Part 14

They pressed forward. The cottage was smouldering now, and left by the soldiery, who had apparently gone into the lower hills, for none was in sight. The top of the ridge was fairly smooth, though occasionally strewn with rock; but toward midday it developed into a succession of deep gullies, and their progress became labored, with halts of growing frequency. Before the afternoon was half gone Rava showed serious exhaustion, and they stopped in a thicket. Cristoval again spread his cloak, and once more she slept. In an hour he regretfully awakened her, and they took up their march. The sky was clearing, and presently Cristoval saw the expected. Far to the eastward, creeping over the first foothills, was a small, dark column of horsemen, sparkling here and there as the afternoon sun struck upon burnished helm and corselet, and deploying at last into a widely-extended line. Another column was moving to the southward along the highway, almost imperceptibly, as it appeared to Rava, but in reality at a gallop, as Cristoval knew. He watched for a time without comment, then led on. When darkness fell they rested again; then up with the rising moon and wearily onward.

The night was far spent when they were brought to a halt at the verge of a cliff, and looked into a valley half a league in breadth, roughly semicircular, and opening to the east. Its floor held many a hillock and hollow, and here and there the white walls of a cottage glimmered in the moonlight. At the foot of the declivity flowed a stream, showing silvery where it rippled past a shoal, black in the quiet pools, finally losing itself in the distant plain to which the vale descended. To the west the hills closed in gradually, forming the head of the amphitheatre and softening into the semiluminous mist which filled a great rift in the wall of the Cordillera looming beyond. Through this dim moonlit canyon the stream found its way into the valley from the fastnesses of its source.

The dale was one of those rare spots of the arid Sierra made fertile by an ample supply of water, and every available foot, as Cristoval could see, was under cultivation. From the edge of the cliff the long sinuous lines of terraces on the opposite hills were distinctly visible in the moonlight, following the contour of the valley-wall far to the east and west.

They stood for several minutes, Rava gazing longingly upon the peaceful cottages of her people, their shelter so near, yet denied. Cristoval, strongly tempted to take the risk of entrusting themselves to some of the denizens, was about to make the suggestion when both were startled by the neighing of a horse. It came, apparently, from a point just below, and was answered immediately by another, more remote. Rava clutched his arm with a quick catching of breath.

"_Santa Maria!_" interjected he, in an undertone. "So they are here before us!" His faint hope of aid was dashed. While Rava clung, trembling, to his arm, he debated. The plain was occupied. To cross it in this brilliant moonlight would be fatal. Even the hills were no longer safe; parties would be scouring them with the earliest dawn, and in their last march darkness had made it impossible not to leave traces. Cristoval glanced at the dark eyes turned anxiously to his.

"There is but one thing left for us to do, Nusta Rava. We must trust ourselves to yonder mountains."

"Oh, my good friend," she whispered, in terror; "in those mountains we are lost! We shall starve--go mad! They are most dreadful. You know not, Viracocha."

"Less to be dreaded than the wolves around us," he replied, sombrely. "There is naught else. We can hide there until the hunt is given over. How is your strength. Are you very tired?"

"I can go," she said, with a brave effort to conceal the tremor in her voice.

"Then come. If need be, I can carry you; but we must make speed."

They followed the encircling hills, and descried presently the smouldering fire of a bivouac, far out in the valley. An hour late, nearing the mouth of the canyon, they found new danger. It was picketed. Fortunately they were warned by the live embers of the campfire left by an indiscretion for which Cristoval returned fervent thanks, and they passed by a detour well up the mountainside. Safely beyond, they crept down to the bank of the torrent foaming noisily through the gulch, and while Rava waited Cristoval went on his knees in search of the trail which he knew instinctively would be there. He found it presently, a mere trace left by herdsmen in years of going and coming to and from the mountain pastures, and to be followed with difficulty in the shadow of the canyon. It was rough, and grew rougher as they proceeded, but in its rockiness lay safety, for it held no tell-tale tracks. They stumbled on in fevered haste, Rava heedless of weariness and the bruising stones alike. Cristoval gave what aid he could, supporting her weight when possible, guiding her steps among the bowlders, and she struggled on without complaint.

