Chapter 19

"Pepita Delaguerra?" he repeated. "I felt all along that she was Don Felipe's child, the resemblance is so striking, and I wonder the others did not notice it, but I never connected her with Pepita; perhaps because it is so long since she died. How strange that he should have introduced his own child without knowing it!"

"Yes," returned Chiquita. "And yet it is not so strange after all. Persons of his character invariably blunder in the end, clever though they be. Another strange coincidence is that they were married just six years ago to-day in the little Mission church of San Isidor at Onava."

"Why, that was before Don Juan's death, and in direct opposition to the stipulations of his will!" exclaimed Padre Antonio excitedly.

"Just so," answered Chiquita. "That's what caused the trouble. The entire property should have gone to the Church, but Felipe destroyed the record of his marriage before his father's death and the birth of his child."

"The scoundrel!" cried the Padre.

"But that is not all," continued Chiquita. "Everything seemed to be in league with him to further his plans. Father Danuncio, who secretly married them, also died before Don Juan did, without divulging the secret."

"Strange!" ejaculated Padre Antonio.

"There were three witnesses to the marriage--Joaquin and Manuelita Flores, whom Don Felipe has cleverly put out of the way, and Bob Carlton, the gambler, who, at that time, was Don Felipe's intimate friend; but he, too, is gone and never dare return."

"The clever scoundrel!" interrupted the Padre.

"Yes," answered Chiquita. "When it comes to deviltry, Don Felipe has yet to meet his match. But as I was about to say: Six months after the marriage, Don Felipe deserted Pepita, then the child was born, and knowing that he would unhesitatingly make way with it should he learn of its existence, Joaquin and I took it to Onava, where we knew it would be hid effectually from the world. Of course old Juana and all the other Indians in the village thought the child was mine, and I let them think so in order that its identity might the better be concealed until we were able to prove to whom it belonged."

"But why did you not tell me this in the beginning, my child?" he asked with a note of reproach in his voice. "I might have--"

"Ah, that was to protect you, Padre _mio_! It might have been wiser had I done so, and yet I think not. I felt impelled to keep you in ignorance of the facts, for I knew that Don Felipe would stop at nothing. What would your life have been to him, had you come between him and his position? His wealth is too vast. I knew that, as surely as you raised your voice against him, as you would have been obliged to in the interests of the Church, you one day would have been found dead in some lonely pass in the mountains while engaged in your Mission work."

Padre Antonio was too astute an observer of men not to perceive the force of her words.

"I marvel at your sagacity, my child; but think what it has cost you!"

"Ah! that is the marvelous part of it!" she replied. "Whoever would have imagined that, unconscious of the true facts, he would have succeeded in turning my own weapons against me? It's fate, Padre _mio_."

He paced back and forth for some time in silence, then suddenly pausing before her, said: "This cloud must not rest upon you, Chiquita _mia_. We must find that blackleg, Carlton, if we have to raise heaven and earth to do it."

"That is easier said than done, Padre _mio_," she answered quietly.

"God never wholly abandons his children to the evil of the world," he returned firmly. "Don Felipe has deceived the Church once, but he shall not do so a second time. God has allowed him to triumph thus far in order that his punishment may be all the greater in the end when it comes upon him. Carlton must be somewhere just across the border--in Texas or Arizona or New Mexico. Within twenty-four hours after the word has been flashed over the wires, runners will have passed through all our remote Missions along the border, and if he is no longer in Mexico, then the word shall be passed across the frontier into the United States. If he still be alive, he can not escape us. We will find him and bring him back again. No, the Church is not so powerless as many, strong in worldly possessions, imagine. The Church of Rome has never yet failed to find the man or woman she has set out to find. Don Felipe will be stripped of his possessions and his child restored to its rightful position.

