CHAPTER VIII.THE GOBLET.
Señorita Lolita Pulido, after a time, was conducted by Barbados to a tiny cabin below decks. It was no more than eight feet square, and had a bunk along one side of it. Certainly, it was no place for a delicately-reared lady of gentle blood.
It was far from being clean, in the first instance. Vermin that meant nothing to pirates caused theseñoritato shudder and almost scream. Even as she entered, two huge rats scampered through a hole in the cabin floor, rushed down into the bowels of the ship.
“’Tis no palace,” Barbados admitted. “I’ll leave the torch so you may have light until the day dawns, which will not be long. The torch will keep the rats away. The smoke will drift through that open porthole. You will be safe here. There are no weapons, and even such a small and dainty tender human being as yourself cannot squeeze through that porthole and drop into the open sea!”
Theseñoritahad no reply for him. Shetilted her chin again, tried to hum a little song, and glanced around the tiny place. Barbados grew surly.
“Too good to speak to me, are you, proud one?” he sneered. “You may have another tune to chant before many days, after you have met the man for whom you were stolen. Is there anything you want or need?”
Theseñorita’sface flushed, but she faced him bravely. “I want your absence—and deeply feel the need of it!” she replied.
“By my naked blade! Were it not that you are to be handed over to another, I’d take it upon myself to tame you!” Barbados declared. “Ha! Deliver me from proud wenches with their noses in the air!”
He fastened the smoking torch to a wall, went out and slammed the door behind him, and Señorita Lolita heard a heavy bar being dropped into place. For a moment she stood in the middle of the cabin, her hands clutching spasmodically at her breast, and then she went over to the bunk, inspected it, and finally crawled upon it and sat cross-legged, staring at the opposite wall.
The ship was old, the floor worn and full of holes, and the walls had cracks in them. From one side came a stench, as though supplies had been stored in the space adjoining, and had spoiled. Through the porthole she could see the black night.
The horror of her situation was heavily upon her now. She seemed to fully realize her predicament for the first time. She remembered again how she had seen her father cut down, and her home in flames. She wondered how it fared with her parents, and she wondered, too, what was to be in the future.
The only ray of hope was that Don Diego was near, that Señor Zorro had promised to give her aid, and that his sword would protect her. And yet how could he—one man against scores of scoundrels? Don Diego, even as Señor Zorro, was only human, after all. Yet she hoped that, at the climax, he would reveal himself. He was acaballero, and he would know what to do in an emergency. Better that Señor Zorro drive his blade through her heart than for her to live stained!
She heard a tumult on the deck, a great noise, the sounds of clanking chains, and knew from the feel of the ship that she was under sail. Above her head feet pattered on the deck. The great voice of Barbados and the echoing one of Sanchez came to her as from a long distance. The rushing wind pulled the smoke of the torch through the open porthole.
Theseñoritasighed and leaned her head against the wall of the cabin. Tears trickled from her eyes and started coursing down her cheeks, but she wiped them away swiftly. None of these pirates should see her cry! Never would they be able to say that one of the blood of the Pulidos had shown fear!
She closed her eyes for an instant, as though that would shut out the horror of her thoughts, but found that it did not. It seemed to her that she heard a faint hiss, but she supposed that it was the wind or the water.
She opened her eyes again—and almost shrieked in alarm. Four inches in front of her face the point of a sword had slipped through a tiny crack in the wall, coming from the space adjoining!
Theseñoritarecoiled a space, but watched the blade as though fascinated by it. Inch by inch it slipped through the wall, until two-thirds of its length was inside the cabin. And again she restrained a cry, but this time a cry of joy. On the blade, marked with some black substance, was a big Z!
So Señor Zorro even now was near! He was on the other side of the partition, only a couple of feet from her! She bent her head forward as the blade was slowly withdrawn, put her lips close to the tiny crack in the wall.
“Diego!” she whispered.
“Not Diego, but Señor Zorro,señorita, at your service,” came back a low tone.
“Thank the saints!” she breathed. “But, what can you do? You must be careful!”
“Think you I would allow them to carry you away, and not follow?” he asked.
“If they find you—”
“Do you put such small value,señorita, upon my ability to care for myself?”
“Diego! Zorro!” she whispered. “To you I am not backward in confessing it—I am so afraid!”
“Then will I sing for you, beloved!”
“Zorro! Dare not to do it! They may hear!”
“Let them hear a decent song for once in their wicked lives!” Señor Zorro said. “Be of strong heart,señorita! And be not frightened at what you may hear or see. It is in my mind to terrorize these vermin who call themselves men, preparatory to rescuing you!”
“Brave words, Diego!” she said. “But you cannot fight against four score. If, at the end, you could do me one service—”
“And that?” he asked.
“Death is to be preferred to dishonor, Diego!”
“Why speak of dying? Do you forget that you are my affianced bride? You are to live, and I am to live,señorita, and have many happy years. Think always on that, and not on the other! And be of good cheer, for I am near you always!”
She heard a slight movement on the other side of the partition. He did not speak again, nor did she. Her heart was beating like angry waves against a rocky shore. Her face was flushed. It gave her courage just to know that he was near. Señor Zorro, she felt confident, would find a way.
There was silence for a moment, and then she heard the soft hiss again.
“Sí?” she questioned.
“This is some sort of a storeroom,” he said, “in which Zorro has made a temporary nest. But I do not intend to remain in it forever. It is in my mind to look at you through the porthole before the dawn comes.”
“Diego! To dare such a thing—”
“What would not acaballerodare for love?” he asked. “For love of such a one—”
“Diego!”