Momentarily the stream grew wilder, plunging and tearing over the rocks and filling the canyon with its roar. Now they blundered along its brink, now toiled up a steep ascent to pass a spur, then down, slipping, floundering, and lacerating their hands on the thorny bushes clutched to save a fatal pitch headlong into the howling waters below. The pace could not endure. Again and again Rava fell, to be raised gently by the cavalier and carried in his arms until he staggered,--but on and on, though he groaned at the torture she endured at every step.

Morning came, and revealed such a scene of savage grandeur as he had never before beheld. They were well within the mountains. On either hand they rose in ragged slope or dizzy precipice, buttressed, pinnacled, piled crag upon crag until their heights pierced the heavens. In front loomed greater steeps, with gloomy malevolence in every seam and scar. Around them, a madness of shattered rock, strewn and riven as if hurled down by an angry god. Over these raged and thundered the stream, here a white, leaping cataract, there a black, whirling pool, and sinister everywhere.

They labored onward, in their stupendous surroundings mere pygmies on a threadlike trail, bending beneath exhaustion as if crushed by the enmity of the wilderness. Often, turning to lift the half-fainting girl, Cristoval found the tears streaming over her pallid cheeks, and at last he saw her sandals were stained with blood. In his arms she clung in the complete abandonment of weariness, and when he was compelled to lower her to her feet she reeled, too benumbed to follow. But he pressed forward, relentless under the driving necessity, though with aching heart for every evidence of her suffering. No halt possible now, for day had come, and he knew they would be followed. At the first light he scrutinized the trail in the hope of finding marks of horses' hoofs in indication that the canyon had been explored the day before. The signs were absent, and he knew the hunt would soon be upon them. From time to time he left Rava to rest while he clambered up the mountain-side for a cautious look back down the valley, returning to rouse and gently urge her forward. Frequently she pleaded, begging to be left to die; but his face was stern, and his words, though kindly, grew peremptory in answer to her tears. More often he took her in his arms and strode on without a word.

Thus through hours which seemed to Rava to be life-long; over a path of eternal length; driven by a being who at one moment was a monster of cruelty, urging her on to endless torture, at the next, a spirit of benevolence, on whose shoulder she wept her anguish. And the poor cavalier, wrung by every fresh pang he forced her to undergo, cruciated even by his conscience for bringing such torment upon her, could only toil onward, reeling with fatigue and harrowed by uncertainty while he muttered incoherencies vainly meant to cheer.

At last, having left her beside the path, a mere bedraggled, almost inanimate heap, he returned from a reconnaissance in mad haste.

"Quick!" he whispered, as he bent to raise her from the ground. "Up--up! They are upon us! We must hide--God knoweth where!"

His urgency gave her life, and she staggered to her feet, clinging to him and looking back in terror. A few paces forward, her pain forgotten; then down toward the stream, from rock to rock, to a bowlder behind which they crouched at the edge of a pool. He pressed her down and knelt, his hand one of iron upon her arm.

It seemed an hour before her ears caught the sound of hoofs, and she closed her eyes. They neared slowly, until she heard the subdued voices of the riders. They halted a moment, scanning the mountain-sides, and moved on. They were opposite the bowlder, so close that she could hear the creaking saddles; an age in passing; finally past. Cristoval relaxed his grip upon her arm, and she heard his deep-drawn breath. He half arose and looked warily after them. A gallant party, surely, with the sunlight glancing from their steel, but Cristoval whispered a fervent curse upon them as they wound along the trail--upon each by name, for they were near enough for easy recognition. They rode slowly, searching the sides of the defile with careful scrutiny; halted at a point a hundred yards up the canyon, and dismounted to lead their horses, over the narrow path where an outcropping ledge crowded toward a dangerous slope, falling away abruptly to the stream twenty feet below. Beyond this they mounted again and shortly disappeared beyond a jutting crag.

Cristoval turned to Rava. She was crouched with half-closed eyes, her hands tight-pressed upon her bosom. Startled by her pallor and the drawn lines about her mouth, he hastily opened the pouch and drew forth the flask of _chicha_. "Here!" he whispered, unstopping it and pressing it to her lips. "Swallow this. It will help thy strength. They have gone.--Rava! Dost hear? Swallow!"

