(2/3) The Teeth of the Gale (28 page)

"Haaaah! No one ever did me such a service before! Thank you!" she whispered; now I did think I could detect a smile in her tone, though it was too dark to read the expression on her face.

All
I
could think of to say was "I love you, Juana!" and then I lay for a while with my cheek pressed against hers, and my chin resting on her shoulder.

"Oh, my
dear
Felix!"

Her answer, perhaps, was meant as a protest at my choosing such a time for such a declaration, but I caught a hint of laughter there too, and thought that she did not entirely reject my devotion. Indeed the comfort and joy of that moment, as we lay, cheek against cheek, in the crammed and crowded cart, was so inexpressibly great that, for a short while, everything else faded into insignificance.

Then Juana said prosaically, "My hands are tied behind me. Are yours?"

"Yes! That was why I had to chew the mantilla. And my feet. I suppose they did not trouble to gag me as I was unconscious."

"I was so terrified that Pepe had killed you. He hit you terribly hard with a log of wood. How are we to escape from these evil men?"

"If only I could get my hands undone."

"Turn around, so that our hands are touching. I will see if I can do anything."

We both struggled around, until we lay back to back, and our hands could meet, exploring the bonds that tied our wrists, but it was hopeless; the cords were cruelly tight, wound many times around, so that our fingers were already swelled, numb and weak.

"What, what can we do?" said Juana despairingly.

"If only that troop of soldiers would come now—we could shout—"

"It is no use," she said. "They are not going to come. I heard Pepe tell Don Amador. There has been a big revolt in Catalonia, of the
agraviados,
who complain that the king is not permitted to rule as he should, that his acts are controlled by Freemasons; all the soldiers in north Spain have been set off to the mountains of Catalonia. I daresay Don Ignacio knew all about it."

"Is Don Ignacio for the Carlists, do you think?"

"I fancy he is for nobody but Don Ignacio. Tell me, do you really know about such a great treasure at Cerezal?"

"No, no, of course not, it is all moonshine."

My mind ranged about, like a tethered dog, hunting for ways of escape.

"Is Nico here?" I asked.

"Yes, he is beyond me—I can just feel his feet. Poor boy, I am afraid he is still terribly ill."

So that was another complication. Even if, by some miracle, we could free ourselves from our bonds, there would still be little chance of overpowering the murderers, and none of escaping them, hampered as we were by the presence of the children.

It was hopeless....

"Señor Felix," said a little voice. "I can undo your cords."

A small fidgety shape thrust itself between Juana and me.

"Pilar!" Juana gasped in astonishment. "Where did you come from?"

"The other end of the tartana. And I have already undone
my
hands. I bit through the string. Now I'll cut yours."

"
Bit?
"

"Yes, my teeth are sharp. But yours I can cut—"

"Have you a knife, then?"

"Mama's fan. Don't you remember? It had a knife blade in the handle."

Sure enough, I felt a midget sawing begin on the tight cords wound so bruisingly around my wrists. Sometimes the blade sank into my flesh; but I would not complain of that. Would she ever manage, though, to sever all those strands? The sawing went on and on, indefatigably, and after many minutes I felt one of the cords give, and then snap.

"I have it! I have done it!" whispered Pilar triumphantly.

"Bless you, little one! Now give me the knife and I will do Doña Juana."

"No,
I
wish to do it," she whispered crossly.

So I allowed her to complete her rescue, though impatient to take the knife and see if I could not do it faster. While she worked I chafed my own numbed and bruised wrists, and when Juana's hands were free—they took even longer than mine had—Pilar was weary enough to agree that we might be permitted to undo our own feet. This was hard to manage without making such an upheaval and swaying in the tartana that our captors would notice. For a time Pepe came and rode alongside the cart while he and Esteban talked in low voices; I heard them mention towns in Catalonia, Pedray and Llinas, and supposed they were talking about the uprising there. Was it to support this revolt that the gold and silver dollars were wanted?

We were obliged to wait until he had drawn ahead again before going to work on our ankle bonds.

