Chapter 15

CHAPTER XXXThe Whip HandNo Thoroughfare—A Mountain Inn—A Night with Guerrilleros—The Parting Guest—A Little Dinner—Antonio in Command—A Night Surprise—On the Latch—Mars and Bacchus—The Festive Board—Monsieur Taberne off Duty—A Toast—The Score—Crowded Moments—A Fight in the Glade—QuietusNothing ever gave Jack more pleasure to remember than that ride from Tudela. The scent of spring was in the air, birds were twittering ere they tucked themselves up for the night, and under him was a beautiful horse, whose easy swinging motion was a double joy after so many weeks of hardship and confinement."It is good to be alive," he thought, as he rode on, humming gaily. "And now what am I to do?"He had only the vaguest idea of the country. He was riding north-west from Tudela. The red glow of sunset was fading on his left hand. Calatayud, where he hoped to find Juanita, was far to the south-west. Now that he was quite clear of pursuit, his best plan, he thought, would be to double on his track, and, while avoiding Tudela, and any other place likely to hold a French garrison, to make his way back again towards Saragossa, keeping somewhat west of the highway until he struck the road between that city and Calatayud."But it will not do to go too far west," he thought, "or I shall get among the mountains, and then goodness knows when I'll find my way out again."Cautiously enquiring his way at cottages along the road, he arrived in about three hours at the outskirts of the township of Agreda. It was necessary to pass through the place. He thought it more than likely that the French would have a garrison there, for the mountain ranges beyond were the haunt of several guerrilla bands which the enemy were making spirited but ineffectual efforts to keep in check. He therefore rode in, with one pistol cocked in his right hand, and the holster of the other unbuttoned, in readiness for any emergency.The moon was rising, and Jack, as he passed through the principal street, noticed that narrow lanes led out from it on both sides, presumably towards the vineyards with which the surrounding valley was covered. His horse trod silently on the roadway, owing to a thick bed of last year's leaves placed upon it by the people, for the purpose of making manure. There was no light in any of the houses; everybody appeared to have retired to rest, and Jack was congratulating himself on having reached the last house, when he came suddenly upon five mounted French carabineers, with drawn swords, blocking the street. They had apparently just come into the town from the other end, on a reconnoitring expedition. They saw him at the same moment, and with a shout dashed forward. With only his two pistols to rely on, Jack chose the discreet part, and instantly wheeled his horse round to the right into one of the lanes, in which there was no more than space for one rider to pass. It was a steep ascent, and his horse, gallantly breasting the hill, showed signs of fatigue natural after the long distance already travelled. Something must be done to check the pursuit, for if the Frenchmen had fresh horses they were bound to run him down as soon as they drew out of the lane Springing from his horse where the path opened into the vineyards, he fired at the leading man, who was within a few yards of him, and then, with some compunction, discharged his second pistol at the trooper's horse. It fell. There was a cry, followed by confused shouts. Jack quietly remounted, and threaded his way through the vineyards, bearing to the left until he struck a road that appeared to lead in the direction he wished to go. He looked cautiously about, in case his recent assailants had belonged to a scattered party. Finding no trace of an enemy, he sped on his way.The road was rocky and uneven, winding among the hills, which showed bare and ghostly in the increasing moonlight. After riding on for some six or seven miles, wondering where he was going and how long his horse would hold out, he was passing by the brink of a ravine overhung by a dark wall of rock, when in a narrow cleft to the right he fancied he saw a glimmer of artificial light. At once dismounting, he led his horse towards it, carefully picking his way over the rough ground. At the end of the narrow defile he came to a venta of rough-hewn stone, with large casements, all of which were closed with wooden shutters. The light he had seen proceeded from a round knot-hole in the shutter of one of the rooms on the ground-floor. The hole was higher than his head. Remounting, he drew his horse sideways to the house, and, stooping, put his eye to the peep-hole. He saw a spacious room, part kitchen, part dining-room, and part dormitory, to judge from the dirty mattresses spread here and there on the floor. In the centre of the wall to the right was an immense chimney-piece, where a pile of pine-logs were crackling and blazing merrily. Over the fire two huge black kettles were suspended, and in front a long iron spit, garnished with fowls and goats'-flesh, was turned by a miserable-looking dog, which, perched against the wall in a wooden barrel, must have suffered both from the heat and from the tread-mill work it was forced to do.Opposite the fire, at a more comfortable distance, Jack saw a large table, around which, seated on benches, crippled chairs, and upturned casks, a score or more of men were beguiling the time, till supper should be ready, by frequent applications to the wine-jug. A glance at their dress was sufficient to inform Jack of their condition. They wore short tight-fitting jackets, low-crowned black hats with the brim looped up on one side, breeches fastened at the knee with coloured ribbons, and long leather gaiters. From pegs on the wall hung long brown cloaks, and in the corners lay heaps of sabres, pistols, and long carbines."Guerrilleros, for a ducat!" said Jack to himself, "and a desperate set. They have not even troubled to post a sentry. I'm afraid they'll have to be my bed-fellows to-night, at any rate."Without hesitation he rapped smartly on the door with the butt of a pistol. There was a sound of movement within, heavy steps approached the door, and a gruff voice demanded:"Quien vive?""España!" said Jack, giving the usual countersign, then by a happy inspiration adding: "Amigo de Antonio el valiente guerrillero."With an exclamation of delight the man inside drew the bolts and threw open the door. The light from a lamp streamed out, and Jack, bending his head, asked whether he could be put up at the inn for the night."Verdaderamente, Señor," replied the guerrillero, recognizing from Jack's tone that he had a caballero to deal with. In a few minutes the horse was stabled, and Jack was seated at the table, partaking of the savoury stew poured bubbling from the chaldron, and answering the men's eager questions about the end of the siege of Saragossa. They belonged to the band of which Pablo Quintanar and Antonio had been the leaders, and were burning with anxiety as to the fate of those sturdy guerrilleros. Many a deep growl of rage and indignation burst from them when they learnt of Quintanar's treason, many a sigh of satisfaction when they heard of his fate; and when they knew that Antonio had come safely through the siege, they were all confident that somehow or other he would escape from the French, and hasten to rejoin them in their mountain fastnesses.Jack in his turn asked for information, which the men were not very ready to give. All that he learnt of their movements was that they had recently left Soria and were going southward by easy stages, hoping to meet members of their band escaping from Saragossa. He spent a comfortless night in the dirty inn, and departed next morning early, glad to have got off from such rough companions without the loss of his horse, on which they had cast longing eyes.All that day he travelled by devious paths among the mountains, asking his way of the few people he met, putting up at night in a ruined cabin, and arriving late on the following evening in the neighbourhood of Morata. Remembering that the Alvarez country house was near at hand, he found on enquiry that it lay a few miles to the north, and was at present in charge of one old man, who had been a gardener on the estate. Suspecting that Morata itself might be garrisoned by the French, he decided to turn off before reaching the town, and to seek shelter for the night at the Alvarez villa.Spring had set in unusually early this year, and as Jack rode through the lanes he rejoiced in the bright sunshine and the scent of lavender and rosemary, violets and narcissus, that filled the warm air. He reached the villa at dusk. It stood half-way up a hill, in a walled garden, amid luxuriant foliage of laurels. On three sides the garden wall was approached by the young growth of olive plantations. The house itself was a long low building of white stone, mellowed by age and weather. A broad oak balcony ran round, sheltering the ground-floor rooms from the sun's rays; and amid its massive columns creeping plants, already in full leaf, pushed their way towards the roof. As Jack rode up, the odours of honeysuckle and clematis greeted his nostrils, and he noted the small white stars of the jessamine glittering among their narrow dark-green leaves.The caretaker, a bent old man, received Jack somewhat mistrustfully, but thawed when he was assured of his friendship for the Alvarez family, and volubly deplored the ruin which had fallen upon it. He conducted the visitor over the house and round the immense garden, shaking his head at the wildness of its untended state; all the rose-trees wanted trimming, the fruit-trees pruning, and the strawberries, already ripe, were rotting in their beds. He did what he could, but what was one gardener for such an immense garden? He made up a bed for Jack in one of the upper rooms, and promised to provide as good a breakfast as possible in the morning.Shortly after six Jack was urgently aroused by the old man."Señor, Señor," he said, "there are cavalry approaching up the hill. They are French—I am sure they are; it is not safe to stay longer."Jack was up in a trice. Hurrying to the stable he quickly saddled his horse, stuffed some bread into his pocket, and made off by a side gate leading out of the garden just as the horsemen drew rein in front of the house. Fortunately the wall hid him from too curious eyes as he led his horse rapidly away. Gaining an olive plantation a quarter of a mile up the hill, he decided to wait there for a while, in the hope of discovering something about the horsemen whose advent had broken his sleep. After about half an hour, peeping over a stone fence, he saw them leave the casa, and strike off in a north-easterly direction among the foot-hills. Only the tops of their helmets were visible as they trotted past, a shoulder of the hillside hiding the rest of them from view. He counted forty-two. As soon as they had disappeared he returned on foot to the house, taking his chance of any Frenchman remaining there. He found the old gardener in a frenzy of rage and agitation."The cursed Frenchmen!" he cried. "Gone—yes, they are all gone, but they are coming back—this evening. They are foraging, and among them is a dastardly Spaniard, an afrancesado, Señor. He asked me questions; he wanted to know where José Pinzon, old Don Fernan's servant, is. As if I would answer him, even it I knew!