CHAPTER XVTHE WAY INAn hour after nightfall the well in the orchard at the mission gave forth a man. Mud and dust were mingled on his clothes, the ends of his moustache drooped, and there was a scraggy beard on his face. The dainty caballero was gone, and in his place was a warrior of stern visage and flashing eyes, who stood beside the well curb for a few minutes listening and then lost no time in crossing the orchard and climbing the adobe wall.Once outside, his progress was rapid over the uneven ground. Now he walked and now he ran, making his way to the crest of the slope behind the mission buildings. He turned west and hurried on, making as little noise as possible, stumbling over rocks and roots and small brush, for there was no moon and a man could see scarcely two feet in front of his face.He came to a small dry watercourse and turned into it, running continually now through the heavy sand, less liable to attract attention, but panting from the exertion. Finally he stopped, listened again and appeared to be uncertain of his surroundings. A soft whinny came to his ears, and with a subdued gasp of thankfulness he ran on.Beneath a ledge of rock in a natural cup in theearth his horse was picketed. Working swiftly, the caballero put on saddle and bridle and led the animal from beneath the ledge and down the watercourse. A few minutes later he had mounted, and the horse was trotting slowly along the crest of the hill.The caballero did not under-estimate his danger. He knew thecomandantemight have sent troopers to scout in the surrounding country in an endeavour to learn the intentions of the hostiles. Men and women were driving in from the villages and every rancho was sending its people to the protection of the mission, for the alarm had gone out that afternoon, and he did not wish to be seen by any of them. Moreover, scouting Indians might be met, and these the caballero feared most of all, not alone because of an attack they might make, but because they might give chase, drive him out of his course, delay him when delay was the last thing he desired.Yet he rode swiftly where he could, and trusted a great deal to his horse, not following the principal highway, but breaking a new trail over the hills, avoiding the cañon where the old Indian camp had been, striving to reach the Fernandez rancho from the opposite side, where it was less likely sentinels had been posted.He had to guess at his location continually; had to stop now and then to listen for sounds that would have meant danger; had to use caution and make speed at the same time, a difficult thing under such conditions.In time he saw the reflection from fires ahead ofhim, and knew he was not far from the cañon where the Indians had been camped.He approached warily, riding slowly around the base of the butte as Sergeant Cassara had done. Dismounting, he threw the reins over his horse’s head and went forward alone, silently, foot by foot, fearing a stumble over a stone might attract the attention of some Indian sentinel and cause an alarm.He reached the edge of the precipice and looked down. Scores of fires were burning; scores of Indian warriors were dancing; the groups of teepees told how the savages had gathered, gentile and neophyte, for this attempt to drive white men from the coast country and reclaim the territory for their own.For several minutes the caballero watched the scene below, noting especially where a group of chiefs had gathered before a large wigwam as if for a conference. Then, fully determined, he slipped over the edge of the precipice and started down to the floor of the cañon, a perilous descent made more perilous by the fact that escape would be difficult if his presence were discovered.He reached the bottom, and for a time rested behind a clump of bushes, where the light from the fires did not penetrate, breathing heavily because of his exertion, listening to the chatter of a band of neophytes near—neophytes who already quarrelled regarding the division of certain goods in the mission storehouse.Forward again, toward the wigwam, keeping out of the light from the fires, going step by step and cautiously, now backing into the brush when he cameacross a slumbering hostile, now daring a nearer approach to the fires when the country made it necessary.He reached a jumble of rocks directly behind the wigwam, and stopped to rest again. He heard Indians shrieking in the distance, heard the sound of galloping hoofs, and saw riding down the line of fires the man he had warned thecomandanteto watch.“Then I was right, after all,” the caballero said, and gripped his pistol for use in case of discovery.The chiefs were standing now, awaiting the approach of their white leader with evident courtesy, and one of them stepped forward and grasped the reins of the horse as he dismounted. An Indian took the horse away; the chiefs and their white leader sat down before the fire.“You have satisfaction, Señor Rocha?” one of the chiefs asked.“Things appear to be as I had wished,” was the reply. “We will attack to-morrow night, as we have planned. The men have all arrived?”