Chapter IX: Part 9

Rogelio drew near again and said, with difficulty, forcing a grin: "Now, in the devil's name, give heed; and forbear to fly off the bowstring until I have finished! What I've tried to get into thy pate is this. In a few days I shall have a guest, Pedro." He looked cautiously about and whispered, "A maiden, my friend--the fairest heathen in the land. I'll not say her name--he, he!--that shall be a secret. But, I would have a woman servant--one worthy of dependence, dost mark? Canst find me one? Thou 'rt known to the townsfolk, and I am not. What sayst? There will be some moderate compensation for thy time and trouble, Pedro,--moderate, mind thee, for I am a poor man; though," he looked about again, "I'll tell thee this, once I have her safe, there will be treasure untold at my command--Ah! Hum!--That is, Pedro, a fair sum--rather small, in fact--little more than enough for my requirements, for I have a fam----" He stopped short, snuffled, and went on hastily, "I'll pay thee, Pedro. Wilt find me a servant?"

Pedro concealed both his contempt and his suddenly roused interest, and after brief scrutiny of the tallowy face and protuberant eyes, looked away. "Why," he drawled, "for the time it hath taken thee to get it out, 't is a simple matter. Doubtless I can find a woman. I'll look about."

"Do so, my worthy friend," said Rogelio, rubbing his hands. "It will be worth thy while."

"No doubt," answered Pedro. "_Adios_, Senor." He rode away.

"Dolt, lunk-head, clod-pate!" muttered Rogelio, looking viciously after him.

"Oily scoundrel!" muttered Pedro. "Slimy dastard." Then he chuckled. "Oh, give me but an hour, and I could work him into a fit! His rage striketh at his vitals. But, let us see! A maiden, the fairest in the land, and treasure untold! God's love! Can it be she?" He reined up, the better to think, and sat in study, his geniality of countenance giving place to grave concern. Shortly he rode on, still pondering.

Pedro's mission to the fortress was to see the sick armorer and warn him against Fray Mauricio, with the advice that Jose go straightway to Cuzco, where Pizarro would hold him safe. The Morisco was so ill, however, that he said nothing of his errand, and after an hour at the bedside, took his departure.

Pedro rode back much occupied with uneasy thoughts of Cristoval and Rava. He had heard nothing of their fate, and it was generally believed that they had perished in the mountains. After De Valera had been found in the canyon by his companions even the Canares had lost the scent. Still Pedro hoped, and better, prayed with right good-will. Now he determined to watch for Rogelio's expected guest, his suspicion thoroughly roused by the morning's conversation.

Two days later he was again riding toward the fortress. On this occasion, however, he went beyond, making inquiries for the _huasi_ of one Municancha, master-mason. Rewarded at length, he was received with distinction by the dignified Indio and his interesting family, to whom he made himself so agreeable that he was pressed to come again, the small children chasing the dust of his mule for many yards, with shrill farewell and reiterated invitation.

Pedro rode back in an enviable frame of mind. It was dark when he passed the road to the fortress, and he had gone a little beyond when his mule stopped with a suddenness that sent his hand smartly to his sword-hilt. He distinguished a shadowy group of figures ahead, and hearing a word in Spanish, he prodded his animal with his single spur and rode forward. The strangers had drawn off to let him pass. As he neared them Pedro hailed:--

"Hob, _compadres_! A good-night to you."

"Oh, 't is Pedro!" he heard one say in relief, then the ring of ordered pikes, and, "Good-night, Pedro!" briefly.

"What cheer, friends?" asked the cook, drawing rein; but they moved on without response. He grunted at their discourtesy and went his way, failing to observe in the darkness that two of the number bore a _hamaca_.

The party halted near the fortress gate. Duero was challenged by the sentinel, seating himself wearily while the soldier drawled his call for the sergeant. The officer appeared, a parley followed, and the gate swung open.

"Well, and what fortune, _amigo_?" asked the old sergeant, surveying Duero as he stood scowling in the lantern light. "Why, man, thou'rt haggard!"

The other replied with an oath: "Not the worst fortune, but so near the worst that, curse me, 't would be no easy choice between them. Dost pass my party?"

"Pass them," said the sergeant, and Duero called to his companions; then, not wishing to be interrogated, gave the officer good-night. The sergeant watched the _hamaca_ past the gate, and with a grimace to his sentinel, retired to the guard-room. Since the death of Atahualpa he had seen the like more than once.

Inside the gate Duero dismissed his remnant of the Canares. Taking up the silent and closely curtained _hamaca_, the Spaniards were presently pounding at the _veedor's_ door. An Indio servant opened to them, and the litter was carried into the court. Apprised of its arrival, Rogelio hurried out.

Duero ignored his greeting and demanded bluntly: "Where is the cage, Senor _Veedor_? Here is the bird."

"Oh, my stars!" snuffled Rogelio, rubbing his hands and sidling round the _hamaca_. "Is she there, indeed?--and in good condition, Duero? Remember, that was part of the stipulation--that she should be unharmed, and in good condition."

"As to being unharmed, I'll answer for it," replied the soldier. "As for her condition, you can figure for yourself what it is like to be after such a journey. Where will you have her put? Come! We're weary."

"This way," said Rogelio, in a fluster. "The room is all prepared--a bower, Duero, a very bower! He, he! Wait! I'll fetch a lamp." He scuttled away, reappeared with a light, and led the way to a door opening upon the patio. It was fastened with a heavy padlock. Fumbling for a second, he threw open the door. The _hamaca_ was carried in, the door closed, and while Rogelio edged round eagerly with the lamp, striving for a glimpse, Duero threw back the curtains and lifted Rava, almost lifeless, from the litter. She moaned as he bore her to the couch, and he hastened to remove the bonds and gag she had worn since nearing Xauxa. She gave no other evidence of animation.