—a traitor, who knows the country and is guiding the French to spoil his countrymen. He told them that the casa would give them good lodging when their work is done, and ordered me—yes, the dog of an afrancesado ordered me—to have ready a good dinner for them—for him and three officers, and nearly forty men—by the time they return. They come from Calatayud; would to God they'd break their necks in the hills and never return alive!"Jack was sympathetic with the old man, but after all much less concerned with his troubles than with the possibilities of a scheme that had flashed upon him. The guerrilleros he had lately left were marching in that direction from a point somewhat to the west of the line taken by the French. There was little chance of their falling in with the foraging-party, but it was at least possible that, if they could be found, they might be able to arrange a little surprise for the French when they returned. Were they still in the neighbourhood? Jack thought it worth while to spend a few hours in discovering this, and decided to return to the plantation where he had left his horse, and ride off. Before going he asked the old Spaniard to leave unbolted a door he had noticed at the back of the house; it was evidently little used, and now almost hidden by tangled masses of creepers."I may want to get in to-night," he said.His horse, refreshed by a good night's rest, covered the ground at a rapid pace. Jack eagerly scanned the bare hills for signs whether of friend or foe; it was always possible that the French had turned off in his direction after visiting this or that farm or country house. But he saw nothing for nearly two hours, when, having ridden, as he estimated, some twenty miles, he suddenly heard a voice, from a rocky ridge at his left hand, calling him to halt He reined up instantly, and shouted back in Spanish:"Who are you? I am a friend.""Get off your horse and put down your pistol then."It was a peremptory order, which Jack at any other moment might have resented; but there was no time to spare, and he decided immediately to risk compliance. The speaker then emerged from behind his rock, and stood revealed in the rough yet gaudy costume of a guerrillero."Hombre, take me to your captain," said Jack, stepping towards him. "I must speak with him instantly."The man pointed out a narrow path between the rocks, just wide enough to admit a horse, and a few minutes later Jack was led into the presence of his stalwart friend Antonio. Explanations were soon exchanged. Antonio, having become an inoffensive civilian on the fall of Saragossa, had had no difficulty in making his way to the mountains. Falling in with a portion of his old band that had been raiding French convoys along the Saragossa-Tudela road, he had, only a short time before Jack's arrival, effected a junction with the smaller band whom Jack had met in the inn. He was now the leader of a total force of over a hundred men, among whom Jack recognized with pleasure several of his sturdiest fighters during the siege.When Antonio had explained to the others who Jack was, their enthusiasm knew no bounds. The Saragossa veterans had already told them what their English leader had accomplished during the siege; how theirs had been the only quarter in the city in which the French had made no progress during the last three weeks. Antonio now waxed eloquent on the same theme, and wound up by commanding his men to serve the Señor as they would their own captain.If anything had been wanting to complete his welcome it would have been supplied by the news he brought. Antonio no sooner heard that a French foraging-party was in the neighbourhood than he decided to cut it off. He was anxious to start immediately and ambush it on its way back to the house, but Jack suggested a better plan. The country around the house, being, though hilly, fairly open, presented little opportunity for a successful ambuscade, and in the event of the guerrilla troop being discovered, there would be great likelihood of the majority of the enemy escaping. It would be better, Jack suggested, to surround the house at night; not a Frenchman should then escape. Antonio at once agreed. He said that he would leave the planning entirely to the Señor, which, Jack thought, was as it should be; for Antonio, though a brave and dashing leader of a storming-party, had little claim but that of bull-dog courage to his position as captain.At four o'clock the band, well-mounted and eager, set out on their march. The road followed led by a circuitous course to the foot of the hill on which the Casa Alvarez stood. It was past seven when, as they wheeled round to the left, they saw the twinkling lights of the house more than a mile above them."They are very bold," remarked Jack to Antonio. "There must be a considerable force of French in Calatayud, perhaps at Morata also, or these foragers would have made some attempt to conceal their movements.""Few or many, Señor," declared Antonio, "we'll capture these dogs and hang them up in a string.""No, no; but we needn't talk about what we'll do with them till we have them. I've been thinking out a plan of attack as we rode along. It will be best to leave our horses some distance from the house. If one of them began to neigh it would at once put the French on the alert. We must attack on foot in any case. There is a hollow a little farther on where we can leave the horses under guard.""Very well, Señor.""Now we don't want to lose any lives if we can help it, so I think it will be best for us to get an idea of the enemy's arrangements. I know the house, and I propose to go forward alone and see what I can find out. The old gardener will have left the back-door unlocked on the chance of my returning. If when I get there I see a good chance of your succeeding in a rush over the walls up to the house, I'll give you a signal—a shrill whistle, say; one of your men can cut me a reed.""No need, Señor; I have a whistle here."He produced a big steel whistle, which he handed to Jack."That's well. If you don't hear anything from me in the course of an hour after I leave you, you may conclude that I am captured. You had better then rush the sentries, who will no doubt be posted at the front gate. At the same time your men will scale the wall. One body should be sent to cut off egress from the stables, and another to enter by the back-door. I leave the rest to you."Half a mile farther on they came to the wooded hollow of which Jack had spoken. The horses were left there as arranged, and the guerrilleros, headed by Jack and Antonio, advanced cautiously up the hill to within three hundred yards of the house. By the light of the rising moon two sentinels could be seen standing at the front gate, between which and the house lay fifty feet of flower-garden. Jack wondered whether sentries had been placed on the other sides, but judged from the evident carelessness of the French that that precaution had not improbably been neglected. There was no cover for the attacking force beyond about two hundred and fifty yards from the gates, but at both sides the plantations would conceal them. The guerrilleros stole into the shade of the trees; the main body remained at the corner of the wall ready to attack in front; smaller parties worked round the sides, until the whole enclosure was practically surrounded.Jack accompanied the party which had gone to the wall facing the rear of the house. Under cover of the overhanging branches of a chestnut he climbed over the wall, which was about eight feet high. No sentry was posted at the back of the house. In a few minutes Jack had run up the garden and come to the back-door. Already he had heard sounds of merriment proceeding from the house. He placed his ear against the door, listening for footsteps within. Hearing nothing in the vicinity, he lifted the latch and slipped inside, finding himself in a large square stone-floored room, which had evidently been used as a storehouse for the gardener's tools. At the far side of the room was a door leading, as he knew, to the corridor surrounding the patio. As he cautiously opened this door his ears were saluted by a deafening babel from a room on the right, opening on to the corridor. To judge by the sounds, a large party of French troopers were there enjoying their evening meal. Shouts of laughter were mingled with bursts of song and the clatter of knives and crockery. The patio was pitch dark save where a beam of light fell across it from a window of the room on the right, and another from the kitchen on the opposite side. Hugging the rear wall of the patio, Jack made his way cautiously across its tiled floor to the window of the kitchen. A door opened into the kitchen from the corridor, opposite to the middle one of the three arches in the colonnade of the patio. Keeping well in the shadow, Jack saw several Frenchmen leave the kitchen carrying dishes and flagons, and cross the patio to the room whence the boisterous sounds were proceeding. He saw also another man, a tall fellow, whom in the half-light he seemed to recognize, carry a dish into a room at the farther end of the corridor, and close the door behind him. While the door was open Jack heard a burst of song from within. Evidently some of the Frenchmen were also regaling themselves there.Peeping in at the kitchen window, he saw the gardener, now alone. He tapped. The Spaniard looked startled for a moment. Then a light of recollection came into his eyes. He made hurriedly for the door, and in another moment was with Jack."I've a hundred men outside," whispered the latter. "Where are the officers?""In the room at the end, Señor."At this moment the door of that very room opened again, and the tall servant came out, and turned down the corridor at the farther end of the patio."He is going to the cellar under the stairs for wine," whispered the old man. "Curse them! They are drinking my old master's store of Valdepenas."The man had left the door open, and from within the room came the sound of a mellow baritone voice trolling out a sentimental ditty:"J'ai fait un bouquet pour ma mie,Un bouquet blanc;J'ai mis mon coeur dedans,Dedans mon bouquet blanc.Comm' nous partions, v'là qu'elle cri-i-e:'Oh! reviens t'en.''Marche!' dit mon lieutenant.Je lui laiss' mon bouquet blanc.J'ai mis mon coeur, j'ai mis mon coeur dedans,Dedans mon bouquet blanc."Shouts of applause followed the last words. Immediately afterwards the tall servant returned with a huge flagon, re-entered the room, and shut the door."Hombre," said Jack in a whisper, "you must go into that room.""But, Señor, I'm afraid for my life. There's a big hound of a Frenchman there whose very voice makes me shiver.""You must go in. I caught sight of a screen as that man entered just now. All I want you to do is to go in and show yourself—ask if they are fully supplied—and give me time to slip in behind you; then wait outside the door till I call."The old man hesitated for a moment, then plucked up his courage and walked along the corridor, Jack following. The Spaniard opened the door, and was instantly ordered to go about his business. He moved back at once, but meanwhile Jack had slipped inside the room, and found that in an angle of the four-leaved screen he could conceal himself, not only from the persons in the room, but from anyone passing through the door. He quietly slit a hole in the screen with his penknife, and peeped through.Around a ponderous old table of black oak, illuminated by a dozen wax candles and covered with dishes and flagons and glasses, sat four men. At the head, with his braided scarlet coat open from the neck, sat a fat, red-faced, big-moustachioed officer, whom Jack recognized at once as the blusterous commissary from whom he had coaxed such valuable information at Olmedo. At the foot sat a French captain, who was already half-drunk; on the other side was a young lieutenant, with pink cheeks. With his back to the door there was a man in Spanish dress, who at that moment beckoned forward the tall servant to fill the captain's empty glass. As the man moved round the table, Jack caught the glitter of Perez' one eye, and at the same instant recognized the seated Spaniard as Miguel Priego himself.Listening, Jack was amused to find that Commissary Gustave Taberne had lost nothing of his braggadocio."Parbleu, Señor Don What-do-you-call-yourself, this is wine of the right sort. Nothing in this world is so soul-satisfying as good Valdepenas after a hard day's work. Mind you, I say 'after'. I'm not like Captain Horace Marie Etienne d'Echaubroignes yonder, who'll drink in bed, on horseback, or in a pig-stye—it's all one to him. No; the emperor would call me a pig if I got drunk before my work was over. I can drink a gallon without staggering, and have a bottle at my hand without touching it; but when my duty is done—ah ça! then I can fill my skin in comfort, and sing a song with any man."The long-named captain scowled at the reference to himself, bent forward over the table, and stuttered:"Monsieur l'inten—l'intendant, do you mean that for a—a reflection?""Not at all, not at all, monsieur le capitaine. It was a compliment—to your versatility and your—h'm!