“Except perhaps half a hundred who will be here by morning,” said a chief. “A scout came in some time ago, with the report that they are preparing for defence at the mission.”“Hah! Small good it will do them, except to cause us more annoyance.”“A soldier warned them,señor, it is said—a big soldier who belongs not to the presidio here, but at Santa Barbara.”“I know him; I expected as much. Do some of you remember this certain soldier when we attack, and takeaccount of him. There has been nothing seen of the man who tricked you?”“None have seen him,señor. Either he has ridden up El Camino Real to spread the alarm, or else is hiding in the hills.”“He is not to be slain, remember. I want that word passed around. That man is mine when we take him prisoner. Small wonder it is that he did not ruin our plans!”“How were we to know,señor? Those at the mission treated him like a pestilence, and he led our men to believe he was who he seemed. We did not guess until he came here to the cañon and escaped when we would have held him prisoner. Yet he is an outlaw now—both white men and red seek him.”“There is amusement to be found in that fact,” was the laughing reply. “Remember that man is mine when he is taken. And remember, also, what I said about a guard to be left behind here at the rancho. The women in the ranch-house are to be kept in their room, and no one is to enter. No harm is to be offered them. The younger one is to be my wife, you understand, and the elder must remain with her to keep her from being frightened.”“It will be done,señor,” the chief replied, “though every man wants to join in the attack on the mission.”“Say to those left behind that I’ll see personally they receive their share of any loot.”“Very well,señor.”“And now let us consider the plans for attack.It will be a task of some hours, but we want no mistakes!”The caballero waited to hear no more. Step by step he withdrew from the wigwam and went back into the brush. One thought rang in his brain—no harm had come to Señorita Anita Fernandez and herduenna; they merely were being held prisoners.It was more difficult getting back to the crest than it had been descending, and there was as much need for caution. Through the darkness the caballero fought his way upward, fearful of dislodging pebbles and starting an avalanche that would betray him, grasping carefully at projecting rocks and roots, straining his muscles while the perspiration streamed from his face and neck, urged on by the thought of the scant time he had for his purpose.In time he reached the top, and for a moment was stretched exhausted on the ground, gasping for breath. Then he arose and walked slowly toward where he had left his horse, alert again, fearing discovery at every step.He mounted and rode slowly around the base of the butte, and then across a pasture where there was no reflection from the fires in the cañon. He could see the lights in the ranch-house, heard Indians screeching around it, and before one of the long adobe buildings there was a great fire where the hostiles were cooking.The caballero estimated the task he had set himself to do, and strove to keep from feeling downhearted; for it seemed almost an impossible thing with a couplehundred hostiles scattered about the place. How was he to reach the house, enter it, rescue two women and escape again?He stopped his horse in an angle of fence that protected the yard of the ranch-house from grazing herds, and fastened the animal there, then went forward afoot, keeping in the shadow of the nearest adobe building.He was within half a hundred yards of the Indians about the fire, but they seemed to be giving all their attention to the preparation of food, trusting sentinels posted on every road and trail to give warning of approach.He came to another horse tethered to the fence, a splendid animal belonging to the rancho. It evidently was being used by some chief or scout, for saddle and bridle were on it, and remembering that he would need a second horse, he untied the beast, led it back to his own, and fastened it again.Then he went forward once more, this time swinging far out to one side and reaching a clump of palms planted long ago by Señor Fernandez for a windbreak. From there he could get a good view of the house. The patio was filled with Indians; hostiles were on the front veranda; they slept against the walls and roamed through the vegetable garden on the other side of the building.A room in the front of the house was illuminated, but none except Indians were in it, and they seemed to be servants. To the rear was an additional half-storey,and here was another room with a light in it; and as the caballero watched the windows he saw a shadow cast on the curtains.The draperies were heavy and of brocaded stuff, yet the outlines of the shadow could be discerned plainly. Here was no squaw or hostile brave—here was a white woman dressed in the mode of the times, and the shadow, passing and repassing before the window, told the caballero she paced the room in an agony of fear.Now he stretched himself on the ground and began worming his way forward like an Indian, stopping every few feet to listen, keeping to the shadows, ready to curl up and pretend to be