"Here--the light!" commanded Duero, gruffly, and took it without ceremony from the _veedor's_ hand, bending over the girl in scrutiny. Rogelio hovered about, twisting his fat fingers, and straining to have a look at the pale, drawn face almost hidden by her disordered tresses. It was a face to move the compassion of a savage. The rough soldier felt its pathos, for he straightened up and said brusquely:--

"She needeth looking after, 't is a certainty. Fetch a woman at once, Senor _Veedor_."

"A woman!" piped Rogelio. "Why, there's no woman about. I have spoken for one, and may have her to-morrow."

"No woman about!" exclaimed Duero, turning upon him sternly. "Do you say there is none to give this girl the care she needeth?"

"To-morrow--" began the _veedor_ weakly.

"To-morrow!--To-night! This night, _Veedor_, or she goeth to Xauxa." Duero's black eyes travelled over Rogelio with an expression the latter did not care to meet.

"To-night! Impossible, Duero!" he whined. "There is not a woman in the fortress save two just come from San Miguel, and they--" He shook his head.

"Then, Senor, you will fetch one from Xauxa," said Duero, with determination.

"Curse me if I will!" retorted the _veedor_, angrily. "And look thou, Duero: this is mine affair. Thy part in it is done. Thou'lt refrain from meddling."

Duero motioned his companions forward, and stepped to raise the Nusta. At the move Rogelio forgot himself and sprang forward with a snarl and curse to interpose, but recollected himself at once when Duero, dagger half-drawn, thrust an elbow beneath his chin and met his eyes with a scowl so malevolent that he caught breath with a sudden weakening of his knees. As the _veedor_ retreated with a gasp Duero followed him steadily with his glare, then turned again with deliberation to the couch. The _veedor_ raised a shaking hand to his throat as if he expected to find it already cut, and quavered:--

"My--my soul--and body, Duero! Thou'rt sudden! Wait! I--fiends and goblins!--I'll go if it will please thee."

"It will," said Duero, briefly. "See that you do. We will tarry until your return. But first, a small cup of _chicha_. We must warm her blood, or your woman will find a corpse. Do you hear, _Veedor_? A cup of _chicha_!"

The _veedor_ started painfully and waddled away. He was back in a moment with the liquor. The soldier forced a few drops between the pallid lips of the Nusta, and vigorously chafed her hands and arms. A fierce, unprincipled rascal in most respects, he was endowed with a rough warmth of heart to which the helpless state of his captive made silent appeal. He worked with what gentleness was in him, and when at last Rava opened her pathetic eyes he motioned his companions out of the room with the _hamaca_. Rogelio lingered near, but a gesture from Duero and the menace in his eyes sent him back into the shadow, whispering a futile anathema. When the unhappy girl revived somewhat the soldier drew a robe over her, and leaving her sobbing desolately among the pillows, gripped Rogelio's arm and led him out. He locked the door, and to the _veedor's_ astonishment and rage, pocketed the key. The other commenced a shrill expostulation, but the burly Duero merely hunched a shoulder at him with chin thrust out and a sidelong glance of quiet viciousness that stopped his railing abruptly. Rogelio led the way to his room with no further word, followed by his four sullen hirelings.

They ranged themselves round his table in silence. The _veedor_ stood glancing uneasily from one scowl to another, then piped in irritation: "Well, gentlemen, your task is finished, isn't it? Come now, my good friends, the hour groweth late. Return in the morning, and I'll give you your hire."

Duero stepped forward, planting a powerful fist upon the table and hitching at his belt: "Senor _Veedor_, we'll have our hire now! Then, when you have brought some one to look after the senorita, our business is done. In the meantime, with your leave--or without it--we wait here. She must be cared for before morning. But now, our gold."

Rogelio blinked about the circle, snuffled, and went out. Having closed the door, his rage overflowed in a series of frenzied gesticulations in the direction of Duero, accompanied by suppressed grunts and squeaks, until he was swollen in feature and quite breathless. He returned with a bag and pair of balances. They looked on with vigilance while he weighed out the gold, the lamp illuminating swarthy faces full of eagerness--except that of Duero, which was only watchful and grim.

"There!" snapped the employer. "Two thousand _castellanos_. Take it."

Duero extended an arm to withhold the others and said, coolly, "Double it!"

The _veedor_ staggered back with the bag clasped in his arms. "Wha--what?" he gasped.

"I say, double it!" replied Duero, with force.

Rogelio stared at him with fallen chin.

"Double it!" repeated the soldier, and returned the stare fixedly.

"Fiends!" shrieked the _veedor_. "Man, thou 'rt mad! What was our bargain?"

"That acquitteth the bargain, Senor, but there are damages."

"Damages! What damages?"

"Why, to our several consciences, _Veedor_. Mine, I'll swear, hath stood a wear and tear that hath left not remnants enough to equip a dog! 'T is a most villanous piece of villany, and promiseth to grow worse when our hands are out of it. By the crucifix! Senor Rogelio, my soul will need masses for this affair, and I mean to provide for them. You will make it double, or the girl goeth to Xauxa this night; and I'll have the Senor Inca notified--or mayhap, Mendoza."

"Scoundrels, bandits, thieves!" screamed Rogelio, his face purple and hands shaking. Duero took a step toward him with a movement to his sword-hilt, and the victim retreated to the wall, hugging his gold and rolling his eyes in terror. The soldier surveyed him with contempt.

"Well," he demanded, "what do you say? Must we lug her back to Xauxa? Answer, and quickly, for I sicken."

"Oh, gentlemen!" wailed Rogelio, "be honest. Be just. Be considerate of a poor man."

Duero broke in with imitation of his whine: "Oh, be open-handed. Be charitable. Be virtuous. Faugh! You offend my bile. Come. Yes, or no! Do you double it? 'T is indifferent to us, for the Inca, or Mendoza, will know how to reward. But answer!"

Rogelio rolled his eyes to heaven, then lagged forward to the table and took up the scales. "Oh, my good men, 't is--"

"Cease!" commanded Duero. "We are no good men. Had we been, you had not approached us. Weigh out, and be done."