—capacity.""Eh bien!" rejoined the captain, lifting his glass unsteadily, "if you mean it that way—"The commissary winked at Miguel."J'ai fait un bouquet pour ma mie,Un bouquet blanc,"he hummed. "Tiens! Songs like that suit a gay young bachelor like you better than a man of my age, with a wife and family. Come, Señor Don Something-or-other, sing us one of your Spanish songs—a serenade such as your gallants sing by night under their lady's window. Tol-lol-di-rol! Come now—sing up.""Really, monsieur, after hearing your excellent voice, I do not feel able to enter into competition with you," said Miguel stiffly."Ah bah! Allons! you are still in our debt. You did us a good service to-day, in truth; but remember, we found your lady-love for you yesterday. Ohé! her eyes, her cheeks, parbleu! I envy you the lovely—how does she call herself—la belle Juanita? Tol-lol-di-rol! Chantez, mon ami.""We Spaniards are not accustomed to discuss such matters in mixed company," said Miguel, still more irritably."We Spaniards! Par exemple! I'm not a Spaniard; nor are you, my friend, to judge by your reception in the Spaniards' houses to-day."His tone was decidedly nettled, and the young lieutenant looked uncomfortable, and seemed about to hazard a remark. The captain was solemnly drinking."Eh bien!" said the commissary, changing his tone. "There's no need for us to quarrel. The lovely Juanita is to be your bride; that is settled. We'll see what we can do with King Joseph to hasten matters. And so, without more words, let us drink a health to her!""Perez, another bottle," said Miguel.The one-eyed servant came across the room, and Jack slipped out of sight between two leaves of the screen. The commissary sang on:—"J'ai mis mon coeur dedans,Dedans mon bouquet blanc.Comm' nous pardons, v'là qu'elle crie:'Oh! reviens t'en.'Voila qu'il en revient!" (as Perez re-entered)."You can go and get your own supper," said Miguel when the cork was drawn.Perez left the room. As soon as he had gone, Jack, relying on the commissary being engrossed with the bottle, opened the door an inch, and beckoned the old Spaniard in."Now, Señor Don What's-your-name," said the commissary, "we Frenchmen will drink a bumper to the fair Spaniard, the black-eyed beauty. Messieurs, aux beaux yeux de la belle Ju—an—i—"He had lifted his brimming glass half-way to his lips, and turned with a fat smile towards Miguel, when he paused, his hand stayed in mid-air, and he broke off in the middle of Juanita's name. Advancing towards him from behind the screen he saw a young Spaniard, with a drawn sword in his right hand, and in his left a pistol, cocked and pointed."You will excuse me, messieurs," said Jack quietly, "intruding upon you thus unceremoniously—pray keep your seats," he added, as the lieutenant pushed back his chair, and the fuddled captain half rose. "In fact, I shall take it so ill if you move but a hair's breadth that I cannot answer for my nerves!"For all its banter, Jack's tone had in it so much of deadly earnestness that the officers sank limply back into their seats, the instinctive movement towards sword and pistol arrested as if by a sudden palsy. Miguel had remained on his chair without moving a muscle. With him the French were four to one, for as a combatant the old man did not count; but each of the four knew that the first among them to take up the gage would fall instantly to Jack's pistol, and the knowledge dulled the edge of their courage."Hombre," continued Jack, addressing the old gardener, "bolt the door."The man was trembling in every limb, but hastened to obey the order."That is right. Now, feel in my left-hand pocket. You will find a whistle. You have it? Then open yonder window and blow three times."The man went to the window behind the commissary, opened one of its leaves, and blew three shrill blasts. While this was going on, the four sat helplessly in the same position in which Jack had surprised them. The lieutenant's pink cheeks had paled; the commissary's rubicund features had become like mottled soap; the captain was red with sottish indignation; Miguel had never moved. Jack could only see his back."With your permission, messieurs," Jack went on, "this good man will make a little collection. Hombre, relieve that gentleman at the head of the table of his sword and pistol. No, no; not this side of him. You may get hurt if you come between us, and we cannot spare a good Spaniard—can we, Don Miguel? Go round him. That's right. Now bring the weapons and put them on the floor behind me. So. Now, go round in the same way and get the next gentleman's arms."Before the man reached the lieutenant, a confused hubbub came into the room from the front of the house through the open window—the clash of steel, the report of firearms. Almost at the same moment loud sounds of the same kind came from the direction of the patio. The old servant hesitated, stood still, his fingers working nervously."Go on, hombre," said Jack sternly, his pistol still pointed.While the uproar on both sides gathered strength, the Spaniard tottered towards the lieutenant, and with shaking hands disengaged his sword and pistol, which he placed alongside of the commissary's on the floor behind Jack. He was just repeating the process of disarmament with the captain when loud shouts were heard at the door, followed by heavy blows from the butts of muskets. Apparently the French troopers had been driven across the patio, and were seeking their officers in the inner room. Jack did not move a muscle, but he devoutly hoped that the door would stand the strain; otherwise the window was his only chance, though in any case he could not desert the old man.The noise outside provided a strange contrast to the quietness within. Almost silently the Spaniard had disarmed three of the four feasters. It was now Miguel's turn. In advancing towards him the old man, alarmed by the tremendous thunderings on the door behind him, and by a bullet that crashed through one of the panels, incautiously stepped between Miguel and Jack. In an instant, with an extraordinary muscular effort for so slightly built a man—an effort nerved doubtless by the knowledge of what his fate would be if he fell into the hands of his countrymen,—Miguel seized the man by the middle, and, swinging him round so as to make of him a screen between himself and Jack, dashed towards a curtain of arras that apparently overhung a doorway on the opposite side of the room. At the same moment a number of Spaniards, headed by Antonio, came headlong through the open window."Secure the Frenchmen!" shouted Jack, springing after Miguel. He could not fire. When he reached the curtain he stumbled over the old Spaniard, whom Miguel flung back at his pursuer as he dashed through the door into the dark anteroom beyond. Jack recovered himself in an instant, but Miguel had disappeared, and when Jack had followed him into the darkness he heard him stumbling over furniture on the other side of the room. Then began a desperate chase. As is common in Spanish houses, room opened into room, and Jack pursued the traitor through door after door, occasionally catching a fleeting glimpse of him by the moonlight filtering through the windows of rooms on the outer wall, but losing him again in the darkness before there was time to fire. At last Miguel, gaining a slight lead, was able to open a window at the back of the house, and sprang out into the garden, flinging the leaf of the window back almost in Jack's face. Outside he fell sprawling on the ground, but was up in an instant, and rushed madly down the path cutting the garden in two.Jack leapt through the window after him, stumbled, recovered himself, and was off after the fugitive. Tearing through the bushes that had overspread the path, he flew along, saving his breath, setting his lips, fiercely determined to bring the wretched man to book at last. Miguel had reached the wall; with the agility of despair he sprang at it, and was over. Jack was a better runner; he made as little difficulty of the wall; pursuer and pursued were now in full career through the olive plantation. Miguel's breath was failing; he knew that he could not escape. Stopping suddenly in an open glade, he turned round, and a bullet whistled past Jack's head as he closed with his quarry. The headlong rush had spoiled Miguel's aim.Disdaining to use his pistol, Jack at once engaged Miguel with his sword. The Spaniard stood fiercely at bay, panting with his exertions, his face showing livid with fear in the pale moonlight. There were a few rapid passes; then with a groan he dropped his sword, his forearm gashed from wrist to elbow."Hold!" he gasped. "I am at your mercy. Spare me!"Jack dropped the point of his sword."What—are—you—going—to—do—with—me?" panted Miguel."Do with you? There is only one thing for me to do: deliver you to your fellow-countrymen. They shall judge you.""Not that, for the love of God!" was the agonized reply, whispered rather than spoken. "You know what that means! Spare me that! Rather finish what you have begun. For old time's sake you would not throw me to those wolves. Ah! their fiendish tortures! See! have done with it; strike here!"[image]Miguel Escapes from the GardenHe tore open his shirt and bared his bosom to the sword. It was well acted, but Jack was not for a moment deceived. Miguel, he knew, had not the slightest expectation of being taken at his word. Yet the alternative! When once the guerrilleros had him in their power there would be no torture too horrible for the renegade and traitor. Jack remembered with a shudder the tales he had heard—even those told him by Miguel himself in Salamanca. Could he deliver the wretch, vile though he was, to so awful a fate? Could he allow the traitor to go free? It was a painful dilemma.So they stood while a man might count ten.There was a crackle in the undergrowth, the sound of a light footfall, and, lifting his sword, Jack half-turned. As he did so a heavy form struck against him. He felt a scorching pain between the shoulders, and pitching heavily forward sank unconscious to the ground. The dilemma had solved itself.CHAPTER XXXIDoctor Grampus and a French CookAn Amateur—Pantomime—At Cross Purposes—Miguel's Pocket-book—Links—In Cipher—Potatoes—Monsieur Taberne on Duty—The Compelling OnionWhen Jack came to himself it seemed to him that he was in a shaded room by an open window, for the air gently fanned his temples, and he saw a wide stretch of blue sky. He turned his aching head."Hullo!" said a voice in English."Hullo!" murmured Jack in reply, automatically, not knowing what he said. He looked with puzzlement at the speaker, a tall, stout young fellow in guerrilla costume."There, I wagered you wouldn't know me in this rig. Don't you remember Dugdale, at Salamanca—Percy Dugdale, don't you know?""The Grampus!" whispered Jack."The very same. I might have bet you'd know Grampus better than my good old respectable honoured ugly name. Here, drink this."He held a cup to Jack's lips. After drinking, Jack closed his eyes and fell asleep."Where am I?" he asked, waking an hour later."Feel better? That's grand. Where are you? High up among the hills, in a sort of cave, lying on a pile of blankets, with a splendid outlook over—well, nowhere in particular.""In the hills!" repeated Jack feebly. "How did I get there? I can't remember. Is anything wrong with me? I don't seem to be able to move. I don't feel right.""There's gratitude! Why, you're as right as a trivet. You're really doing splendidly! Now, you're not to talk. Doctor's orders.""Oh!"Jack was silent for a moment, and dozed away again.When he woke, Dugdale came towards him from the entrance of the cave."What's the matter with me? How do you come here? I can't remember anything.""I said you were not to talk. Doctor's orders.""Tell the doctor I want to see him."Dugdale chuckled."Bet it'd be no go. Truth is, I'm the doctor. I've pulled you through, and when I get home I'm going to demand a diploma from the doctors' college or whatever it is gives a man a licence to be a sawbones.""I must know all about it. I can't remember. How long have I been ill?""Nearly three weeks. Now, if you'll promise not to get excited, I'll tell you what happened. You know a man named Antonio?""Yes, of course; he helped me in Saragossa.""Well, if he weren't a friend of yours I'd punch his head. He is the leader of this band of ruffians that scooped me up, two months ago, when I was riding over the hills to see the fun at Saragossa. Antonio wasn't with them then. I couldn't understand a word they said. They couldn't understand a word I said. I roared 'Inglese! Inglese!' till I was sick. No good. They kept me with them and made me get into this outrageous toggery, and with them I've been ever since, like a canary in a cage.""But—""You mustn't talk. Doctor's orders. Lucky for you I was here, or they'd have sent you to kingdom come. With their nasty messes!