"Again I say, God's ways are past all understanding. You have been His unconscious instrument. Think of what you were and how you came to me, and what your life has been since then! Have you endured all for naught? Are God's plans to be frustrated by a man, a dastardly craven like Don Felipe? No, my child, I see things clearer now than I ever have seen them before. You and Captain Forest have not been brought together from the ends of the earth only to be mocked by the world of evil. God demands that we all shall pass through the fire in order that we may be fitted to bear the burden He lays upon us. You both have endured the trial; proved yourselves worthy of the mission He has entrusted to you."

He paused. Then, suddenly recollecting the all-important question, he exclaimed: "I forget, we are wasting time; we must find Carlton! This very night word shall go forth!" and hastily snatching up his hat and stick, he hurried out into the night.

XXXIII

Captain Forest's feelings are better imagined than described. His brain was in a whirl, on fire. For the second time a woman had treated his confidence lightly. The whole world seemed to spin round him in chaotic confusion as he sought to lay hold of a single, tangible thought that might temper his judgment, steady his nerves and check the fierce outbursts of passion which were fast sweeping him beyond self-control. He had reached a state of recklessness that renders a man of his temperament most dangerous, and unless his judgment soon got the better of his passions, he would, as likely as not, either kill Chiquita or Don Felipe, or both of them.

The company had broken up shortly after the departure of Chiquita and Padre Antonio, leaving the _patio_ silent and deserted, save for the presence of the Captain, who paced silently back and forth; the moon flooding the _patio_ with broad sheets of white light, causing objects to appear almost as sharp and distinct as before the lights of the lanterns were extinguished.

Blanch, who was the last to leave, would have offered him her sympathy, but on approaching him, he gave her a look so terrifying that even she dared not speak to him. She accordingly retired to her room and seated herself before the open window from which she commanded a view of the court and could observe him at her leisure. Perhaps he will come to his senses now, she thought. At any rate, he now knew what she suffered. She experienced a feeling of cruel satisfaction and exultation while calmly watching the struggle going on within him as he paced slowly back and forth.

How strange that they should be there in that out-of-the-way place! In spite of the terrible ordeal through which she had passed and the dramatic climax in which the struggle had just culminated, it still appeared so unreal, so unnatural to her, that she wondered whether she was not still dreaming and must soon awaken to find herself back in the old life again and Jack near her, as in the old days. Who could have foreseen this tragedy, this end to their lives? But a few months previous all things appeared so clear and defined, so definitely ordained for them.

Truly the future was veiled--a sealed book for man! Had she been permitted to dip for but an instant beneath the cover of that book, or lift the veil ever so little, the catastrophe that had overtaken them and the suffering it entailed might have been averted.

But no. The strange nemesis that had pursued them step by step had been permitted to wreck their lives completely. And for what end--what purpose? Was there no justice, no recompense for them? The answer, she somehow felt, lay not here, but with the stars--in the great universal scheme of things, and was quite beyond her reasoning powers.

She felt the utter hopelessness of longer struggling against the unseen, and in that hour she became a fatalist. Better drift from day to day without purpose, than living, behold one's dreams and ambitions come to naught. She was like a strong, self-confident swimmer who had been caught by the tide and was being swept irresistibly out to sea. Blurred though her vision was, she seemed to see things clearer than she had ever seen them before, and she somehow felt that the fate which had overtaken her was the result of self-aggrandizement--that she in a measure typified the passing or end of a condition out of whose decay the new life must spring.

Submit she must, and yet a fierce resentment against all things filled her soul. She rebelled at the apparent injustice which she felt had been done her. Why had she, the most fit, been chosen? What had she really done to merit such an end? She realized that her trouble was unalterable; that it had its root in the social scheme of things and nothing she could do could alter it. That in reality it was no fault of hers, but the fault of her bringing up; that the world which she had been taught to respect as a thing representing truth and beauty, all that is best in man, was only a mocking illusion.

The injustice of it amazed, appalled, stunned her. She seemed to think and move like one in a dream, struggling with shadowy, intangible forces with which she was incapable to cope. The thought that it was not her fault only added to her bitterness and agony, and she longed for death--the death that knows no awakening--to be blotted out utterly, and forever. Her life was devoid of hope, there was nothing to look forward to, the future had become a blank.

