THE HEAD OF A PRIEST
I
"Dona Concepcion had the greatest romance of us all; so she should notchide too bitterly."
"But she has such a sense of her duty! Such a sense of her duty! Ay,Dios de mi alma! Shall we ever grow like that?"
"If we have a Russian lover who is killed in the far North, and we havea convent built for us, and teach troublesome girls. Surely, if one goesthrough fire, one can become anything--"
"Ay, yi! Look! Look!"
Six dark heads were set in a row along the edge of a secluded corner ofthe high adobe wall surrounding the Convent of Monterey. They lookedfor all the world like a row of charming gargoyles--every mouth wasopen--although there was no blankness in those active mischief-huntingeyes. Their bodies, propped on boxes, were concealed by the wall fromthe passer-by, and from the sharp eyes of duenas by a group of treesjust behind them. Their section of the wall faced the Presidio, which inthe early days of the eighteenth century had not lost an adobe, and wasfull of active life. At one end was the house of the Governor of all theCalifornias, at another the church, which is all that stands to-day.Under other walls of the square were barracks, quarters for officers andtheir families, store-rooms for ammunition and general supplies in caseof a raid by hostile tribes (when all the town must be accommodatedwithin the security of those four great walls), and a large hall inwhich many a ball was given. The aristocratic pioneers of Californialoved play as well as work. Beyond were great green plains alive withcattle, and above all curved the hills dark with pines. Three soldiershad left the Presidio and were sauntering toward the convent.
"It is Enrico Ortega!" whispered Eustaquia Carillo, excitedly.
"And Ramon de Castro!" scarcely breathed Elena Estudillo.
"And Jose Yorba!"
"Not Pepe Gomez? Ay, yi!"
"Nor Manuel Ameste!"
The only girl who did not speak stood at the end of the row. Her eyeswere fixed on the church, whose windows were dazzling with the reflectedsunlight of the late afternoon.
The officers, who apparently had been absorbed in conversation and theirfragrant cigaritos, suddenly looked up and saw the row of handsome andmischievous faces. They ran forward, and dashed their sombreros into thedust before the wall.
"At your feet, senoritas! At your feet!" they cried.
"Have they any?" whispered one. "How unreal they look! How symbolical!"
"The rose in your hair, Senorita Eustaquia, for the love of Heaven!"cried Ortega, in a loud whisper.
She detached the rose, touched it with her lips, and cast it to theofficer. He almost swallowed it in the ardour of his caresses.
None of the girls spoke. That would have seemed to them the height ofimpropriety. But Elena extended her arm over the wall so that her littlehand hung just above young Castro's head. He leaped three times inthe air, and finally succeeded in brushing his mustache against thosecoveted finger-tips: rewarded with an approving but tantalizing laugh.Meanwhile, Jose Yorba had torn a silver eagle from his sombrero, andflung it to Lola de Castro, who caught and thrust it in her hair.
"Ay, Dios! Dios! that the cruel wall divides us," cried Yorba.
"We will mount each upon the other's shoulder--"
"We will make a ladder from the limbs of the pines on the mountain--"
"_Senoritas_!"
The six heads dropped from the wall like so many Humpty-Dumpties. Asthey flashed about the officers caught a glimpse of horror in twelveexpanded eyes. A tall woman, serenely beautiful, clad in a long graygown fastened at her throat with a cross, stood just within the trees.The six culprits thought of the tragic romance which had given them thehonour of being educated by Concepcion de Arguello, and hoped for somesmall measure of mercy. The girl who had looked over the heads of theofficers, letting her gaze rest on the holy walls of the church, alonelooked coldly unconcerned, and encountered steadily the sombre eyes ofthe convent's mistress.
"Was thy lover in the road below, Pilar?" asked Dona Concepcion,with what meaning five of the girls could not divine. For Pilar, theprettiest and most studious girl in the convent, cared for no man.
Pilar's bosom rose once, but she made no reply.
"Come," said Dona Concepcion, and the six followed meekly in her wake.She led them to her private sala, a bare cold room, even in summer. Itwas uncarpeted; a few religious prints were on the whitewashed walls;there were eight chairs, and a table covered with books and papers. Thesix shivered. To be invited to this room meant the greatest of honoursor a lecture precursory to the severest punishment in the system of theconvent. Dona Concepcion seated herself in a large chair, but her guestswere not invited to relieve their weakened knees.
"Did you speak--any of you?" she asked in a moment.
Five heads shook emphatically.
"But?"
Eustaquia, Elena, and Lola drew a long breath, then confessed theirmisdoings glibly enough.
"And the others?"
"They had no chance," said Eustaquia, with some sarcasm.
"Thou wouldst have found a chance," replied the Lady Superior, coldly."Thou art the first in all naughtiness, and thy path in life will bestormy if thou dost not curb thy love of adventure and insubordination."