—ugh!""Where did you get your medicines, then?""Silence! Don't believe in medicine. Bet Antonio three to one in Frenchmen—only he couldn't understand—that I'd pull you through on cold water; and I've done it,—thank God!"The sudden change to earnestness in Dugdale's tone was almost comic."And you were pretty bad, I can tell you. Raved like one o'clock. All about Pomeroy and Pepito, and some chap whose name rhymed with ass, and Mig Prig—most about Mig Prig,—and you laughed and shouted 'Fire the mine!' and 'Pommy, I'll punch your head,' and all sorts of funny things.""But what made me ill?""A villainous stab in the back. By gum! if I had the beast here I'd trounce him, I bet I would. You and Antonio had captured a foraging-party of French at a country-house down there; you tackled the officers single-handed; dashed plucky of you, begad! and you sprang out after a scoundrelly Spaniard who escaped, a fellow in French pay; and afterwards you were found among the olives with a hole in your back and your sword covered with blood.""I remember now," cried Jack. "I must get up. I must save Juanita."He tried to rise, but found that he had no power."Juanita be hanged, whoever he may be. Lie still, and don't talk. I haven't finished yet. Wish I'd been with you, but these confounded brigands won't let me stir from head-quarters. I've had the most disgusting luck. I came out to see the fun, and hanged if I've seen any at all. Well, they found you with a hole in your back and brought you here, and they were in a deuce of a way about you. They had a score or more of French prisoners with them, including officers, one of them a fat, red-faced fellow—""I remember it all now. That's my friend the commissary.""Well, he's peeling onions at this moment. A little change for him, but all in the same line of business. It was he told me what had happened; lucky I can make out two French words out of ten. By Jove! what bloodthirsty ruffians these Spaniards are! If it hadn't been for me all the prisoners would have been garroted or roasted before slow fires, or something. When I saw what was in the wind my blood boiled. I couldn't stand that; no Englishman could; so I made 'em a speech. Lord! I never knew I could rattle it off so; I must go into Parliament. Of course they couldn't understand what I said, but I threw my arms about, and pointed to my neck, and shook my head, and generally played the goat, as I've seen 'em do at the hustings; and they made out what I meant, and so the prisoners are here still,—except the captain, who died of over-drinking."At this moment Antonio came quietly into the cave; he had been in and out during Jack's periods of unconsciousness, and now showed every mark of delight at his impending recovery."The saints be praised, Señor!" he said. "We feared you would die. We should have grieved."Jack was touched by his simple sincerity."I am not gone yet," he said, smiling, "thanks, I understand, to my friend Señor Dugdale here.""He is a clever doctor, Señor," said Antonio."He tells me that you have the Frenchmen we captured at Morata.""Sí, Señor, and another lot too.""Indeed! It is well that he managed to persuade you to do them no harm.""What does the Señor mean?""My friend Señor Dugdale tells me that you were going to torture the prisoners, and he made a speech and—""Oh, that!" exclaimed Antonio, with a wave of the hand. "We didn't understand. We thought the Señor wanted us to cut all their throats; but I knew you would not like that."Jack became almost hysterical with laughter at this explanation, and Dugdale bundled Antonio out of the cave, and told Jack he must go to sleep again. He allowed no more talk on that day, but the patient was so much better next morning that he made no objection when Jack asked to see the guerrillero again."I want to hear what has happened," said Jack to him. "I am anxious.""I know, Señor; but there is no need. The day after we got back with the prisoners, the gitano Pepito came and said the Señorita Juanita had been captured by the French and was living with a colonel's lady in Morata. I got my men together and we went down at once, and in the night surprised the French, killed a great many, and captured the rest. But the Señorita was not among them. We found the colonel's lady; she told us that the Señorita had escaped.""Where is she?" asked Jack anxiously."We do not know, Señor. The boy Pepito was frantic; he said you would punish him for losing the lady, and he went away to find her. He has never come back.""Did he say anything about Señor Priego—the man who was in Saragossa, you remember?""He said that Señor Priego was with the French who captured the Señorita, but no more.""And you did not capture him at the house? It was he I was fighting in the olive-grove.""Por Dios, Señor, if I had known that! When we found you lying on the ground we let a few minutes slip. We thought you were dead, Señor. Then we searched all around, but we could find no one. Was it the cursed afrancesado that wounded you, Señor?""No. It was someone who came behind my back; his servant, I have no doubt. He has twice attempted my life."Antonio swore a hearty oath, and vowed a terrible vengeance should either Priego or his servant fall into his hands. Jack was much perturbed. He hoped that Juanita in escaping from the French had escaped also from Miguel, but the latter had much to gain by not letting her slip through his hands."There is one thing, Señor, yet to be told," added Antonio. "In the morning, when we were bringing away the prisoners, one of my men found this at the back of the house, lying on the grass."He produced a leather pocket-book, which he handed to Jack."I can't have this," said Dugdale, entering at this moment. "You're not well enough yet to be bothered with business.""You will do me more good by letting me get to the bottom of things. My hand's all wobbles. Take the pocket-book, old fellow, and tell me what is in it."Dugdale opened the case, and, taking out a number of papers, unfolded them one by one."All in foreign lingos," he said ruefully. "Can't read one of them.""Let me see them," said Jack.Dugdale handed him one of the papers. It was a pass through the French lines, signed by Marshal Lannes. At the first glance Jack understood. The pocket-book must have been jerked from Miguel's pocket when he fell on escaping from the house. Jack examined the papers eagerly. The second was a note from the marshal's aide-de-camp Saint-Marc: "In consideration of Monsieur Priego's services to the Government of His Majesty King Joseph, his excellency will use his influence with the commandant at Bayonne to facilitate the interview sought by Monsieur Priego". The third was a memorandum evidently relating to private business. The fourth was a long blue paper, on unfolding which Dugdale cried:"By George, Lumsden, this is curious! Hanged if there isn't your name here!"Jack took the paper with still more eagerness. He saw at once that it was in the same handwriting as the letter he had received from Don Fernan Alvarez at Salamanca. It was in Spanish, addressed to Mr. Lumsden, and Jack had only to read a few words to be assured that this was the very letter entrusted to the charge of General Palafox—the letter whose disappearance had so much perplexed him. Before he had read more than two or three lines, however, Antonio broke in:"Señor, I know that paper. I saw it often in the hands of Pablo Quintanar in Saragossa. He used to take it out of his pocket every night and read it, and always when he came to a certain place he stopped, and frowned, and cursed. I am sure it is the same."In a flash the mystery of Quintanar's assassination was made plain to Jack. Miguel must have discovered in some way that the letter was in the possession of the guerrillero, and the wretched man had been slain from behind by one-eyed Perez while Miguel tried to wrest the paper from him. Jack was aghast at this additional proof of Miguel's villainy; his heart misgave him as he thought of what might be Juanita's fate.He read the letter. It gave a clear narrative of the events of which Juanita had told him—Don Fernan's making up of the accounts of the business, the journey from Barcelona to Saragossa, the ambush on the road, the suspected treachery of Miguel Priego. Then followed a declaration of the old merchant's intentions in regard to his property. In the last sentence he stated that the place where the treasure had been concealed was known only to his servant José, but that the secret was contained in a short postscript, which could only be read in the light of a private communication made to Jack himself in Salamanca.Jack looked eagerly at the postscript. He uttered an exclamation of joy as he realized that Miguel must have found the letter useless to him. For the postscript consisted of a single line of sprawling uneven capital letters, set close together, not divided into words, and conveying to the uninitiated absolutely no meaning."What do you make of that?" said Jack, handing the letter to Dugdale."No good. Don't know a word of Spanish except pan, agua, cebolla, which I hear every day, and a few—interjections, I think they call 'em in grammar.""I don't mean the letter, I mean the postscript.""The postscript!" He held the paper at arm's-length, shut one eye, and frowned. "H'm! Looks like a cat's swearing, or Welsh. Too bad even for Spanish. Some infant set to practise his capitals, eh?"Jack smiled."I'm as much in the dark as you are. Perhaps you wouldn't mind making a copy of the letters, in case the original goes astray?""Very well. Bet you I'll make a dozen mistakes. It dazzles my eyes. You'd better call 'em out one by one."Accordingly Jack read the twenty-nine letters off separately, and Dugdale, whose inaptitude with the pencil was clearly shown by the frequency with which he licked his lips, made laborious strokes on a sheet of paper taken from Miguel's note-book."There," he said, when the task was finished. "Looks a deal prettier than the original, don't it?"In big boyish capitals Jack saw the following puzzling sentence:—S E O S F L S A E O A P E J E J P J J F J P J X P A P P F