A low moan, in which was expressed the despair and agony of men since the beginning of time, escaped her. She pressed her cold hands to her burning, throbbing temples and prayed that, whatever her end might be, it would come swiftly.

Again she raised her head and glanced through the open window. To her surprise she saw the tall form of Dick Yankton leaning against one of the pillars of the arcade that ran round the _patio_. He was smoking quietly and observing the Captain, who still strode back and forth apparently unaware of his presence. Suddenly the Captain stopped short as if he had come to a decision. As he did so, he turned half round and saw Dick, whom he regarded for some moments in silence. Then, going over to where he stood, she heard him exclaim: "It's not true, Dick, I don't believe it. I'm going to her now and tell her so!" At the same instant she also saw Don Felipe glide noiselessly and stealthily from one of the doors opening on to the _patio_ and pause in the deep shadow of the arcade next to the wall, close to where they stood. Instantly she was on her feet and leaning forward, breathless and eager to catch all that was said.

"Neither do I believe it," answered Dick. "But I wouldn't have told you so. I wanted you to make up your mind first, and if you hadn't said so just now, I wouldn't show you this, either," he continued, drawing from his inner coat pocket a large envelope from which he took a letter and handed it to the Captain.

She saw the sheet of paper tremble in the Captain's hands as he read its contents. Again Dick handed him another sheet somewhat larger and darker than the first. He seized it eagerly, glancing hurriedly over its contents, his hands trembling more violently than before.

"Marvelous!" he exclaimed excitedly, looking at Dick. "And yet," he added, "it's not so strange after all; it's so natural!"

Blanch uttered a suppressed cry. She felt that her last chance of winning back the Captain was gone forever. It was a last stab at her heart. At this juncture José appeared from out the shadows of the garden beyond the _patio_ and hurriedly approached them. She heard him say something in Spanish which she did not understand. Then, all became blurred before her eyes. She felt herself begin to sway and totter--she fainted.

* * * * *

Following José, the Captain and Dick came upon Starlight, quietly cropping the grass in the garden, just outside the corral. On hearing their approach, the Chestnut raised his head, and, seeing his master, gave a low whinny of recognition. Close beside him on the grass lay a dark, shapeless object which, on closer inspection, proved to be the remains of Juan Ramon, trampled almost beyond recognition by the stallion's terrible hoofs.

While Chiquita was being confronted by Don Felipe and the attention of every one was occupied by the scene that followed, Juan seized the opportunity for which he had been waiting. Stealing quietly away to the corrals, he deftly flung a _riata_ over the stallion's head, and, looping it about the animal's nose, was on his back with a bound.

There was no question of Juan's ability to ride him. Once on a horse's back, he had never yet been unseated. He had expected the Chestnut to rear and plunge, to fight desperately on finding a stranger on his back and he was prepared for it, but greatly to his surprise, the horse showed no signs of fight and went meekly out of the corral at his bidding. All went well until they reached the garden, and Juan was beginning to congratulate himself on making his escape so easily, when suddenly and without warning, the Chestnut stopped short, reached round with his head, and seizing Juan by the leg with his teeth, jerked him to the ground. Juan heard the stallion's fierce cry of rage, and--that was the end.

The luck had changed again for Juan, and with it vanished his fair dream of life on the little _hacienda_ with the pretty Rosita.

José had long been aware of Juan's intentions regarding the horse, and laughed quietly to himself as he thought of the trap Juan was laying for himself. That afternoon he appeared to be drinking heavily, and early in the evening feigned intoxication in order that Juan might go to his death which he knew awaited him should he so much as lay his hand on the horse.

