Part 2

Further than this he would not say. I went to Don Roberto and found him with Juana. I did not mean to listen, but the door was ajar. It seems that someone had seen her talking with Destino and reported it to Don Roberto, who was furious.

“You have too much freedom,” he told her angrily. “I have allowed you to associate with everyone, to have your own way. And you come to plead for a spy! I find you talking with him--to a hired gunman, a killer. It is time you were married. Last night I refused Don Esteban’s suit and he rode away broken-hearted. But he said he would come again, and when he does----”

“I shall not marry him,” said Juana firmly. “He is an old man.”

“Old man? I am not an old man, and he is a year younger.”

“But you are my father.”

I slipped away and went to my own quarters, without telling Don Roberto what Destino had said. If Destino was more than a spy, what was he? He was not _El Lobo_. Men had seen _El Lobo_, and in spite of his mask they were able to see that the man was gray of hair. This was when he robbed only the rich, and men do not grow younger with the years.

I do not know the outcome of the argument between Juana and her father, but I found her later, sitting on a vine-covered bench in an angle of the patio wall, crying. The sun was low in the west and the shadows of the patio walls had painted the Rancho del Aguila with a brush of softest blue. I did not speak until she had looked up at me.

“Pablo,” she said wearily, “are you a friend?”

“A friend, Juana? Did you ever question my friendship?”

She shook her head. “I do not want to, Pablo. You have been more like one of the family than a servant, and I know you are loyal to my father.”

“I am, Juana,” I replied.

She got up from the bench and came closer to me.

“Pablo, my father has forbidden me to speak to Destino again. He says I shall marry Don Esteban. And listen closely, Pablo: I overheard those four men talking--the ones who carry guns all the time. Tonight when food is taken to Destino, the door will be left unlocked. Do you know what that means, Pablo?”

I knew. When the prisoner walked out he would be shot and killed.

“Is this your father’s order, Juana?” I asked.

“I do not know, Pablo.”

“And why do you wish to save him? If this man is a spy of _El Lobo_, he deserves death. And what is he to you, the daughter of a Don?”

As if in answer to my question came Destino’s voice, singing through the little window of his cell. The Rancho del Aguila was stilled. Even the mockingbirds ceased calling, “Peter, Peter, Peter,” while he sang. A little sheepdog puppy, which had been chasing its tail for many minutes, stopped suddenly and sat up on its haunches, one ear cocked toward the sound of the song.

The song died away and I looked at Juana. Her eyes were lifted toward the purple of the setting sun, a smile on her lips. Just now she was not at the Rancho del Aguila.

I moved softly away, leaving her there alone. I went to the kitchen, where Rufo, a man of great girth, presided over his pots and pans. He scowled at me, because not even an overseer might give him an order.

“I but come to beg a favor, Rufo,” I told him. He tugged at his mustachio and considered me more kindly, nodding slowly.

“We have a prisoner,” I said. “They say he is a spy of _El Lobo_. If any come to get food for him before everyone else is fed, refuse them, Rufo.”

“That is not a big favor, Pablo,” he said. “It is granted.”

I thanked him and went away. It would be mealtime in a few minutes. Already the men were preparing. Juana whispered to me, as I passed beneath a low balcony----

“Pablo, are you a friend?”

“When they are eating,” I whispered. “It is a fool’s task, and there is no place for him to hide; so I will send him here.”

I knew what it would mean to play false with Don Roberto, but I am not a young man, and what is a few years, more or less? And when the patio was empty, I unlocked the door and let him out. He gripped my hand, when I told him where to go, after which I secured an iron bar and managed to draw the heavy staple from the door. It was a clumsy attempt at making it appear that Destino had escaped, because the man never lived who could force it from within.

Then I went to my meal, listening for the first alarm, which would brand me a traitor. Benito, who had charge of the stables, carried the other key, and he was always the first at table, which would absolve him of all guilt.

It was possibly an hour later that the escape was discovered. The moon had not yet risen and the night was dark, except for the stars. There was great excitement. The guards had been changed, as soon as the night guards had eaten their supper.