asleep if any came near, hoping he would be taken for a sleeping hostile. Fifty feet from the side of the house he stopped, disheartened as he realised the futility of the plan. No human being could reach the house and enter without being seen, not with Indians scattered every few feet along the walls and others continually running back and forth from the veranda to the patio. He would have to resort to a trick.But tricks were not easily planned under such conditions. No expedient could he contrive; every plan was rejected as being worse than useless.He heard a commotion behind him, and realised that the hostiles were driving up the horses of the rancho in preparation for to-morrow night’s raid. Two or three hundred head were in the drove now milling near the fence before the house. Cries of relief came from the herders as they sprang over the fence and hurriedtoward the house for wine and food; and relief came to the caballero as he crouched in the shadows, for now he believed the way was clear.He slipped back to the clump of palms, made another circle, and so gained the fence, to climb it and slip along it silently until he came to bars directly before the ranch-house. Working swiftly to throw them down, he then slipped back again and circled the drove until he was behind the high-spirited, half-frightened animals.He grasped pistol in one hand; zarape in the other. A moment of silence, then a shot, a screech, the snort of a frightened steed, the sudden crowding of those nearest him—then the drove was in frenzied fear—rearing, kicking, plunging—striving to flee from this unknown horror that had come behind them out of the night.The leaders broke through the bars; the others followed. By scores they stampeded into the yard, carrying all before them!Shrieking hostiles fled from the raging beasts; a chorus of cries came from the Indians scattered along the walls. Around the end of the building and into the patio itself the animals fled, crashing into the arches, stumbling across the fountain, tearing down vines and trees—flying menaces of hoofs and teeth that scattered gentiles and neophytes as a volley from troopers never would have done.The caballero stopped beneath the palms to recharge his pistol, and then he slipped quickly to the wall of the house and the nearest window. The yard was clearsave where mangled bodies of hostiles told of the horses’ frenzy. Another moment—and the caballero was inside the house, standing in a dark room directly under the window where the shadow crossed and recrossed as a woman paced the floor.
An hour after nightfall the well in the orchard at the mission gave forth a man. Mud and dust were mingled on his clothes, the ends of his moustache drooped, and there was a scraggy beard on his face. The dainty caballero was gone, and in his place was a warrior of stern visage and flashing eyes, who stood beside the well curb for a few minutes listening and then lost no time in crossing the orchard and climbing the adobe wall.
Once outside, his progress was rapid over the uneven ground. Now he walked and now he ran, making his way to the crest of the slope behind the mission buildings. He turned west and hurried on, making as little noise as possible, stumbling over rocks and roots and small brush, for there was no moon and a man could see scarcely two feet in front of his face.
He came to a small dry watercourse and turned into it, running continually now through the heavy sand, less liable to attract attention, but panting from the exertion. Finally he stopped, listened again and appeared to be uncertain of his surroundings. A soft whinny came to his ears, and with a subdued gasp of thankfulness he ran on.
Beneath a ledge of rock in a natural cup in theearth his horse was picketed. Working swiftly, the caballero put on saddle and bridle and led the animal from beneath the ledge and down the watercourse. A few minutes later he had mounted, and the horse was trotting slowly along the crest of the hill.
The caballero did not under-estimate his danger. He knew thecomandantemight have sent troopers to scout in the surrounding country in an endeavour to learn the intentions of the hostiles. Men and women were driving in from the villages and every rancho was sending its people to the protection of the mission, for the alarm had gone out that afternoon, and he did not wish to be seen by any of them. Moreover, scouting Indians might be met, and these the caballero feared most of all, not alone because of an attack they might make, but because they might give chase, drive him out of his course, delay him when delay was the last thing he desired.
Yet he rode swiftly where he could, and trusted a great deal to his horse, not following the principal highway, but breaking a new trail over the hills, avoiding the cañon where the old Indian camp had been, striving to reach the Fernandez rancho from the opposite side, where it was less likely sentinels had been posted.
He had to guess at his location continually; had to stop now and then to listen for sounds that would have meant danger; had to use caution and make speed at the same time, a difficult thing under such conditions.