“Call me Zorro, for, by the saints, that is my rôle now! I find that I have a dual personality, and the tamer part of me is not working at present. I am Zorro, the daring in love and war!”
“Have a care, for my sake,” she begged.
“I have work to do and a game to play, and they may be combined,” he answered. “For the moment,Adios!”
Again she heard the little sound, as though he were retreating from the partition and crawling over boxes and bales. There was deep silence for a time, save for the noises on the deck. And then she heard his voice, raised in song, and her heart almost stopped, for she knew that the pirates must hear it, too.
She leaned her head against the wall, that she might hear the better, though she was sorely afraid. She had heard the song often before, from Don Diego’s lips, and when other youngcaballeroshad come to her father’shaciendaserenading. But never had she heard the real Señor Zorro sing it before, and never before had it sounded so thrilling and so sweet.
“Atención!Acaballero’snear!To guard the one to his heart most dear!To love, to fight, to jest, to drink!To live the life and never shrink!His blade is bright, his honor, too!Atención!”
“Atención!Acaballero’snear!To guard the one to his heart most dear!To love, to fight, to jest, to drink!To live the life and never shrink!His blade is bright, his honor, too!Atención!”
“Atención!Acaballero’snear!
To guard the one to his heart most dear!
To love, to fight, to jest, to drink!
To live the life and never shrink!
His blade is bright, his honor, too!
Atención!”
The voice grew louder, more ringing. It seemed to theseñoritato swell through the ship and across the tossing sea. Her heart beat faster, though she still feared for him. Well she knew the audacity, the reckless courage of her Señor Zorro!
“Zorro!” she breathed. “Man of men!Caballeromine!”
There was silence on the deck above, and then she heard the harsh, loud voice of Barbados, but could not understand his words. Señor Zorro was continuing his song:
“Atención!I’ve a thrust in storeFor rogues, for foes, an abundance moreTo shield my lady from all harm,To save her from the world’s alarm;Acaballerocalls to you—Atención!”
“Atención!I’ve a thrust in storeFor rogues, for foes, an abundance moreTo shield my lady from all harm,To save her from the world’s alarm;Acaballerocalls to you—Atención!”
“Atención!I’ve a thrust in store
For rogues, for foes, an abundance more
To shield my lady from all harm,
To save her from the world’s alarm;
Acaballerocalls to you—
Atención!”
Theseñorita’seyes closed, her lips parted slightly, her breathing became as the stirring of a leaf in a gentle breeze. The song had lulled her fears.
“Zorro!” she whispered, as the verse was ended. But there came no answer from the other side of the partition.
Up on the deck, however, there was consternation.Barbados, having listened, whirled angrily toward his crew.
“Who dares sing such a song?” he shrieked. “Are there not royally good pirate ditties, that some of you must use the mush-like tunes and words of the high-born?”
“Every man is on deck,” wailed Sanchez, who had been superintending the storing of the loot. “’Tis a ghost song!” he exclaimed.
“A ghost song!” shrieked some of those nearest him.
Barbados shuddered. “There will be ghosts aplenty if this nonsense does not stop!” he declared, whipping his cutlass out of his belt. “It was no ghost singing. A ghost would have a more perfect voice. If I hear it again—”
He heard it again. It seemed to come from the sails above, from the waves overside, from the cabins below.
“Dios!” Barbados swore. “By my naked blade—”
“It is a ghost song!” Sanchez whimpered again.
Barbados whirled upon him, but the lieutenant dodged the blow that would have hurled him senseless to the deck. The pirate chief, breathing heavily, looked around at his men. Terror already had claimed some of them.
“It is a trick of some scurvy knave I’ll split in twain!” he declared. “On with your work!”
The men shivered, but again bent to their tasks. Barbados walked to the rail and stood looking down at the dark water, and then toward the land, where the dawn was almost due. Through the darkness and up to him slipped one of the pirate crew.
“Master!” he whispered.
“To your work, hound of hell!”
“A word with you, master!”
“Concerning what?” Barbados demanded.
The man edged closer. “Master, I have a present for you—a goodly piece of loot that is not in the common store.”
“How is this?” Barbados said. “You steal from your comrades?”
“Softly, master, else they hear!” the man whispered. “This is something special, and I got it for you.”
“In Reina de Los Angeles?”
“Sí, master! In Reina de Los Angeles. It was while we were in the church there.”
“In the church?” Barbados gasped.
“When the oldfrayfirst stood us off, master, and before you came. We had rushed forward, and I was in the van. And when the oldfraywas hurled backward the first time, I got it.”
“And what is it?”
“A golden goblet, master, studded with precious gems. See—I have it here! I saved it for you, master, and thought perhaps that you might give me promotion—”
Barbados looked at the goblet, struck by the light from the nearest torch. It glowed and glistened like some live thing. The pirate chief recoiled.
“Away with it!” he cried. “I do not want to touch it—do not wish to see it! It is a thing of ill-omen, the thing that oldfraywas trying to protect!”
“But, master—”
“Ill-luck will follow the man who has it. It is some sort of holy thing! Away with it! Keep it for yourself. Gamble it away, and the sooner you get rid of it the better. You may be struck down for taking it. I had a friend once who robbed a church and struck a priest, and I do not care to remember what happened to him! Are you going to take it away?”
The man gasped, astonished, and put the golden goblet beneath his shirt.
“I may have it all for myself?” he asked.
“Sí!I would not touch the thing! I call upon the saints to witness that I never touched it!”
So, through all the ages, have wicked men, in moments of fear, called upon the gods they have pretended to scorn.