Chapter XX: "save Him, Juan, Save Him!"

"Aren't you coming, Juan?"

Two days had passed since my interview with Rosa Montilla, and I was sitting in my room at the barracks, feeling at enmity with all the world.

"It's a pity we've nothing better to do than to make fools of ourselves," said I savagely, when young Alzura burst in on me excitedly.

He was dressed to represent some hideous monster that never was known on sea or land, and in his hand he carried a grotesque mask.

"Hullo!" he exclaimed; "some one been rubbing you down the wrong way? Caramba, you are in a towering rage! Pray what has offended your Royal Highness?"

"Why, all this tomfoolery! Fancy a masked ball with Canterac in the mountains ready to swoop down on us at any moment!"

"The more reason why we should enjoy ourselves while we can. Besides, you are as bad as the rest: you promised to go!"

"I have forgotten it, then."

"Well, you did; so make haste--the carriage is waiting."

"I have no dress ready," said I coldly.

"That doesn't matter in the least. Go in your uniform; you look very well in it."

"Thanks, I prefer to stay here."

"You forget the ball is given in our honour! Colonel Miller won't be too pleased at finding you absent. 'Twill be a slight on our host and hostess."

"Very well, if you put it that way, I'll join you in the messroom shortly," said I indifferently.

"That's right. Slip your things on sharp; the animals will get restive."

Alzura was in high spirits. He loved fun of all kinds, and this ball was just to his taste. Plaza and Cordova shared our carriage, and both of them rallied me on my glum looks.

"Crawford's a bloodthirsty fellow," cried Alzura banteringly--"never happy unless he's fighting!"

"That's a libel!" said I warmly; "I'm sick of the whole thing. When this war's over, I hope never to hear a shot fired again."

"Be easy," laughed Cordova; "you'll be an old man by then, and too deaf to hear even the report of a pistol."

"There may be more truth in that than you think," I observed, bitterly.

"Never mind, my boy," said Plaza; "you won't hear any shots fired to-night. There's no great harm in enjoying ourselves for an hour or two. Here we are! What a crowd outside!--Put on your mask, Alzura; the people will like the fun."

There was a roar of laughter from the spectators as Alzura, appeared, and we went into the hall amidst a round of cheering. Most of the guests wore some fanciful costume, but several officers, Miller and O'Brien among them, were in uniform.

The magnificent _salons_ were illuminated by thousands of lights; the guests were numerous, and represented most of the beauty and wealth of Lima. My father and mother had not come, neither did I see Montilla. Rosa, of course, would have scorned to attend a ball given to the Patriots.

Despite the lights and the music and the striking gaiety of the scene, I could not banish my feeling of dread. I felt, as people say, that "something was going to happen," and moved listlessly among the brilliant assembly, wondering what it would be.

"You look bored, Crawford," remarked O'Brien, coming across to me. "Is anything the matter?"

"No, thanks; I'm a bit off colour--that's all."

"Would you rather be in the mountains?" asked Colonel Miller, who had joined us.

"It depends on circumstances, colonel," I replied, trying to smile.

When they had left me, I fell back on my occupation of gazing indifferently at the brilliant scene. I could take no interest in it, nor in the chaff and nonsense of my friends, who tried hard to make me more like myself. It seemed that in some mysterious way I was waiting for something, though what I could not imagine. When the summons actually came, I was not in the least surprised.

Alzura, who brought it me, had no idea he was assisting at a tragedy, but, with a merry laugh, exclaimed, "Crawford, there is a lady outside waiting to see you; she will not leave her carriage."

"Who is it?" I asked.

"I don't know; I haven't seen her. A servant gave me the message, and I set off to find you."

"Thanks," said I quietly, and crossing the brilliantly-lit _salon_, took my cap and went into the vast hall.