CHAPTER XXX

The Whip Hand

No Thoroughfare—A Mountain Inn—A Night with Guerrilleros—The Parting Guest—A Little Dinner—Antonio in Command—A Night Surprise—On the Latch—Mars and Bacchus—The Festive Board—Monsieur Taberne off Duty—A Toast—The Score—Crowded Moments—A Fight in the Glade—Quietus

Nothing ever gave Jack more pleasure to remember than that ride from Tudela. The scent of spring was in the air, birds were twittering ere they tucked themselves up for the night, and under him was a beautiful horse, whose easy swinging motion was a double joy after so many weeks of hardship and confinement.

"It is good to be alive," he thought, as he rode on, humming gaily. "And now what am I to do?"

He had only the vaguest idea of the country. He was riding north-west from Tudela. The red glow of sunset was fading on his left hand. Calatayud, where he hoped to find Juanita, was far to the south-west. Now that he was quite clear of pursuit, his best plan, he thought, would be to double on his track, and, while avoiding Tudela, and any other place likely to hold a French garrison, to make his way back again towards Saragossa, keeping somewhat west of the highway until he struck the road between that city and Calatayud.

"But it will not do to go too far west," he thought, "or I shall get among the mountains, and then goodness knows when I'll find my way out again."

Cautiously enquiring his way at cottages along the road, he arrived in about three hours at the outskirts of the township of Agreda. It was necessary to pass through the place. He thought it more than likely that the French would have a garrison there, for the mountain ranges beyond were the haunt of several guerrilla bands which the enemy were making spirited but ineffectual efforts to keep in check. He therefore rode in, with one pistol cocked in his right hand, and the holster of the other unbuttoned, in readiness for any emergency.

The moon was rising, and Jack, as he passed through the principal street, noticed that narrow lanes led out from it on both sides, presumably towards the vineyards with which the surrounding valley was covered. His horse trod silently on the roadway, owing to a thick bed of last year's leaves placed upon it by the people, for the purpose of making manure. There was no light in any of the houses; everybody appeared to have retired to rest, and Jack was congratulating himself on having reached the last house, when he came suddenly upon five mounted French carabineers, with drawn swords, blocking the street. They had apparently just come into the town from the other end, on a reconnoitring expedition. They saw him at the same moment, and with a shout dashed forward. With only his two pistols to rely on, Jack chose the discreet part, and instantly wheeled his horse round to the right into one of the lanes, in which there was no more than space for one rider to pass. It was a steep ascent, and his horse, gallantly breasting the hill, showed signs of fatigue natural after the long distance already travelled. Something must be done to check the pursuit, for if the Frenchmen had fresh horses they were bound to run him down as soon as they drew out of the lane Springing from his horse where the path opened into the vineyards, he fired at the leading man, who was within a few yards of him, and then, with some compunction, discharged his second pistol at the trooper's horse. It fell. There was a cry, followed by confused shouts. Jack quietly remounted, and threaded his way through the vineyards, bearing to the left until he struck a road that appeared to lead in the direction he wished to go. He looked cautiously about, in case his recent assailants had belonged to a scattered party. Finding no trace of an enemy, he sped on his way.

The road was rocky and uneven, winding among the hills, which showed bare and ghostly in the increasing moonlight. After riding on for some six or seven miles, wondering where he was going and how long his horse would hold out, he was passing by the brink of a ravine overhung by a dark wall of rock, when in a narrow cleft to the right he fancied he saw a glimmer of artificial light. At once dismounting, he led his horse towards it, carefully picking his way over the rough ground. At the end of the narrow defile he came to a venta of rough-hewn stone, with large casements, all of which were closed with wooden shutters. The light he had seen proceeded from a round knot-hole in the shutter of one of the rooms on the ground-floor. The hole was higher than his head. Remounting, he drew his horse sideways to the house, and, stooping, put his eye to the peep-hole. He saw a spacious room, part kitchen, part dining-room, and part dormitory, to judge from the dirty mattresses spread here and there on the floor. In the centre of the wall to the right was an immense chimney-piece, where a pile of pine-logs were crackling and blazing merrily. Over the fire two huge black kettles were suspended, and in front a long iron spit, garnished with fowls and goats'-flesh, was turned by a miserable-looking dog, which, perched against the wall in a wooden barrel, must have suffered both from the heat and from the tread-mill work it was forced to do.

Opposite the fire, at a more comfortable distance, Jack saw a large table, around which, seated on benches, crippled chairs, and upturned casks, a score or more of men were beguiling the time, till supper should be ready, by frequent applications to the wine-jug. A glance at their dress was sufficient to inform Jack of their condition. They wore short tight-fitting jackets, low-crowned black hats with the brim looped up on one side, breeches fastened at the knee with coloured ribbons, and long leather gaiters. From pegs on the wall hung long brown cloaks, and in the corners lay heaps of sabres, pistols, and long carbines.

"Guerrilleros, for a ducat!" said Jack to himself, "and a desperate set. They have not even troubled to post a sentry. I'm afraid they'll have to be my bed-fellows to-night, at any rate."

Without hesitation he rapped smartly on the door with the butt of a pistol. There was a sound of movement within, heavy steps approached the door, and a gruff voice demanded:

"Quien vive?"

"España!" said Jack, giving the usual countersign, then by a happy inspiration adding: "Amigo de Antonio el valiente guerrillero."

With an exclamation of delight the man inside drew the bolts and threw open the door. The light from a lamp streamed out, and Jack, bending his head, asked whether he could be put up at the inn for the night.

"Verdaderamente, Señor," replied the guerrillero, recognizing from Jack's tone that he had a caballero to deal with. In a few minutes the horse was stabled, and Jack was seated at the table, partaking of the savoury stew poured bubbling from the chaldron, and answering the men's eager questions about the end of the siege of Saragossa. They belonged to the band of which Pablo Quintanar and Antonio had been the leaders, and were burning with anxiety as to the fate of those sturdy guerrilleros. Many a deep growl of rage and indignation burst from them when they learnt of Quintanar's treason, many a sigh of satisfaction when they heard of his fate; and when they knew that Antonio had come safely through the siege, they were all confident that somehow or other he would escape from the French, and hasten to rejoin them in their mountain fastnesses.

Jack in his turn asked for information, which the men were not very ready to give. All that he learnt of their movements was that they had recently left Soria and were going southward by easy stages, hoping to meet members of their band escaping from Saragossa. He spent a comfortless night in the dirty inn, and departed next morning early, glad to have got off from such rough companions without the loss of his horse, on which they had cast longing eyes.

All that day he travelled by devious paths among the mountains, asking his way of the few people he met, putting up at night in a ruined cabin, and arriving late on the following evening in the neighbourhood of Morata. Remembering that the Alvarez country house was near at hand, he found on enquiry that it lay a few miles to the north, and was at present in charge of one old man, who had been a gardener on the estate. Suspecting that Morata itself might be garrisoned by the French, he decided to turn off before reaching the town, and to seek shelter for the night at the Alvarez villa.

Spring had set in unusually early this year, and as Jack rode through the lanes he rejoiced in the bright sunshine and the scent of lavender and rosemary, violets and narcissus, that filled the warm air. He reached the villa at dusk. It stood half-way up a hill, in a walled garden, amid luxuriant foliage of laurels. On three sides the garden wall was approached by the young growth of olive plantations. The house itself was a long low building of white stone, mellowed by age and weather. A broad oak balcony ran round, sheltering the ground-floor rooms from the sun's rays; and amid its massive columns creeping plants, already in full leaf, pushed their way towards the roof. As Jack rode up, the odours of honeysuckle and clematis greeted his nostrils, and he noted the small white stars of the jessamine glittering among their narrow dark-green leaves.

The caretaker, a bent old man, received Jack somewhat mistrustfully, but thawed when he was assured of his friendship for the Alvarez family, and volubly deplored the ruin which had fallen upon it. He conducted the visitor over the house and round the immense garden, shaking his head at the wildness of its untended state; all the rose-trees wanted trimming, the fruit-trees pruning, and the strawberries, already ripe, were rotting in their beds. He did what he could, but what was one gardener for such an immense garden? He made up a bed for Jack in one of the upper rooms, and promised to provide as good a breakfast as possible in the morning.

Shortly after six Jack was urgently aroused by the old man.

"Señor, Señor," he said, "there are cavalry approaching up the hill. They are French—I am sure they are; it is not safe to stay longer."

Jack was up in a trice. Hurrying to the stable he quickly saddled his horse, stuffed some bread into his pocket, and made off by a side gate leading out of the garden just as the horsemen drew rein in front of the house. Fortunately the wall hid him from too curious eyes as he led his horse rapidly away. Gaining an olive plantation a quarter of a mile up the hill, he decided to wait there for a while, in the hope of discovering something about the horsemen whose advent had broken his sleep. After about half an hour, peeping over a stone fence, he saw them leave the casa, and strike off in a north-easterly direction among the foot-hills. Only the tops of their helmets were visible as they trotted past, a shoulder of the hillside hiding the rest of them from view. He counted forty-two. As soon as they had disappeared he returned on foot to the house, taking his chance of any Frenchman remaining there. He found the old gardener in a frenzy of rage and agitation.

"The cursed Frenchmen!" he cried. "Gone—yes, they are all gone, but they are coming back—this evening. They are foraging, and among them is a dastardly Spaniard, an afrancesado, Señor. He asked me questions; he wanted to know where José Pinzon, old Don Fernan's servant, is. As if I would answer him, even it I knew!—a traitor, who knows the country and is guiding the French to spoil his countrymen. He told them that the casa would give them good lodging when their work is done, and ordered me—yes, the dog of an afrancesado ordered me—to have ready a good dinner for them—for him and three officers, and nearly forty men—by the time they return. They come from Calatayud; would to God they'd break their necks in the hills and never return alive!"

Jack was sympathetic with the old man, but after all much less concerned with his troubles than with the possibilities of a scheme that had flashed upon him. The guerrilleros he had lately left were marching in that direction from a point somewhat to the west of the line taken by the French. There was little chance of their falling in with the foraging-party, but it was at least possible that, if they could be found, they might be able to arrange a little surprise for the French when they returned. Were they still in the neighbourhood? Jack thought it worth while to spend a few hours in discovering this, and decided to return to the plantation where he had left his horse, and ride off. Before going he asked the old Spaniard to leave unbolted a door he had noticed at the back of the house; it was evidently little used, and now almost hidden by tangled masses of creepers.

"I may want to get in to-night," he said.

His horse, refreshed by a good night's rest, covered the ground at a rapid pace. Jack eagerly scanned the bare hills for signs whether of friend or foe; it was always possible that the French had turned off in his direction after visiting this or that farm or country house. But he saw nothing for nearly two hours, when, having ridden, as he estimated, some twenty miles, he suddenly heard a voice, from a rocky ridge at his left hand, calling him to halt He reined up instantly, and shouted back in Spanish:

"Who are you? I am a friend."

"Get off your horse and put down your pistol then."

It was a peremptory order, which Jack at any other moment might have resented; but there was no time to spare, and he decided immediately to risk compliance. The speaker then emerged from behind his rock, and stood revealed in the rough yet gaudy costume of a guerrillero.

"Hombre, take me to your captain," said Jack, stepping towards him. "I must speak with him instantly."

The man pointed out a narrow path between the rocks, just wide enough to admit a horse, and a few minutes later Jack was led into the presence of his stalwart friend Antonio. Explanations were soon exchanged. Antonio, having become an inoffensive civilian on the fall of Saragossa, had had no difficulty in making his way to the mountains. Falling in with a portion of his old band that had been raiding French convoys along the Saragossa-Tudela road, he had, only a short time before Jack's arrival, effected a junction with the smaller band whom Jack had met in the inn. He was now the leader of a total force of over a hundred men, among whom Jack recognized with pleasure several of his sturdiest fighters during the siege.