In time he saw the reflection from fires ahead ofhim, and knew he was not far from the cañon where the Indians had been camped.
He approached warily, riding slowly around the base of the butte as Sergeant Cassara had done. Dismounting, he threw the reins over his horse’s head and went forward alone, silently, foot by foot, fearing a stumble over a stone might attract the attention of some Indian sentinel and cause an alarm.
He reached the edge of the precipice and looked down. Scores of fires were burning; scores of Indian warriors were dancing; the groups of teepees told how the savages had gathered, gentile and neophyte, for this attempt to drive white men from the coast country and reclaim the territory for their own.
For several minutes the caballero watched the scene below, noting especially where a group of chiefs had gathered before a large wigwam as if for a conference. Then, fully determined, he slipped over the edge of the precipice and started down to the floor of the cañon, a perilous descent made more perilous by the fact that escape would be difficult if his presence were discovered.
He reached the bottom, and for a time rested behind a clump of bushes, where the light from the fires did not penetrate, breathing heavily because of his exertion, listening to the chatter of a band of neophytes near—neophytes who already quarrelled regarding the division of certain goods in the mission storehouse.
Forward again, toward the wigwam, keeping out of the light from the fires, going step by step and cautiously, now backing into the brush when he cameacross a slumbering hostile, now daring a nearer approach to the fires when the country made it necessary.
He reached a jumble of rocks directly behind the wigwam, and stopped to rest again. He heard Indians shrieking in the distance, heard the sound of galloping hoofs, and saw riding down the line of fires the man he had warned thecomandanteto watch.
“Then I was right, after all,” the caballero said, and gripped his pistol for use in case of discovery.
The chiefs were standing now, awaiting the approach of their white leader with evident courtesy, and one of them stepped forward and grasped the reins of the horse as he dismounted. An Indian took the horse away; the chiefs and their white leader sat down before the fire.
“You have satisfaction, Señor Rocha?” one of the chiefs asked.
“Things appear to be as I had wished,” was the reply. “We will attack to-morrow night, as we have planned. The men have all arrived?”
“Except perhaps half a hundred who will be here by morning,” said a chief. “A scout came in some time ago, with the report that they are preparing for defence at the mission.”
“Hah! Small good it will do them, except to cause us more annoyance.”
“A soldier warned them,señor, it is said—a big soldier who belongs not to the presidio here, but at Santa Barbara.”
“I know him; I expected as much. Do some of you remember this certain soldier when we attack, and takeaccount of him. There has been nothing seen of the man who tricked you?”
“None have seen him,señor. Either he has ridden up El Camino Real to spread the alarm, or else is hiding in the hills.”
“He is not to be slain, remember. I want that word passed around. That man is mine when we take him prisoner. Small wonder it is that he did not ruin our plans!”
“How were we to know,señor? Those at the mission treated him like a pestilence, and he led our men to believe he was who he seemed. We did not guess until he came here to the cañon and escaped when we would have held him prisoner. Yet he is an outlaw now—both white men and red seek him.”
“There is amusement to be found in that fact,” was the laughing reply. “Remember that man is mine when he is taken. And remember, also, what I said about a guard to be left behind here at the rancho. The women in the ranch-house are to be kept in their room, and no one is to enter. No harm is to be offered them. The younger one is to be my wife, you understand, and the elder must remain with her to keep her from being frightened.”
“It will be done,señor,” the chief replied, “though every man wants to join in the attack on the mission.”
“Say to those left behind that I’ll see personally they receive their share of any loot.”
“Very well,señor.”
“And now let us consider the plans for attack.It will be a task of some hours, but we want no mistakes!”
The caballero waited to hear no more. Step by step he withdrew from the wigwam and went back into the brush. One thought rang in his brain—no harm had come to Señorita Anita Fernandez and herduenna; they merely were being held prisoners.
It was more difficult getting back to the crest than it had been descending, and there was as much need for caution. Through the darkness the caballero fought his way upward, fearful of dislodging pebbles and starting an avalanche that would betray him, grasping carefully at projecting rocks and roots, straining his muscles while the perspiration streamed from his face and neck, urged on by the thought of the scant time he had for his purpose.