The _veedor_ heaved a long, shuddering sigh, and weighed the gold.

"Now," said Duero, "to your horse, and to Xauxa."

"Oh, curses!" protested the _veedor_. "Art not finished? I've paid thee twice!"

"Go!" shouted Duero, stamping his foot. "Order your horse. I'll see you to the gates."

Rogelio went out with a groan. In half an hour he was riding down the hill, panting an imprecation at every step. Duero returned from the gate whither he had escorted him, and calling the servant, ordered the best the _veedor's_ larder afforded. Then the villains held carnival.

*CHAPTER XXIII*

_*Rogelio Finds Gall and Wormwood*_

Pedro was extinguishing the lights of his _cantina_ when he heard the clatter of a horse's hoofs. They stopped at his door, and Rogelio entered, perspiring, breathless, and in violent perturbation.

"Ho, Senor _Veedor_, thou dost ride late!" exclaimed Pedro, in surprise. "There is something amiss?"

Rogelio sank upon the nearest stool, panting and wiping away perspiration, on the verge of apoplexy from exertion and rage combined. The danger of it seemed to strike Pedro at once. He hurried forward and commenced fanning the official vigorously with his apron.

"Steady, steady, Senor!" he urged, soothingly. "Do not try to talk. Take time and spare thy wind. Thou 'rt gasping like a ducked hen.--Nay, nay! Do not swear. Be tranquil. Calm thyself. Count ten, Senor--now do! Believe me, naught doth so soothe a fit of ferment. But--swearing again! Gently, gently, or thou'lt melt in thine own heat! Gods, man! Cease rolling thine eyes. Hast a cramp under thy belt? Let me thump thy back.--Ah!"

Pedro pummelled the agitated _veedor_ between the shoulders with hearty vigor, and succeeded thereby in expelling what little breath he had remaining, rendering him still more helpless from exasperation. He saved himself by bolting from his seat and backing against the wall, where he stood waving his arms in speechlessness to keep the zealous cook away.

"Name of a saint, my friend!" said Pedro, with great concern, after Rogelio began to breathe more freely, "I never saw an over-gorged pup nearer a fit than thou. What hath gone wrong?"

"She--hath arrived!" gasped the _veedor_ at length.

"Oh! She hath arrived, hath she? Well, she must be a very tarantula to work thee a spell like that, Senor! By the gods, even Bolio's coming could not give me such a bedevilment of jerks and palpitations!"

The _veedor_ was rendered speechless again. Pedro eyed him with great commiseration until he showed signs of recovery, then threw him into another spasm by inquiring with solicitude,

"Doth the lady pursue, Senor? If so, we will barricade the door."

Rogelio held up his hands, violently shaking his head. "No, no!" he managed to say. "Damned--numskull! Let me--talk."

"Why, talk, to be sure! 'T is what I've waited for,--to hear thee talk. What the devil dost think? that I've been standing here this while to see thee contort and strangle? I had liefer watch a pig in the colic. Proceed, _Veedor_, and talk. It may ease thy mind. _Sensa animi tui libere profare_--Latin, Senor, and it meaneth, speak freely. Prithee, begin. I listen."

The _veedor_ had collapsed into a chair, choking with rage. He sprang up, shaking both fists at the cook, and started toward the door; turned back, and waving his arms for silence, howled: "Accursed--rattle-teeth!--hear me!--I seek a servant!"

"Thou seekest a servant!" responded Pedro, with composure. "Well, by heaven, I could guess it! And thou needest, not one, but a dozen, I should say; and a strait-jacket withal. But, _infierno_! is the quest of a servant so delirious a pursuit?--Now, do be calm, Senor! Hold a minute, and I'll bleed thee. No? But 't would be wise, my friend, for if thou 'rt not on the edge of the staggers, then I never gave physic to a horse.--And now thou'rt swearing again! Fie, _Veedor_! Here! Let me get thee a wet rag."

Pedro hurried away. When he returned the _veedor_ had regained his utterance, and waving aside the proffered application, he shouted:--

"Keep off, thou babbling moon-calf! Wilt hear me? I need a servant--at once! A servant--dost hear? A servant--and may the fiend claw thy vitals! Canst get me one--to-night? I'll pay thee well."

"Well, stew me! if the need of a servant wrought me to such a state of mind, I'd----" Pedro seated himself. "But 't is late, _Veedor_. Thy guest hath come, sayst thou?"

"Yes, yes! She is sick from weariness, and needeth a woman. Wilt find me one?"

Pedro became serious at once. "Sick! Then 't is pressing. Let me think. There is Senora Bolio, for a possibility. She might consent to go, but she knoweth no Quichua. That, however, might be an advantage, not so? Less apt to connive at escape." Pedro eyed the _veedor_ watchfully.

"Yes! _Diablo_, yes!" said Rogelio, eagerly. "Canst persuade her?"

"I'll try," said Pedro, rising. He threw off his apron and started toward the door; halted, and came back, determined to test his suspicion. "Senor," he said, abruptly, "how did they get her away from Peralta? Did they kill him? If not, then I swear to thee, _Veedor_, thou 'rt as good as dead!" and Pedro slowly shook his head in direst portent.

The _veedor_ was unguarded. He started violently, and his face went ashy. "Oh, my soul and body! I--I forgot to ask them." He scanned the cook with quick suspicion. "How in the devil's name dost know?" he demanded. Pedro placed a finger beside his nose, wagged his head with deep significance, and went out. Now it was his turn to be agitated.

He pegged straight to the senora's lodging, and pounded upon the door until it opened. "Quick!" he cried. "The Viracocha woman! There is sickness."

The native made him repeat it, refastened the door, and left Pedro in a fume. When she opened again, it was with a request to follow, and led him across the court. The senora appeared at a door with an under-garment over her shoulders. "Is it thou, Pedro?" she asked, sleepily. "What is to do? This is an unholy hour to wake a body, dost not know it?"

Pedro pushed the door open, and entered. "'T is a crying need," he said, and hastily explained.