Who had come for me--my mother? That was my first thought, but a moment's reflection showed that it was unlikely. Had there been anything wrong at home, she would have sent José on a swift horse. The answer to my question came as I stood on the flight of steps leading to the hall. The crowd of people had dispersed, and only a solitary carriage with its attendants stood at the door. Recognizing the Montilla livery in an instant, I ran down the steps with a beating heart.

The carriage door was open, and the light from the hall fell full on the white face of Rosa.

"What has happened?" I cried. "Why do you look so frightened? Tell me, quick!"

Her only answer was to bid me step inside. The footman sprang to his place, the coachman gathered up the reins, the carriage turned with a swing, and almost before I realized it we were off at a gallop. The girl's face was hidden now in darkness, but I had seen it for a moment, and could not forget it. She was white and scared; her cheeks were tear-stained, and her eyes full of apprehension and grief.

Some terrible disaster had happened, but I could not learn what it was. To all my questions she replied, "Home! home!" and ordered the coachman to drive faster. Then she burst into a fit of crying, uttering incoherent words, of which I could make nothing.

"Is it your father, Rosa?" I asked. "Has anything happened to him?" At which she cried still more, upbraiding me for I knew not what.

The gates of the hacienda were wide open. We passed through at a gallop, and the trembling, foam-covered horses drew up at the front door. As soon as the carriage came to a standstill, I jumped out and assisted Rosa to alight. All the servants seemed to have gathered in the hall. Their faces were white, their eyes wild with dread; some of them still shivered. Evidently a great calamity had occurred. What was it?

Looking around, I noted the absence of Don Felipe. That gave me a clue to the nature of the disaster. Perhaps he lay dead in his room; perhaps the government, suspecting him of treachery, had torn him away. I did not hit on the exact truth, but my conjectures went very near it.

Rosa's wild fit had passed; she was no longer a weeping girl, but an imperious mistress. Her tears were dried; she had banished her fear. There was a light of scorn and command in her eyes.

"Away, cowards!" she cried. "Do you call yourselves men, and would not try to save your master? Begone!" and she stamped her foot in passion.

The servants slunk off abashed, and she led me along the corridor. The door of her father's room was closed, but she opened it, and said, "Come in, Juan; see your friends' handiwork!"

The apartment was in total disorder. Chairs were overthrown; the table was stripped of its contents; all kinds of articles lay strewn about the floor: there were very evident signs of a fierce and prolonged struggle. On one wall was the mark of a bullet, and a corner of the apartment was splashed with blood. I gazed round eagerly for Montilla's body, but it was not there.

"See," said the girl, "he was sitting there when the ruffians burst in upon him. He fought for his life like a cavalier of old Spain, but the cowards were too many. They flung themselves upon him like a pack of wolves, and bore him to the ground."

"But who were they?" I asked in amazement. "Who did it? Tell me plainly what happened."

"Need you ask?" she said coldly. "The ruffians were your friends--your servants, for all I know."

"Rosa, you are speaking wildly. I do not wonder at it: this terrible affair has upset your nerves."

Then she turned upon me, her eyes blazing with angry scorn.

"What is it that you wear beneath your tunic, Juan Crawford?" she cried. "Are you ashamed that it should be seen?"

At first I did not understand her meaning; then a glimmer of the truth began to dawn on me, and slowly I drew out the silver key.

"Do you mean this?"

"Yes! 'The chief of the Silver Key'--that is what the black-browed ruffian called himself. Fancy my father, a Spanish gentleman, the prisoner of a band of half-dressed savages--your friends, Juan Crawford!"

"But I know nothing about it," I cried. "These men take no orders from me. The key was given me by the chief when I myself stood in need of protection."

"Nevertheless they are your friends, and they have dragged my father from his home."

"But why? Surely there must be a reason! Tell me what they said. Try to be calm, Rosa; your father's life may depend on your words."

"I know nothing. How should I? I was in bed. My father sat there writing when they broke into the house. The servants fled, and hid themselves like frightened sheep. The cowards! I dressed and ran here. My father had killed one ruffian, but--but he could not struggle against so many."