She covered her face with her hand and regarded the floor for somemoments in silence. It was the first performance of the kind that hadcome to her knowledge, and she was at a loss what to do. Finally shesaid severely: "Go each to your bed and remain there on bread and waterfor twenty-four hours. Your punishment shall be known at the Presidio.And if it ever happens again, I shall send you home in disgrace. Nowgo."
The luckless six slunk out of the room. Only Pilar stole a hasty glanceat the Lady Superior. Dona Concepcion half rose from her chair, andopened her lips as if to speak again; then sank back with a heavy sigh.
The girls were serenaded that night; but the second song broke abruptly,and a heavy gate clanged just afterward. Concepcion de Arguello wasstill young, but suffering had matured her character, and she knew howto deal sternly with those who infringed her few but inflexible rules.It was by no means the first serenade she had interrupted, for sheeducated the flower of California, and it was no simple matter toprevent communication between the girls in her charge and the ardentcaballeros. She herself had been serenaded more than once since thesudden death of her Russian lover; for she who had been the belle ofCalifornia for three years before the coming of Rezanof was not lightlyrelinquished by the impassioned men of her own race; but both at CasaGrande, in Santa Barbara, where she found seclusion until her conventwas built, and after her immolation in Monterey, she turned so cold anear to all men's ardours that she soon came to be regarded as a part offour gray walls. How long it took her to find actual serenity none butherself and the dead priests know, but the old women who are dying offto-day remember her as consistently placid as she was firm. She wasdeeply troubled by the escapade of the little wretches on the wall,although she had dealt with it summarily and feared no further outbreakof the sort. But she was haunted by a suspicion that there was morebehind, and to come. Pilar de la Torre and Eustaquia Carillo were thetwo most notable girls in the convent, for they easily took precedenceof their more indolent mates and were constantly racing for honours.There the resemblance ended. Eustaquia, with her small brilliant eyes,irregular features, and brilliant colour, was handsome rather thanbeautiful, but full of fire, fascination, and spirit. Half the Presidiowas in love with her, and that she was a shameless coquette she wouldhave been the last to deny. Pilar was beautiful, and although the closelong lashes of her eyes hid dreams, rather than fire, and her profileand poise of head expressed all the pride of the purest aristocracyCalifornia has had, nothing could divert attention from the beauty ofher contours of cheek and figure, and of her rich soft colouring.The officers in church stood up to look at her; and at the balls andmeriendas she attended in vacations the homage she received stifled andannoyed her. She was as cold and unresponsive as Concepcion de Arguello.People shrugged their shoulders and said it was
as well. Her mother,Dona Brigida de la Torre of the great Rancho Diablo, twenty miles fromMonterey, was the sternest old lady in California. It was whispered thatshe had literally ruled her husband with a greenhide reata, and certainit was that two years after the birth of Pilar (the thirteenth, and onlyliving child) he had taken a trip to Mexico and never returned. It wasknown that he had sent his wife a deed of the rancho; and that was thelast she ever heard of him. Her daughter, according to her imperiousdecree, was to marry Ygnacio Pina, the heir of the neighbouring rancho.Dona Brigida anticipated no resistance, not only because her will hadnever been crossed, but because Pilar was the most docile of daughters.Pilar was Dona Concepcion's favourite pupil, and when at home spenther time reading, embroidering, or riding about the rancho, closelyattended. She rarely talked, even to her mother. She paid not theslightest attention to Ygnacio's serenades, and greeted him with scantcourtesy when he dashed up to the ranch-house in all the bravery of silkand fine lawn, silver and lace. But he knew the value of Dona Brigida asan ally, and was content to amuse himself elsewhere.
The girls passed their twenty-four hours of repressed energy aspatiently as necessity compelled. Pilar, alone, lay impassive in herbed, rarely opening her eyes. The others groaned and sighed and rolledand bounced about; but they dared not speak, for stern Sister Augustawas in close attendance. When the last lagging minute had gone and theywere bidden to rise, they sprang from the beds, flung on their clothes,and ran noisily down the long corridors to the refectory. DonaConcepcion stood at the door and greeted them with a forgiving smile.Pilar followed some moments later. There was something more thancoldness in her eyes as she bent her head to the Lady Superior, who drewa quick breath.
"She feels that she has been humiliated, and she will not forgive,"thought Dona Concepcion. "Ay de mi! And she may need my advice andprotection. I should have known better than to have treated her like therest."
After supper the girls went at once to the great sala of the convent,and sat in silence, with bent heads and folded hands and everyappearance of prayerful revery.
It was Saturday evening, and the good priest of the Presidio churchwould come to confess them, that they might commune on the early morrow.They heard the loud bell of the convent gate, then the opening andshutting of several doors; and many a glance flashed up to the ceilingas the brain behind scurried the sins of the week together. It had beenarranged that the six leading misdemeanants were to go first and receivemuch sound advice, before the old priest had begun to feel the fatigueof the confessional. The door opened, and Dona Concepcion stood onthe threshold. Her face was whiter than usual, and her manner almostruffled.
