Part 13

"Very well. I will do so." De Soto hurried out. He found the bluff Almagro a ready ally. Pedro had won his soldierly admiration, and he swore that the cook was far too good a man to be sacrificed for a matter largely personal with the commander. He went straightway with De Soto to Pizarro.

The interview was prolonged. At times it grew stormy, even threatened the division in the army which the general dreaded more than external foes; but in the end he permitted the cook's release on De Soto's responsibility, with the latter's promise to produce him for trial when called upon. Pedro was removed at once to De Soto's quarters to be nursed back to himself and guarded against Pizarro until, in the preparations for the march to Cuzco, his suspected offence was overlooked. But the General was fairly satisfied of the cook's guilt, and only the resolute and avowed interest of Almagro and De Soto prevented summary vengeance. Pizarro raged under the necessity of biding his time.

The day following Cristoval's flight had passed without discovery of his trail, though every soldier not on other duty joined the search, stimulated by the offered reward. It was exhilarating sport, this man-hunt with so much in store for the captor, and the zest was heightened by bets whether he would be taken; if so, whether alive; or whether he would be compelled by hunger or native hostility to surrender. The sole trace of the escape was with the sentinel run through by Cristoval's sword. Brought in unconscious, he was still too weak to impart such information as he might possess. Rain had obliterated every footprint, and the flight was as clean as if made on wings. The Nusta Rava's absence had not been discovered. The report that a woman's scream had been heard when the sentinel was assaulted received no attention.

Early in the evening, however, it was recalled, and the excitement freshened. Pizarro sat with Almagro, Riquelme, and others, receiving officers as they straggled in from the day's ineffectual hunt. Mendoza, most indefatigable of all and last to give it up, had just been talking. He was leaning against the table, weary, rain-soaked, mud-spattered from head to foot, his corselet streaked with rust, and his face begrimed and surly. He had just finished when the door flung open abruptly, and the _veedor_, blowing as if from a run, his face purple and perspiring, burst into the room. He halted, gasped, strove to speak, and choked, stared wildly about, bolted to a chair, and sat down. Riquelme rose, aghast at his colleague's grotesque symptoms of distress.

"What the devil is the matter with the man?" he cried. "Holy Mother, he hath a fit coming! Bleed him, somebody!"

Rogelio rolled his eyes at him and raised his hand, shaking his head in violent negation. Twice he gasped again, then managed to pipe faintly, "Oh--my stars!--the Nusta!"

"The Nusta!" repeated Riquelme. "Well, what of the Nusta? Speak, thou puffing symbol of calamities unknown! What of her?"

"Flown!" whispered the _veedor_, grasping the arms of his chair in the effort to catch breath.

"What sayst thou? Hath flown!" shouted Mendoza, jerking him backward to see his face. "The Nusta hath flown! Whither? Whither, I say!" and Mendoza shook out of him his little remaining breath.

"Come, Mendoza, unhand him," said Almagro. "Let him have his wind or he'll perish undelivered of his information."

Mendoza scowled about the room and dashed out, leaving Rogelio with his eyes rolled to the rafters, swinging his head slowly from side to side and waving his arms, apparently in the last stage of asphyxiation. Pizarro ordered his secretary to investigate. Xerez soon returned with confirmation. Shortly Mendoza strode in, his black looks leaving no doubt. The Nusta had vanished.

"Hath the garden been searched?" asked Pizarro.

"The guard hath hunted every nook of grounds and buildings," replied the secretary. "Doubtless she went last night with Peralta."

"When didst learn of it, Rogelio?" demanded Pizarro, after a moment of silence.

The _veedor_ passed his sleeve across his forehead and snuffled, "Just now--just came from her room."

Mendoza was upon him again. "Just came from her room!" he thundered. "What devil's business hadst thou in her room? Didst not swear to keep away until we had played once more? What business, thou lizard?"

Rogelio sidled from his seat precipitately and took refuge behind Pizarro before replying. "She's mine!" he squeaked. "I won her at dice. Pizarro, I claim your protection as a civil officer of the Crown."

"With a wife and five small children at home!" added Almagro, with a disagreeable laugh. "Fie, Rogelio!"