When Antonio had explained to the others who Jack was, their enthusiasm knew no bounds. The Saragossa veterans had already told them what their English leader had accomplished during the siege; how theirs had been the only quarter in the city in which the French had made no progress during the last three weeks. Antonio now waxed eloquent on the same theme, and wound up by commanding his men to serve the Señor as they would their own captain.

If anything had been wanting to complete his welcome it would have been supplied by the news he brought. Antonio no sooner heard that a French foraging-party was in the neighbourhood than he decided to cut it off. He was anxious to start immediately and ambush it on its way back to the house, but Jack suggested a better plan. The country around the house, being, though hilly, fairly open, presented little opportunity for a successful ambuscade, and in the event of the guerrilla troop being discovered, there would be great likelihood of the majority of the enemy escaping. It would be better, Jack suggested, to surround the house at night; not a Frenchman should then escape. Antonio at once agreed. He said that he would leave the planning entirely to the Señor, which, Jack thought, was as it should be; for Antonio, though a brave and dashing leader of a storming-party, had little claim but that of bull-dog courage to his position as captain.

At four o'clock the band, well-mounted and eager, set out on their march. The road followed led by a circuitous course to the foot of the hill on which the Casa Alvarez stood. It was past seven when, as they wheeled round to the left, they saw the twinkling lights of the house more than a mile above them.

"They are very bold," remarked Jack to Antonio. "There must be a considerable force of French in Calatayud, perhaps at Morata also, or these foragers would have made some attempt to conceal their movements."

"Few or many, Señor," declared Antonio, "we'll capture these dogs and hang them up in a string."

"No, no; but we needn't talk about what we'll do with them till we have them. I've been thinking out a plan of attack as we rode along. It will be best to leave our horses some distance from the house. If one of them began to neigh it would at once put the French on the alert. We must attack on foot in any case. There is a hollow a little farther on where we can leave the horses under guard."

"Very well, Señor."

"Now we don't want to lose any lives if we can help it, so I think it will be best for us to get an idea of the enemy's arrangements. I know the house, and I propose to go forward alone and see what I can find out. The old gardener will have left the back-door unlocked on the chance of my returning. If when I get there I see a good chance of your succeeding in a rush over the walls up to the house, I'll give you a signal—a shrill whistle, say; one of your men can cut me a reed."

"No need, Señor; I have a whistle here."

He produced a big steel whistle, which he handed to Jack.

"That's well. If you don't hear anything from me in the course of an hour after I leave you, you may conclude that I am captured. You had better then rush the sentries, who will no doubt be posted at the front gate. At the same time your men will scale the wall. One body should be sent to cut off egress from the stables, and another to enter by the back-door. I leave the rest to you."

Half a mile farther on they came to the wooded hollow of which Jack had spoken. The horses were left there as arranged, and the guerrilleros, headed by Jack and Antonio, advanced cautiously up the hill to within three hundred yards of the house. By the light of the rising moon two sentinels could be seen standing at the front gate, between which and the house lay fifty feet of flower-garden. Jack wondered whether sentries had been placed on the other sides, but judged from the evident carelessness of the French that that precaution had not improbably been neglected. There was no cover for the attacking force beyond about two hundred and fifty yards from the gates, but at both sides the plantations would conceal them. The guerrilleros stole into the shade of the trees; the main body remained at the corner of the wall ready to attack in front; smaller parties worked round the sides, until the whole enclosure was practically surrounded.

Jack accompanied the party which had gone to the wall facing the rear of the house. Under cover of the overhanging branches of a chestnut he climbed over the wall, which was about eight feet high. No sentry was posted at the back of the house. In a few minutes Jack had run up the garden and come to the back-door. Already he had heard sounds of merriment proceeding from the house. He placed his ear against the door, listening for footsteps within. Hearing nothing in the vicinity, he lifted the latch and slipped inside, finding himself in a large square stone-floored room, which had evidently been used as a storehouse for the gardener's tools. At the far side of the room was a door leading, as he knew, to the corridor surrounding the patio. As he cautiously opened this door his ears were saluted by a deafening babel from a room on the right, opening on to the corridor. To judge by the sounds, a large party of French troopers were there enjoying their evening meal. Shouts of laughter were mingled with bursts of song and the clatter of knives and crockery. The patio was pitch dark save where a beam of light fell across it from a window of the room on the right, and another from the kitchen on the opposite side. Hugging the rear wall of the patio, Jack made his way cautiously across its tiled floor to the window of the kitchen. A door opened into the kitchen from the corridor, opposite to the middle one of the three arches in the colonnade of the patio. Keeping well in the shadow, Jack saw several Frenchmen leave the kitchen carrying dishes and flagons, and cross the patio to the room whence the boisterous sounds were proceeding. He saw also another man, a tall fellow, whom in the half-light he seemed to recognize, carry a dish into a room at the farther end of the corridor, and close the door behind him. While the door was open Jack heard a burst of song from within. Evidently some of the Frenchmen were also regaling themselves there.

Peeping in at the kitchen window, he saw the gardener, now alone. He tapped. The Spaniard looked startled for a moment. Then a light of recollection came into his eyes. He made hurriedly for the door, and in another moment was with Jack.

"I've a hundred men outside," whispered the latter. "Where are the officers?"

"In the room at the end, Señor."

At this moment the door of that very room opened again, and the tall servant came out, and turned down the corridor at the farther end of the patio.

"He is going to the cellar under the stairs for wine," whispered the old man. "Curse them! They are drinking my old master's store of Valdepenas."

The man had left the door open, and from within the room came the sound of a mellow baritone voice trolling out a sentimental ditty:

"J'ai fait un bouquet pour ma mie,Un bouquet blanc;J'ai mis mon coeur dedans,Dedans mon bouquet blanc.Comm' nous partions, v'là qu'elle cri-i-e:'Oh! reviens t'en.''Marche!' dit mon lieutenant.Je lui laiss' mon bouquet blanc.J'ai mis mon coeur, j'ai mis mon coeur dedans,Dedans mon bouquet blanc."

"J'ai fait un bouquet pour ma mie,Un bouquet blanc;J'ai mis mon coeur dedans,Dedans mon bouquet blanc.Comm' nous partions, v'là qu'elle cri-i-e:'Oh! reviens t'en.''Marche!' dit mon lieutenant.Je lui laiss' mon bouquet blanc.J'ai mis mon coeur, j'ai mis mon coeur dedans,Dedans mon bouquet blanc."

"J'ai fait un bouquet pour ma mie,

Un bouquet blanc;J'ai mis mon coeur dedans,Dedans mon bouquet blanc.Comm' nous partions, v'là qu'elle cri-i-e:'Oh! reviens t'en.''Marche!' dit mon lieutenant.Je lui laiss' mon bouquet blanc.

Un bouquet blanc;J'ai mis mon coeur dedans,Dedans mon bouquet blanc.

Un bouquet blanc;

Un bouquet blanc;

J'ai mis mon coeur dedans,

Dedans mon bouquet blanc.

Comm' nous partions, v'là qu'elle cri-i-e:

'Oh! reviens t'en.''Marche!' dit mon lieutenant.Je lui laiss' mon bouquet blanc.

'Oh! reviens t'en.'

'Oh! reviens t'en.'

'Marche!' dit mon lieutenant.

Je lui laiss' mon bouquet blanc.

J'ai mis mon coeur, j'ai mis mon coeur dedans,

Dedans mon bouquet blanc."

Dedans mon bouquet blanc."

Dedans mon bouquet blanc."

Shouts of applause followed the last words. Immediately afterwards the tall servant returned with a huge flagon, re-entered the room, and shut the door.

"Hombre," said Jack in a whisper, "you must go into that room."

"But, Señor, I'm afraid for my life. There's a big hound of a Frenchman there whose very voice makes me shiver."

"You must go in. I caught sight of a screen as that man entered just now. All I want you to do is to go in and show yourself—ask if they are fully supplied—and give me time to slip in behind you; then wait outside the door till I call."

The old man hesitated for a moment, then plucked up his courage and walked along the corridor, Jack following. The Spaniard opened the door, and was instantly ordered to go about his business. He moved back at once, but meanwhile Jack had slipped inside the room, and found that in an angle of the four-leaved screen he could conceal himself, not only from the persons in the room, but from anyone passing through the door. He quietly slit a hole in the screen with his penknife, and peeped through.

Around a ponderous old table of black oak, illuminated by a dozen wax candles and covered with dishes and flagons and glasses, sat four men. At the head, with his braided scarlet coat open from the neck, sat a fat, red-faced, big-moustachioed officer, whom Jack recognized at once as the blusterous commissary from whom he had coaxed such valuable information at Olmedo. At the foot sat a French captain, who was already half-drunk; on the other side was a young lieutenant, with pink cheeks. With his back to the door there was a man in Spanish dress, who at that moment beckoned forward the tall servant to fill the captain's empty glass. As the man moved round the table, Jack caught the glitter of Perez' one eye, and at the same instant recognized the seated Spaniard as Miguel Priego himself.

Listening, Jack was amused to find that Commissary Gustave Taberne had lost nothing of his braggadocio.

"Parbleu, Señor Don What-do-you-call-yourself, this is wine of the right sort. Nothing in this world is so soul-satisfying as good Valdepenas after a hard day's work. Mind you, I say 'after'. I'm not like Captain Horace Marie Etienne d'Echaubroignes yonder, who'll drink in bed, on horseback, or in a pig-stye—it's all one to him. No; the emperor would call me a pig if I got drunk before my work was over. I can drink a gallon without staggering, and have a bottle at my hand without touching it; but when my duty is done—ah ça! then I can fill my skin in comfort, and sing a song with any man."

The long-named captain scowled at the reference to himself, bent forward over the table, and stuttered:

"Monsieur l'inten—l'intendant, do you mean that for a—a reflection?"

"Not at all, not at all, monsieur le capitaine. It was a compliment—to your versatility and your—h'm!—capacity."

"Eh bien!" rejoined the captain, lifting his glass unsteadily, "if you mean it that way—"

The commissary winked at Miguel.