Now we were out in the flat plain of the Aragon valley, traveling westward toward Berdun; the distant shapes of the mountains could be seen, sharp as saw teeth, along the horizon; and, ahead of us, the little town like a sleeping black cat hunched on its hillock. Dawn was still far distant, I judged; no cocks could be heard, only owls.

As we approached Berdun more closely, I heard the sound of rapid hooves, and two riders neared and then passed us at a gallop, going the other way. Obliged to keep our heads down, so as not to alert our captors, we could not see the riders until they were beside us on the road, and then it was too late to call out, as they dashed past.

But—"That was Sister Belen!" whispered Juana in a tone of astonishment. "Who was the man, do you know?"

"I've no idea. He looked like a gypsy, with his head kerchief and peaked hat. Where do you think they can have been going?"

"On some errand of mercy perhaps—"

This complicated my plan—which had been to wait until we arrived at Berdun, where there might be people about, where the two delinquents could hardly do us violence in the public street—then leap boldly out of the cart and demand to see the local Corregidor. There were flaws to this plan, one of them being the Corregidor was probably Don Ignacio, but, at least, I thought, it would avert our instant death. We could demand to ride, under escort, to the nearest Court, probably Pamplona. But if Sister Belen was away on an errand, was not available...

Well, Sister Belen must just take her chance, I thought; she can look after herself—she is no fool.

I was sorry for her absence though; she would have spoken in our favor, she was well respected in Berdun already, and I knew that Juana had been banking on her diagnosis of Nico's poisoning and her opinions about antidotes.

Now the tartana began creeping up the steep zigzag ascent into the town. I wondered if it would go under the arched gateway that led into the center—but it did not: We turned aside, taking the dusty cobbled track that ran leftward, outside the ramparts; along this we rolled slowly for a few hundred yards, then came to a stop.

Now good fortune dealt us a superb card.

"Wait you there," said Pepe to Esteban. "I will tell Don Ignacio that we are back—" tethering his mule to a hook in the wall. "I'll return directly," and he disappeared up a flight of steps, and through a narrow entrance in the rampart.

Esteban, still seated on the box of the tartana, turned and addressed me in a low, threatening voice. "Do you see this knife?"

He had drawn it from his belt: a foot and a half of shining steel. "Shout, or make any disturbance, and you'll have that in your gullet. Anyway, there's no one to shout
to
."

This was true. The night was still black; no one stirred in the town; also, the spot where we had halted was by a row of granaries or warehouses, set in the town wall—they were occupied only by stores of grain, cats, and rats.

Esteban pulled out flint and steel, lit a cigarillo, and sat smoking. This was the moment I had been waiting for. During the last quarter of an hour I had quickly and quietly occupied myself by collecting some of the rocks and stones that weighed down Conchita's clothes and by stuffing them into one of her thick silk stockings. Now I crawled forward until I was within reach of Esteban, swung the stocking back, and brought it down with all the force I could command on his head.

He toppled straight forward off the box.

Leaping out of the cart, I dragged him from between the mules' feet.

By excellent chance, the tartana had drawn up close to that curious wooden chute, leading down the steep slope on the northerly aspect of Berdun, by means of which the inhabitants got rid of their garbage. Making a huge effort, of which at a normal time I would certainly not have been capable, I heaved Esteban up on my shoulder and thrust him onto the smooth, greasy wood of the chute, then gave him a vigorous push. He vanished from view, down into the dark.

I heard Pilar give a squeak of delight—"
Well done,
Señor Felix!"

"Hush!" I whispered, for now footsteps were returning.

Quick as thought, I snatched Estebans hat—which had fallen off—grabbed his cigarillo, which lay on the cobbles, and sat myself up on the box, shoulders hunched forward, puffing on the cigarello, as Esteban had sat.

Pepe came out of the mouth of the alley.

"Here's a to-do!" he whispered peevishly. "Seems that Don Ignacios very sick—like to die—Doña Calixta, the whey-faced houskeeper, won't even let me see him. Now what do we do?"

I was quite clear what
I
meant to do. Bounding down off the box, I swung my arm back and prepared to deal him such a blow as I had dealt his companion. Alerted at the last moment, he started aside, and it hit him only sidelong; he came at me directly, and aimed a ferocious blow at my head, which would have felled me if I had not ducked out of the way.