"Who is this girl?" demanded the senora, with a pang of jealousy.

"Peralta's enamorada," replied the cook, thinking he lied, but venturing it to quiet her suspicion.

"And who this Rogelio?" asked the senora.

"A toad!" answered Pedro. "Wilt go? I will ride with thee to the fortress."

The senora was retying the fagged end of her braid.

"A favor to me, _carita_," urged Pedro.

"I will go," said Senora Bolio.

"Then come to the _cantina_ as soon as thou 'rt clad. I will have thy mule," and he hastened away. By the time the animals were saddled the lady arrived, her battle-axe beneath her arm, wrapped in a bundle of apparel. Pedro strapped it to her saddle, and summoning the fevered _veedor_, assisted the senora to mount. As they rode out on the quiet road, Rogelio leading, the cook gave further history of the Nusta, together with certain sidelights on the _veedor_. They reached the fortress, and having seen the two through the gate, Pedro returned, relieved for Rava, but sadly disturbed by thoughts of Cristoval.

The senora followed her conductor to his door. As he dismounted a sound of revelry stole out upon the night, and the _veedor_ dashed in. The neglected lady sniffed after him scornfully, swung herself out of the saddle, unstrapped her belongings, led her mule into the patio, and followed the _veedor_ to a half-open door. The unfortunate Rogelio was doomed to further bitterness. The room was lighted by all the lamps of the establishment. Duero and his companions were seated round a well-laden board, a bowl of steaming punch in the midst, and had arrived at the jovial stage. As Rogelio entered and stood blinking at the brilliancy, his fat chin wagging with renewed rage at their effrontery, they surveyed him a moment, and burst into a shout of laughter. Duero raised his cup.

"Hail, good host, liberal entertainer, most hospitable mate!" roared he. "Thou 'rt welcome. Enter! Come, leave diffidence outside. Thou 'rt not intruding--now is he, _camaradas_? No! Sit and make free. What is ours is thine--not so, _camaradas_? _Segaramente_! _Hola_!" He sprang to his feet as the senora appeared at the door. "Blessed angels of Heaven, what do I see? The Senora Bolio!" He advanced with a profound bow. "Welcome, Senora, most welcome! Upon my heart, 'tis like the sight of a nosegay from Old Castile! Ho, _companeros_!--your courtesies to _Senora la Conquistadora_!" He bowed again, answered by the lady with a glare of cold disdain.

"Miscreants, knaves, cutthroats!" shrieked Rogelio. "You shall pay dear for this night!"

Duero surveyed him darkly, hunched his shoulder, and thrust out his chin, and the _veedor_ sank into a chair. The soldier eyed him for a moment, and turned to the lady. "Senora, I surmise thou hast come to care for the girl. She needeth it, God knoweth, and the less time lost the better. Come. I have the key."

Rogelio sprang up to follow, but once more the hunch of shoulder, the thrust of chin, and the scowling look askance, and he sat. Duero winked at the senora as he turned to lead the way, and ignoring her snort of resentment of the liberty, went out. She followed, and halting at the Nusta's door, he said, as he unfastened, "Pedro hath told thee of this Rogelio?"

"Briefly, that he is a toad," responded the senora.

"Brief, but most precise! Pedro hath a good head. Now, Senora, I'll leave thee to enter, and the door unlocked. If thou hast need of aught, thou'lt find us entertaining the _veedor_ for an hour or more. I'll have him send a bowl of broth at once. Adios."

Duero rejoined the others, and they sat long making their host unhappy; then, having promised him with evident sincerity that if he whispered a complaint he would find himself some morning with a severed windpipe, they took their leave.

Senora Bolio went to the couch. Rava had raised her head, but perceiving the invader was a woman, rose to her knees, her eyes streaming, and voice broken with sobs. With arms outstretched, she poured forth an impassioned supplication in words to the stranger unknown,--in words unknown, but with meaning clear, and an eloquence that went straight to the heart of the senora. For the senora had a heart. It beat somewhat wildly at times, and at times with vehement hostility toward the sex which had worked it countless wrongs; but like other hearts that flame, it had its gentler warmth. The appeal of the injured and helpless girl touched her womanliness, and she hastened to her side.

"Poor dearie!" she exclaimed, seating herself and drawing the sobbing prisoner to her breast. "Poor little waif! Have they been cruel, these men? Ah, may the devil roast them well! Do not weep, love. Do not weep, chiquita. They shall not harm thee more. Let the _veedor_ beware. Let him come to trouble thee, and we'll unjoint him--will we not, little one? We'll put a twist in his neck, thou and I, that will let him look at his shoulderblades to his heart's content--will we not, my dove? Ah! That we'll do, and more, if he but roll his eyes aslant at thee!"

With soft voice and motherly caress, the senora soothed the heart-broken Rava; her words--perhaps quite as well--without meaning to the girl, but her tones replete with sympathy. Rava clung to her as to a last hope, becoming gradually more calm, until a knock at the door stirred her terror afresh. Releasing her, the senora sprang up. Grimly she stripped her battle-axe, and stepped to the door. The servant recoiled.

"Ah, 'tis thou!" the lady exclaimed, and received the broth.

The strength it gave aided her efforts to restore calm to the despairing captive, and in an hour Rava slept. Her guardian sat long, nursing a waxing enmity for the authors of the maiden's sorrows, and for Rogelio in particular; then, having with fell purpose placed her weapon conveniently at hand, she lay down beside her _protegee_.

She awoke early, astonished to find Rava kneeling with hands clasped in prayer, a silver crucifix before her on her pillow, the Latin periods, in her quaint, hesitating accents, sounding strangely. The senora joined her orison, then turned to her in surprise.

"A Christian, thou?" she asked, taking her hand.

Rava understood the word, and assented eagerly. "Cristoval!" she said, and touched the crucifix, her eyes filling at the name.

"Ah! Peralta! The stout freebooter with the good voice. I know him," and the senora nodded emphatically. "Art baptized, child?"