Rogelio blinked at him viciously, and Pizarro ended the discussion. "You will settle your affairs elsewhere, Senores. This is no place for it." He bowed significantly, and both left the room, the _veedor_ tarrying uncomfortably until Mendoza should be out of the palace.

The _veedor_ was quartered with Riquelme a few squares from the plaza.

Leaving the palace, he went directly to his house, half expecting Mendoza's blade between his civil-official ribs at almost any moment. He reached it safely, and sat the greater part of the evening blinking at the light, laboring with a thought. He heard Riquelme come in with companions, and going to the rear of the patio later, roused one of his servants and beckoned him out.

"Vilpalca," he said, "dost know Felipillo? Good! Go fetch him."

He returned and sat again blinking at the light, slowly rubbing his hands, now chuckling without mirth, now communing with himself in emphatic whispers with many a sniffle interspersed. Within an hour his servant returned, leading Felipillo. The young renegade entered sulkily, twirling his plumed cap and looking shiftily at Rogelio, who greeted him with effusive condescension.

"Ah, Felipillo," he twittered; "I am glad to see thee, Felipillo. How hath it gone with thee? Sit, boy, and I'll pour thee a bit of _chicha_. Here."

Felipillo seated himself on the edge of a chair, glanced contemptuously at the very small drink, and tossed it off at a gulp.

"Well, how hast prospered?" continued the _veedor_. "Hast played in luck? Not in excessive luck, eh, chico! Thou 'rt a bit seedy, not so? He, he! But we all have varied fortunes at play, Felipillo, now high, now low. But I would rejoice to see thee in better feather, my young friend. I would, on my soul!"

Felipillo regarded him with suspicious surprise, and the _veedor_ went on: "I've sent for thee on a little matter of business, my boy. A matter, in fact, of--he, he!--diplomacy. We Spaniards, as thou knowest, are great in diplomacy. I hope thy coming did not incommode thee!"

"I was going to bed," grunted Felipillo, with bad grace.

"To bed so early? Wise boy! But 'tis a sign of a thin purse, is it not?--or want of favor among the ladies--or both, eh? Sometimes they go together. Too bad, too bad!"

The _veedor_ grinned upon him, meeting a sour glance in reply, then resumed.

"Now, Felipillo, what dost think I had in mind in sending for thee? Eh, boy? What dost imagine? Suppose I should say it was to offer thee--say, a hundred _castellanos_!"

Felipillo looked as if he would consider the statement a lie if made, but did not say so.

"A hundred _castellanos_, or maybe a hundred and fifty," continued Rogelio, rubbing his hands and peering into the face of the interpreter. The youth gave him a brief, searching glance, and looked away.

"I really think of it," said the _veedor_. "Upon my honor I do! A hundred and fifty _castellanos_--but not more, understand--not more. Of course, my young friend, thou wouldst naturally hope to make some return for it, now wouldst thou not? He, he! Beyond a doubt, beyond a doubt! I see it in thy generous eye. _Bien_! Now, this is what I have to say. The Nusta Rava--my Nusta Rava!--hath fled, as thou knowest, with that bullying, swearing, blood-drinking scoundrel, Peralta. I want her back. Mendoza wants her back. I won her fairly at play, and she is mine; but I see that it grateth him to give her up. If he taketh her, he may not give her up. May the plague torture him a thousand years! Now, seest thou, I am not a man of arms. If I were, I would pursue her myself. But I am a civilian--an officer of the Crown, with a wife and--that is to say, Felipillo, I must not endanger myself in the hardship of a pursuit. I am not inured to it. I am too old--at least, my life and services are too valuable." The _veedor_ paused here to inflate his cheeks while he leaned back and surveyed the youth with dignity. But the dignity was marred somewhat by the snuffle with which he ended.

"Dost follow me? Good! Now, what I want of thee is this. Go to the camp of the Canares, over the river, and set a pack of them on the scent of the runaways. What sayst thou? Mind thee--a hundred and fifty _castellanos_, good yellow gold!"

Felipillo had kept his eyes upon him with unusual steadiness. Now he looked aside, weighed the proposition, and shook his head. "Impossible, Senor."