"
Dios!
Its the Ingles—where, then, is Esteban?" he gasped, and drew his knife.

With a lucky kick, I managed to knock the blade from his hand. Again I swung my stocking. He sprang back and made a stoop for the knife, but I shoved it out of his reach. Pilar and Juana had now scrambled out of the cart and were hovering, looking for ways to help.

"The knife!" I panted, and Juana snatched it up.

Pepe came at me like a bull with his bare hands; he was twice my size and, once he got them around my throat, I feared I was done for. But by a kick, and a slip, and a hip throw that Pedro had once taught me—poor Pedro—I managed to unbalance him, and he fell heavily on the cobbles.

"Now—help me, quickly!"

I grabbed his arms, Juana and Pilar each took a leg, and, struggling all together, we heaved him up onto the rubbish chute and sent him sliding after his fellow.

"
Bueno, BUENO!
" chanted Pilar, dancing around us like a little imp from the pit. "We did them in, we did them in!"

"Hush, we are not out of the woods yet!" said I. "Let us get away from this town. Back into the cart, please, señoras!" and, springing onto the box as soon as they were in, I whipped the mules on their way. The track, I recalled, circled around the ramparts and rejoined the entry road, so that it was not necessary to turn, merely to continue ahead. In ten minutes we had descended the zigzag, turned to our right, and were traveling west, toward Pamplona.

We went for a long time in silence, being, I suppose, all of us quite bewildered at the speed with which our fortunes had changed; also somewhat horrified (evil though they were) by the horrid and sudden end of the two men. I did not think they could survive that drop—the chute was too long, and then at the bottom they had another twenty cubits to fall.

Juana's mind was running in the same direction, for presently, from close behind me, she asked in a low voice, "Can they possibly still be alive? Will they raise a hue and cry after us?"

"I think Esteban must be dead—I am not quite certain about Pepe—"

"Well, I hope they die!" said Juana vindictively. Hardly the sentiments for a postulant nun, I thought. She went on, "When I think of poor Pedro—oh, poor
poor
Pedro. Felix, I am so
sorry
about him. He was so kind, so cheerful. I blame myself dreadfully for everything that has happened—but that most of all—"

"That's foolishness," I said. "God would tell you to stop at once, if you paid any attention to Him. What use is blame? You must look ahead and make plans."

"But oh, Felix! Will somebody really impeach your grandfather, the Conde? Don Ignacio, perhaps? Or Conchita's parents? What do you think they will do?"

"Heaven only knows. Anyway, my grandfather wished me to come on this errand. I know that. So if there are any ill results, he, at least, will impute no blame. I doubt if he will even be surprised; very few things surprise Grandfather."

A small town now came into view, ahead of us on the side of the valley, a couple of leagues distant. Like Berdun, it was perched on a little hill. Behind us, the sun was rising, and the town's red-tiled roofs caught the light.

"That is Tiermas," I said, remembering it from our former journey. "I think we should stop there. It is a watering place—there are hot springs. And where there are hot springs there will be sick people and there must be doctors."

"Oh, yes!" said Juana eagerly. "That is well thought, Felix!"

For dreadful anxiety about Nico lay beneath everything we said and did.

So, presently reaching Tiermas, we turned aside from the main carretera and found a meadow and patch of shade behind a barn where we could halt the cart and give the poor mules a rest. There I left Juana with the children (Pilar wanted to come with me but was dissuaded by the promise of breakfast on my return).

People were abroad now, for the sun was well up, and, by asking a woman with a pail of milk, I learned the way to the house of Dr. Zigarra, who had a new villa, not up in the heart of town, but down at the side, in an orchard, not far from where I had left the cart.

The doctor was a kindly, gray-haired man, very patient at being interrupted in the middle of his morning chocolate and churros.

He told me to bring him the sick child, and he would do what he could. But he was somewhat surprised by the sight of Nico when, ten minutes later, Juana and I carried him in. I suppose we were all dirty and disheveled enough to startle anybody, our clothes torn and soiled, all of us pale with exhaustion, and poor Nico white as lard and only half conscious.