CHAPTER VI
A BRUISING OF ARMS FOR JACQUELINE
"Then John bent up his long bende-bowe, And fetteled him to shoote." --_Robin Hood._
Into the crowd before the cafe, the Storm Centre pushed the argument ofshoulders, and quickly gained for himself the place which his pseudonymindicated. Then he stopped, and looked puzzled. Which side to take? TheFrench, being outnumbered, offered the larger contract.
"What's the row?" Driscoll inquired of Ney. But he was ignored. "Mightanswer," he suggested insidiously, "for it's only a toss-up anyhow whichway I enlist. Look here, Sky-Blue, if you don't understand Spanish, justsay so, and tell me why you don't start the game."
Ney shoved him aside impatiently, but he calmly stepped back again.
"Come now," he argued plaintively, "let me in, don't be selfish?But--goodness gracious, man, why don't you draw your gun?"
"Because, my good fellow, I haven't any."
The mystery cleared at once, for now Driscoll understood the strategicoutlay. Its key was Fra Diavolo, with a pistol at Ney's head, and quitestatuesque the romantic Mexican looked. But out of the tail of his eyeFra Diavolo noted the American, at first with contemptuous amusementonly. Then, as though such had been the situation from the start, hegrew aware of an ugly black muzzle under his chin. For very safety hefroze rigid, and dared not turn his own weapon from Ney to his newaggressor. But he wondered how the ugly black muzzle came there. He hadnot seen the American move. But for those who did see, the action seemeddeliberate, with no hint of the actual panther-like turn of the wristfrom the waist outward.
With his left hand Driscoll next drew forth the second of the brace, andheld it out to Ney in his palm. The Chasseur seized the weapon joyfully.He straightened as the humiliation of a disarmed soldier fell from him.But at once his face clouded, and with an oath he handed back thenavy-six.
"W'y, what's the matter?" asked Driscoll.
"You are trifling, man. That thing has no trigger."
Much as an artisan would explain the peculiarities of a favorite tool,Driscoll said, "Now look here, you strip it--this way--so."
And as he explained, he illustrated. He raised the hammer under histhumb, he released it on the cartridge, and Fra Diavolo's sombrero flewoff.
Fra Diavolo threw up his hand involuntarily, and there was a secondreport. Fra Diavolo's pistol twisted out of his grasp. The brace ofnavies had not gone higher than the American's waist.
"So," Driscoll concluded.
At the same moment one of the sailors, a bullet-headed lad of Normandy,was observed to do a very peculiar thing. Jumping in front of FraDiavolo he drew up one knee, for all the world like a dancer who meantthen and there to cut a pigeon's wing. His foot described a circle underthe knee, then the performer turned partly round, and as a lightningbolt his leg straightened out full against Fra Diavolo's stomach. Theranchero dropped like a bag of sand, except that he groaned. Neycaptured the fallen pistol. A musket blazed, and a sailor cursed. Andforthwith the maelstrom began. It went swirling round, with weirdcontortions and murderous eddies, but always its seething vortex was thelone trooper.
Luckily, firearms were out of the question where both sides were somixed together. But Mexicans and sailors plied their knives instead, sothat there was much soppy red spreading over the yellowish white ofshirts, and over the blue of jackets. The pigeon-wing diversion, calledthe savate, also played its bizarre role, for wherever a Frenchman foundspace for the straightening out of a leg, in that instant a littlenative shot from him as a cat from the toe of a boot. Fra Diavolo wasdeposited flat on his back each time he tried to rise, till the sole ofa foot took on more terror than a cannon's mouth. As for Michel Ney, hewas beautiful and gallant, now that what he had to do came withoutthinking. He achieved things splendidly with the butt of his enemy'srevolver, and exhorted his men the while to the old, brilliant daring ofFrenchmen.
The Storm Centre, though, was merely workmanlike. He put away thesix-shooters, and strove barehanded with joy and vigor, which wasdelightful; yet so systematic, that it was anything rather than romance.It might have been geometry, in that a foe is safer horizontal thanperpendicular, and the theorem he applied industriously, with simplefaith and earnest fists.
Yet, all told, it was a highly successful affair. Din Driscoll objectedto the brevity, but that could hardly be altered for his sake. Thelittle demons of Mexicans crawled from the outskirts of the mess, hereone, there two or three, and now many, limping and nursing heads, andrubbing themselves dubiously, with hideous grimaces.
Suddenly the cafe door opened, and Jacqueline emerged, tripping lightly.Din Driscoll was filling his cob pipe, but he paused with a finger overthe bowl. "If there isn't a woman in it!" he muttered. He felt imposedupon. The game was a man's game, and now its flavor was gone.
Jacqueline had seen nothing of the fray, but now she saw Fra Diavolo'sContra Guerrillas skulking away and the sardonic captain himself fumingin ignoble soreness on his back. "Indeed," with fine scorn she demandedof Ney, "and how did you manage it?"