This word was familiar also, and Rava nodded her head; then said eagerly: "Father Tendilla! Father Tendilla!"

"Father Tendilla!" exclaimed Senora Bolio. "Thou knowest him? Blessed thought!--we'll send a word to Father Tendilla. Aha, Rogelio, sniffling obesity, we shall see! We'll choke thee with thine own unholy purpose, or I'm not Bolio. Rogelio, indeed! If, now, Pedro will but come!" She patted Rava's arm reassuringly and arose.

Meanwhile the _veedor_, with eyes puffed and bloodshot from a night of scanty sleep and much exacerbation, was breakfasting. At intervals he paused, laid down his knife, and sat rubbing his hands in pleasing meditation while he chewed. Then his complacent smile would fade, and he would cease both to rub his hands and to chew while he irefully reviewed the night's indignities. "Caitiffs! Perfidious scoundrels! Vipers! Only wait! Rogelio hath not done. If he live not to see the garrote at every one of your rascally throats, then 't is because he shall be short-lived. Wait, my over-cheerful bullies: we'll have another settling of this account, and 't is Rogelio will split his sides! But, oh, my stars, what a cost! Four thousand--oh, calamities!" Then, as the matter slowly revolved in his mind and the other aspect came uppermost, he would begin to chew again with a returning smirk of satisfaction. "But what a prize! Eh, Rogelio, what a prize! And safely housed--in the cage, as Duero put it!--accursed knave! serpent! Four--oh, my soul and body!--But, oho! Mendoza, thou uncouth ruffian, how now? Rogelio hath overmatched thee, despite thy rant and swagger. He, he! The fox and the bull--the fox and the bull! Ah, but thou 'rt a rogue, Rogelio! a sad rogue and sly! And thou'lt be reimbursed the four thousand--oh, my life, yes! Her jewels ought to do that. Did she wear jewels last night? Murder! I did not think to look. But 't is like Duero looked out for that--or that prison-bird, Peralta." Rogelio's countenance fell. Presently it brightened. "But we have her, and now it is to be seen how she will receive thee, Rogelio--her daring captor! Doubtless with charming terrors and maidenly trembling. Oh, these delightful women! Shy, timid, alluring! Bless their souls--if they have souls. He, he!"

He sat awhile blinking and chuckling at the remains of his meal; snuffled, arose, and went to make a toilet which he purposed should reconcile his captive. A zestful, engaging occupation, this decking for the admiration of a fair one; and most agreeable if one can, like Rogelio, achieve it with the flattering self-assurance that it cannot fail. Nevertheless, it was not without some rasping of temper, and more than once in the process Rogelio stamped and swore with squeaky emphasis. But at length, after a final glance at his mirror and a dubious fingering of his double chin and hanging jowls, he quit his room, creditably attired, considering all the circumstances. To be sure, his hose were mended in places, his doublet seedy in the strong light, and his ruff far from crisp and snowy; but these defects were offset by a profusion of rings, and a redolence of musk sufficiently overpowering to divert attention.

Senora Bolio answered his rap, and opening the door a little way, replied to his salutation with a brief nod, and stood surveying him from head to foot and back again from foot to head with disfavor as disconcerting as it was manifest. Indisputably, the senora's aspect was unfriendly.

The _veedor_ hesitated. "Is--ah--is the senorita within?"

The senora paused for another survey before she replied with asperity: "Is the senorita within! Of a surety the senorita is within. Prithee, where is she like to be--out chasing butterflies?"

Rogelio looked at her in blank surprise; then, with a feeble effort at a smile: "I would have a few words with her, Senora,--and alone! Pray, open the door."

The senora made no move to open the door, but replied tartly: "The senorita hath no words to spare and no ear for listening. She is wearied."

The _veedor_ reddened slowly as astonishment turned to anger. "What--what, woman! Dost think to offer me hindrance in mine own house? Stand aside, then gather thy belongings. Thou 'rt dismissed, dost hear? dismissed!" He stepped forward.

For reply the lady thrust out her arm and in close proximity to his nose, snapped her fingers. The _veedor_ gasped. His nerves were already unstrung, and his indignation set him a-quiver as if he had been some huge, fancifully-moulded jelly.

"Why--name of a--thou--my soul and body! What meanest thou, beldame? inconceivable termagant!"

Alas! Rogelio. That was unfortunate, ill-considered, rash. As if thou wert not enough distraught!--and now to invite the overflow of this brimming vessel of wrath! Before he could draw a second breath she was outside, arms akimbo, her face thrust so close into his that her features for a moment were a blur to his startled eyes. Then she unrolled the infinite scroll of her diatribe,--a withering flow of invectives garnered in years of rude experience; a schedule of strange metaphors, born of inspiration and chasing in so rapid sequence that his bewildered ears no sooner received the shock of one than another followed, twice more shocking; a torrent of hyperboles so weird in their personal application that his ideas staggered in a vague, wondering effort to comprehend, then floundered helpless in the stream; and each member of her discourse emphasized by a jab at his nose with thumb and finger that forced him back, step by step, across the court. The first flush of rage vanished from his countenance and left an expression of surprised impotency, his jaw working in a futile effort to articulate, until, turning with uplifted hands, he fled.

As his door slammed, the breathless senora became conscious of another man. A man at the moment was as a flaunt in the face of a maddened bull, and she turned upon him. It was Pedro. He had watched the episode from its beginning to its close. Now he was bowing low, cap in hand.

"Senora Bolio," he said, with great unction, "my admiration! My admiration, my homage, my reverence! My veneration, my stupefaction, my awe! My----"

"Oh, drat thy gibberings!" interrupted the senora, with irritation. "Be done with thy bobbing, and come hither. Thou 'rt the very man I wished to see."

"Heaven forfend!" murmured Pedro. "Hast yet more wind?"

She eyed him sternly, then her features gradually relaxed. "Not for thee, my chicken pie. But hearken, Pedro. I have news. This girl--dost know it?--is a Christian."