"It is Padre Dominguez," she said. "Padre Estudillo is ill. If---if--anyof you are tired, or do not wish to confess to the strange priest, youmay go to bed."
Not a girl moved. Padre Dominguez was twenty-five and as handsome asthe marble head of the young Augustus which stood on a shelf in theGovernor's sala. During the year of his work in Monterey more thanone of the older girls had met and talked with him; for he went intosociety, as became a priest, and holidays were not unfrequent. But,although he talked agreeably, it was a matter for comment that he lovedbooks and illuminated manuscripts more than the world, and that he wasas ambitious as his superior abilities justified.
"Very well," said Dona Concepcion, impatiently. "Eustaquia, go in."
Eustaquia made short work of her confession. She was followed by Elena,Lola, Mariana, and Amanda. When the last appeared for a moment at thedoor, then courtesied a good night and vanished, Dona Concepcion did notcall the expected name, and several of the girls glanced up in surprise.Pilar raised her eyes at last and looked steadily at the LadySuperior. The blood rose slowly up the nun's white face, but she saidcarelessly:--
"Thou art tired, mijita, no? Wilt thou not go to bed?"
"Not without making my confession, if you will permit me."
"Very well; go."
Pilar left the room and closed the door behind her. Alone in the hall,she shook suddenly and twisted her hands together. But, although shecould not conquer her agitation, she opened the door of the chapelresolutely and entered. The little arched whitewashed room was almostdark. A few candles burned on the altar, shadowing the gorgeous imagesof Virgin and saints. Pilar walked slowly down the narrow body of thechapel until she stood behind a priest who knelt beside a table with hisback to the door. He wore the brown robes of the Franciscan, but hislean finely proportioned figure manifested itself through the shapelessgarment. He looked less like a priest than a masquerading athlete. Hisface was hidden in his hands.
Pilar did not kneel. She stood immovable and silent, and in a momentit was evident that she had made her presence felt. The priest stirreduneasily. "Kneel, my daughter," he said. But he did not look up. Pilarcaught his hands in hers and forced them down upon the table. Thepriest, throwing back his head in surprise, met the flaming glance ofeyes that dreamed no longer. He sprang to his feet, snatching back hishands. "Dona Pilar!" he exclaimed.
"I choose to make my confession standing," she said. "I love you!"
The priest stared at her in consternation.
"You knew it--unless you never think at all. You are the only man I haveever thought it worth while to talk to. You have seen how I have treatedothers with contempt, and that I have been happy with you--and we havehad more than one long talk together. You, too, have been happy--"
"I am a priest!"
"You are a Man and I am a Woman."
"What is it you would have me do?"
"Fling off that hideous garment which becomes you not at all, and flywith me to my father in the City of Mexico. I hear from him constantly,and he is wealthy and will protect us. The barque, _Joven Guipuzcoanoa,_leaves Monterey within a week after the convent closes for vacation."
The priest raised his clasped hands to heaven. "She is mad! She is mad!"he said. Then he turned on her fiercely. "Go! Go!" he cried. "I hateyou!"
"Ay, you love me! you love me!"
The priest slowly set his face. There was no gleam of expression toindicate whether the words that issued through his lips came from hissoul or from that section of his brain instinct with self-protection. Hespoke slowly:--
"I am a priest, and a priest I shall die. What is more, I shall denounceyou to Dona Concepcion, the clergy, and--to your mother. The words thathave just violated this chapel were not said under the seal of theconfessional, and I shall deal with them as I have said. You shall bepunished, that no other man's soul may be imperilled."
Pilar threw out her hands wildly. It was her turn to stare; and her eyeswere full of horror and disgust.
"What?" she cried. "You are a coward? A traitor? You not only dare notacknowledge that you love me, but you would betray me--and to my mother?Ah, Madre de Dios!"
"I do not love you. How dare you use such a word to me,--to me, ananointed priest! I shall denounce--and to-night."
"_And I loved you_!"
He shrank a little under the furious contempt of her eyes. Her wholebody quivered with passion. Then, suddenly, she sprang forward andstruck him so violent a blow on his cheek that he reeled and clutchedthe table. But his foot slipped, and he went down with the table on topof him. She laughed into his red unmasked face. "You look what you aredown there," she said,--"less than a man, and only fit to be a priest. Ihate you! Do your worst."
She rushed out of the chapel and across the hall, flinging open the doorof the sala. As she stood there with blazing eyes and cheeks, shakingfrom head to foot, the girls gave little cries of amazement, and DonaConcepcion, shaking, came forward hastily; but she reached the door toolate.
