of this short cut," remarked José, nothing daunted by the fellow's manner. "Well, good-night, señor. Pleasant ride!" and he drew his horse aside that the stranger might pass.

"He isn't any too polite!" I remarked, as digging his spurs into his horse the fellow galloped off. "He's a fine horseman, though, and has the air of a military man, if I'm not mistaken."

"Yes," agreed José; "he certainly rides like a soldier."

"But he isn't in uniform."

"No; he has left his uniform at home, I expect."

"He must be pretty familiar with Lima to know this short cut."

"I daresay he is. But didn't you recognize him? Well, I suppose it's hardly likely you would; you were only a little chap at the time, and perhaps never saw him. He's a rascal to the marrow!"

"But who is he?" I asked impatiently.

"Pardo Lureña."

"Lureña? Haven't I heard my father speak of him?"

"Very likely. He was one of the 'young bloods' of Peru, and, being a cadet of a wealthy family, able to do much as he pleased. He was always a thorough ruffian, and the common people hated him like poison. His pranks, however, were hushed up by those in authority, until, for some offence more startling than usual, your father got him clapped in prison. The Dons howled finely, but your father stood firm, and the people backed him up; so young Lureña had a taste of prison life. There was great excitement over it at the time."

"What happened afterwards?"

"Lureña left Lima. He went from bad to worse, and finally joined the ranks. Of course his relatives used their influence, and he was given a commission; but he never rose very high, I believe."

"What could he be doing in Lima to-night?"

"Something rascally, I'll be bound! He may have been to the town, but I believe the last place he stopped at was over there," and José pointed toward Don Felipe's house.

"You don't think there's some treachery afoot between them, do you?"

"Why not? Once a traitor, always a traitor! Montilla means to save his property at all costs, and to pick up as much as possible in the general scramble. Should the Spaniards win, your father will say good-bye to his estates."

"Isn't your prejudice making you a little unjust, José? Remember that we know nothing against Don Felipe."

"Oh, don't we? He got the estates into his hands once, and by hook or by crook he'll get them again!"

I thought José exaggerated the danger, but this meeting with Lureña set me thinking. The fellow was evidently a Royalist soldier, and on a secret errand. If José's idea was correct, there could be only one object in his visiting Montilla.

But our neighbour was not the man to compromise himself unless there was a distinct chance of success. Had he learned any news favourable to the Royalist cause? If so, that might account for his action.

Silently we rode through the sleeping town and along the road to Callao, where José waited at an inn while I did the business which had brought me to the port. The bay was filled with shipping, and men were hard at work fitting out the transports for the troops ordered south.

"Isn't it rather risky to remove so many troops?" I asked the colonel. "Suppose the enemy should swoop down on the capital?"

"They're quite welcome to do so," he replied, with a laugh. "Lima is of no use to us really; it's Callao that matters."

"Are you going with them, colonel?"

"No; I stay behind with General Sucre."

There was one question I wanted very much to ask, but it was long before I could muster the courage to do so.

"Colonel," I said at length, "I want to ask a rather queer question, but I have reasons for it. Do you think the war will end in favour of the Spaniards?"

"That depends," he answered, looking at me in surprise. "It certainly will do so if our people quarrel among themselves, which is what the enemy reckon on. That is their sheet-anchor, in fact."

"Would a clever man think they had a chance just now?"

"Why, yes," replied the colonel thoughtfully; "he might think they stand an excellent chance."

"Thank you, sir," I said, and the incident of the preceding night loomed up larger and uglier than ever.

Day had fairly broken when I sought José for the purpose of returning home. I said nothing to him of my talk with the colonel, though the remembrance of it kept running through my mind. On our return I found my father alone, so I told him my suspicions, and asked his advice.

"It certainly has an ugly look, Jack," said he; "yet it may be easy of explanation. For Rosa's sake, I hope Montilla isn't playing false. He is in our counsels, and knows everything that goes on, so that he could make the Spaniards pay high for his treachery."

"And if he is discovered?"

"He will be shot."

"And you couldn't save him, if you would?"

"I couldn't and wouldn't. A man may be a turncoat in good faith, but a traitor--bah! But after all, my boy, it seems to me we are hunting a fox that hasn't broken cover. This Lureña, whom José recognized, is no friend of mine; and though he was an ensign in the Royalist army years ago, it does not follow that he is a Royalist now. Ah, I have it!" said he, in a tone of relief.

"What--an explanation?" I asked curiously.

"Yes; and the right one, I'll wager! It is through Lureña we get our information of the enemy's doings! No doubt Montilla employs him as a spy."

"Then why was he so put out at meeting with us?"

"Well, naturally he would not want his secret known."

