“Then wilt thou not seek her power for thyself?” whispered the girl subduedly, awed for the moment by his tremendous and solemn earnestness.
“Little one, bring Sancho as she bade thee. He has merited punishment. Yet tell him the Sultana will be just. His punishment will but fit the fault. Afterward we two will talk together, and I shall teach thee loyalty. Go now, bring thy man to the council hall. I shall await thee. Stay, I shall come with thee, for the woods are dark, and a storm threatens.”
“I go alone, Milo. He will fly from thee. Have no fear for me; the woods are safe, and the storm is in thy great head only.”
The girl turned, kissed her hand airily, and ran into the gloom of the forest. And as she went she laughed again harshly and muttered: “The great clod! His worship overtops his love. But I shall make love overtop worship yet, my giant! Such a man—a slave? Not for a thousand Doloreses! Wait, Milo; wait, my mistress!”
The evening breeze had strengthened as darkness fell, and its breath was hot and sultry. As Pascherette plunged deeper into the woods, the heavy boom of the seas along shore died away and gave place to the softer, more vibrant hum and murmur of the great trees. The track, little more than a line of flattened underbrush, vanished before she had gone fifty yards; but the little octoroon was no stranger to nocturnal rambles, her keen eyes, and, keener still, her sense of direction, led her unerringly through the shades toward the rearward spur of the granite cliff. Creepers and hanging mosses brushed her face and limbs; alone she might have ignored them; but there was a quality in the sighing and rustling about her that seemed to give voices to the ghostly fingers that touched her, and to support her courage as well as to warn Sancho of her coming, she thrilled forth a merry little snatch of song:
“Ho! for the Jolly Roger lads;
Ho! for the decks red-streaming.
A pirate’s lass is a well-lov’d lass,
And there’s gold through the red a gleaming!
“Ho! for a cask in the fire’s red glow;
Ho! for the heaps of plunder.
There are showers of pearls for the pirates’ girls—
The rain from the corsair’s thunder!”
At the end of her song Pascherette halted, listened, then called softly:
“Sancho! Thy Pascherette calls!”
Silence prevailed for several moments, and she called again, fearing that her voice had gone astray amid the increasing confusion of the trees. Then came a lull in the wind, the lull that always punctuated the gathering of such tropical storms as now threatened; and in the hush she heard voices—uncertain, disputing. Then Sancho growled, close to her ear:
“Art alone, jade?”
“Oh, Sancho!” she cried, darting into the gloom to the sound of his voice and flinging her arms about him. “I have feared for thee, my Sancho. Now I fear no more, for all is well.”
“Well?” the pirate growled suspiciously. “Hast left thy hot-blood mistress, then?”
“No, Sancho. It is better for thee even than that. I have made thy peace with Dolores. She has forgiven thee, and wishes to tell thee so.”
A fervid curse burst from some one yet invisible, and Sancho leaned back to catch some whispered words. Then he, too, ripped out an oath, and gripped Pascherette tightly by the arm.
“This is a trick, little devil! Don’t you value that pretty little head more than to trifle with me?”
“I trifle with thee? Thou art mad, Sancho!” she cried. “Did I lie when I said I loved thee, then?”
“The fiend knows! I know ’tis plaguey risky for thee if thou didst!”
“Unbeliever!” whispered Pascherette with thrilling emphasis. “Shall I tell thee again, in language even thy stubborn soul must believe?”
The girl suddenly glided inside his arms, flung up her hands, each clutching a mass of her glossy, scented hair, and enmeshed his disfigured face. Then, straining upward from her small height, her rosy, false lips sought his and fastened there while he staggered as if drunk.
“There, heart o’ mine!” she panted. “Dost believe now? Or must I tell thee again that with such love as mine proud Dolores cannot hurt thee. Come! Such a chance will never come thy way again. Man! ’Tis her confidence Dolores offers thee. Shall it go begging because of thy madness?”
“Pascherette!” returned Sancho hoarsely. “I will go with thee. But, girl, thy heart’s blood pours at first sign of treachery! Mark that well. And tell me now, does Yellow Rufe share in this mercy?”
“No, Sancho. It cannot be. Dolores has sworn to hunt him down; the woods are full of men even now, seeking him and thee. Only by going with me wilt thou escape them and have advantage from my pleading with the queen.” She drew his head down to her ear, and whispered rapidly. Doubt, then admiration, crept into Sancho’s voice as he said: “Dost think it can be done? Can he gain the sloop unseen?”