"Impossible! Why impossible?" demanded the _veedor_; leaning eagerly forward. "One hundred and fifty _castellanos_ for thine own purse, boy! Why not?"

"Because one hundred and fifty _castellanos_ would not pay me and hire them. A thousand _castellanos_ would not hire them, Senor, for they care not for gold. They know not its worth."

"H'm! True!" said Rogelio, his jaw suddenly dropping in disappointment. "But--well, what would hire them? _Chicha_?"

"_Chicha_ might, but they can get it more easily."

"Then what would?" snapped the _veedor_. "Beastly savages, not to know the worth of money!"

Felipillo was silent. Rogelio watched him anxiously for a time, then sat in a study. Finally he exclaimed: "Boy, I have it! These Canares chafe under the yoke of Tavantinsuyu, not so?"

Felipillo nodded.

"Aha! _Bueno_! _Bueno_!" said the _veedor_, rubbing his hands. "We'll offer them freedom."

"We, Senor?"

"I, dolt; I, myself! I'll promise it them."

"Thou, Senor! They will know better."

"Bah! We can lie a little. But why not I?" Rogelio became suddenly pompous. "Thou knowest not my standing at home, boy. A letter from me to the Colonial Council, or to his Majesty, would have weight, let me tell thee. But as I say, we can promise."

"It will not answer," said Felipillo, positively. "Moreover, they are like to be free, now, without anybody's leave."

The _veedor's_ jaw sagged again. He studied heavily, and presently looked up. "Felipillo, I'll tell thee what will effect it,--license of rapine!--liberty to plunder the natives hereabouts after we have marched! By the sacrament, I can promise them they shall have that, for a surety!"

"They will have it anyway," replied Felipillo.

"_Demonio!_" retorted Rogelio, testily. "But they will value a formal permit. I'll give it. Bring hither their chiefs to-morrow night. Smuggle them in, dost understand? and I'll wag a parchment before their eyes with a seal and ribbons on it. Thou'lt see! A liberality with _chicha_ will make the bargain easy. What sayst thou? Wilt deal with them for me? I know not the language."

Felipillo considered long, to the _veedor's_ impatience, and said at last, "It would do it, Senor, that is certain, but--"

"Well, but what?" demanded Rogelio.

The youth shook his head. "One hundred and fifty _castellanos_, Senor--"

The _veedor_ wrenched himself about in his chair. "Oh, _infierno_! 'T is princely--princely, I tell thee! It would brush thee up, stake thy games, reinstate thee among the ladies! It might be thy making."

Again Felipillo shook his head.

"Murder and arson!" yelped the _veedor_, beginning to perspire. "Thou 'rt grasping, boy! One hundred and fifty _castellanos_! Oh, _Madre_! Then make it two hundred."

Felipillo arose with a shrug, one of his acquirements from the Spaniards. It enraged the _veedor_.

"Then go to the devil!" he piped. "'T is all thou'lt get. Two hundred not enough! Oh, my stars!"

Felipillo moved toward the door. Rogelio mopped his neck and jowls vigorously. "Wait, thou varlet!--say two hundred and fifty! Two hundred and fifty, gold!"

Felipillo shrugged again, still moving, and the _veedor_ broke into a stream of squeaky oaths. When the youth reached the door he sprang up.

"Hold, thou tanned son of Belial! Here! Wait! Three hundred, and not a _maravedi_ more!"

"_Buenos noches!_" said Felipillo, with a grin, and went out. Rogelio stood for a second, choking, then rushed after, collared him in the patio, and dragged him back. He thrust him into a chair, hurried to a chest, unlocked it feverishly, whispering curses the while, and drew out a bag. Waddling to the table, he thrust in his hand, withdrew it full of coin, and counted. Another handful counted, and he cried: "There, knave, three hundred! Wilt do it?"

Felipillo hesitated, and Rogelio swept them together to return them to the bag.

"_Si, Senor_," said the youth.

The _veedor_ sank into his chair, scrubbing his reddened countenance, while Felipillo gathered up the gold. "I will go to-morrow, Senor," said the boy.

"See thou dost!" returned the _veedor_ with a snarl. "Fool me now, and it will be the worse for thee."

