by Mayne Reid
CHAPTER SIXTY FIVE.
From the embrasure of his prison Carlos looked upon the terriblespectacle. We have said that he regarded it in silence. Not exactlyso. Now and then, as the blood-stained lash fell heavier than usual, alow groan escaped him--the involuntary utterance of agony extreme.
His looks more than his voice betrayed the fearful fire that was burningwithin. Those who by chance or curiosity glanced into the embrasurewere appalled by the expression of that face. Its muscles were rigidand swollen, the eyes were fixed and ringed with purple, the teethfirmly set, the lips drawn tight over them, and large sweat-dropsglistened upon the forehead. No red showed upon the cheeks, nor anypart of the face--not a trace to tell that blood circulated there. Paleas death was that face, and motionless as marble.
From his position Carlos could see but two angles of the Plaza--thatwhere the cruel scene had its commencement, and that where the secondportion was administered. The procession then passed out of sight; butthough his eyes were no longer tortured by the horrid spectacle, therewas but little relief in that. He knew it continued all the same.
He remained no longer by the window. A resolve carried him from it,--the resolve of self-destruction!
His agony was complete. He could endure it no longer. Death wouldrelieve him, and upon death he was determined.
But how to die?
He had no weapon; and even if he had, pinioned as he was, he could nothave used it.
But one mode seemed possible--to dash his head against the wall!
A glance at the soft mason-work of _adobes_ convinced him that thiswould not effect his purpose. By such an effort he might stun, but notkill himself. He would wake again to horrid life.
His eyes swept the cell in search of some mode of self-destruction.
A beam traversed the apartment. It was high enough to hang the tallestman. With his hands free, and a cord in them, it would do. There wascord enough on them for the purpose, for they were bound by severalvaras of a raw-hide thong.
To the fastenings his attention was now directed; when, to his surpriseand delight, he perceived that the thong had become slack and loose!The hot sweat, pouring from his hands and wrists, had saturated theraw-hide, causing it to melt and yield; and his desperate exertions,made mechanically under the influence of agony and half-madness, hadstretched it for inches! A slight examination of the fasteningsconvinced him of the possibility of his undoing them; and to this heapplied himself with all the strength find energy of a desperate man.Had his hands been tied in front, he might have used his teeth in theendeavour to set them free; but they were bound fast together across hisback. He pulled and wrenched them with all his strength.
If there is a people in the world who understand better than any otherthe use of ropes or thongs, that people is the Spanish-American. TheIndian must yield to them in this knowledge, and even the habile sailormakes but a clumsy knot in comparison. No people so well understand howto bind a captive _without iron_, and the captive outlaw had been tiedto perfection.
But neither ropes of hemp nor hide will secure a man of superiorstrength and resolution. Give such an one but time to operate, and hewill be certain to free himself. Carlos knew that he needed but time.
The effect produced by the moistening of the raw-hide was such, thatshort time sufficed. In less than ten minutes it slipped from hiswrists, and his hands were free!
He drew the thong through his fingers to clear it of loops and snarls.He fashioned one end into a noose; and, mounting upon the banqueta,knotted the other over the beam. He then placed the noose around hisnaked threat--calculating the height at which it should hang when drawntaut by the weight of his body! and, placing himself on the elevatededge of the banqueta, he was prepared to spring out--
"Let me look on them once more before I die--poor victims!--once more!"
The position he occupied was nearly in front of the embrasure, and hehad only to lean a little to one side to get a view of the Plaza. Hedid so.
He could not see them; but he saw that the attention of the crowd wasdirected towards that angle of the square adjacent to the Calabozo. Thehorrid ceremony would soon be over. Perhaps they would then be carriedwithin sight. He would wait for the moment, it would be his last--
"Ha! what is that? Oh God: it is--"
He heard the "weep" of the keen cuarto as it cut the air. He thought,or fancied, he heard a low moan. The silence of the crowd enabled himto distinguish the slightest sounds.
"God of mercy, is there no mercy? God of vengeance, hear me! Ha!vengeance! what am I dreaming of, suicidal fool? What! my hands free--can I not break the door? the lock? I can but die upon their weapons!and maybe--"
He had flung the noose from his neck, and was about to turn away fromthe window, when a heavy object struck him on the forehead, almoststunning him with the blow!
At first he thought it was a stone from the hand of some ruffianwithout; but the object, in falling upon the banqueta, gave out a dullmetallic clink. He looked down, and in the dim light could make outthat the thing which had struck him was of an oblong shape. He benthastily forward, and clutched it.
It was a parcel, wrapped in a piece of silken scarf and tied securely.The string was soon unfastened, and the contents of the parcel held upto the light. These were a roleau of gold onzas, a long-bladed knife,and a folded sheet of paper!
The last occupied his attention first. The sun was down, and the lightdeclining, but in front of the window there was still enough to enablehim to read he opened the paper and read:--
"_Your time is fixed for to-morrow. I cannot learn whether you will bekept where you are all night, or be taken back to the Presidio. If youremain in the Calabozo, well. I send you two weapons. Use which youplease, or both. The walls can be pierced. There will be one outsidewho will conduct you safe. Should you be taken to the Presidio, youmust endeavour to escape on the way, or there is no hope. I need notrecommend courage and resolution to you--the personification of both.Make for the rancho of Josefa. There you will find one who is now readyto share your perils and your liberty. Adieu! my soul's hero, adieu_!"
No name appeared. But Carlos needed none--he well knew who was thewriter of that note.
"Brave, noble girl!" he muttered as he concealed the paper under thebreast of his hunting-shirt; "the thought of living for you fills mewith fresh hope--gives me new nerve for the struggle. If I die, it willnot be by the hands of the _garrotero_. No, my hands are free. Theyshall not be bound again while life remains. I shall yield only todeath itself."
As the captive muttered these thoughts he sat down upon the banqueta,and hurriedly untied the thongs that up to this time had remained uponhis ankles. This done, he rose to his feet again; and, with the longknife firmly clutched, strode up and down the cell, glancing fiercelytowards the door at each turning. He had resolved to run the gauntletof his guards, and by his manner it was evident he had made up his mindto attack the first of them that entered.
For several minutes he paced his cell, like a tiger within its cage.
At length a thought seemed to suggest itself that caused a change in hismanner, sudden and decided. He gathered up the thongs just cast off;and seating himself upon the banqueta, once more wound them around hisankles--but this time in such a fashion, that a single jerk upon acunningly-contrived knot would set all free. The knife was hidden underhis hunting-shirt, where the purse had been already deposited. Last ofall, he unloosed the raw-hide rope from the beam, and, meeting his handsbehind him, whipped it around both wrists, until they had the appearanceof being securely spliced. He then assumed a reclining attitude alongthe banqueta, with his face turned towards the door, and remainedmotionless as though he were asleep!