My father's idea was feasible enough, but it did not altogether satisfy me; yet what could I do? If Montilla were playing false, I seemed almost as guilty in not denouncing him. But for Rosa's sake I could not bring myself to act; and after all, it was merely a matter of suspicion.

About three days before the sailing of the expedition I rode home to spend the evening. José met me at the outer gate, and I saw in a moment that something had happened.

"What is it?" I asked. "Have you come to meet me?"

"Yes. Send your horse on; I want to talk to you."

We walked across the park out of earshot, when José said in a whisper, as if still fearful of being overheard,--

"He is here again."

"He!" said I; "who?"

"Lureña. He went into Don Felipe's house half an hour ago."

"Well, what of that? You know what my father said."

I spoke boldly, as if there could be nothing in the business; but José smiled grimly.

"Look here, Jack," said he at length, "we can easily settle this affair. If Montilla is innocent, there's no harm done; if he's guilty--well, better for one to suffer than thousands."

"What do you propose?"

"To waylay this Lureña. He is almost certain to have papers on him which will tell all we wish to know."

"I can't do it, José. Don Felipe is Rosa's father, and I am reluctant to bring trouble to her."

"Would you rather sacrifice your own father and mother?"

"How dare you ask such a question, José?" I cried angrily.

"I dare anything for my master," said he, unmoved. "If the Spaniards win, your father is doomed, and you also, while your mother will be a beggar. See, Jack, I have no right to speak thus, but I can't help it. With or without your help, I intend getting to the bottom of this matter."

I knew José of old, and that once his mind was made up, no amount of threats or coaxing would turn him from his purpose.

"If your father is right," he continued, "so much the better--the knowledge will make our minds easy; but I can't and won't stand this suspense any longer."

In a sense I was completely in his power. Whether I went or not he would go, and by himself would most certainly proceed to extreme measures.

"Very well, José," I said reluctantly, after weighing the matter in my mind, "have your own way."

"There is no other," he replied. "Come, let us go to the workshop and get a few tools."

I did not know his plan, but it was evident he had thought it all out. First he made a simple but effective gag; then he selected a long piece of thin but tough rope, several strips of hide, a large rug, and a tiny lantern.

"Now," said he with a chuckle, "I think we shan't have much trouble with Mr. Lureña."

On our way to the lane he told me his plan, and gave me full directions as to my share in it. The night was dark, but we moved quietly, speaking only in whispers, and straining our ears for the slightest sound.

At the bend in the narrow lane José unrolled the cord, and I, taking one end in my hand, sat down in the darkness, laying the gag and a strip or two of hide on the ground near me. José moved to the other side of the lane, and we let the rope lie slack across the road. Then we waited in silence for the coming of Lureña, feeling confident that he would not leave the house till the night was far spent.

This adventure was not to my liking, and I could only hope that in some way my presence might be of use to Montilla. Somehow I had not the slightest hope of my father's idea proving right. My old distrust of the man returned in full force, and I dreaded what an examination of Lureña's pockets would reveal.

Slowly, very slowly, the minutes passed; a whole hour went by, and still there was no sign of our intended victim. Had he left the house by the front? I almost hoped he had. Yet, should he escape us this time, I knew that now José had started his quarry he would run it to earth.

A second hour passed. He must come soon now or not at all. My limbs were dreadfully cramped, and I began to get fidgety. Once I coughed slightly, but a sharp pull at the rope warned me to be silent. At last the hoof-beats of a horse could be distinctly heard. From the way he rode, the horseman evidently knew the road well. Nearer and nearer he came, while we, raising the rope, stretched it tight. The figure of horse and man loomed up dimly, came close to us; there was a stumble, a low cry of surprise, and the next moment our man lay on the ground, his head enveloped in José's rug.

A spectator might easily have mistaken us for professional thieves, we did the thing so neatly. Almost in less time than it takes to tell, we had thrust the gag into our victim's mouth, and bound both his legs and arms. Then, while I removed his weapons, José lit the lantern, and we looked for the incriminating papers. We searched minutely every article of his clothing and the trappings of his horse, but without result, except for a scrap of paper hidden in his girdle.

José pounced on this like a hawk, and we examined it together by the light of the lantern. I could have shouted for joy when at last we were able to read it: "To all good friends of Peru. Pass the bearer without question." It was signed by the president, Riva-Aguero, and bore the official seal.

"It seems you were right," whispered José sulkily. "Help me to raise the horse, and we will let the fellow go."

Fortunately the animal was unhurt, and very soon we had it on its feet. Then we unbound the man, removed the rug from his head, and slipped out the gag.

"Mount and ride on," said José sternly, disguising his voice. "We wish you no harm."

"Give me my pistols, you rascal!" cried Lureña, stamping his foot angrily.

"Mount!" repeated José, and the click of his own pistol sounded ominously on the still air.