He watched the youth to the door, saw it closed, and sprang to his feet, shaking his two fists after him. "Aha! Thou wouldst jew me, thou renegade imp!" he shrilled. "Thou wouldst, thou terra cotta rascal! By the Crucifix, thou shalt hang for thy cunning, so help me Saint Peter! Thou shalt hang for it--hang--hang--_hang_! Three hundred good _castellanos_! Oh, my soul and body!"

But three days later a band of half a hundred of the fierce mountain Canares were nosing for the trail of Cristoval and his _protegee_.

*CHAPTER XVII*

_*The Fugitives in the Wilderness*_

Once more to the fugitives. The town left well behind, and the immediate danger of pursuit now past, the stimulus of live fear was removed, and Rava's spirit began to flag. She was feeling the weary length of the night with its never-ending plash, plash, plash, through the darkness, pelted by the rain, belabored by the wind, and seemingly going nowhere. There were few landmarks but ghostly trees and the innumerable small ditches, each, in the murk, so like those left behind that there seemed to her distressed and overwrought mind but a single one, presenting itself over and over again by some enchantment, to be crossed and recrossed until despair should bring them to earth. Her sodden garments clung to her, impeding every step. Her cloak, weighted by the rain, thrashed about by the gale, bore upon her as if made of lead, staggering her with its buffetings. The struggle was exhausting, and she already felt its effects. They rested frequently, Cristoval striving to stay the ebbing of her courage, but noting with grave concern her waning strength. At last, to his complete dismay, she gave up, weeping.

"Oh, Viracocha Cristoval," she sobbed, "I can go no farther! Leave me and save yourself. Alone, you can escape, but I can only be a fatal hindrance. Go, I pray you!"

The cavalier would have been less disturbed had a dozen soldiers sprung up before him, and would have known better what to do. "Oh, Holy Mother!" he groaned to himself, "look upon a helpless sinner and aid him now! A weeping girl in the middle of a heathen cornfield in the middle of a heathen rainy night, and not another woman within a league to run for!" He contemplated the dim, quivering form with an embarrassment exceeded only by his compassion.

"Go, Viracocha!" she urged, with a moan whose piteousness brought him to his senses.

"Why, God help me, child!" he exclaimed, impetuously. "I would as quickly think of leaving thee as of pulling the nose of the Pope! Come, now, _chiquita mia_, do not weep! Thou 'rt weary, I know--and cold. Well, I'll tell thee--we must be moving, thou knowest--and I'll carry thee for a space. Presently thou'lt be rested, then we'll walk again. Hush, now, little one!"

Without heeding her protests he lifted her and strode on with her in his arms. For some distance the girl wept quietly on his shoulder while he strove to soothe. The good Cristoval was as fatherly as if she had been his own, and before long her tears had subsided. But he was less cheerful than his words were cheering. There was importunate need of speed, and speed was impossible.

They kept on to the southward until an hour before the dawn. Their halts were infrequent now, but often the cavalier took his ward into his arms and carried her until she was able to struggle along beside him, half supported. At last they turned to the west, and within an hour were on the great road, going toward Guamachucho. They pushed on more rapidly and in silence, Cristoval preoccupied with the immediate future. He was debating, in the main, the policy of at once making themselves and the situation known to the natives of the valley, to secure their aid. He finally decided against it. He had no doubt of their willingness and loyalty, but danger lay in the nearness of Caxamalca. A suspicion on the part of the Spaniards that these people had knowledge of the fugitives would be warrant for an effort to extort it, and Cristoval was too well acquainted with Spanish methods to feel sure that the effort would be unsuccessful. Pizarro would not hesitate at any cruelty to gain the information, and the safest plan would be to leave no traces. Before twenty-four hours he had reason to be thankful for that decision.

The morning was now so near that the highway was no longer safe, and he had resolved to gain the foothills, when he became aware of a small group of buildings. The principal one, he observed, was a small _tambo_ for herdsmen. They passed it cautiously, and were again in the open, unconscious of having been seen by an early riser. The man, a Spaniard, peered through the darkness at their shadowy forms, stood listening for a moment, then stepped after them on tiptoe. Shortly he paused and hearkened again. The sound of their steps ceased as they left the roadway, and with a grunt and grin he returned to the _tambo_.