"Go to the priest," cried Pilar. "You will find him on his backsquirming under a table, with the mark of my hand on his cheek. He has atale to tell you." And she flung off the hand of the nun and ran throughthe halls, striking herself against the walls.
Dona Concepcion did not leave her sala that night. The indignant youngaspirant for honours in Mexico had vowed that he would tell Dona Br
igidaand the clergy before dawn, and all her arguments had entered smartingears. She had finally ordered him to leave the convent and never darkenits doors again. "And the self-righteous shall not enter the Kingdom ofHeaven," she had exclaimed in conclusion. "Who are you that you shouldjudge and punish this helpless girl and ruin a brilliant future? Andwhy? Because she was so inexperienced in men as to trust you."
"She has committed a deadly sin, and shall suffer," cried the young man,violently. It was evident that his outraged virtue as well as his facewas in flames. "Women were born to be good and meek and virtuous, toteach and to rear children. Such creatures as Pilar de la Torre shouldbe kept under lock and key until they are old and hideous."
"And men were made strong, that they might protect women. But I havesaid enough. Go."
Pilar appeared at the refectory table in the morning, but she exchangeda glance with no one, and ate little. She looked haggard, and it wasplain that she had not slept; but her manner was as composed as ever.When Dona Concepcion sent for her to come to the little sala, she wentat once.
"Sit down, my child," said the nun. "I said all I could to dissuade him,but he would not listen. I will protect thee if I can. Thou hast made aterrible mistake; but it is too late for reproaches. We must think ofthe future."
"I have no desire to escape the consequences. I staked all and lost.And nothing can affect me now. He has proved a dog, a cur, a coward, abrute. I can suffer no more than when I made that discovery; and if mymother chooses to kill me, I shall make no resistance."
"Thou art young and clever and will forget him. He is not worthremembering. He shall not go unpunished. I shall use my influence tohave him sent to the poorest hamlet in California. He is worthy to doonly the meanest work of the Church, and my influence with the clergy isstronger than his. But thou? I shall receive your mother when she comes,and beg her to leave you with me during the vacation. Then, later, whenher wrath is appeased, I will suggest that she send you to live for twoyears with your relatives at Santa Barbara."
Pilar lifted her shoulders and stared out of the window. Suddenlyshe gave a start and trembled. The bell of the gate was pealingvociferously. Dona Concepcion sprang to her feet.
"Stay here," she said; "I will receive her in the grand sala."
But her interview with Dona Brigida lasted two minutes.
"Give her to me!" cried the terrible old woman, her furious tonesringing through the convent. "Give her to me! I came not here to talkwith nuns. Stand aside!"
Dona Concepcion was forced to lead her to the little sala. She strodeinto the room, big and brown and bony, looking like an avenging Amazon,this mother of thirteen children. Her small eyes were blazing, and thethick wrinkles about them quivered. Her lips twitched, her cheeks burnedwith a dull dark red. In one hand she carried a greenhide reata. Withthe other she caught her daughter's long unbound hair, twisted it abouther arm like a rope, then brought the reata down on the unprotectedshoulders with all her great strength Dona Concepcion fled from theroom. Pilar made no sound. She had expected this, and had vowed that itshould not unseal her lips. The beating stopped abruptly. Dona Brigida,still with the rope of hair about her arm, pushed Pilar through thedoor, out of the convent and its gates, then straight down the hill. Forthe first time the girl faltered.
"Not to the Presidio!" she gasped.
Her mother struck her shoulder with a fist as hard as iron, and Pilarstumbled on. She knew that if she refused to walk, her mother wouldcarry her. They entered the Presidio. Pilar, raising her eyes for onebrief terrible moment, saw that Tomaso, her mother's head vaquero, stoodin the middle of the square holding two horses, and that every man,woman, and child of the Presidio was outside the buildings. TheCommandante and the Alcalde were with the Governor and his staff, andPadre Estudillo. They had the air of being present at an importantceremony.
Amidst a silence so profound that Pilar heard the mingled music of thepines on the hills above the Presidio and of the distant ocean, DonaBrigida marched her to the very middle of the square, then by adexterous turn of her wrist forced her to her knees. With both hands sheshook her daughter's splendid silken hair from the tight rope intowhich she had coiled it, then stepped back for a moment that all mightappreciate the penalty a woman must pay who disgraced her sex. Thebreeze from the hills lifted the hair of Pilar, and it floated andwreathed upward for a moment--a warm dusky cloud.
Suddenly the intense silence was broken by a loud universal hiss. Pilar,thinking that it was part of her punishment, cowered lower, then,obeying some impulse, looked up, and saw the back of the young priest.He was running. As her dull gaze was about to fall again, it encounteredfor a moment the indignant blue eyes of a red-haired, hard-featured, butdistinguished-looking young man, clad in sober gray. She knew him to bethe American, Malcolm Sturges, the guest of the Governor. But her mindrapidly shed all impressions but the wretched horror of her own plight.In another moment she felt the shears at her neck, and knew that herdisgrace was passing into the annals of Monterey, and that half herbeauty was falling from her. Then she found herself seated on the horsein front of her mother, who encircled her waist with an arm thatpressed her vitals like iron. After that there was an interval ofunconsciousness.