Pedro stared. "No!" he exclaimed. "And 't is the Nusta Rava?"

"'T is she, and she a Christian, Pedro, as I live! And she calleth for Father Tendilla."

"For Father Tendilla! Then stew me, she shall have him! I'll fetch him."

"Fetch him, Pedro. Go at once." And taking him by the shoulder, the senora turned him toward the entrance of the court. "Make haste, and, _Adios_."

Pedro went a few paces, and halted; reflected a moment, and returned. As the senora looked back he nodded toward Rogelio's dcor, and approaching it, rapped vigorously. There was silence, and he pounded again.

"Be off!" came a piping voice, not entirely steady.

Pedro pushed open the door, and heard a scurrying within. "Be off, woman! I'm armed. Enter at thy peril!" trebled the voice. Pedro thrust in his head. The _veedor_ was intrenched behind his table, bathed in perspiration.

"Oh, thy pardon, _Veedor_! I thought thou didst bid me enter," said Pedro, and closed the door with a grin.

"Hold, good Pedro! Wait! Tarry a moment, I pray thee, my dear friend," called the _veedor_, but Pedro was gone. As he left the court the door opened, and Rogelio protruded his head, calling again; espied the senora across the court, and retired abruptly.

*CHAPTER XXIV*

_*Pedro Seeks Tidings of Cristoval*_

Pedro cantered into town and dismounted in front of the great, heavily walled, low-roofed edifice that had been the Temple of the Sun,--the Temple of the Sun for centuries, but now surmounted by a cross, the interior shorn of its symbols of pagan worship and its splendor, and consecrated to the Holy Faith. Beside the gray old building was the ancient palace of the priestly attendants, now sheltering the good Father Tendilla and his assistants in the pious work of saving heathen souls.

The gentle-mannered old priest was shocked at Pedro's revelation of the _veedor's_ iniquity, and made instant preparations.

"Good Father," said the cook, as he held the stirrup for Tendilla to mount, "if you can learn aught of Cristoval----"

"I will, my son. Come to-night," and the priest rode away.

Arrived at the fortress, he went directly to the commandant, and in half an hour was at Rogelio's door with a squad of halberdiers. It drew an outbreak of squeaky protests from that worthy, but the priest, leaving him grovelling in fear of the punishing hand of the Church, ordered a sentinel posted at his door and sought the senora. She admitted him at once to Rava's room.

The girl was asleep, her tear-stained cheek resting on her clasped hands. Even unconsciousness did not release her from her sorrow, for she sighed heavily and moaned as Tendilla knelt for a brief prayer beside her. He arose, and stood regarding her with compassion. With deeper compassion still, when, awakening, she drew back with eyes wide and deep with the unutterable fear of a creature hunted and caught. But her recognition of his silvery hair and benevolent face was quick, and with a sigh, the faintest smile, and a movement entirely queenly, she extended her hand. He took it, and touching the dark head, murmured a benediction. Rava raised her eyes, studying his with the unconscious intensity and directness of gaze that had often given Cristoval the feeling that she looked beyond; then the lines of anxiety softened into an expression of trust. But that kindly old face brought a train of recollections of dreadful days, and she turned away in sudden weeping. If Senora Bolio had at first impressed Father Tendilla with some doubt of that lady's fitness for her post beside the prisoner, she dispelled it now by the tenderness with which she soothed the storm of grief. With whispered words--words that might have sounded strangely enough to the priest could he have heard them,--she pressed the shaking form to her bosom, while with moistened eyes he waited for the return of calm. When the girl was able to hear him he approached.

"My child," he began, in Quichua, and Rava turned quickly with joy in her tears at the sound of the tongue which she had not heard since the wild night at Xilcala. "My child, I have come to tell thee thou hast friends, and thy dangers are past. As soon as thou 'rt composed we will go from this unhappy place to one of safety, and I hope in a few days to place thee in thy brother's care."

"Oh, Viracocha--my father!" she cried, rising and nearing him with hands pressed to her heart. "Is it true? is it true? Hath the sweet Virgin Mother answered my prayers? Ah, Cristoval promised it would always be! I believed him, and it is so! She hath heard me. She hath not turned from Rava in her sorrow!" She drew the crucifix from her bosom and kissed it passionately. "And he said thou wast good, and merciful, and kind, my father. Oh, I know it is true. And thou wilt save me? Wilt save me? Wilt take me from this wicked place--beyond the reach of these cruel Viracochas? Ah, I thank thee, Blessed Mother! I thank thee, I thank thee!" and she sank upon her knees, pressing the crucifix to her breast.

Father Tendilla raised her gently and led her back to her couch. "It is all true, my daughter. Thy prayers will never be in vain. Now, compose thyself, and rest until I return. I go but for a moment."

He left the room, offering earnest thanks for her faith, and ordered the _hamaca_. It was ready in a moment, and with the escort of halberdiers, and the resolute senora riding close beside her litter, Rava left the fortress.

Early in the evening Pedro went to the priest. He found his old confessor pacing the floor and full of mild enthusiasm.

"Ah, my son," said the father, beaming upon his visitor, "we have done a good work this day. I shudder to think of the infinite wrong that might have been but for thy prompt action in placing so rare a guardian as Senora Bolio over this injured girl, and apprising me of her peril. The senora, Pedro, is a remarkable woman. Where didst find her?"

"Stew me!--your pardon, father--I found her not. She found me--as the avalanche findeth the wayfarer." Pedro shook his head with a trace of gloom in his jovial face, adding, "Yes, she is a remarkable woman. No doubt of it! She hath powers and attributes, Father Tendilla. But, the Nusta Rava--she doth well?"

"Much more tranquil, and though most unhappy, beginneth to show commendable patience and resignation. I have talked with her as my time allowed, and would say from what I have seen, Pedro, that she is one of the earth's choicest blooms. Poor Peralta hath been a humble agent in her salvation, but his task was well acquitted, and he shall have many masses for his soul's repose."