Don Roberto swore bitterly and questioned the day guards, who must have been on duty during the escape, but they swore that nothing had passed the gate or the walls. Don Roberto examined the lock, and by the light of the lantern I could see his lips shut tightly.

You may be sure that I kept in the background, realizing that I could not lie to him.

“The man has been released,” declared Don Roberto. “He is within these walls, possibly armed. He is a spy of _El Lobo_, and deserves no mercy. Light all the lanterns. We must take this man, dead or alive.”

There was great scurrying, as the men brought lanterns and guns. I wondered where Destino was hiding, and it was in my mind to leave the rancho. After all, a man has only one life. I made my way to the far end of the patio, watching the bobbing lanterns, as the searching party began their work. They split in two parties and the lanterns threw their shadows in grotesque shapes on the walls. There was much loud talking and calling from one to another, as though trying to bolster their own feelings. Destino had killed Sleen with his bare hands, and was no mean opponent for all of them.

For several minutes I leaned against the wall of a building. I could see the silhouette of a guard on the wall, standing in an attitude of attention. Suddenly he swayed slowly, and I thought he was about to fall.

Then he went slowly to his knees, and I thought he was but lowering himself from some danger without. A moment later I heard the thud of a falling body, and the space on the wall where he had stood was empty.

I ran across the patio and found him lying near the wall, crumpled in a heap, his gun flung aside. His heart was still beating, but the man was unconscious. I ran back to the center of the patio, not knowing just what to do.

The other guard was on his hands and knees, striving to cling to the wall. I called his name, but he did not answer. Then he slumped forward and fell to the ground. He, too, was unconscious.

In a flash it came to me that someone had poisoned the guards. I forgot the escape of Destino, as I raced for the house to sound an alarm. The searchers were grouped in the central room, which was hazy with oil smoke.

“He is in this house,” declared Don Roberto. “Two of you guard the stairs, while the rest of us search up there.”

Upstairs were the rooms of Don Roberto and Señora Aliso and of Juana. Two of the four gunmen stopped at the foot of the stairs, while the rest surged ahead. I tried to reach Don Roberto, but there were too many men, and the stairs were narrow.

By the time I had managed to reach the upper floor, search had been partly made. Over the heads of the crowd I could see Juana, a pale-faced, white-robed figure, standing against the door of her room, arms outstretched, as though forbidding them to enter her room.

But Don Roberto shoved her roughly aside and flung the door open. Bending low and shoving with all my strength, I managed to worm my way through the crowd, many of whom cursed me for walking on their feet, and reach the doorway.

Don Roberto was just inside the room, one hand clinging to the sleeve of Juana, while in the center of the room, a grim smile on his lips, stood Destino. A revolver butt protruded from the waistband of his trousers, but he made no move to draw it.

“You are not only a spy, but a cowardly spy,” declared Don Roberto. “Hiding in the room of the señorita.”

“Don Roberto!” I fairly yelled in his ear. “Listen to me, I implore you.”

He whirled on me.

“Listen to you--you traitor! You let this man escape, Pablo. There were only two keys, and I took one from Benito when we locked this man in his cell. Your case will be judged later.”

“But Don Roberto, the guards--” And this is as far as I got. He struck me full in the face, knocking me down.

I was not unconscious, but badly dazed, and I do not know exactly what happened for the next few moments. I seemed to hear a shout, a babel of voices, a shrill command. It was like the sounds one hears in a dream.

Then the mists faded away and I came back to reality. Don Roberto was backed against the wall, and a man was holding a rifle muzzle against his body. Another had an arm flung around Juana, holding her tightly.

Standing just inside the doorway was a tall man, dressed in black garments, trimmed in silver. His sombrero was also of black, and a black silk mask concealed his face and throat.

In his right hand he dangled a heavy revolver, as he looked around through the eye-holes of his mask.

“So you decided not to pay, Don Roberto,” he said. His voice was husky, as though with a bad cold. “I have come to teach you obedience. Tonight I take everything of value at the Rancho del Aguila. Perhaps it will serve as a warning to others that _El Lobo_ keeps his word.”

My eyes flashed to Destino, who still stood in the same position, although he was not smiling now. His elbow covered the butt of his revolver.