When she awoke, her first impulse was to raise her head from hermother's bony shoulder, where it bumped uncomfortably. Her listlessbrain slowly appreciated the fact that she was not on her way to theRancho Diablo. The mustang was slowly ascending a steep mountain trail.But her head ached, and she dropped her face into her hands. Whatmattered where she was going? She was shorn, and disgraced, anddisillusioned, and unspeakably weary of body and soul.
They travelled through dense forests of redwoods and pine, only thesoft footfalls of the unshod mustang or the sudden cry of the wild-catbreaking the primeval silence. It was night when Dona Brigida abruptlydismounted, dragging Pilar with her. They were halfway up a rockyheight, surrounded by towering peaks black with rigid trees. Just infront of them was an opening in the ascending wall. Beside it, with hishand on a huge stone, stood the vaquero. Pilar knew that she had nothingto hope from him: her mother had beaten him into submission long since.Dona Brigida, without a word, drove Pilar into the cave, and she and thevaquero, exerting their great strength to the full, pushed the stoneinto the entrance. There was a narrow rift at the top. The cave was asblack as a starless midnight.
Then Dona Brigida spoke for the first time:--
"Once a week I shall come with food and drink. There thou wilt stayuntil thy teeth fall, the skin bags from thy bones, and thou art sohideous that all men will run from thee. Then thou canst come forth andgo and live on the charity of the father to whom thou wouldst have takena polluted priest."
Pilar heard the retreating footfalls of the mustangs. She was toostunned to think, to realize the horrible fate that had befallen her.She crouched down against the wall of the cave nearest the light, herear alert for the growl of a panther or the whir of a rattler's tail.
II
The night after the close of school the Governor gave a grand ball,which was attended by the older of the convent girls who lived inMonterey or were guests in the capital. The dowagers sat against thewall, a coffee-coloured dado; the girls in white, the caballeros inblack silk small-clothes, the officers in their uniforms, danced to themusic of the flute and the guitar. When Elena Estudillo was alone in themiddle of the room dancing El Son and the young men were clapping andshouting and flinging gold and silver at her feet, Sturges and Eustaquiaslipped out into the corridor. It was a dark night, the duenas werethinking of naught but the dance and the days of their youth, and theviolators of a stringent social law were safe for the moment. Achance word, dropped by Sturges in the dance, and Eustaquia's eagerinterrogations, had revealed the American's indignation at the barbaroustreatment of Pilar, and his deep interest in the beautiful victim.
"Senor," whispered Eustaquia, excitedly, as soon as they reached theend of the corridor, "if you feel pity and perhaps love for my unhappyfriend, go to her rescue for the
love of Mary. I have heard to-day thather punishment is far worse than what you saw. It is so terrible that Ihardly have dared--"
"Surely, that old fiend could think of nothing else," said Sturges."What is she made of, anyhow?"
"Ay, yi! Her heart is black like the redwood tree that has been burntout by fire. Before Don Enrique ran away, she beat him many times; but,after, she was a thousand times worse, for it is said that she lovedhim in her terrible way, and that her heart burnt up when she was leftalone--"
"But Dona Pilar, senorita?"
"Ay, yi! Benito, one of the vaqueros of Dona Erigida, was in townto-day, and he told me (I bribed him with whiskey and cigaritos--theCommandante's, whose guest I am, ay, yi!)--he told me that Dona Erigidadid not take my unhappy friend home, but--"
"Well?" exclaimed Sturges, who was a man of few words.
Eustaquia jerked down his ear and whispered, "She took her to a cave inthe mountains and pushed her in, and rolled a huge stone as big as ahouse before the entrance, and there she will leave her till she isthirty--or dead!"
"Good God! Does your civilization, such as you've got, permit suchthings?"
"The mother may discipline the child as she will. It is not the businessof the Alcalde. And no one would dare interfere for poor Pilar, for shehas committed a mortal sin against the Church--"
"I'll interfere. Where is the cave?"
"Ay, senor, I knew you would. For that I told you all. I know not wherethe cave is; but the vaquero--he is in town till to-morrow. But he fearsDona Erigida, senor, as he fears the devil. You must tell him that notonly will you give him plenty of whiskey and cigars, but that you willsend him to Mexico. Dona Brigida would kill him."
"I'll look out for him."
"Do not falter, senor, for the love of God; for no Californian will goto her rescue. She has been disgraced and none will marry her. But youcan take her far away where no one knows--"
"Where is this vaquero to be found?"
"In a little house on the beach, under the fort, where his sweetheartlives."