"J'ai fait un bouquet pour ma mie,Un bouquet blanc,"

"J'ai fait un bouquet pour ma mie,Un bouquet blanc,"

"J'ai fait un bouquet pour ma mie,

Un bouquet blanc,"

Un bouquet blanc,"

he hummed. "Tiens! Songs like that suit a gay young bachelor like you better than a man of my age, with a wife and family. Come, Señor Don Something-or-other, sing us one of your Spanish songs—a serenade such as your gallants sing by night under their lady's window. Tol-lol-di-rol! Come now—sing up."

"Really, monsieur, after hearing your excellent voice, I do not feel able to enter into competition with you," said Miguel stiffly.

"Ah bah! Allons! you are still in our debt. You did us a good service to-day, in truth; but remember, we found your lady-love for you yesterday. Ohé! her eyes, her cheeks, parbleu! I envy you the lovely—how does she call herself—la belle Juanita? Tol-lol-di-rol! Chantez, mon ami."

"We Spaniards are not accustomed to discuss such matters in mixed company," said Miguel, still more irritably.

"We Spaniards! Par exemple! I'm not a Spaniard; nor are you, my friend, to judge by your reception in the Spaniards' houses to-day."

His tone was decidedly nettled, and the young lieutenant looked uncomfortable, and seemed about to hazard a remark. The captain was solemnly drinking.

"Eh bien!" said the commissary, changing his tone. "There's no need for us to quarrel. The lovely Juanita is to be your bride; that is settled. We'll see what we can do with King Joseph to hasten matters. And so, without more words, let us drink a health to her!"

"Perez, another bottle," said Miguel.

The one-eyed servant came across the room, and Jack slipped out of sight between two leaves of the screen. The commissary sang on:—

"J'ai mis mon coeur dedans,Dedans mon bouquet blanc.Comm' nous pardons, v'là qu'elle crie:'Oh! reviens t'en.'

"J'ai mis mon coeur dedans,Dedans mon bouquet blanc.Comm' nous pardons, v'là qu'elle crie:'Oh! reviens t'en.'

"J'ai mis mon coeur dedans,Dedans mon bouquet blanc.

"J'ai mis mon coeur dedans,

Dedans mon bouquet blanc.

Comm' nous pardons, v'là qu'elle crie:

'Oh! reviens t'en.'

'Oh! reviens t'en.'

'Oh! reviens t'en.'

Voila qu'il en revient!" (as Perez re-entered).

"You can go and get your own supper," said Miguel when the cork was drawn.

Perez left the room. As soon as he had gone, Jack, relying on the commissary being engrossed with the bottle, opened the door an inch, and beckoned the old Spaniard in.

"Now, Señor Don What's-your-name," said the commissary, "we Frenchmen will drink a bumper to the fair Spaniard, the black-eyed beauty. Messieurs, aux beaux yeux de la belle Ju—an—i—"

He had lifted his brimming glass half-way to his lips, and turned with a fat smile towards Miguel, when he paused, his hand stayed in mid-air, and he broke off in the middle of Juanita's name. Advancing towards him from behind the screen he saw a young Spaniard, with a drawn sword in his right hand, and in his left a pistol, cocked and pointed.

"You will excuse me, messieurs," said Jack quietly, "intruding upon you thus unceremoniously—pray keep your seats," he added, as the lieutenant pushed back his chair, and the fuddled captain half rose. "In fact, I shall take it so ill if you move but a hair's breadth that I cannot answer for my nerves!"

For all its banter, Jack's tone had in it so much of deadly earnestness that the officers sank limply back into their seats, the instinctive movement towards sword and pistol arrested as if by a sudden palsy. Miguel had remained on his chair without moving a muscle. With him the French were four to one, for as a combatant the old man did not count; but each of the four knew that the first among them to take up the gage would fall instantly to Jack's pistol, and the knowledge dulled the edge of their courage.

"Hombre," continued Jack, addressing the old gardener, "bolt the door."

The man was trembling in every limb, but hastened to obey the order.

"That is right. Now, feel in my left-hand pocket. You will find a whistle. You have it? Then open yonder window and blow three times."

The man went to the window behind the commissary, opened one of its leaves, and blew three shrill blasts. While this was going on, the four sat helplessly in the same position in which Jack had surprised them. The lieutenant's pink cheeks had paled; the commissary's rubicund features had become like mottled soap; the captain was red with sottish indignation; Miguel had never moved. Jack could only see his back.

"With your permission, messieurs," Jack went on, "this good man will make a little collection. Hombre, relieve that gentleman at the head of the table of his sword and pistol. No, no; not this side of him. You may get hurt if you come between us, and we cannot spare a good Spaniard—can we, Don Miguel? Go round him. That's right. Now bring the weapons and put them on the floor behind me. So. Now, go round in the same way and get the next gentleman's arms."

Before the man reached the lieutenant, a confused hubbub came into the room from the front of the house through the open window—the clash of steel, the report of firearms. Almost at the same moment loud sounds of the same kind came from the direction of the patio. The old servant hesitated, stood still, his fingers working nervously.

"Go on, hombre," said Jack sternly, his pistol still pointed.

While the uproar on both sides gathered strength, the Spaniard tottered towards the lieutenant, and with shaking hands disengaged his sword and pistol, which he placed alongside of the commissary's on the floor behind Jack. He was just repeating the process of disarmament with the captain when loud shouts were heard at the door, followed by heavy blows from the butts of muskets. Apparently the French troopers had been driven across the patio, and were seeking their officers in the inner room. Jack did not move a muscle, but he devoutly hoped that the door would stand the strain; otherwise the window was his only chance, though in any case he could not desert the old man.

The noise outside provided a strange contrast to the quietness within. Almost silently the Spaniard had disarmed three of the four feasters. It was now Miguel's turn. In advancing towards him the old man, alarmed by the tremendous thunderings on the door behind him, and by a bullet that crashed through one of the panels, incautiously stepped between Miguel and Jack. In an instant, with an extraordinary muscular effort for so slightly built a man—an effort nerved doubtless by the knowledge of what his fate would be if he fell into the hands of his countrymen,—Miguel seized the man by the middle, and, swinging him round so as to make of him a screen between himself and Jack, dashed towards a curtain of arras that apparently overhung a doorway on the opposite side of the room. At the same moment a number of Spaniards, headed by Antonio, came headlong through the open window.

"Secure the Frenchmen!" shouted Jack, springing after Miguel. He could not fire. When he reached the curtain he stumbled over the old Spaniard, whom Miguel flung back at his pursuer as he dashed through the door into the dark anteroom beyond. Jack recovered himself in an instant, but Miguel had disappeared, and when Jack had followed him into the darkness he heard him stumbling over furniture on the other side of the room. Then began a desperate chase. As is common in Spanish houses, room opened into room, and Jack pursued the traitor through door after door, occasionally catching a fleeting glimpse of him by the moonlight filtering through the windows of rooms on the outer wall, but losing him again in the darkness before there was time to fire. At last Miguel, gaining a slight lead, was able to open a window at the back of the house, and sprang out into the garden, flinging the leaf of the window back almost in Jack's face. Outside he fell sprawling on the ground, but was up in an instant, and rushed madly down the path cutting the garden in two.

Jack leapt through the window after him, stumbled, recovered himself, and was off after the fugitive. Tearing through the bushes that had overspread the path, he flew along, saving his breath, setting his lips, fiercely determined to bring the wretched man to book at last. Miguel had reached the wall; with the agility of despair he sprang at it, and was over. Jack was a better runner; he made as little difficulty of the wall; pursuer and pursued were now in full career through the olive plantation. Miguel's breath was failing; he knew that he could not escape. Stopping suddenly in an open glade, he turned round, and a bullet whistled past Jack's head as he closed with his quarry. The headlong rush had spoiled Miguel's aim.

Disdaining to use his pistol, Jack at once engaged Miguel with his sword. The Spaniard stood fiercely at bay, panting with his exertions, his face showing livid with fear in the pale moonlight. There were a few rapid passes; then with a groan he dropped his sword, his forearm gashed from wrist to elbow.

"Hold!" he gasped. "I am at your mercy. Spare me!"

Jack dropped the point of his sword.

"What—are—you—going—to—do—with—me?" panted Miguel.

"Do with you? There is only one thing for me to do: deliver you to your fellow-countrymen. They shall judge you."

"Not that, for the love of God!" was the agonized reply, whispered rather than spoken. "You know what that means! Spare me that! Rather finish what you have begun. For old time's sake you would not throw me to those wolves. Ah! their fiendish tortures! See! have done with it; strike here!"

[image]Miguel Escapes from the Garden

[image]

[image]

Miguel Escapes from the Garden

He tore open his shirt and bared his bosom to the sword. It was well acted, but Jack was not for a moment deceived. Miguel, he knew, had not the slightest expectation of being taken at his word. Yet the alternative! When once the guerrilleros had him in their power there would be no torture too horrible for the renegade and traitor. Jack remembered with a shudder the tales he had heard—even those told him by Miguel himself in Salamanca. Could he deliver the wretch, vile though he was, to so awful a fate? Could he allow the traitor to go free? It was a painful dilemma.

So they stood while a man might count ten.

There was a crackle in the undergrowth, the sound of a light footfall, and, lifting his sword, Jack half-turned. As he did so a heavy form struck against him. He felt a scorching pain between the shoulders, and pitching heavily forward sank unconscious to the ground. The dilemma had solved itself.

CHAPTER XXXI

Doctor Grampus and a French Cook

An Amateur—Pantomime—At Cross Purposes—Miguel's Pocket-book—Links—In Cipher—Potatoes—Monsieur Taberne on Duty—The Compelling Onion

When Jack came to himself it seemed to him that he was in a shaded room by an open window, for the air gently fanned his temples, and he saw a wide stretch of blue sky. He turned his aching head.

"Hullo!" said a voice in English.

"Hullo!" murmured Jack in reply, automatically, not knowing what he said. He looked with puzzlement at the speaker, a tall, stout young fellow in guerrilla costume.

"There, I wagered you wouldn't know me in this rig. Don't you remember Dugdale, at Salamanca—Percy Dugdale, don't you know?"

"The Grampus!" whispered Jack.

"The very same. I might have bet you'd know Grampus better than my good old respectable honoured ugly name. Here, drink this."

He held a cup to Jack's lips. After drinking, Jack closed his eyes and fell asleep.

"Where am I?" he asked, waking an hour later.

"Feel better? That's grand. Where are you? High up among the hills, in a sort of cave, lying on a pile of blankets, with a splendid outlook over—well, nowhere in particular."