"Looks like the wrong side won out," mused Driscoll, feeling a littleuncomfortable.
"Permit me to congratulate you--sergeant," she went on. "It's a goodbeginning for promotion. If you only knew how hard Maximilian tries towin over these natives, and here the very first thing you--Helas! poorPrince Max!"
Driscoll caught one word from her French. "What's that aboutMaximilian?" he interrupted. He had to repeat, and then Jacqueline onlyglanced at him over her shoulder. Some mule driver, she imagined, andturned again to the abashed Chasseur.
But the pseudo mule driver moved squarely in front of her. He wasembarrassed and respectful, but determined. Jacqueline lifted her brows."My good man, this is effrontery!" But her good man did not quail. Shenoticed him a little then. He was ruddy and clean, with a stubble growthon his jaw. Since the civilization of Mobile, Lieutenant Colonel Jno. D.Driscoll had backslided into his old campaign ease. His first genuinestiff beard had found him sabre in hand, so that his knowledge ofcutting instruments and of arched brows was limited. He said that hewould be much obliged to have his question answered. Whereat Jacquelinethought, by her faith, "What a round, wholesome voice these rusticssometimes have!" The one she heard possessed the full rich quality of anIrishman's brogue, with the brogue worn off.
"You know Spanish, do you not, senorita?"
"Mais--why, better than I thought," she returned in English; and inEnglish that was piquant because it could not help being just the leastbit French as well. "Much better--because, I comprehend even yours,sir."
"Con-_grat_-ulate you," Driscoll returned. "But what's this aboutMaximilian?"
An eagerness in his manner caught her attention. But she answered withher old irony. "His Imperial Majesty seems to concern you profoundly,monsieur?"
"H'm'm--oh no! Only it's curious how he gets mixed up in this shindy ofours."
"If--if you are asking about Maximilian, senor," a heavy voice began.Fra Diavolo at least was not indifferent to the American's questioning,and now he explained that the lady was the Marquesa d'Aumerle, and thatshe was on her way from Paris to the Mexican court. But a storm havingbrought her to Tampico, she wished to finish her journey overland. He,the Capitan Morel of His Majesty's Contra Guerrillas, had offered herescort for the trip. But the French caballero had presumed to force herto continue by water.
"By water?" Driscoll repeated, glaring at Ney. "That poor littlegirl!--And make her sick again!"
Jacqueline's chin tilted. "Ma foi, monsieur, I was not sick."
Driscoll noted her fragile dainty person, and recalling his ownexperience, had grave doubts about the consistency of Nature. But thiswas apart. There was still the mystery of his having blundered into abusiness that somehow concerned the Emperor of Mexico. And it was amatter that must be set right.
"You say you are an officer," he demanded of the ranchero, "but yourGreaser clothes, that's not a uniform?"
Uniforms were not necessarily a
part of the contra-guerrilla service,said the Mexican; and besides, there might be reasons for a disguise.But as to his own identity, he reproduced the order signed by ColonelDupin.
"Correct," said Driscoll, and handed back the paper.
"Now then," he added to Ney, "what do you say for yourself?"
Unconsciously the French soldier replied as to a superior officer. "I'vejust been transferred to the service of His Excellency, Marshal Bazaine,in the City of Mexico, and am on my way there now."
"You are in the French service?"
"Of course I am."
"Your rank?"
"Sergeant."
Here, in a caprice of kind heart, as well as of mischief, Jacquelineinterposed. "Your sergeant, Monsieur the American, is the Duke ofElchingen." But she might have called Ney a genus homo, for all theimpression it made.
"Too bad, sergeant," said Driscoll, "but a captain ranks first, youknow, and--well, I reckon I'll have to change sides. I know it's tough,"and his brow knitted with droll perplexity, "but I'm afraid we'll justhave to do this thing all over again, unless--well, unless you give in,sergeant."
Jacqueline had been waxing more and more agog, and her boot had tappedimpatiently. Now she gave way, and declared that it was too much. What,she demanded, had monsieur to do with the matter in the first place?Driscoll took off his slouch hat and ran his fingers through his hair togrope for an answer. It had never been brought to him before thatfighting might be a private preserve. But his face cleared straightway.In this second skirmish, due momentarily, he would be a legitimatebelligerent and not a trespasser, because since he had stumbled amuck ofMaximilian's authority, another joust was needed to correct the first.It all depended on whether Miss--Miss--if the senorita--still wished togo by land.
"If monsieur will have the condescension," returned Jacqueline.
Then out came the brace of navies once more, as naturally as the orderbook of the grocer's clerk on your back porch. Involuntarily Ney reachedfor his cap.
"Now captain," said Driscoll.
Fra Diavolo took the cue instantly. "A-i, mis muchachos!" he called, andthe little demons came hurrying back, like a damned host with a new hopeof heaven.