In time he reached the top, and for a moment was stretched exhausted on the ground, gasping for breath. Then he arose and walked slowly toward where he had left his horse, alert again, fearing discovery at every step.
He mounted and rode slowly around the base of the butte, and then across a pasture where there was no reflection from the fires in the cañon. He could see the lights in the ranch-house, heard Indians screeching around it, and before one of the long adobe buildings there was a great fire where the hostiles were cooking.
The caballero estimated the task he had set himself to do, and strove to keep from feeling downhearted; for it seemed almost an impossible thing with a couplehundred hostiles scattered about the place. How was he to reach the house, enter it, rescue two women and escape again?
He stopped his horse in an angle of fence that protected the yard of the ranch-house from grazing herds, and fastened the animal there, then went forward afoot, keeping in the shadow of the nearest adobe building.
He was within half a hundred yards of the Indians about the fire, but they seemed to be giving all their attention to the preparation of food, trusting sentinels posted on every road and trail to give warning of approach.
He came to another horse tethered to the fence, a splendid animal belonging to the rancho. It evidently was being used by some chief or scout, for saddle and bridle were on it, and remembering that he would need a second horse, he untied the beast, led it back to his own, and fastened it again.
Then he went forward once more, this time swinging far out to one side and reaching a clump of palms planted long ago by Señor Fernandez for a windbreak. From there he could get a good view of the house. The patio was filled with Indians; hostiles were on the front veranda; they slept against the walls and roamed through the vegetable garden on the other side of the building.
A room in the front of the house was illuminated, but none except Indians were in it, and they seemed to be servants. To the rear was an additional half-storey,and here was another room with a light in it; and as the caballero watched the windows he saw a shadow cast on the curtains.
The draperies were heavy and of brocaded stuff, yet the outlines of the shadow could be discerned plainly. Here was no squaw or hostile brave—here was a white woman dressed in the mode of the times, and the shadow, passing and repassing before the window, told the caballero she paced the room in an agony of fear.
Now he stretched himself on the ground and began worming his way forward like an Indian, stopping every few feet to listen, keeping to the shadows, ready to curl up and pretend to be asleep if any came near, hoping he would be taken for a sleeping hostile. Fifty feet from the side of the house he stopped, disheartened as he realised the futility of the plan. No human being could reach the house and enter without being seen, not with Indians scattered every few feet along the walls and others continually running back and forth from the veranda to the patio. He would have to resort to a trick.
But tricks were not easily planned under such conditions. No expedient could he contrive; every plan was rejected as being worse than useless.
He heard a commotion behind him, and realised that the hostiles were driving up the horses of the rancho in preparation for to-morrow night’s raid. Two or three hundred head were in the drove now milling near the fence before the house. Cries of relief came from the herders as they sprang over the fence and hurriedtoward the house for wine and food; and relief came to the caballero as he crouched in the shadows, for now he believed the way was clear.
He slipped back to the clump of palms, made another circle, and so gained the fence, to climb it and slip along it silently until he came to bars directly before the ranch-house. Working swiftly to throw them down, he then slipped back again and circled the drove until he was behind the high-spirited, half-frightened animals.
He grasped pistol in one hand; zarape in the other. A moment of silence, then a shot, a screech, the snort of a frightened steed, the sudden crowding of those nearest him—then the drove was in frenzied fear—rearing, kicking, plunging—striving to flee from this unknown horror that had come behind them out of the night.
The leaders broke through the bars; the others followed. By scores they stampeded into the yard, carrying all before them!
Shrieking hostiles fled from the raging beasts; a chorus of cries came from the Indians scattered along the walls. Around the end of the building and into the patio itself the animals fled, crashing into the arches, stumbling across the fountain, tearing down vines and trees—flying menaces of hoofs and teeth that scattered gentiles and neophytes as a volley from troopers never would have done.
The caballero stopped beneath the palms to recharge his pistol, and then he slipped quickly to the wall of the house and the nearest window. The yard was clearsave where mangled bodies of hostiles told of the horses’ frenzy. Another moment—and the caballero was inside the house, standing in a dark room directly under the window where the shadow crossed and recrossed as a woman paced the floor.