"Ah, _Madre_!" faltered Pedro. "Then Cristoval is dead?"

Father Tendilla shook his head sadly. "I fear it, Pedro. Duero hath so said to Saavedra. I have forborne to ask the Nusta, for the mention of his name seemeth to pierce her heart. Alas! The old sad story of mortal love and grief."

Pedro rose and stumped nervously about the room. When he seated himself again his face was flushed and his hands were unsteady, but he said nothing, and the father went on.

"I have told the Nusta of thy part in her rescue, Pedro, and she would see thee. She holdeth thee in kindly recollection."

"I am easily remembered," said Pedro, briefly. "I'm pegged in memories wherever I roam," and he looked glumly at his wooden leg.

"For more than that, my son," said the priest, kindly. "Peralta never forgot thee, and made the Nusta partaker in full of his affection. But thou must see her soon--not to-morrow, for she is much in need of quiet; but possibly on the day following."

"_Bien!_" said Pedro, and his voice was hoarse.

"And now," continued Tendilla, "we must communicate with the Inca Manco."

"No better way than by _chasqui_," said the cook, "though there is uncertainty of his reaching Cuzco. It is said there are roving bands of Quitoans--remnants of Atahualpa's troops--still in the mountains. Since Manco's coronation they have been hostile. But have you learned, father, where the Nusta was found?"

"Only that the place is called Xilcala, and is some six days' march from here."

"Xilcala," repeated Pedro, and fixed the name in his memory. When he pegged back to his _cantina_ he meditated a purpose.

Two days later the cook was admitted to Rava's presence. She was expecting him, and if he had been disposed to think disparagingly of the grounds on which he was favored in her recollection, his modesty was gently reproved by her evident pleasure. He found her changed. Her pallor was sadly heightened, and the proud fire had gone from the dark eyes. Sorrow seemed indelibly impressed upon the gentle face; but with it a dignity strangely at variance with her youthfulness, and a refinement of beauty almost startling to the good Pedro, who whispered to himself, "Blessed saints! 't is the face of an angel." As she greeted him her eyes lighted with a faint smile, but he noted with a twinge the quiver of lip and chin and the scarcely controlled tremor in her voice.

"Ah, Pedro," she said, after bidding him to sit, and observing the diffidence in his honest eyes, "Father Tendilla hath told me all. I would that I could tell thee my gratitude, but thou knowest. Thou didst come to mine aid at the moment of despair, when I thought that even Heaven had forsaken me."

"I have done naught, Nusta Rava. Father Tendilla and the senora----"

"Thou didst send them, Pedro; and it is twice, now, that I have owed thee the means of my rescue. But for thy help at Caxamalca----" She shuddered, then presently went on: "I know how our escape was made possible, my friend. Cristoval--Cristoval told me. Ah, Pedro, he loved thee well!" A choking sob shook her frame, and covering her face with her hands, she turned toward Senora Bolio, who hastened to her side. Poor Pedro dashed his hand across his eyes, and sat bolt upright, his lips compressed. In a moment Rava was able to proceed.

"He spoke of thee often, Pedro."

Pedro bent forward. "Nusta Rava, is there no hope that Cristoval still liveth? Do you know that it cannot be?"

"Oh, I know not, I know not! Once, on that dreadful night, I thought I heard his voice rising above the clamor. I heard no more." She covered her eyes as if to shut out the memory of the horror.

Pedro silently cursed himself for the stupidity of the question, and it was moments before he could say something to divert her. He did so at last, and soon took his leave. Rava said earnestly, "Thou'lt come again, good Pedro?"

"I'll come again, Nusta Rava; and meanwhile, keep courage." He added to himself as he crossed the court, "I would I might say, hope! _Ay de mi_, Cristoval! if I could but know."

He tarried at the _cantina_ only while Pedrillo was saddling his mule, then mounted and struck toward the fortress. Again his errand lay beyond; and he drew rein at the _huasi_ of Municancha. The old Indio gave him welcome, and to him Pedro narrated Rava's flight from Caxamalca with the gallant Viracocha Cristoval. He told of her recent perils and deliverance, and begged Municancha's aid in learning from Xilcala whether the good soldier still lived, and if not, where lay his grave. He found a willing helper. The old man, overjoyed by the news of the safety of Rava, who had been mourned as dead throughout the empire, did not hesitate. He had a nephew, Ocallo. Ocallo was summoned. He would gladly accompany, would organize a company at once, and would be ready to start the following dawn. They agreed upon a meeting place, and having enjoined secrecy, Pedro rode back to Xauxa, grateful to the peg which had won him so good a friend as Municancha.

Night had fallen before he reached the town. He told his plan to Father Tendilla, arranged for his absence, received the confessor's blessing, and departed to prepare for the journey. Pedro worked late, completed his preparations, and lay down for a few hours' sleep. Long before dawn he was up, and having breakfasted, was assisted by Pedrillo to arm. His mule was brought, and with a few parting instructions, he was away. In half an hour he was clear of the town, on the road going north. A brisk trot for a mile or more, and he halted at a cross-road. A dim figure rose out of the darkness and was hailed by Pedro in Quichua. After a brief greeting, the man summoned half-a-dozen companions from a thicket beside the road.

"Are we all here?" asked Pedro, looking over the group.

"All here, Viracocha--four archers and two carriers," replied the one who had first approached.

"Good! Then we will move. Take the lead, Ocallo. We should be well in the mountains before the light."

Thus Pedro set out on his search for Cristoval.

*CHAPTER XXV*

_*A Glimpse of Cuzco*_

The interest at first aroused by Pedro's disappearance gradually subsided, and was suddenly forgotten for a time, in the excitement following upon another departure. This was attended by tragic circumstance. Fray Mauricio, having established himself at Xauxa, at once denounced Jose to the commandant, Saavedra, as a heretic, demanding his arrest. Saavedra, intimidated by threats of the Inquisition's vengeance, unwillingly consented. He was not prompt, however, and word of the friar's efforts reached the armorer, who was almost recovered from his fever. The next morning Mauricio was found in his quarters, stabbed to the heart. Jose had vanished.