"Good night!" And he sprang from the corridor and ran toward the nearestgate.
He found the vaquero, and after an hour's argument got his way. The man,who had wormed the secret out of Tomaso, had only a general idea of thesituation of the cave; but he confessed to a certain familiarity withthe mountains. He was not persuaded to go until Sturges had promised tosend not only himself but his sweetheart to Mexico. Dona Brigida wasviolently opposed to matrimony, and would have none of it on her rancho.Sturges promised to ship them both off on the _Joven Guipuzcoanoa_, andto keep them comfortably for a year in Mexico. It was not an offer to berefused.
They started at dawn. Sturges, following Benito's advice, bought a longgray cloak with a hood, and filled his saddle-bags with nourishing food.The vaquero sent word to Dona Brigida that the horses he had brought into sell to the officers had escaped and that he was hastening down thecoast in pursuit. In spite of his knowledge of the mountains, it wasonly after two days of weary search in almost trackless forests, andmore than one encounter with wild beasts, that they came upon the cave.They would have passed it then but for the sharp eyes of Sturges, whodetected the glint of stone behind the branches which Dona Brigida hadpiled against it.
He sprang down, tossed the brush aside, and inserted his fingers betweenthe side of the stone and the wall of the cave. But he could not move italone, and was about to call Benito, who was watering the mustangs ata spring, when he happened to glance upward. A small white hand washanging over the top of the stone. Sturges was not a Californian, but hesprang to his feet and pressed his lips to that hand. It was cold andnerveless, and clasping it in his he applied his gaze to the rift abovethe stone. In a moment he distinguished two dark eyes and a gleam ofwhite brow above. Then a faint voice said:--
"Take me out! Take me out, senor, for the love of God!"
"I have come for that. Cheer up," said Sturges, in his best Spanish."You'll be out in five minutes."
"And then you'll bring me his head," whispered Pilar. "Ay, Dios, what Ihave suffered! I have been years here, senor, and I am nearly mad."
"Well, I won't promise you his head, but I've thrashed the life out ofhim, if that will give you any satisfaction. I caught him in the woods,and I laid on my riding-whip until he bit the grass and yelled formercy."
The eyes in the cave blazed with a light which reminded himuncomfortably of Dona Erigida.
"That was well! That was well!" said Pilar. "But it is not enough. Imust have his head. I never shall sleep again till then, senor. Ay,Dios, what I have suffered!"
"Well, we'll see about the head later. To get you out of this is thefirst thing on the program. Benito!"
Benito ran forward, and together they managed to drag the stone aside.But Pilar retreated into the darkness and covered her face with herhands.
"Ay, Dios! Dios! I cannot go out into the sunlight. I am old andhideous."
"Make some coffee," said Sturges to Benito. He went within and took herhands. "Come," he said. "You have been here a week only. Your brain isa little turned, and no wonder. You've put a lifetime of sufferinginto that week. But I'm going to take care of you hereafter, and thatshe-devil will have no more to say about it. I'll either take you toyour father, or to my mother in Boston--whichever you like."
Benito brought in the coffee and some fresh bread and dried meat. Pilarate and drank ravenously. She had found only stale bread and water inthe cave. When she had finished, she looked at Sturges with a moreintelligent light in her eyes, then thrust her straggling locks behindher ears. She also resumed something of her old dignified composure.
"You are very kind, senor," she said graciously. "It is true that Ishould have been mad in a few more days. At first I did nothing but run,run, run--the cave is miles in the mountain; but since when I cannotremember I have huddled against that stone, listening--listening; and atlast you came."
Sturges thought her more beautiful than ever. The light was streamingupon her now, and although she was white and haggard she looked far lesscold and unapproachable than when he had endeavoured in vain to win aglance from her in the church. He put his hand on her tangled hair. "Youshall suffer no more," he repeated; "and this will grow again. And thatbeautiful mane--it is mine. I begged it from the Alcalde, and it is safein my trunk."
"Ah, you love me!" she said softly.
"Yes, I love you!" And then, as her eyes grew softer and she caught hishand in hers with an exclamation of passionate gratitude for his gallantrescue, he took her in his arms without more ado and kissed her.
"Yes, I could love you," she said in a moment. "For, though you are nothandsome, like the men of my race, you are true and good and brave: allI dreamed that a man should be until that creature made all men seemloathsome. But I will not marry you till you bring me his head--"
"Oh! come. So lovely a woman should not be so blood-thirsty. He has beenpunished enough. Besides what I gave him, he's been sent off to spendthe rest of his life in some hole where he'll have neither books norsociety--"
"It is not enough! When a man betrays a woman, and causes her to bebeaten and publicly disgraced--it will be written in the books of theAlcalde, senor!--and shut up in a cave to suffer the tortures of thedamned in hell, he should die."