“I will make it easy, Sancho. Bid Rufe have no fear. The storm will be upon us within an hour. It is dark; there is wind aplenty. With six men he may win clear; and listen: If he is stout of heart, what is to stop him taking tribute from the stranger’s white vessel?”
“Lack o’ powder, girl,” returned Sancho angrily. “Thy mistress keeps us short of powder, as well thou dost know, lest we become too strong for her. Who of us has ever seen the store? Not I, by Satan! Canst thou get powder and shot for Rufe?”
“Simpleton! Can he not get with steel all he wants from the schooner?”
“By the heart of Portuguez, he can!” cried another voice, and Yellow Rufe strode through the bushes.
“Rufe!” exclaimed the girl, feigning astonishment. Her ears were too keen not to have caught Rufe’s voice in the whispering that had gone on.
“Yes, Rufe, and obliged to thee, Pascherette. Dost say thou wilt help me win away?”
“Gladly, Rufe, for I like well men of your mettle. Follow close behind Sancho and me. Count ten score after we go in to Dolores with Milo, then for an hour thou’lt have the sea to thyself. Luck go with thee, Rufe; thou’lt think of little Pascherette sometimes, I’ll warrant.”
A rumble of thunder rolled up from the sea, and lightning played in the tree-tops. Pascherette turned back toward the camp, and giving no heed to Sancho save to listen for his footsteps, she ran through the darkness sure-footed, sure-eyed as a cat. Rain began to fall, and the heavy foliage thrummed with the growing downpour which yet did not penetrate to the earth. As they neared the shore, the forest resounded with the solemn boom and crash of long-sweeping seas outside the bar; the wind screamed among the huts; all the women and those men who had returned from their portion of the search were snugly under cover. The place seemed deserted.
“Farewell, Rufe,” Pascherette whispered at last, when the great black mass of the council hall loomed against the sky in a lightning flash. “Count ten score. Thy safety is in my hands.”
Then she took Sancho by the hand, and led him through the plashing rain to the rear of the hall and called softly: “Milo!”
“Here. Hast found him?”
“Take us to the Sultana quickly, Milo. I have told Sancho to trust in the justice of Dolores.”
“He may well do that,” returned Milo. “The great Sultana is ever just.”
“Yes, have no fear, good Sancho. I am Justice itself!” rejoined the mellow voice of Dolores in person, who had a few moments before left Rupert Venner. “Milo, I am minded to give Sancho proof of my mercy, since he already believes in my justice. Open the great chamber. Sancho, canst guess the honor I propose to do thee?”
“No, lady,” replied Sancho, an awful dryness gripping his throat.
“Hast ever hungered for sight of the great chamber?” She paused smiling at the uneasy pirate, who could not answer. “Of course thou hast,” she replied for him. “Which of my rogues has not? I am minded to show thee this mark of my love, since thy conscience permitted thee to return here. Hast any fear of the saying the Red Chief uttered? That none might enter the great chamber and live?”
San
cho suddenly sprang to life. His face was distorted; when the lightning flashed it revealed him a ghastly picture of apprehension.
“I will not go there! I have no wish to see what my eyes are forbidden to see. I never sought to enter, Sultana. It was the others!”
“Yes, Sancho, the others. That is why I select thee for the honor, because thou wert patient. Come. I promise thee thy life is safe.”
Dolores passed on toward the great stone, where Milo stood guard over the opened portals. Sancho, trembling violently, was drawn irresistibly after her, partly fascinated by her calm strength, partly influenced by the soft fingers and whispered prattle of Pascherette, who strove to set him aflame with mention of some of the wonders he was to see.
He paused at the rock door, glancing around with a vague premonition of evil; but now it was Dolores’s hand that took his; Dolores’s rich voice that lured him on; and he stepped after her, smothering a sob of resurging terror as the great stone fell into its place behind.
CHAPTER XII.
SANCHO SETTLES HIS ACCOUNT.