There was nothing for it but to obey, and fuming with passion, the fellow clambered sullenly to the saddle. Shaking his fist at us and vowing all manner of vengeance, he disappeared in the gloom.

"I'm glad we came," said I, helping José to pick up the things; "that bit of paper has removed a load from my mind. I thought my father might be right, but must admit I was rather doubtful."

"I am in no doubt whatever," responded José. "Either the fellow was too sharp for us, or we made our venture at an unlucky time. If there was nothing wrong, why did he ride off so quickly?"

"Well," said I, laughing, "the click of a pistol in one's ears is not much of an inducement to stay. I think he acted very wisely."

"If all were square and aboveboard, he would have shouted for help."

"And drawn more attention to himself! That would have been foolish in any case. No, no, José; the case is clear, I think. We have misjudged Montilla, and though I don't admire his methods, it is evident he is working on our side. Let us be just, at least."

"I wish it were possible," muttered José, leaving me to conjecture what his words exactly meant.

Strangely enough, my distrust of Don Felipe was as strong as ever next day. The incident of the spy should have removed any lingering doubt as to his fidelity, but it did not. Perhaps it was owing to José's influence, but whatever the cause, I still found myself speculating keenly on our neighbour's honesty.

Now, mind you, I do not wish to be praised or blamed on false grounds. What I did afterwards may have been right or wrong--and much, perhaps, can be said on both sides--but it was not done through either love or hatred of Don Felipe. True, the man was no friend of mine, but his daughter was, and I could not bear to think of her suffering through his misdeeds.

On the very day that the troops for the south embarked, I met her quite by accident. She had been for a gallop, and was returning home. Her cheeks were flushed with the exercise, her eyes were bright and sparkling; I had never seen her look so beautiful.

"Well, Juan," she cried saucily, "so you have sent away your band of ragamuffins? I wonder how many of this lot will come back! Upon my word, I feel half inclined to pity them."

This, of course, she said to tease me; because, if our men lacked something in discipline, they were at least a match for the Spaniards in bravery.

"You are pleased to be merry," said I, riding with her to the gate, "but I hope you do not seriously think that the Spaniards have any chance of winning."

"Why not? It is you who live in a fool's paradise Juan. Before long the king's flag will be floating over Lima again."

She spoke so confidently that I looked at her uneasily. Was there really a Royalist plot on foot, and did she know of it?

Perhaps I acted foolishly, but what I did was done with a good motive.

"Send your horse on," said I, "and let me walk with you to the house. There is something on which I wish to speak seriously to you."

"Is it a penance for my sins?" she laughed, holding up her riding-habit. "Please don't be too severe, Juan! Now begin, and I will try to be good."

"To begin is not so easy as you think, Rosa; but first let me tell you one thing--the Spaniards will never again be masters of Peru."

"Pouf!" cried she, tossing her head; "that is rubbish, and says little for your understanding, Juan."

"I am sorry you don't believe it; yet it is true, nevertheless. There are Royalists in Lima who hope otherwise, but they will be disappointed. More than that, some of them who are working secretly against us will meet with just punishment."

"What is that to me? I can't work for the king, being only a girl, but no one can accuse me of hiding my opinions."

I could have laughed at that had I been in the mood for merriment. All Lima knew that Peru did not contain a stancher Royalist than Rosa Montilla.

"It is not of you I speak, but of the so-called Patriots, who are sedulously plotting for the enemy. Already names have been mentioned, and before long some of these people will be shot."

I think it was then she first began to suspect my meaning. Her eyes flashed fire, and looking me full in the face, she cried,--

"What is all this to me? What have I to do with your wretched story?"

My face was hot, my forehead clammy with perspiration. I mumbled out my reply like a toothless old woman.

"Don't be angry, Rosa," I said. "I hate to give you pain, but--but--can't you understand?"

"No," replied she calmly; "I understand nothing."

"I wish to warn you," I continued desperately--"to put you on your guard. There is a rumour--I heard it in camp, but I do not vouch for its truth--"

"Come, make an end of this," she said haughtily, "or allow me to proceed to the house. What is this rumour which seems to have tied your tongue so?"

"I will tell you. It is said that the leader of the conspiracy is Don Felipe Montilla! Let me--"

"Thank you, Juan Crawford," said she, making a superb gesture of disdain. "Now go! If our friendship has given you the right to insult me thus, you have that excuse no longer. Go, I say, before I call the servants to whip you from the place."

I tried in vain to offer some explanation.

"Go, señor, go!" she repeated, and at last I turned sorrowfully away.

I had done my best and failed. I had lost my friend, and had effected no good, for I saw by her face that she would think it treason to mention the subject to her father. And as I rode from the gate, I wondered whether, after all, we had been mistaken in our judgment.