"Well, I think he should myself, but I'm not the public executioner, andone can't fight a duel with a priest--"
"Senor! Senor! Quick! Pull, for the love of God!"
It was Benito who spoke, and he was pushing with all his might againstthe stone. "She comes--Dona Brigida!" he cried. "I saw her far off justnow. Stay both in there. I will take the mustangs and hide them on theother side of the mountain and return when she is gone. That is the bestway."
"We can all go--"
"No, no! She would follow; and then--ay, Dios de mi alma! No, it is bestthe senorita be there when she comes; then she will go away quietly."
They replaced the stone. Benito piled the brush against it, then madeoff with the mustangs.
&n
bsp; "Go far," whispered Pilar. "Dios, if she sees you!"
"I shall not leave you again. And even if she enter, she need not seeme. I can stand in that crevice, and I will keep quiet so long as shedoes not touch you."
Dona Brigida was a half-hour reaching the cave, and meanwhile Sturgesrestored the lost illusions of Pilar. Not only did he make love to herwithout any of the rhetorical nonsense of the caballero, but he was bigand strong, and it was evident that he was afraid of nothing, not evenof Dona Brigida. The dreams of her silent girlhood swirled in herimagination, but looked vague and shapeless before this vigorousreality. For some moments she forgot everything and was happy. But therewas a black spot in her heart, and when Sturges left her for a moment tolisten, it ached for the head of the priest. She had much bad as well asmuch good in her, this innocent Californian maiden; and the last weekhad forced an already well-developed brain and temperament close tomaturity. She vowed that she would make herself so dear to this fieryAmerican that he would deny her nothing. Then, her lust for vengeancesatisfied, she would make him the most delightful of wives.
"She is coming!" whispered Sturges, "and she has the big vaquero withher."
"Ay, Dios! If she knows all, what can we do?"
"I've told you that I have no love of killing, but I don't hesitate whenthere is no alternative. If she sees me and declares war, and I cannotget you away, I shall shoot them both. I don't know that it would keepme awake a night. Now, you do the talking for the present."
Dona Brigida rode up to the cave and dismounted. "Pilar!" she shouted,as if she believed that her daughter was wandering through the heart ofthe mountain.
Pilar presented her eyes at the rift.
"Ay, take me out! take me out!" she wailed, with sudden diplomacy.
Her mother gave a short laugh, then broke off and sniffed.
"What is this?" she cried. "Coffee? I smell coffee!"
"Yes, I have had coffee," replied Pilar, calmly. "Benito has brought methat, and many dulces."
"Dios!" shouted Dona Brigida. "I will tie him to a tree and beat himtill he is as green as my reata--"
"Give me the bread!--quick, quick, for the love of Heaven! It is twodays since he has been, and I have nothing left, not even a drop ofcoffee."
"Then live on the memory of thy dulces and coffee! The bread and watergo back with me. Three days from now I bring them again. Meanwhile, thoucanst enjoy the fangs at thy vitals."
Pilar breathed freely again, but she cried sharply, "Ay, no! no!"
"Ay, yes! yes!"
Dona Brigida stalked up and down, while Pilar twisted her handstogether, and Sturges mused upon his future wife's talent for dramaticinvention. Suddenly Dona Brigida shouted: "Tomaso, come here! Thespring! A horse has watered here to-day--two horses! I see the littlehoof-mark and the big." She ran back to the cave, dragging Tomaso withher. "Quick! It is well I brought my reata. Ten minutes, and I shallhave the truth. Pull there; I pull here."
"The game is up," whispered Sturges to Pilar. "And I have another plan."He took a pistol from his hip-pocket and handed it to her. "You have acool head," he said; "now is the time to use it. As soon as this stonegives way do you point that pistol at the vaquero's head, and don't letyour hand tremble or your eye falter as you value your liberty. I'lltake care of her."
Pilar nodded. Sturges threw himself against the rock and pushed with allhis strength. In a moment it gave, and the long brown talons of Pilar'smother darted in to clasp the curve of the stone. Sturges was temptedto cut them off; but he was a sportsman, and liked fair play. The stonegave again, and this time he encountered two small malignant eyes. DonaBrigida dropped her hands and screamed; but, before she could alter herplans, Sturges gave a final push and rushed out, closely followed byPilar.