When Blanch regained consciousness once more, she found herself in a half sitting and kneeling posture before the window with one arm resting on the sill. She must have been unconscious for some time, for when she came to herself, she again saw Captain Forest and Dick standing in the _patio_ conversing in low tones. They soon separated, Dick going into the house, and the Captain making his way through the garden. She knew he was on his way to Chiquita. She also saw Don Felipe steal from the shadow of his concealment and follow him.

A great fear seized her. She felt the imminence of a disaster greater than that which had already occurred. Something terrible was about to happen. The thought aroused her to action and she hurriedly rose to her feet. If possible, she would prevent that final catastrophe which her intuition told her was imminent--which she knew must overtake either one or all three of them should Don Felipe and the Captain meet again that night in Chiquita's presence.

There was not a moment to lose, and seizing a light wrap which lay on a chair beside her, she flung it about her shoulders and hurriedly left the room.

XXXIV

Before leaving the _patio_, Bessie promised to meet Dick in the garden after the company dispersed for the night. After the Captain's departure, Dick returned to the _patio_ and took his stand in the shadow of the nearest trees, where he awaited her.

Never had her mood appeared so distracted and evasive as that evening. She had avoided him as much as possible. He was quite at a loss to know how to take her, and wondered what would be the outcome of their interview which, he felt, might possibly be their last.

Notwithstanding this melancholy prospect, he still experienced the same spirit of buoyancy which possessed him during the day. He had caught her regarding him several times during the evening with what he thought to be a look of tenderness in her eyes, and this, perhaps, accounted in a measure for his present elation.

She, in turn, had wondered greatly at the change that had come over him. How could he possibly be so gay when everybody else was so miserable, and she thoroughly resented it.

During the interval that had elapsed after the breaking up of the company, she had participated in a stormy interview with her father and aunt; the latter endeavoring to point out to her the danger incurred by holding intercourse with obscure, low-born persons, as had just been demonstrated in the Captain's case.

She was surprised on returning to her room not to find Blanch there, but, on second thought, felt it was only natural after what had occurred that she should want to be alone, and thought she must be somewhere in the garden. She had seen Dick leave the _patio_ and disappear in the shadow beyond, whither she directed her steps, passing out and around the front of the house, as she did not wish to incur the risk of being seen by her father or aunt.

Dick, who had tossed aside his hat on the grass and stood leaning against the trunk of a tree, was presently aroused from his meditations by the object of his thoughts, who stood close beside him.

"Well, I'm here," she said, by way of beginning, looking up into his face.

"I was looking for you in the other direction," he replied, throwing away his half-burnt cigar. "I ought to have known better. You are always doing the opposite of that which one expects."

A smile lit up her face for a moment, as she flashed her beautiful wide eyes upon him. She seemed a part of that beauteous night, elfish and delicate as a moonbeam or a flower, fragile as the song of a bird. He could not speak, but stood drinking her in with his eyes and soul, his face wearing a mixed expression of rapture and pain. She knew what he felt, and like him, she, too, struggled with herself for the mastery of her emotion.

"Do you know," she said at length, "this is the first time I have ever been guilty of a clandestine meeting with a man. If my father knew I was here, he would be beside himself."

"Then you did want to come!" he exclaimed.

"Of course. Otherwise, why should I be here?" she responded shyly, raising her eyes to his for an instant and then lowering them again.

"Bessie!" he cried, starting toward her.

"Hush!" she said, raising her hand in protest and checking him. Had he taken her in his arms then and there, she would have surrendered without a struggle, for she was in that soft, languid mood of a woman in love in spite of herself. But he dared not give way to his impulse. He loved her too much, and feared lest his impetuosity might ruin forever his chance of winning her.

"I know it was foolish of me to come, especially when there was no reason for it," she continued with assumed indifference, casting a sidelong glance at him out of the corners of her eyes. In spite of the pain she knew she inflicted, she could not resist flirting with him just a little even at such a moment. It filled her with such exquisite joy to feel anew the power she exercised over him and the unfathomable depth of his love which each fresh thrust at his heart revealed to her.