She obeyed mechanically. He bathed her forehead with the icy water, and presently she revived.

"Ah! _Gracias a Dios_!" he murmured, as she opened her eyes. "Thou'rt better? Another sip, and thou'lt be thyself. They have gone, but we must find better shelter before they return.--Poor little one, thou 'rt worn to death--and, _Madre_!--thy feet! Oh, _miserere Domine_!"

He looked cautiously about. Beyond was a larger bowlder, rising almost from the water's edge, a few small bushes growing near. It would afford better hiding--the only one as far as he could see. He bore her thither. Seating her against the rock with his folded cloak for cushion, he hastened to unlace her sandals and bathe and bandage her cuts. Her head was drooping, and he quickly cleared the narrow strip of sand, and eased her upon it. She was sleeping heavily almost before he had drawn her cloak around her.

Cristoval seated himself to await the return of the cavalcade, lines of anxiety on his face as he looked upon the motionless form, wan cheeks, and darkened eyelids, and pondered the gloomy prospects. She was at the limit of her strength. "Ah, _miserere nobis, Domine_!"

It was late afternoon when he was roused by sounds of the returning horsemen. He rose to his knees, silently unsheathing his sword. The movement awakened Rava, and he raised a warning hand. He heard them halt to dismount, and soon they were passing, riding carelessly, the search of the canyon evidently given over. He looked furtively out as they straggled by.

"Curses, a thousand curses upon you, Gutiero, De Vera, Almar, Cueva--but wait! One is wanting! There were nine, or I miscounted. Ah!--De Valera!"

At that moment he heard a shout, faint and distant, up the canyon, and saw Cueva draw rein. "Shall we wait for him?" Cristoval heard him ask.

"No!" replied one, with an oath. "Let him follow as he can. He's always behind, the pig, and we've wasted time enough for his lagging. He'll not wander far off this highway, I'll venture a peso. Give him an answer, then come."

"Give him answer with thine own wind, if thou hast wind to spare, I'll not," retorted the other, and gave spur. They moved on. Another distant hallo, and Cristoval's eyes suddenly fired. He glanced at Rava, and his resolution formed. There was one chance, and only one, of saving her. She could never survive another day of torture. Maimed and exhausted, a league farther would be beyond her powers. They must have a horse.

Cristoval unbuckled his belt. His lips were compressed, and there was a light in his eyes which Rava had never seen. Laying down belt and scabbard, he picked up his naked blade, gave it quick scrutiny, and looked after the retreating cavalcade. It moved slowly, and it was long before he turned from scowling down the valley. From the other direction came shouts, growing more distinct. He looked again at Rava, who had risen upon her elbow and was watching his eyes in alarm.

"Make no sound!" he whispered, gently touched her hand, and was gone.

A rapid climb brought him to the trail. He glanced once more down the canyon. The horsemen had disappeared beyond a turn, and he ran to the abutting rock where they had dismounted. Here he stepped off the path, and placed himself against the rock. The shouts from the upper valley were near enough now to betray De Valera's anxiety. Minutes passed, then came the ring of the horse's hoofs. They ceased, and a grunt close by told him the laggard trooper had dismounted. De Valera emitted another bellowing wail, and Cristoval heard his puffing approach.

"Come along, thou lazy--ambling--lop-eared--bedeviled--misbegotten--and wholly damned son--of a cow!" De Valera was addressing his languid steed.

Cristoval grinned and laid aside his sword. "Bah! Why kill the wretch?" he thought, but loosed his dagger and gathered for a spring, his alert eyes upon the trail. De Valera appeared, lance over his shoulder, his face purple with irritation and shouting, tugging his reluctant horse. Cristoval was upon him like an avalanche.

"Whoof!" blurted De Valera, with sudden aspiration as he received the charge. Cristoval grappled, and he dropped his lance, slipped, clutched the neck of his assailant's mail, and both rolled down the face of the rock. The horse reared and turned, lost his footing and regained it, and tore back up the canyon at a run.