If there were any police about, or had been, they were mysteriouslyindifferent. But Jacqueline did just as well. No one had thought to puther back in the cafe, and she promptly took a hand in the man's game.
"Michel Ney," she commanded, "do you hear me; lower that pistol!"
"You, you wish me to surrender, mademoiselle?"
"You know I don't! If anyone even asks it, I will go back to the shipwith you, at once."
"But I, I don't understand."
"You understand that I want your escort overland. Is it gallant, then,to disappoint me by getting yourself killed?"
"But all your trunks are on the ship."
Jacqueline turned to her Fra Diavolo. He could answer that? To be surehe could, and he was honored. He suggested, with her permission, thatshe spend the night on shore, she and her maid, since the cafe was alsoa hotel. Meantime, the sailors could bring what she needed from theboat.
As he listened, Ney's slow thoughts came to a focus. And when Jacquelineturned to him again, he gave way graciously, which brought on him asharp scrutiny from the ranchero. However, the truce between the twoantagonists was patched up with a readiness on both sides. Ney restoredto Fra Diavolo his pistol, and had his own weapons back in exchange.Next he took the ship's steward aside, apparently to instruct him aboutbringing the trunk. "And steward," he whispered, "don't forget to makeit urgent. The skipper must land all the troops on board at once." Hedecided that meantime he would stroll up to the fort on his own account,and bring down more aid from there.
"Now then," reflected the beaming young Gaul, "our _spirituelle_little marquise will find that one may have wits, and not read her denseold poets, either."
He opened the cafe door for her and both joined the maid Berthe, who wasstill clinging to sanctuary inside.
The American lieutenant-colonel and the Mexican capitan looked at oneanother. They felt deserted. Fra Diavolo's teeth bared. "Ai, que maleducados," he observed. "They're ill-bred, I say. They kick a gentlemanin the stomach--in the stomach, senor!"
Driscoll turned to go. It was enough of satisfaction to reflect that, ifany mention of the affair reached Maximilian, his own part therein wouldnot injure his errand to Mexico. As for the rest, Mexicans and Frenchcould go their own ways--he had amused himself. "Well, adios, captain,"he said, and swung on his heel.
"Wait! Which direction, senor?"
"To this meson here, around the corner."
"If Your Mercy is not in a hurry----"
Driscoll nodded, and the capitan stopped to say a few words to two ofhis vagabonds. One of these immediately hurried off in the direction ofthe river. The other was still loafing outside the cafe when his chiefrejoined Driscoll.
"Looks like you were interested in His Resplendent Majesty," Fra Diavolobegan with weighty lightsomeness. "Mustn't hurt his feelings, eh,caballero?"
Driscoll laughed easily, "It was all on the girl's account," he said.
The ranchero glanced at him quickly, sideways, a dark look of suspicion."On her account, senor, not Maximilian's?" he repeated. "Dios mio,caballero, I'll wager you have forgotten her already." Which, to tellthe truth, was fairly exact.
At the meson Don Anastasio regarded the American with much more respectto see him returning in such company. But to Fra Diavolo he addressedhimself in his thin obsequious voice, "You see I am waiting, as youwished. But on my, my daughter's account, I----"
"So, captain," Driscoll interrupted, "you're the one that's holding backMurgie! Just tell him, Murgie, that I am in a rush."
Fra Diavolo smiled and bade his American have patience, for he quitebelieved that the Senor Murguia would be starting in the morning.
"Si senor," he went on in a different tone, when Driscoll had left himalone with the trader, "you set out to-morrow, and you are to have twoextra horses ready. But for whom, do you suppose? Bien, they are for LaSenorita Jacqueline and her maid."
Murguia's countenance changed strangely, a most inexplicable contortion.His little rat eyes focused on the ranchero, and he drew back in a sortof fear. Convoy her whom people called Jacqueline through the lawlessHuasteca, at the bidding of this man! "No, no, no!" he cried, andshuddered too.
Trying to read a meaning behind the capitan's dark scowl, he knew onlytoo well the meaning that was there. He moaned at the thought.Maximiliano would have him shot, or burned, or tortured. He would losehis ranch, his cotton mill. He would be poor. It was vague, what wouldhappen, but it was horrible, horrible!
"Hush, you fool!" growled Fra Diavolo. "The entire meson will hear you,including that Gringo."
"That Gringo? He, he is one of your friends?"
"Friend! For Dios, he nearly ruined my little plans for Jacqueline.Listen, he has business of some kind with Maximiliano."
"Yes, yes. And there's a--a mystery in his business."
"What do you mean?"
"If I knew, would it be a mystery?"
"Who is he?"
"He won't tell. I only know that he is a Confederate officer."
"A Confederate officer?" The capitan whistled low and softly. "Come tothe Plaza, there you can tell me what you think."
And in the solitude of the Plaza they planned according to theirsuspicions.
The Missourian Page 9