Search was made in the town and neighboring mountains, but no trace of the armorer was found, and as no reward was offered, the hunt was given up.

Pedro's absence was not unnoted by Rava, however, and her gratitude for his devotion and services inspired her persistent inquiries. To these Father Tendilla made evasive replies, deeming it unwise to suggest a hope which would probably renew her anguish when Pedro returned. But to Senora Bolio, so much exercised that she even proposed to take the field in search of the cook, he confided his mission, perplexed at that lady's attitude, which seemed too resolute to imply tenderness, but which nevertheless indicated something more than mere solicitude. Even had the good father been better versed in the gentle passion as manifested in the feminine breast, the senora's symptoms might easily have balked his diagnosis. When she learned that Pedro had left Xauxa she suspected it was prompted by his unconquerable coyness, and shocked the mild priest by a characteristic opinion of the apparent treachery. But, apprised of the fact, she melted in a manner no less surprising, blew her nose violently to abort a threatened tear, and broke into eulogy even more emphatic than her denunciation.

Rava's spiritual growth had been such as to rejoice the good missionary's heart. She turned now with all the emotion born of grief, the yearning of a heart bereft, the ardent faith of a sincere and ingenuous mind, to the Mater Dolorosa and the Redeemer. Obedient to her preceptor, she conquered the despair which he saw was menacing her life itself. She found divine consolation, and in its realization her belief received new strength. She was baptized and received the sacrament. The occasion was one of utmost solemnity, and the garrison attended in body. The little flock of native converts and as many more of the people of Xauxa as the walls of the church would hold, gathered to see the daughter of an Inca repudiate the gods of her fathers in their ancient temple.

One morning Father Tendilla hastened to Rava with the news that a _chasqui_ had arrived from Cuzco, announcing that the Inca Manco had despatched an escort to convey her to the capital. Not many days later the sun rose upon a city of tents on the plain outside the town. The escort had arrived at nightfall the day before--battalions of the Incarial Guard, a hundred nobles, a throng of maids for the Nusta's attendance, and a long train of camp servants, _hamaca_ bearers, and carriers for the baggage. That morning the sacerdotal palace was a-glitter with the richly costumed members of the royal suite, bringing the Inca Manco's brotherly greetings and their own homage to the restored princess. Rava's simpler life was of the past, and once more she was a Daughter of the Sun.

A fortnight later the _cortege_ of the Nusta was descending by the great Chinchasuyu Road into the valley of Cuzco. As the column emerged from the pass, and the fertile _bolson_ opened out below, Rava drew aside the curtains of the _hamaca_. The arid slope dropped for hundreds of feet to the uppermost terraces of the _andenes_ which clung to the mountain-sides and ended with their green the bleak wilderness of eroded rock. Beyond these the rolling floor of the valley, traversed by the stream Cachimayo; and on the left, rising abruptly from the plain, crowned by the ramparts and towers of its huge fortress, loomed the sullen mass of the hill Sachsahuaman. At its feet lay Cuzco, the "Navel," the centre of the universe, the ancient capital of the Incas; and still farther away, the bastions of the gigantic circumvallation of the Cordillera, its peaks delicately outlined against the azure of the cloudless sky or the white of more distant snow-clad summits.

A faint haziness overhung the valley, with filmy spirals of white smoke rising languidly above the roofs into the air, a-quiver with the warmth of the lowland and lending lightness and unreality to the almost dreamlike splendor of the capital. It seemed not of the West. The bright walls of dwellings, the glare of street and plaza, the green of interior court and garden, and the gold of the roofs of palace and temple, were blended by distance into a harmonious beauty which might have belonged rather to some metropolis of the fabled Orient.

As her escort wound slowly down, Rava looked forward with throbbing heart, her eyes seeking in the confusion of roofs the spots endeared to her by lifelong association. The palace, the Amarucancha, was easily found on the great square, and even her own court with its shade of quinuars. Beyond gleamed the golden roof of the Temple of the Sun, now to her a symbol of the darkness from which she had been led by loving hands, and whence she felt it her mission to rescue others. A turn hid the city from view, and she leaned back with closed eyes until the rhythmical tramp of the companies was echoed by the walls of houses, and she heard the murmur of a multitude. The street was full of her people, and as she looked from the _hamaca_ they raised a mighty shout, waving hands and brightly colored scarfs and showering her with flowers. Her heart was full as she smiled back their greetings, and in her joy over theirs at beholding her again she could have embraced the humblest.

Far down the street the bristling column of spears turned to the left, and the thunder of the drums at its head grew faint, to rise again as her _hamaca_ reached the corner. Now she could see the plaza with its expectant crowds, and shortly she emerged from the narrow way, while waiting companies fell in on the right and left to form a hollow square. Suddenly her eyes rested upon a group of bearded faces crowded close to the lines, and she drew back into the shadow of the _hamaca_. They stared with quiet insolence, and others were elbowing through the throng from the direction of a building on the farther side of the square, over whose door she saw with sinking heart the flag of Spain and the dark colors of the Army of the Conquest. In front of the building was a picketed line of horses and a loitering knot of Spaniards. Rava turned away with a shiver, her brief happiness gone.

Before the Amarucancha the escort halted, and passing a double line of kneeling nobles, the Nusta was borne beneath the sculptured serpents. The first court was crowded, but she had barely time for a glance before her hands were seized by the Auqui Paullo, her younger brother, who had sprung to the side of the _hamaca_. Rava embraced him fondly and was about to alight when she saw a familiar, swarthy countenance near the door of the audience chamber. The owner was looking intently, and as he caught her eyes, doffed his sombrero and started forward. Her heart seemed to cease beating. Paullo was startled by her suddenly heightened pallor.

"Great Inti!" he cried, in alarm. "What is it, Rava? Art ill?"