Part 18

"Ho!" thought he. "How now? Have thy charms survived thy years, Pedro, my boy? Are there yet lines of grace in thy portliness? That was a wistful, surreptitious, yearning contemplation, or there's some mistake. It swept thy traits and fair proportions most lingeringly.--Ha! She cometh again! Stew me if she cometh not again! Hold! Guard thine eyes, admired cook. Bank their fires, lest they startle with too much ardour. I'll look at the sky till she is near. Ah! Fair sky! Ample, roomy, easy-fitting vault of blue! Large, capacious dome! Dome with space enough for stars to knock about in, and space to spare-- But she is here! Now look! Oh, hot kettles, Pedro, how comfortable thou art! Was there not warmth in that stolen glance? O, my patron saint!-- But who is she--and where abideth? That patrolling image in her lead must be her papa. I'll inquire."

With his jovial countenance glowing pleasantly he cast about for a possible source of information, and his eyes lighted upon a youth across the street who was surveying him with unmitigated wonder, his eyes and mouth equally broad open. Pedro motioned him, and the boy started hesitatingly across the street. At once the interest of the crowd was fixed, and they formed a respectful circle, across which the lad advanced with evident trepidation. Pedro had acquaintance with the Quichua, and hailed him cordially.

"May the day bring thee good fortune, and the night better, my lad. Come hither. There is something I would ask. This seemeth a gala day, is it not?

"The Feast of the Full Moon, Viracocha," replied the boy, respectfully.

"The Feast of the Full Moon! Good! Dost live in Xauxa?"

"No, Viracocha. I am here but for the day. I live yonder, up the valley," indicating the direction by turning and pursing out his lips, a gesture habitual with the Peruvians, and surviving to this day.

"Yonder, up the valley!" said Pedro, imitating his grimace. "Hum! Thou 'rt a good boy, I take it from thy face. Sleepest at home, and early?"

"Why, where else, Viracocha?" asked the other innocently.

"Ah! Where else, to be sure! But in my country o' nights, the boys oft go chasing nightingales--a bird which I have not yet seen in Tavantinsuyu. 'T is quite as well. But what I would ask is this: The folks seem curious. Now, what draweth their attention hereabout? What held thy lower jaw away from its fellow a moment since?"

"Viracocha?" asked the boy, puzzled.

"I observed thee looking this way. What is the interest which hath brought this crowd?"

"Oh!" exclaimed the youth, enlightened. "Why, you are one of the Viracochas--your pardon."

"No offence," answered Pedro. "A mere chance which hath befallen others of my race. Is that all?"

The boy hesitated. "No, not all. The bare bone of your leg, Viracocha--"

"Oho!" shouted Pedro. "The bare bone of my leg! God bless my soul! The bare bone of my leg, for a surety! Why, stew me! Now, 't is a sight, is it not--to see a man with a part of his skeleton sticking out into the glare of day! But, lad, what if I were to show thee my ribs? Nay!" he added, as the boy drew back aghast. "I'll not do it in the presence of ladies, never fear. Ha! The bare bone of-- But is that all?" He lowered his voice. "Yonder damsel, for instance, just now passing--do not look too quickly--hath she been drawn by my leg, thinkst thou?"

The boy looked round cautiously at the girl lingering at the edge of the circle. "I cannot say for her," he said, "but if the Viracocha wisheth, I will ask her," and full of accommodation, he started in her direction.

"Stay!" cried Pedro, seizing him. "_Santa Maria_, no! Let it pass. I'll endure the doubt.--The bare bone of my leg, saith he! Oh, pots and skillets!" Pedro exhibited some symptoms of a coming laugh, but the attack did not develop, and he went on: "A marvel, in truth! But if it hath merited so much attention I'll show it worthy of more."

Steadying himself upon the boy's shoulder, Pedro unscrewed his peg from its socket, and as an exclamation of amazement and dismay arose from the crowd, tossed it high in the air, caught it, and set it whirling in his nimble fingers. The circle spread abruptly. The old Indio forgot his dignity and watched in stupefaction while the cook juggled his member with the skill of a mountebank. Transforming it into a weapon, he attacked a fancied enemy, hopping about, striking, and guarding, until the foe was laid low by one last fell stroke. From the role of a weapon it passed to that of a flute, and as Pedro's fingers ran over imaginary keys he whistled a Spanish air, then one of their own, to their infinite wonder and delight. He finished with a bow to the old Indio, and tendered the peg for inspection. It was taken gingerly, and the ice was broken.