Rava heard the brief struggle with palpitating heart: the crash of the fall of the armored man, the mad gallop of the horse, and then only the roaring of the torrent. She rose from her knees. There was no sign of Cristoval or his adversary, and only distant hoof-beats to vary the monotonous din of the stream. She leaned against the rock, weak and shaking. For a moment she stood with straining ears. The gallop had died away, and she was alone. Minute after minute fled, and at last she could endure no longer. Unheeding the pain of every step, she sped to the trail. No slightest evidence of life. She ran a few steps down the canyon, halted trembling, and turned to the jutting rock. Here she stopped and looked down, transfixed. There lay a man in armor, inanimate; beside him the form of Cristoval, face upward and marred by a stream of blood from his forehead. She tottered, and parted her lips to scream, but her voice failed. How she descended from the path she never knew; but in a moment she was kneeling with his head in her lap, calling his name in agony, and wiping away the crimson stream. She thought of the water, and in a second was carrying it in her hands and bathing his face, praying, praying for a sign of animation. Tears blinded her while she worked, hurrying to and from the edge of the torrent, dashing the too meagre handfuls into the still face, chafing his wrists, beating the nerveless hands, sobbing and moaning his name. He lay without a quiver. She thought she looked upon death, and her fear became wild, frenzied despair. She cast a shuddering look of horror at the grim desolation surrounding her, and threw herself upon him, her hands at his throat, on his cheeks, in his hair, wailing his name in the extremity of mortal anguish.

He sighed. Ah, merciful Sun!--most beneficent Inti! She stifled her sobs and brushed away her tears that she might see. His eyelids trembled, and now a moan, most faint, barely audible, but--he lived! More water, and more, and when she came again his eyes were open, blankly at the sky at first, then at her. She wept for joy, pressing his hands to her bosom, while he regarded her vaguely, striving to arrange his muddled thoughts.

"Courage!" murmured Cristoval, and closed his eyes again, to be startled to his senses by a shriek from the girl. De Valera had moved, and was feebly groaning. Cristoval turned his head at the sound, and the sight of his fallen enemy aroused him.

"_Cielo!_" he gasped. "He had slipped my mind." He crawled to the trooper, found his dagger, and tossed it out of reach. De Valera moved again, but Cristoval rose unsteadily and seated himself upon his adversary's chest. "Water, _carita_!" he whispered, and bowed his reeling head upon his hands. Rava brought her hands full and dashed it into his face. "Ah! _Bueno_!" he muttered, and looked down upon De Valera. The visor of the helmet was thrown back, and the prostrate soldier was staring up at him. Cristoval glowered, rubbing an aching head, and the two Spaniards regarded one another for a time in silence, neither in full possession of his faculties. At last De Valera moaned faintly, "Mercy, Cristoval!"

Cristoval made no reply, scowling blackly at the pallid face and wiping away the blood which still trickled into his own eyes from the gash in his forehead.

"Mercy, Cristoval! Give me time for a prayer."

The words brought Cristoval more fully to consciousness, and he replied, angrily: "Time for a prayer! Time for a prayer! What dost think?--that I will murder thee, lying on thy back and hands down? If thou hast the thought, dismiss it, or I'll have it out of thee roughly."

The soldier faltered weakly: "What! Thou wilt spare me, good Cristoval? Oh, blessed Virgin!" and tears of gratitude filled his eyes. "But I might have known it of thee, Cristoval."

"Ah!" replied Cristoval, scornfully. "But see thou liest still, lest I lose the whim." He rubbed his head again, struggling to order his thoughts. De Valera lay motionless, and at length Cristoval said sternly:--

"Now attend, thou unfortunate--I am going to plunder thee. I've need of thy horse, which is up yonder--and of thy harness. Thou'lt be wise to make no hindrance. Dost comprehend? _Bien_! Then sit up whilst I unhelm thee. Ware, now!--no sudden movement!"

Cristoval rose to his feet, still giddy, and set to work, De Valera submitting quietly, while Rava looked on in wonder.

"_Alli!_" quoth Cristoval, as he tossed the last piece upon the heap of armor. "Now, Nusta Rava, thy girdle, I pray thee, to bind him. No groaning, Senor! It doth misbecome thee. Now, thy hands behind thy back. So! Now for thy feet.--Good! Hast a kerchief? Then we'll have a choke-pear.--Silence! Dost think I'll have thee waking mournful echoes through the night? Thou hast shouted more than is good for thee already. And next, whilst I make the choke-pear I'll question thee--and see thou makest cheerful response, or-- First, hast cherished against me any peculiar animosity? I mean before this solemn afternoon."