“Are you _El Lobo_?” asked Destino.

The eyes behind the mask studied him thoughtfully.

“I am _El Lobo_.”

“You lie.” It was not said in anger, it seemed, nor was Destino’s voice raised.

_El Lobo’s_ body stiffened.

“You dare to say that to me?” he questioned.

“_El Lobo_ is dead,” said Destino. “He has been dead for two years. And you killed him.”

“Who are you?” _El Lobo’s_ voice came in a tense whisper.

“Destino--fate--you murderer!”

As swift as the blinking of an eye, Destino’s arm twisted at the elbow and a spurt of flame leaped from his revolver straight at _El Lobo_. I blinked my eyes again and _El Lobo_ was sprawling toward the floor. Twice more the orange-colored flame leaped from the gun muzzle, and I saw two more men go down--the one who had held the rifle against Don Roberto and the one who had held Juana.

Destino leaped for the door, and I saw him pick up the gun of the man who had called himself _El Lobo_. Then he was gone, leaping down the stairs.

I staggered to my feet, choking from the powder fumes. Don Roberto had taken Juana in his arms and was staring down at the dead men.

“His mask, Pablo!” exclaimed Don Roberto hoarsely. “Take it off!”

Stooping over, I tore the mask from his face, disclosing the features of Don Esteban Carillo! Don Roberto cried out sharply, because Don Esteban had been his friend.

“The guards were poisoned,” I told Don Roberto. “I tried to tell you, but you struck the words from my mouth.”

“Forgive me, Pablo,” he said, whispering his words, as though afraid that the dead might hear. “I have been a fool. The gunmen were in the pay of Esteban.”

“And they poisoned the guards tonight,” I said.

We went slowly down the stairway, not knowing what was taking place down below. One of the gunmen sprawled on the steps and Don Roberto lifted Juana over him.

Out in the patio we found another gunman, dead. Destino was standing against the wall, an empty gun in each hand, a laugh on his lips. The forces of Don Esteban, of which there were few left, were far off across the hills, riding for their lives.

Destino came to Juana and held out his hands.

“One who trusted me,” he said slowly. “I will never forget.”

“And there was Pablo,” she said softly.

“Ah, yes. Pablo. But it was for your sake, señorita.”

“And I can only ask forgiveness,” said Don Roberto humbly. “It is still a mystery, Destino.”

“_El Lobo_ was killed two years ago,” said Destino. “The man who killed him took his name, and made it a thing of execration. _El Lobo_ was not a murderer. He stole from the rich and gave most of it to the poor and to the church; keeping only enough to gratify his one great desire in life.

“For a year I have searched for this man who wore a false name. Always he has baffled me. But like fate I have followed him to his finish. I suspected Don Esteban. No man may lose as he has lost at gambling and still retain his El Sicomoro.

“I came to Santa Clemente and I saw Sleen. I knew him to be a cutthroat, and when I found that he was guarding you from _El Lobo_, I suspected that he was in the employ of _El Lobo_. The very fact that this rancho was inaccessible to attack, told me that it would be accomplished from within.

“And when those messages, attached to stones, were found in the patio, I knew I was right. They were placed there by Don Esteban or his men; one for Don Esteban, to cause him to share equally with you.”

“And that is why you laughed?” asked Don Roberto.

“I laughed,” said Destino softly, “because after all these months, I was about to revenge the death of my father, who had been a thief that I might study voice under the best teachers of Spain.”

And now I knew why he was more than a spy for _El Lobo_. He was a son of The Wolf. Somehow, like shadows drifting away, the men followed Don Roberto back to the house, leaving Juana, Destino and myself alone there in the patio. I do not know why I stayed, because it was not a business that needed an overseer. But I felt that I had had a part in it, and I was too glad to go away.

They were looking at each other, saying nothing. It seemed as though they were going to stare at each other forever; so I said, “Destino, they are all gone.”

“Except my friend, Pablo,” he said softly.

So I went away, too.

[Transcriber’s note: This story appeared in the June 25, 1925 issue of _Short Stories_ magazine.]