"I'll wager that he showed himself a brave man."

"He did; but they overcame him," she continued, speaking more calmly. "They bound him with cords: he was helpless. I begged the big bandit to release him; I would have gone on my knees--I, a daughter of the Montillas!" and she drew herself up proudly.

"But the chief, Rosa--what did he say?"

"That my father was charged with a serious offence, and that he must be tried by the officers of the Silver Key. Think of that, Juan Crawford!--my father tried for his life by those dirty bandits! Oh, how I wish I was a man! Then they took him away. I was alone and friendless; I thought of you, and told the coachman to drive me to Lima. Then I remembered you were one of these people, and would have turned back. But my father's life is precious; I would beg it even of an enemy. O Juan, Juan, save him for me!"

She broke down utterly. I tried to comfort her, and failed. She did nothing but cry, "Save him, Juan, save him!"

I had no faith in my power to help her, but I could not tell her so. Why Raymon Sorillo had done this I knew no more than she--unless, indeed, he had discovered Don Felipe conspiring with the Royalists. In that case, perhaps, I might prevail on him to spare the prisoner's life, and to restore him to liberty when the war was over. It was only a tiny spark of hope, but I made the most of it.

"Listen, Rosa," I said cheerfully. "I do not belong to this society of which you speak, but its chief will do much for me. I will go to him now and use all my influence. I will beg him earnestly to spare your father's life, and I think he may grant it me. Cheer up, Rosa! In a few days I shall return and bring your father with me, most likely."

"O Juan, how shall I ever thank you! Forget the wild words I said to you. I was distracted with fear and anger; I did not mean them, Juan!"

"No, no," I answered soothingly; "I have forgotten them already. Now go to bed; I must start at once. I shall take a horse from your stables."

"You have no sword!"

"I shall not need one. There is no danger for me in the mountains. The Indians will do me no harm."

As soon as she had promised to go to her room I returned to the hall, and calling the servants, sent one to explain matters briefly to my father, and asking that my mother would come and stay with Rosa for a while. Then going to the stables, I selected two good horses, and ordered a groom to help me to saddle them. Sorillo might or might not listen to my request, but it would be as well to waste no time on the journey.

The thought of taking José occurred to me, but I put it aside. There was really no danger in the journey, while if Sorillo would not listen to an appeal made in my father's name, he was not likely to listen at all.

Leading the spare horse, I rode through the grounds, cantered down the narrow lane, struck the highroad, and turned in the direction of the mountains. Just where Sorillo might be I could not tell, but I determined first of all to try the ravine where I had once spent several days.

I have said that I had little faith in the success of my mission. Why the Indians had committed this outrage was a mystery, and I could think of nothing which would help me to solve it. That Don Felipe had acted treacherously I could well believe; but why, in that case, did not Sorillo hand him over to the government? Why should the officers of the Silver Key take it upon themselves to try him?

I rode on gloomily till the sun was high in the heavens, halting at a solitary hut, where the woman gave me food and drink for myself and the animals. She was kind enough in this matter, but to my questions she would return no answers. She knew nothing about the war, except that the soldiers had slain her only son, and her husband had been absent for over a year. He might be Royalist or Patriot, she did not know, only she wished people were allowed to live in peace, and to cultivate their little plots of land.

Giving her some money, I mounted and rode on, feeling refreshed by the brief halt. The district was for the most part bare and uninhabited. Here and there were the remains of a ruined hut, and on the route I passed the deserted hacienda which had once afforded me a night's shelter. I met no people, except occasionally a few women and little children; the men and growing boys were in the mountains or in the ranks of the army.

It was evening when I reached the foot of the mountains. My horses were tired out, and the worst part of the journey still lay before me. However, the light had not altogether faded, so I began the ascent, hoping to meet with some of Sorillo's men. As it chanced, I had not long to wait.

A sudden "Halt! who are you?" brought me to a stand, and I answered at random, "A friend of the Silver Key."