In the rock passage the hush was complete. For the space of ten long breaths Sancho stood quivering under the weird spell of the infernal red radiance from the hidden lights, while almost invisible ahead of him Dolores bent to listen to a last moment’s communication from Pascherette. With Milo behind him, and the great unknown ahead, the pirate’s usual fierce courage oozed out through his boots. Yet he was hypnotized by the vague glitter that shone at the end of the tunnel—the glitter, though he knew it not yet, of the great sliding door to the inner mystery.
Suddenly the mighty rock reverberated and shook to a Titanic volley of thunder, and Sancho shrieked with nervous terror. His shriek was echoed by a rippling laugh from Dolores, and she came back swiftly toward him, pushing Pascherette before her. She handed the little octoroon on to Milo, and said, with a kindly pat on the girl’s head: “Open, Milo, and let thy sweetheart complete her good works. Now I shall have none but faithful friends about me. Pascherette, thou’rt more than forgiven: thou’rt my good friend. I shall reward thee fittingly when”—she smiled dazzlingly at Sancho—”I have rewarded Sancho.”
The rock door rolled aside, and Pascherette passed out into the storm. Sancho’s nerves gave way utterly now, and he rushed toward the opening, screaming: “Let me out! I want air! I want none of the great chamber! Let me pass!”
Milo again let fall the rock, pressed a huge hand on Sancho’s breast, and pushed him back, saying: “Peace, fool! Go with thy mistress. Thine eye will never again witness the like. Go, I tell thee. Dost fear the Sultana’s justice?”
“Come, Sancho. Thou’lt be a marked man among thy fellows when I have shown thee what they yearn to see.”
Dolores again took his hand, bent her glorious eyes full upon him, and Sancho followed her like a sheep, straight to the great door under the jeweled yellow lantern, where he stood, stupefied with awe at the barbaric splendors revealed.
His lips went dry, and he licked them feverishly; his single eye blazed with avarice; the two fingers and mutilated thumb of his right hand worked convulsively, as if he would tear the gems and plate from the door. And Dolores watched him from under lowered lids, her rich red lips curled scornfully, one hand half raised to warn Milo to open the great door slowly.
“Well, Sancho, art better prepared for the greater treasures yet to be seen?” smiled Dolores. The pirate’s blazing eye seemed to dart flames as the door slowly rose to Milo’s touch.
“Sultana!” he gasped, and his speech would do no more for him.
“Enter, friend. This is thy great hour!”
The queen pushed him gently inside, following herself, and Milo let fall the door again, standing mute and motionless on the inside while his mistress led the pirate to the center of the great chamber and waited until his dazzled eye adjusted itself to the subtle lighting effects.
Pascherette’s last whispered communication to Dolores had told her of Yellow Rufe’s intentions; and while Sancho stood in amaze, she bent her ear to catch the expected sound of voices through the sounding-stone behind the tapestry. For there the little octoroon was to play a part for Sancho’s especial benefit. The thunder had become all but incessant; with every crash the great chamber rumbled and echoed eerily; yet between the crashes, brief as the periods were, human voices could be heard.
“Art ready to see my treasures, Sancho?”
Dolores waved a gleaming arm around the place, indicating with one wide gesture the glories of the walls and roof. But the pirate’s senses responded more readily to the tangible riches represented by gold and gems, tall flagons, and jewel-incrusted lamps, littered diamonds and rubies that strewed the big table.
“Hah!” cried Dolores, with a low, throaty laugh. “Ah! my friend, I know thy mind. Milo!”
Milo advanced with a deep obeisance.
“Milo, open the great chests for Sancho. Let him plunge his arms to the elbows in red gold. Then I shall show him that which lies nearest to his deserts.”
The pirate watched with lips no longer dry, but dripping with the saliva of greed, while Milo flung open chest after chest, full to overflowing with minted gold of many nations; looted jewels of royal and noble houses, sacred vessels and glittering orders, weapons whose hilts and scabbards, if ever made for use, could only have been used to bewilder the eye and senses.
Again the thunder pealed; and in the tremendous hush succeeding, the voices outside penetrated the sounding-stone in more than a whisper. Sancho jerked up his head and fear once more shone in his single eye.
“Come, good Sancho,” purred Dolores, running her soft hand down his bare forearm. “Art frightened by petty noises, then? Plunge thy hands deep, man! All thou canst grasp is thine for so long as thy eye can enjoy or thy hands fondle.”