Here several comrades were moving about, and he told his tale, remarking that the pair had left the road for the fields. His account brought slight comment, and he dropped the matter until, later in the morning, he found an audience with a pronounced interest in his observations, the significance of which his absence from Caxamalca for a few days had made him unable to measure. He was informed by the first search party met coming from the town, and the squad left him at a gallop.

By the first gray of daybreak the fugitives had gained the crest of a range of foothills. The ridge stretched away to the south with many a rise and dip, finally dropping into a distant valley. In front, almost at their feet, but with two or three smaller ranges between, lay the plain of Caxamalca, half veiled by the morning mist and nearly a thousand feet below. Just over the farthest of the foothills they could descry the road with its fringe of trees, and the group of flat-looking buildings of the _tambo_. Nearer was a cottage and garden, close to their path into the hills, but which they had not seen. To the west was a ridge higher than theirs, backed by the gray silhouette of the Cordillera. They saw in the fair valley nothing of hostility, to be revealed perhaps at any moment, and strained their eyes to the northward for signs of pursuit. The only life, however, was in a few specks of figures moving about the _tambo_, the cottager already at work in his garden, and a solitary wayfarer on the road to Caxamalca.

The cavalier turned away satisfied from his scrutiny, and spread his cloak at the foot of an outcropping rock. Soon they were busy with a frugal breakfast, Cristoval eating sparingly, talking little, and keeping a vigilant eye on the valley. Rava, too weary to talk, was quite ready to stretch herself upon his cloak under the sheltering ledge. He wrapped her well in its folds, and had hardly turned away before she was sleeping.

How long she slept she could not have said, but it seemed only a moment before she was roused by Cristoval's touch. She looked up with bewildered eyes. "What is it, Viracocha Cristoval? Oh, where am I? I dreamed--but, are we pursued?" Terrified by his expression, her voice sank into a whisper.

"We must go," he replied, giving her his hand. She rose painfully, and he drew her back from the crest of the hill. A misty rain was falling, obscuring all but the fields immediately below. As she looked, she gasped and clutched his arm. Towering before her, seemingly but a few yards away, was a white, curling column of smoke, writhing heavily as it rose, and drifting off down the valley.

"Oh, what is that, Viracocha?" she cried, cowering at his side. "What is it--what is it?"

"Nothing to fear," said Cristoval, drawing her farther away. "The cottage hath been fired. They have found our trail, Heaven only knoweth how!"

Cristoval threw her cloak around her, secured his own, and hurried her away. The thatch of the cottage was blazing fiercely. Outside of the garden wall stood a group of horses, and trotting in the direction of the hills, a squad of three troopers, one of them in the lead, bending over his saddle-bow in scrutiny of the ground.

Cristoval had seen the cavalcade nearly an hour before; saw them halt at the _tambo_, leave the road, gallop to the cottage, and surround it. Not long afterward it burst into flames, and he had little doubt that the unfortunate native, and perhaps his family, were being put to torture. He watched until the three troopers left the others and started toward the hills. Then he had awakened Rava.

As they left the spot she was weeping and frantically wringing her hands. "Oh, Viracocha Cristoval," she sobbed; "are they burning and killing because of our flight? Let me go back! Oh, let me go back! My return may stay their cruelty."

"No, no!" he replied, quickly. "They are not killing, and now that they have found our traces they will probably burn no more. Your return would not help, Nusta Rava. Compose yourself, I pray you."

"Ah, my poor people!" she wailed. "My unhappy country! The Sun hath indeed turned away his face! Ah me, ah me!"

Cristoval crossed himself at the mention of her pagan deity, and whispered a prayer for her soul. She turned to him earnestly.

"Viracocha, we will not seek aid until beyond the reach of those cruel men. We must endanger none of my father's children. We will flee alone--die alone, if need be."

Cristoval nodded assent, but thought of Pedro's pouch, which was none too heavy. How to replenish it without the help of men would be a question. "By the saints!" he thought; "this lady's escape is attended by difficulties, and now she setteth up problems of generalship that are unfamiliar. Ah, well, we'll see what can be done." Then he said aloud, "We will consider it later, Nusta Rava. For the present, it is better not to talk, for breath may grow precious later on."