"In the hills!" repeated Jack feebly. "How did I get there? I can't remember. Is anything wrong with me? I don't seem to be able to move. I don't feel right."

"There's gratitude! Why, you're as right as a trivet. You're really doing splendidly! Now, you're not to talk. Doctor's orders."

"Oh!"

Jack was silent for a moment, and dozed away again.

When he woke, Dugdale came towards him from the entrance of the cave.

"What's the matter with me? How do you come here? I can't remember anything."

"I said you were not to talk. Doctor's orders."

"Tell the doctor I want to see him."

Dugdale chuckled.

"Bet it'd be no go. Truth is, I'm the doctor. I've pulled you through, and when I get home I'm going to demand a diploma from the doctors' college or whatever it is gives a man a licence to be a sawbones."

"I must know all about it. I can't remember. How long have I been ill?"

"Nearly three weeks. Now, if you'll promise not to get excited, I'll tell you what happened. You know a man named Antonio?"

"Yes, of course; he helped me in Saragossa."

"Well, if he weren't a friend of yours I'd punch his head. He is the leader of this band of ruffians that scooped me up, two months ago, when I was riding over the hills to see the fun at Saragossa. Antonio wasn't with them then. I couldn't understand a word they said. They couldn't understand a word I said. I roared 'Inglese! Inglese!' till I was sick. No good. They kept me with them and made me get into this outrageous toggery, and with them I've been ever since, like a canary in a cage."

"But—"

"You mustn't talk. Doctor's orders. Lucky for you I was here, or they'd have sent you to kingdom come. With their nasty messes!—ugh!"

"Where did you get your medicines, then?"

"Silence! Don't believe in medicine. Bet Antonio three to one in Frenchmen—only he couldn't understand—that I'd pull you through on cold water; and I've done it,—thank God!"

The sudden change to earnestness in Dugdale's tone was almost comic.

"And you were pretty bad, I can tell you. Raved like one o'clock. All about Pomeroy and Pepito, and some chap whose name rhymed with ass, and Mig Prig—most about Mig Prig,—and you laughed and shouted 'Fire the mine!' and 'Pommy, I'll punch your head,' and all sorts of funny things."

"But what made me ill?"

"A villainous stab in the back. By gum! if I had the beast here I'd trounce him, I bet I would. You and Antonio had captured a foraging-party of French at a country-house down there; you tackled the officers single-handed; dashed plucky of you, begad! and you sprang out after a scoundrelly Spaniard who escaped, a fellow in French pay; and afterwards you were found among the olives with a hole in your back and your sword covered with blood."

"I remember now," cried Jack. "I must get up. I must save Juanita."

He tried to rise, but found that he had no power.

"Juanita be hanged, whoever he may be. Lie still, and don't talk. I haven't finished yet. Wish I'd been with you, but these confounded brigands won't let me stir from head-quarters. I've had the most disgusting luck. I came out to see the fun, and hanged if I've seen any at all. Well, they found you with a hole in your back and brought you here, and they were in a deuce of a way about you. They had a score or more of French prisoners with them, including officers, one of them a fat, red-faced fellow—"

"I remember it all now. That's my friend the commissary."

"Well, he's peeling onions at this moment. A little change for him, but all in the same line of business. It was he told me what had happened; lucky I can make out two French words out of ten. By Jove! what bloodthirsty ruffians these Spaniards are! If it hadn't been for me all the prisoners would have been garroted or roasted before slow fires, or something. When I saw what was in the wind my blood boiled. I couldn't stand that; no Englishman could; so I made 'em a speech. Lord! I never knew I could rattle it off so; I must go into Parliament. Of course they couldn't understand what I said, but I threw my arms about, and pointed to my neck, and shook my head, and generally played the goat, as I've seen 'em do at the hustings; and they made out what I meant, and so the prisoners are here still,—except the captain, who died of over-drinking."

At this moment Antonio came quietly into the cave; he had been in and out during Jack's periods of unconsciousness, and now showed every mark of delight at his impending recovery.

"The saints be praised, Señor!" he said. "We feared you would die. We should have grieved."

Jack was touched by his simple sincerity.

"I am not gone yet," he said, smiling, "thanks, I understand, to my friend Señor Dugdale here."

"He is a clever doctor, Señor," said Antonio.

"He tells me that you have the Frenchmen we captured at Morata."

"Sí, Señor, and another lot too."

"Indeed! It is well that he managed to persuade you to do them no harm."

"What does the Señor mean?"

"My friend Señor Dugdale tells me that you were going to torture the prisoners, and he made a speech and—"

"Oh, that!" exclaimed Antonio, with a wave of the hand. "We didn't understand. We thought the Señor wanted us to cut all their throats; but I knew you would not like that."

Jack became almost hysterical with laughter at this explanation, and Dugdale bundled Antonio out of the cave, and told Jack he must go to sleep again. He allowed no more talk on that day, but the patient was so much better next morning that he made no objection when Jack asked to see the guerrillero again.

"I want to hear what has happened," said Jack to him. "I am anxious."

"I know, Señor; but there is no need. The day after we got back with the prisoners, the gitano Pepito came and said the Señorita Juanita had been captured by the French and was living with a colonel's lady in Morata. I got my men together and we went down at once, and in the night surprised the French, killed a great many, and captured the rest. But the Señorita was not among them. We found the colonel's lady; she told us that the Señorita had escaped."

"Where is she?" asked Jack anxiously.

"We do not know, Señor. The boy Pepito was frantic; he said you would punish him for losing the lady, and he went away to find her. He has never come back."

"Did he say anything about Señor Priego—the man who was in Saragossa, you remember?"

"He said that Señor Priego was with the French who captured the Señorita, but no more."

"And you did not capture him at the house? It was he I was fighting in the olive-grove."

"Por Dios, Señor, if I had known that! When we found you lying on the ground we let a few minutes slip. We thought you were dead, Señor. Then we searched all around, but we could find no one. Was it the cursed afrancesado that wounded you, Señor?"

"No. It was someone who came behind my back; his servant, I have no doubt. He has twice attempted my life."

Antonio swore a hearty oath, and vowed a terrible vengeance should either Priego or his servant fall into his hands. Jack was much perturbed. He hoped that Juanita in escaping from the French had escaped also from Miguel, but the latter had much to gain by not letting her slip through his hands.

"There is one thing, Señor, yet to be told," added Antonio. "In the morning, when we were bringing away the prisoners, one of my men found this at the back of the house, lying on the grass."

He produced a leather pocket-book, which he handed to Jack.

"I can't have this," said Dugdale, entering at this moment. "You're not well enough yet to be bothered with business."

"You will do me more good by letting me get to the bottom of things. My hand's all wobbles. Take the pocket-book, old fellow, and tell me what is in it."

Dugdale opened the case, and, taking out a number of papers, unfolded them one by one.

"All in foreign lingos," he said ruefully. "Can't read one of them."

"Let me see them," said Jack.

Dugdale handed him one of the papers. It was a pass through the French lines, signed by Marshal Lannes. At the first glance Jack understood. The pocket-book must have been jerked from Miguel's pocket when he fell on escaping from the house. Jack examined the papers eagerly. The second was a note from the marshal's aide-de-camp Saint-Marc: "In consideration of Monsieur Priego's services to the Government of His Majesty King Joseph, his excellency will use his influence with the commandant at Bayonne to facilitate the interview sought by Monsieur Priego". The third was a memorandum evidently relating to private business. The fourth was a long blue paper, on unfolding which Dugdale cried:

"By George, Lumsden, this is curious! Hanged if there isn't your name here!"

Jack took the paper with still more eagerness. He saw at once that it was in the same handwriting as the letter he had received from Don Fernan Alvarez at Salamanca. It was in Spanish, addressed to Mr. Lumsden, and Jack had only to read a few words to be assured that this was the very letter entrusted to the charge of General Palafox—the letter whose disappearance had so much perplexed him. Before he had read more than two or three lines, however, Antonio broke in:

"Señor, I know that paper. I saw it often in the hands of Pablo Quintanar in Saragossa. He used to take it out of his pocket every night and read it, and always when he came to a certain place he stopped, and frowned, and cursed. I am sure it is the same."

In a flash the mystery of Quintanar's assassination was made plain to Jack. Miguel must have discovered in some way that the letter was in the possession of the guerrillero, and the wretched man had been slain from behind by one-eyed Perez while Miguel tried to wrest the paper from him. Jack was aghast at this additional proof of Miguel's villainy; his heart misgave him as he thought of what might be Juanita's fate.

He read the letter. It gave a clear narrative of the events of which Juanita had told him—Don Fernan's making up of the accounts of the business, the journey from Barcelona to Saragossa, the ambush on the road, the suspected treachery of Miguel Priego. Then followed a declaration of the old merchant's intentions in regard to his property. In the last sentence he stated that the place where the treasure had been concealed was known only to his servant José, but that the secret was contained in a short postscript, which could only be read in the light of a private communication made to Jack himself in Salamanca.

Jack looked eagerly at the postscript. He uttered an exclamation of joy as he realized that Miguel must have found the letter useless to him. For the postscript consisted of a single line of sprawling uneven capital letters, set close together, not divided into words, and conveying to the uninitiated absolutely no meaning.

"What do you make of that?" said Jack, handing the letter to Dugdale.

"No good. Don't know a word of Spanish except pan, agua, cebolla, which I hear every day, and a few—interjections, I think they call 'em in grammar."

"I don't mean the letter, I mean the postscript."

"The postscript!" He held the paper at arm's-length, shut one eye, and frowned. "H'm! Looks like a cat's swearing, or Welsh. Too bad even for Spanish. Some infant set to practise his capitals, eh?"

Jack smiled.

"I'm as much in the dark as you are. Perhaps you wouldn't mind making a copy of the letters, in case the original goes astray?"

"Very well. Bet you I'll make a dozen mistakes. It dazzles my eyes. You'd better call 'em out one by one."

Accordingly Jack read the twenty-nine letters off separately, and Dugdale, whose inaptitude with the pencil was clearly shown by the frequency with which he licked his lips, made laborious strokes on a sheet of paper taken from Miguel's note-book.

"There," he said, when the task was finished. "Looks a deal prettier than the original, don't it?"

In big boyish capitals Jack saw the following puzzling sentence:—

S E O S F L S A E O A P E J E J P J J F J P J X P A P P F

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