It was his intention to throw the woman and bind her, hand and foot; buthe had no mean opponent. Dona Brigida's surprise had not paralyzed her.She could not prevent his exit, for she went back with the stone,but she had sprung to the open before he reached it himself, and wasstriking at him furiously with her reata. One glance satisfied Sturgesthat Pilar had covered the vaquero, and he devoted the next few momentsto dodging the reata. Finally, a well-directed blow knocked it from herhand, and then he flung himself upon her, intending to bear her to theground. But she stood like a rock, and closed with him, and they reeledabout the little plateau in the hard embrace of two fighting grizzlies.There could be no doubt about the issue, for Sturges was young and wiryand muscular; but Dona Brigida had the strength of three women, and,moreover, was not above employing methods which he could not withdignity resort to and could with difficulty parry. She bit at him. Sheclawed at his back and shoulders. She got hold of his hair. And she wasso nimble that he could not trip her. She even roared in his ears, andonce it seemed to him that her bony shoulder was cutting through hisgarments and skin. But after a struggle of some twenty minutes, littleby little her embrace relaxed; she ceased to roar, even to hiss, herbreath came in shorter and shorter gasps. Finally, her knees trembledviolently, she gave a hard sob, and her arms fell to her sides. Sturgesdragged her promptly into the cave and laid her down.
"You are a plucky old lady, and I respect you," he said. "But here youmust stay until your daughter is safely out of the country. I shall takeher far beyond your reach, and I shall marry her. When we are well outat sea, Tomaso will come back and release you. If he attempts to do sosooner, I shall blow his head off. Meanwhile you can be as comfortablehere as you made your daughter; and as you brought a week's supply ofbread, you will not starve."
The old woman lay and glared at him, but she made no reply. She might beviolent and cruel, but she was indomitable of spirit, and she would sueto no man.
Sturges placed the bread and water beside her, then, aided by Tomaso,pushed the stone into place. As he turned about and wiped his brow, hemet the eyes of the vaquero. They were averted hastily, but not beforeSturges had surprised a twinkle of satisfaction in those usuallyimpassive orbs. He shouted for Benito, then took the pistol from Pilar,who suddenly looked tired and frightened.
"You are a wonderful woman," he said; "and upon my word, I believe youget a good deal of it from your mother."
Benito came running, leading the mustangs. Sturges wrapped Pilar in thelong cloak, lifted her upon one of the mustangs, and sprang to his own.He ordered Tomaso and Benito to precede them by a few paces and to takethe shortest cut for Monterey. It was now close upon noon, and it wasimpossible to reach Monterey before dawn next day, for the mustangs wereweary; but the _Joven_ did not sail until ten o'clock.
"These are my plans," said Sturges to Pilar, as they walked theirmustangs for a few moments after a hard gallop. "When we reach the footof the mountain, Benito will leave us, go to your rancho, gather as muchof your clothing as he can strap on a horse, and join us at the barque.He will have a good hour to spare, and can get fresh horses at theranch. We will be married at Mazatlan. Thence we will cross Mexico tothe Gulf, and take passage for New Orleans. When we are in the UnitedStates, your new life will have really begun."
"And Tomaso will surely bring my mother from that cave, senor? I amafraid--I feel sure he was glad to shut her in there."
"I will leave a note for the Governor. Your mother will be free withinthree days, and meanwhile a little solitary meditation will do hergood."
When night came Sturges lifted Pilar from her horse to his, and pressedher head against his shoulder. "Sleep," he said. "You are worn out."
She flung her hand over his shoulder, made herself comfortable, and wasasleep in a moment, oblivious of the dark forest and the echoing criesof wild beasts. The strong arm of Sturges would have inspired confidenceeven had it done less in her rescue. Once only she shook and cried out,but with rage, not fear, in her tones. Her words were coherent enough:--
"His head! His head! Ay, Dios, what I have suffered!"
An hour before dawn Benito left them, mounted on the rested mustang andleading his own. The others pushed on, over and around the foothills,with what speed they
could; for even here the trail was narrow, the pinewoods dense. It was just after dawn that Sturges saw Tomaso rein in hismustang and peer into the shrubbery beside the trail. When he reachedthe spot himself, he saw signs of a struggle. The brush was trampledfor some distance into the thicket, and several of the young trees werewrenched almost from their roots.
"It has been a struggle between a man and a wild beast, senor,"whispered Tomaso, for Filar still slept. "Shall I go in? The man maybreathe yet."
"Go, by all means."
Tomaso dismounted and entered the thicket. He came running back withblinking eyes.
"Madre de Dios!" he exclaimed in a loud whisper. "It is the youngpriest--Padre Dominguez. It must have been a panther, for they spring atthe breast, and his very heart is torn out, senor. Ay, yi!"
"Ah! You must inform the Church as soon as we have gone. Go on."
They had proceeded a few moments in silence, when Sturges suddenlyreined in his mustang.
"Tomaso," he whispered, "come here."
The vaquero joined him at once.
"Tomaso," said Sturges, "have you any objection to cutting off a deadman's head?"
"No, senor."
"Then go back and cut off that priest's and wrap it in a piece of hiscassock, and carry it the best way you can."
Tomaso disappeared, and Sturges pushed back the gray hood and lookedupon the pure noble face of the girl he had chosen for wife.
"I believe in gratifying a woman's whims whenever it is practicable," hethought.
But she made him a very good wife.
The Splendid Idle Forties: Stories of Old California Page 7