The old man examined it with profound solemnity, while his daughter looked upon the gracious cook with a round-eyed fascination most grateful to his complacent soul. It ended with an invitation into the _cantina_, and, having screwed his peg back into place, Pedro ushered in the entire family and served a luncheon, at the end of which he was asked to their _huasi_, six miles out beyond the fortress. The Indio, Municancha, was a master-mason engaged upon the uncompleted fortifications. Thus the cook opened an acquaintance which he afterward found of value.

Pedro bade his guests farewell, bestowing a significant squeeze upon the hand of the daughter, Coriampa, and was pleasantly reviewing the circumstance, when a shout from his boy at the door hurried him to the street. His expected countrymen were approaching. A distant flutter of pennons and the gleam of steel showed above the heads of the crowd, and soon Pedro was cheering lustily as the company passed. In the lead rode Sotelo, the commander of the company, with Saavedra, commandant of the fortress, his travel-stained accoutrements contrasting with the latter's burnished armor. Following, and escorted by Father Tendilla, were half-a-dozen priests and friars, a few on mules and jaded horses, but most of them on foot. As they passed, Pedro suddenly ceased his greetings.

"Aha! Thou back, Fray Mauricio!" he muttered. "Hast renewed thy courage and venom, my small, liver-colored brother? I'd exchange thee for the devil himself, my friend, and so would Jose, had he his choice. Would thou wert back in Spain--or farther! I'll warn the armorer, be sure of it. And now, the cavaliers--two, four, six, eight. Not bad! But, father of famine, what a hungry lot! _Hola_!" he shouted. "What fare on the way, _compadres_? Saddle-leather and surcingles, I'll be bound. Cheer up! There's better beyond. Come, smile thou, my empty _caballero_ in the rear! In a week thy waistband will renew acquaintance with thy pansiere. There's that in Peru to fill it, and some to be left over for the infantry. Oho! Here they are--our honest lads of the foot! Twenty in all--and that is to say, twenty larcenies the more for each day of the calendar. _Bien_! Were there no thieves we'd have no love for honest men. What cheer, pikemen? Did ye ever see a cold boiled ham? Ah, see them drool! They're blest with powers of memory, 't is sure. What, ho! A civilian! A leech, _amigo_? No? A barber!--next of kin. _Gracias a Dios_, a barber! Fall out, my friend; thy journey endeth here."

A weary individual in civil garb, his legs bare to the knees but for the fringe of rags that fell below them, turned out of the column.

"_Nombre de Dios_! Is this an inn?" he asked in astonishment, peering through the open door and sniffing the fragrance.

"An inn, and no less. An inn, and no more," replied Pedro. "Enter. Thou 'rt as welcome to it as the smell of it seemeth to be to thee."

The stranger shook his head. "I have no money, Senor."

"The fiend!" ejaculated Pedro. "But thou hast an appetite, or thy looks belie thee. Enter, and call for what there is. Thy credit is good. Are there any others--civilians?"

"My gratitude, Senor," said the other, with feeling. "Yes, there are four in the rear of the baggage, and three women with the rear guard."

"Three women!" repeated Pedro. "Native women, thou wouldst say?"

"Of our own race, Senor."

"What!" exclaimed Pedro, in amazement. "Three Spanish women? _Santo Sacramento_! sayst thou so? What do they in this land of paynimry? Oh, these modern women!"

"Two are wives of cavaliers. The third is alone. And, Senor"--he spoke earnestly--"beware of this third."

"Ho!" responded Pedro, with a shrug. "I have all my feathers, _amigo_."

"Nay; but, Senor--" he was interrupted by the jubilant bray of a pack-mule which had divined the end of the march. When he would have continued Pedro was badgering a muleteer. The stranger entered the _cantina_--and Fate rode down upon the unsuspecting Pedro.

The rear guard approached. Sure enough, there were three senoras, two heavily veiled, riding mules. Pedro was bowing profoundly.

"Welcome, Senoras! Welcome to the land of gold. 'T is a Heaven's blessing to look once more upon your kind."

They inclined their heads graciously and Pedro raised his eyes to the third, some paces in the rear. As he bowed again he was conscious of a buxom figure, strangely bedight in a rusty corselet and a man's sombrero which showed marks of the hard journey, its limp rim hanging tow about a face which he saw only partly. She was astride, he noted, with a huge battle-axe at her saddle-bow, and a ponderous spur on a foot of goodly size.

The lady glanced at him, gasped, reined up with vigor, and shouted in a voice of joyful surprise, "_Pedro!_"

Pedro straightened with a jerk and staggered against the wall.