"No, good Cristoval," replied De Valera, with candor.

"Then why partaking this hunting holiday?" demanded Cristoval, eying him severely.

"The reward, _amigo_. A thousand _castellanos_ to a poor man--"

"A thousand!" exclaimed Cristoval, with contempt. "Is that all Pizarro hath offered? By the saints, he'll double it before I have done! Well, _bastante_! Thou didst seek reward! _Bien_! But now thou 'rt unhorsed thou canst hope for reward no longer and canst answer freely. How many are in pursuit?"

"Nearly all have been, saving Juan and Gonzalo Pizarro, De Soto, Jose, and a few more.--But hold, Cristoval, the Canares are out and after thee. I give thee warning."

Cristoval drew a long breath, his face darkened, and he stood in reflection. He threw down the choke-pear with which he had purposed gagging his captive. "We'll not trouble thee with it. Thy news is not welcome, Valera, but thy warning is. We will go, Nusta Rava."

"First, I will attend to your wound," she said, and tearing a strip from her robe, soon had it bandaged. In a few minutes Cristoval was in his enemy's armor, and taking up the lance he said: "_Adios_, Valera! Thy comrades will find thee in the morning." He assisted Rava to the trail, secured his sword and belt, and once more they were on their way, leaving De Valera leaning mournfully against a rock, a prey to varied fears.

A mile up the canyon Cristoval captured the horse, and found De Valera's mace and buckler hanging on the saddle. The first care was to examine the contents of the saddlebags.

"Ah!" exclaimed the cavalier, with satisfaction. "Praise Heaven, they are well stocked. Here is _charqui_, bread, and parched maize, and grain for our steed in the other--with discretion, some days' supply. But I was more sure of De Valera's providence than of his honesty. Now, we're equipped, Nusta Rava, and now we'll mount."

It was a trial of her courage, but soon she was seated upon the horse's croup, holding her place with the aid of the cavalier's belt.

*CHAPTER XVIII*

_*The Vale of Xilcala*_

In Rava's memory, afterward, the toil, suffering, and peril of the succeeding days remained as fragments of an anguished dream. There were dim recollections of unmeasured hours of weariness, of journeying upward through huge defiles, along the verge of precipices, and out upon barren stretches of tableland which seemed, in their desolation, the abode of Despair and Death: the moaning of the wind, their voices. Here was infinite loneliness, the dreary solitude of a world forgotten of God. Over these lofty wastes, gasping and dizzy in the rarified air, their brains pierced by the fierce rays of a sun which gave no warmth, their lips split and bleeding, their faces raw and smarting in the eager wind, they labored on. Cristoval, silent, walked and led, his eyes rarely lifted from the faint trail left by herdsmen and their flocks of llamas. This once lost, there would be slight hope. Followed, it might lead to safety.

But through all her recollections of hunger, exhaustion, and torture, was that of the dauntless spirit who shared them with her, ever watchful, ever solicitous, and of unfailing gentleness in the most desperate hours. A memory of a brave, kindly face, growing haggard as one day of struggle followed another, but with never a sign of failing courage or resolution, never a shadow of impatience at her plaints, her tears, or when her weakness compelled the loss of precious time. Often she had been delirious, or in a half stupor, but never unconscious of his presence and tender guardianship. She had a memory, too, of a tempest, of snow and deadly cold, when they had sought shelter among the drifts of a gorge and he had held her in his arms through the night, wrapped in his cloak, his armor removed that she might have his warmth. But she only half remembered the long battle through the snow of a pass to which Providence had led their steps when they had finally lost the trail.

After this, a descending valley, a lonely hut at last, and she came to her senses surrounded by the warmth and frugal comforts of a herdsmen's lodge. Here Cristoval learned from the two occupants of the hut that a village called Xilcala lay within three days' journey through the mountains. The younger of the herders, named Mati, would guide them; and after tarrying for some days until food and rest should fit them to resume their way, they set out.