"Are you alone?" asked the voice, with just a tinge of suspicion.

"Yes," I replied. "I am Juan Crawford, and am looking for Raymon Sorillo. Can you take me to him?"

A man stepped from behind a rock, and eyeing me suspiciously, exclaimed, "Wait, señor. I cannot leave my post, but I will call for a guide;" and putting his hand to his mouth, he whistled softly.

The sound was answered by one from higher up, and presently a second Indian, armed to the teeth, came running down. The two talked together in whispers, and at last the second man said, "Come this way, señor; I will lead you to the chief. He will be pleased to see the son of Don Eduardo."

Under the circumstances I thought this rather doubtful, but I followed him up the path.

"Are you staying in the ravine?" I asked.

"Yes, señor, for the present."

"Did you go with the chief to Lima?"

"Ah, the señor knows of that! The old crocodile showed fight, and killed a good man; but he is safe enough now."

"He has not been put to death?" I asked, my forehead clammy with perspiration.

"Not yet, señor; he must first be tried."

"But what have you discovered?" I asked, thinking the fellow might be able to give me some information as to the cause of Don Felipe's abduction.

In this I was mistaken. The man knew, or pretended to know, nothing about it. The chief had given orders, but not reasons, and had, as usual, been obeyed unquestioningly. At a word from him his men would have ridden into Lima and dragged the president from his palace.

It almost seemed as if Sorillo expected his stronghold to be attacked. The path was guarded by sentries, and a score of men were stationed at the entrance to the ravine, They passed us through without trouble, and before long I found myself in the presence of the chief.

"You are surprised to see me?" I said briskly.

"Yes; I thought you were in Lima."

"I was there last night."

"You have made a wonderfully quick journey. You must be tired and in need of refreshment. Come; I can at least offer you a good supper."

"Not yet, thank you. I want to ask you a question first. What have you done with Don Felipe Montilla?"

"The dog is in the hut yonder."

He spoke with both anger and contempt; his face underwent a sudden change; for the first time I saw how cruel it could look. My heart sank as I realized the uselessness of any appeal to him for mercy. Then I thought of Rosa, and said,--

"It is on Don Felipe's account I am here. What has he done? Why has he been brought here?"

"If another dared question me like this, I would answer him with a pistol shot," he cried fiercely; "but I do not forget that you are the son of Don Eduardo Crawford. Come, let us eat and forget this business."

"Will you tell me afterwards?"

"I will tell you nothing, but you shall hear for yourself. To-morrow the man will be tried, and if he is found guilty, not all South America shall save him. But we will try him fairly, and you shall bear witness to our justice."

"I want mercy!" said I.

"You do not know what you ask yet. Wait till the morning. And now come; you must not be able to accuse me of inhospitality."

The guerillas led away my horses, and I followed Sorillo to his own hut, where in a short time a plentiful meal was laid. I was both hungry and thirsty, yet I had to force myself to eat and drink. Sorillo made no attempt at conversation, and I did not care to talk.

When the things were removed, he had a bed made on the floor, and suggested I should lie down.

"I am busy," said he. "Most likely I shall be up all night, but that is no reason why you should not rest. I will have you wakened in good time in the morning."

"Thank you," I answered; and as he left the hut I lay down on the bed and closed my eyes.

Though tired out, hours passed before I was able to sleep. In the darkness I could see Rosa's white face, and hear her pitiful cry, "Save him, Juan, save him for me!"

What had he done to make Sorillo so angry? Surely he was not so bitter against every traitor? He had hinted that even I would not beg for mercy when I knew the truth. It would have to be something very dreadful, I thought, to make me forget my promise to Rosa.

And what of Don Felipe? How was he passing the night? Did he know the charge to be brought against him in this most irregular court? and would he be able to clear himself? I wondered.

So thinking and dreaming, between sleep and wakefulness, I lay on the chief's bed, while the long hours rolled slowly away.