"Pedro!" she shouted again. She urged her steed across the street with a series of jabs of her spurs, and tumbled out of the saddle, a confusion of petticoats, arms, legs, and a flapping sombrero. Dropping the reins, she charged the cook, who stood transfixed to the wall, powerless.

"Pedro, as I live!" she cried, seizing his hands. "Oh, Pedro, thou graceless, fat, one-legged darling of a cook, I was never more joyed in my life!"

Pedro struggled in her grasp, speechless, his face reddening violently, as she held him at arm's length, surveying him with pleasure.

"And 't is thou!" she exclaimed. "Hold, whilst I look at thee--stop squirming, thou lubber! Yes, I'd know thee in a brigade, even did I not see thy peg. But why dost not greet me, Pedro? Greet me, sinner! Dost think I've journeyed a thousand leagues over sea and mountain to be received like a cold omelet? Fie, Pedro!"

He gained his voice with an effort. "Why--my greetings, Senora Bolio!" he panted. "What the devil--I'm glad to see thee well!--but release my hands, prithee!--we're in the street, woman. Thou'lt stir a scandal!"

"A scandal!" returned the senora, scornfully. "Soapsuds! A scandal, forsooth! What care I for these pagans? I'm glad to see thee."

"Of course--of course!" gasped Pedro. "But look to thy mule!--he's wandering away, reins down. Let me go! I'll--I'll catch him."

"Let him wander, Pedro, and may the fiend ride him with hot spurs! He hath jolted the life out of me these many days. But, art not surprised to see me? Say!"

"Name of a martyr! Yes!" said Pedro, desperately. "But loose my hands, I tell thee! We're observed."

"Oh, Pedro, thou 'rt so coy, thou dear old cherub!"--and she laughed joyfully.

"Oh, coy!" groaned Pedro. "Thunder and Mars! Dost not see the town watching us? And look at the rear guard!"

The troopers had halted, and were observing the little drama with interest.

"Brava, Senora!" called one, encouragingly. "His timidity is that of inexperience. Persist, and he'll succumb, my head upon it!"

The lady turned. "What now?" she demanded, indignantly, facing them with hands upon her hips. "Who gave you command to halt? Jog on, jog on! Circulate! Go, you singular accumulation of veal and old iron! Wend, worry on, flit, you most unusual galaxy of junk and poultice! You grotesque pack of----"

They tarried not to hear the completion of her period. They had journeyed with Senora Bolio for many weeks, and had learned her powers. When she turned to Pedro he was vanishing through the doorway, and she followed precipitately. He backed against a table, and she dropped into a chair facing him.

"Vagabonds!" she exclaimed, wrathfully, fanning herself with her sombrero. "They have gone clean through my patience a hundred times since we sailed from Panama. May the goblins gnaw their shin-bones!"

Pedro passed his sleeve across his forehead. "But they have left thee thy gifts of speech, Senora," he ventured.

"Ah! What would I do without them--a helpless woman? Oh, me! 'T is a sad world, Pedro.--But thou 'rt plump as a suckling porker, _chiquito_. And this is thy place? _Cara_! What a savory smell!"

"Why, bless me!" cried Pedro, forgetting his disturbance in his hospitality. "Thou must be hungry!"

"Hungry!" said Senora Bolio. "Boil me this hat, and I would eat it, _amigo mio_! But first, help me off with this rusty furniture of mine. Saints! I was never so wearied of a garment as of this iron bodice. 'T is a man's, of course, tight where it should be full, and' full where it should be snug. But they told me I should have to fight as often as eat, or more, so I bought it, with the cleaver thou mayst have seen on my saddle. And, Pedro, we must find the mule, for I would keep that cleaver by me. No telling when I may need to use it on an Inca--thou callest them Incas, these varlets in sleeveless pinafores?--Well, 'tis all the same. Now, I am ready for a full trencher."

Seated before his guest while she ate with an appetite keened by hard marches and harder fare, Pedro recovered his composure in listening to news of the civilized world, interrupted now and again by the entrance of patrons, each of whom started at sight of the lady, then bowed with a curious glance at the host which made him fidget.