"I came here," she slowly resumed, "to ask what you think of Chiquita?"

"Think!" he burst forth savagely, aroused almost to a pitch of desperation by her irritating manner. "Do you take me for as big a fool as Don Felipe, or--" your father? he was about to add, but checked himself just in time. "When one has known Chiquita as long as I have, you don't think things about her, you know. Don Felipe," he went on, "reminds me of the naughty little boy who one day, while playing in a park, threw mud on a swan, imagining that he had besmirched the bird forever until it dived under the water and reappeared again as white as before. Why, even if I at this moment did not possess the absolute proof of her innocence, nobody could ever persuade me to believe that story. You don't know the Indian as I do, Miss Van Ashton. The high-caste Indian women are quite as incapable of such things as you are. It was a devilishly clever stroke on Don Felipe's part, I'll admit, but he has deceived himself as thoroughly as the rest of the world."

"What proof have you?" she asked with a surprised and mystified look, her woman's curiosity thoroughly aroused. Dick chuckled softly in reply.

"What are you laughing at?" she demanded, not a little nettled by his manner.

"I'm not laughing," he answered. "I'm merely trying to smother the rage you have aroused in me by dallying with me in this manner when you know perfectly well that I asked you to come here to tell you that I--"

"Stop!" she commanded authoritatively. "I wish to see that proof before anything further passes between us."

"Will you never become serious?" he asked, drawing an envelope from his pocket, the contents of which he had shown Captain Forest. "It's strange," he continued, "that this document should concern you as well as Don Felipe and Chiquita."

"What do you mean?" she asked in astonishment. Again he laughed softly by way of reply.

"It's funny you should get mixed up in their affairs!"

"I don't understand you," she interrupted, more mystified and irritated than ever. "Give me that letter, Mr. Yankton!" she demanded, holding out her hand.

"Then step out into the light, please, you lovely, tantalizing witch," he answered, drawing the papers from the envelope and handing them to her. "If I didn't love you to distraction, I wouldn't stand this sort of thing a minute longer. God!" he cried, glancing heavenward, "you'll be the death of me yet."

"Have you forgotten, Mr. Yankton?" she asked calmly, her face turning a delicate crimson.

"Then read--read!" he cried in desperation, scarcely able to control himself. She knew it could not last much longer. She slowly unfolded the large sheets of paper and began to read their contents in the moonlight.

"Aloud, please," he said.

"Why aloud?"

"Oh, just as you please!"

"Very well, if you wish it. 'Dear Dick,' she began with a slight hesitancy. 'When this reaches you I shall have passed over the border to that unknown range from whence nobody ever returns. Enclosed you will find the record of Don Felipe Ramirez's and Pepita Delaguerra's marriage which, at Don Felipe's instigation, I stole from the register in the church at Onava, giving him a copy of the same which he destroyed, believing it to be the original. I did this with the intention of extorting money from him later on. I and Joaquin Flores and his wife were the only witnesses to the marriage. But there is a sequel. Pepita gave birth to a child, a girl, after Felipe deserted her. I learned later that Chiquita and the two Flores concealed it somewhere in one of the Indian _pueblos_ near La Jara, as they feared Don Felipe would make way with the child should he learn of its existence.'

"How strange!" exclaimed Bessie excitedly. "Why, that was Don Felipe's own child which he introduced this evening and said was Chiquita's."

"Exactly," said Dick, quietly.

"But I don't see what all this has to do with me," she added.

"Proceed, please," he answered. "That's not the only surprise his letter contains."

Glancing down at the sheets once more she resumed:

"'You will also be greatly surprised to learn that the young lady who was present on the day you saved my life and whose name I asked, is my sister.'

"The insinuation is infamous!" she cried, letting the papers fall to the ground.

"Miss Van Ashton," he interrupted, calmly stooping and picking up the papers and handing them to her again, "you forget--you are reading the confession of a dying man."

"His sister!" she continued indignantly. "It can't be possible--I never had a brother!"