Now Sancho’s sordid soul surrendered. His greed conquered fear, and he delved deep into a coffer, chattering the while with frenzy. And now when the thunder rolled, his ears heard it not. He drew forth his hands, and a glittering mass of wealth fell about his feet. He glared up at Dolores, laughing ghoulishly.
“That is well, Sancho,” Dolores said, and took his hand. “Now I will show thee the rest; and I know thou’lt never tell of it. I trust thee. Come. Put thy ear to this tapestry, and tell me what thou canst hear.”
Sancho laid his ear to the cloth, and his eye gleamed brightly. Milo stepped silently behind him.
“I hear Hanglip!” he gasped. “Is he, too, here?”
“He is outside the cliff. But whom else canst hear?”
“I hear Caliban—Spotted Dog—Stumpy—I hear a score as if they stood by my side! And Pascherette! By the fiend! She has played Rufe a trick! And me—” He sprang from the wall like a tiger, snatching at his weaponless belt with slavering fury, to be gathered at once into the remorseless hug of Milo. And he glared full into the mocking face of Dolores—soft and generous no more, but the embodiment of awful vengeance.
For many seconds she stood regarding him contemptuously, until he subsided helplessly in Milo’s grasp; then, motioning the giant to follow, she passed along and stopped before a life-size painting of “The Sleeping Venus” in a massive, gilded frame. With one hand raised high at the side, she turned a pulley-catch, and the great picture slowly fell forward from the top until it rested slopingly on the floor, forming an inclined entrance to a gloomy passage, dimly touched by a dark-red glow.
This was the secret outlet to the great chamber by which Milo had access to the altar in the grove at such times as his aid was needed to support Dolores in some exhibition of black magic. She stepped swiftly along the passage, giving no further heed to the panic-stricken pirate until Milo had carried and dragged him to where she awaited him. This was still another dark excavation, running deeper yet into the bowels of the cliff; and the devilish red glare was here intensified until surrounding objects were vividly revealed.
“Now hear the doom of a traitor!” cried Dolores, with haughty mien. “What! Not a traitor?” she moc
ked at the pirate’s frantic howl of denial. “Then Dolores has erred, perhaps. There is a test, good Sancho. Let me see if I am wrong!”
She signed to Milo, and the giant swung Sancho around until he faced the deepest recess of the cave. There, swathed in mummy clothes, preserved by the chemical miracle of the stratum of red earth that formed the core of the rock, the body of Red Jabez stood erect against the wall, bathed in the red glow, diamonds glittering where the dead eyes had been. And on the rock ledge at his feet stood a tall flagon of gold, in which Dolores had brewed an awful potion for this event. Beside this ledge stood a low brazier full of glowing charcoal; on a tabouret near by lay several terrible implements the use of which needed no explanation.
“Look upon the face of the Red Chief, and drink this draft—’tis his blood!” she cried, seizing the flagon and thrusting it into Sancho’s hands. “Then, if thy heart held no treachery toward me, thy life and limbs are safe. But have a care! A lie in thy heart will surely undo thee. Drink!”
A splitting thunder-crash filled the place with uproar; a gust of the tempest from the outer entrance sent the wind swirling in. It was as if the breath of the storm snatched Sancho’s senses back from the terror-land they had fled to; he ceased his howling, glared defiantly up at the dead chief, and cried in desperation: “Give me the drink! I fear neither gods nor devils; why should I fear you, dead man?”
“Wait!” Dolores laid a hand on his arm, and stayed the flagon at his lips. “Wait, till I tell thee more. Then, if thou art guiltless, and go from here with the treasure I gave thee, thou’lt know thy friends and thy foes.
“Didst think Yellow Rufe was free? Thou fool! Thy wits are powerless before a woman’s. Did my pretty Pascherette tell him he might go free, taking my sloop, escaping my vengeance, as thou didst think to? Didst hear those voices? Then I tell thee, Sancho, that ten-score count, that Rufe doubtless made in fear and trembling, but sufficed to raise his hopes. For ere he had gained the sloop and started her anchor, Pascherette had done her work. The stranger’s schooner is full of my men, waiting for Rufe to come for his booty. Let him take alarm, then how far may he win? Thou’lt never know, false Sancho, for I have no doubt of thy treachery. Now drink, if thou darest!”
The Pirate Story Megapack: 25 Classic and Modern Tales Page 85