"Now," said the senora, finishing, "thou must find me lodgings, Pedro dear; and before night, my mule, for I'll not sleep without that axe. My crucifix and it have been mine only comforts since I touched this benighted land. I'll part with neither. Canst find me a room, thinkst thou? Ah, thou'rt a love! I could wish thou hadst two legs; but with only one and a half thou 'rt more complete than any other man I ever knew," and she bestowed a smile whose warmth caused him to back away with an uneasy glance about the room. To his relief she made no further demonstration, and shortly they sallied out in search of quarters for her accommodation. A satisfactory lodging was found with a native couple--and thus was Senora Margarita Bolio established in the land of the Incas.

*CHAPTER XXII*

_*Rava in the Toils*_

Next morning early Pedro's mule, held by Pedrillo, stood at his door, surrounded by a whispering, awe-stricken group of native urchins lingering to see the dread beast mounted by the Viracocha of the fabulous leg. As Pedro appeared the brute twitched an ear toward him, opened his mouth, and drew breath in a faint, rasping, wheezy note of salutation. Pedro was gloomy, but he paused to rub the gray nose.

"Ah, my good friend," he said, with feeling, "there is melancholy in thine accent--belike, the echo of a melancholy in thy soul, like that in mine. 'T is but a sorry life: we're agreed in that, and comrades in misery. Thou, a mule, a cook's mule; I, a cook, a one-legged cook; and a panting, surcharged, vociferous Bolio at our heels, following with the pertinacy of doom! But if thou, too, hast doleful thoughts, forbear to voice them, lest I be brought to tears. Now, prithee, lend me thy back. _Adios_, Pedrillo. Remember the _frijoles_. Burn them again, scamp, and I'll--Whoa, mule! Thou misbegotten whimsy, I thought I read sadness in thine eye,--and 't was the devil. Be done, or I'll chew thine ear! Farewell, Pedrillo."

Pedro was off. Half-an-hour's ride took him through the suburbs, and he turned into the military road toward the grim fortress overlooking the town. A short, steep climb, and he was at the gate, bantered by the guard about the coming of Senora Bolio. Within was a citadel, surrounded by buildings for the garrison, or the townspeople when driven by war, and quarters for the Inca's officers. As Pedro was passing he was hailed by the familiar pipe of Rogelio. He drew rein, not in the best of grace, awaiting the _veedor's_ approach.

"Ah, Pedro, my good friend," said Rogelio, "I am pleased to see thee. I had thee in mind, 't is but a moment since. I----"

"Ware the heels of the mule!" bellowed Pedro, with a violence that startled the _veedor_ into sudden agility in a backward spring.

"My soul and body!" exclaimed Rogelio, rolling his eyes from the beast to its rider. "No need to roar, my friend. Thine animal looketh gentle enough."

"He hideth an abundance of wickedness under a smooth exterior--like some of his brethren who go on two legs," remarked Pedro.

"Ah?" Rogelio eyed the cook suspiciously.

"Ah!" returned Pedro. "But, hadst aught to say, Senor _Veedor_?"

"Why, I have, good Pedro," said Rogelio, recovering. "In a few days--perhaps a fortnight, perhaps very soon--I expect--that is to say, I--he, he, Pedro!--'tis a delicate subject--but--well, I may need a woman servant. Just a common servant, Pedro."

"Ah!" said the cook. "Just a common servant! So! 'T is a common need, _Veedor_, shared by common and uncommon. I thank thee for thy confidence, Senor. I'll betray it to no man." And apparently considering the interview closed, Pedro gathered his reins to go.

"Wait!" shouted the _veedor_. "Blockhead, that is not all!"

"Not all, Senor! Thou hast need of two?"

The _veedor_ piped a curse, then controlled himself and went on with a smile of forced amiability. "I mean it is not all I have to say, Pedro. In a few days--or less--I hope to share thy happiness."

"My happiness!" exclaimed Pedro, mystified. "Oh, I see! The Senor is going to turn cook."

"Damnation!" squeaked the _veedor_; then stifling his rage, he continued: "No, no! Not that. By thy happiness I mean thine _inamorada_, the Senora Bolio----"

"Oh, blessed saints!" interrupted Pedro. "Thou wouldst share my happiness in the Senora? Take it all, Senor! Take the whole of her. By heaven, I'll send her up entire! Wait but an hour." He started to turn his mule.

"Stop, fool!" choked the exasperated _veedor_; and grasping at a rein, narrowly escaped a kick. He sprang out of range with a gasp.

"Well," said Pedro, complacently, "I gave thee warning, Senor. But hast more to say?"

It was a minute before Rogelio regained his speech. "Yes!" he shrilled. "Perdition! Yes! If thou wilt but hold thy tongue!"

"_Bueno_! I listen. Proceed, Senor _Veedor_."

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.