XI. A Band of Guerrillas
Madeline bolted the door, and, flying into the kitchen, she told thescared servants to shut themselves in. Then she ran to her own rooms.It was only a matter of a few moments for her to close and bar the heavyshutters, yet even as she was fastening the last one in the room sheused as an office a clattering roar of hoofs seemed to swell up to thefront of the house. She caught a glimpse of wild, shaggy horses andragged, dusty men. She had never seen any vaqueros that resembled thesehorsemen. Vaqueros had grace and style; they were fond of lace andglitter and fringe; they dressed their horses in silvered trappings. Butthe riders now trampling into the driveway were uncouth, lean, savage.They were guerrillas, a band of the raiders who had been harassing theborder since the beginning of the revolution. A second glimpse assuredMadeline that they were not all Mexicans.
The presence of outlaws in that band brought home to Madeline her realdanger. She remembered what Stillwell had told her about recent outlawraids along the Rio Grande. These flying bands, operating under theexcitement of the revolution, appeared here and there, everywhere, inremote places, and were gone as quickly as they came. Mostly they wantedmoney and arms, but they would steal anything, and unprotected women hadsuffered at their hands.
Madeline, hurriedly collecting her securities and the considerable moneyshe had in her desk, ran out, closed and locked the door, crossed thepatio to the opposite side of the house, and, entering again, went downa long corridor, trying to decide which of the many unused rooms wouldbe best to hide in. And before she made up her mind she came to the lastroom. Just then a battering on door or window in the direction of thekitchen and shrill screams from the servant women increased Madeline'salarm.
She entered the last room. There was no lock or bar upon the door. Butthe room was large and dark, and it was half full of bales of alfalfahay. Probably it was the safest place in the house; at least time wouldbe necessary to find any one hidden there. She dropped her valuables ina dark corner and covered them with loose hay. That done, she felther way down a narrow aisle between the piled-up bales and presentlycrouched in a niche.
With the necessity of action over for the immediate present, Madelinebecame conscious that she was quivering and almost breathless. Her skinfelt tight and cold. There was a weight on her chest; her mouth was dry,and she had a strange tendency to swallow. Her listening faculty seemedmost acute. Dull sounds came from parts of the house remote from her.In the intervals of silence between these sounds she heard the squeakingand rustling of mice in the hay. A mouse ran over her hand.
She listened, waiting, hoping yet dreading to hear the clatteringapproach of her cowboys. There would be fighting--blood--men injured,perhaps killed. Even the thought of violence of any kind hurt her. Butperhaps the guerrillas would run in time to avoid a clash with her men.She hoped for that, prayed for it. Through her mind flitted what sheknew of Nels, of Monty, of Nick Steele; and she experienced a sensationthat left her somewhat chilled and sick. Then she thought of thedark-browed, fire-eyed Stewart. She felt a thrill drive away the coldnausea. And her excitement augmented.
Waiting, listening increased all her emotions. Nothing appeared tobe happening. Yet hours seemed to pass while she crouched there. HadFlorence been overtaken? Could any of those lean horses outrun Majesty?She doubted it; she knew it could not be true. Nevertheless, the strainof uncertainty was torturing.
Suddenly the bang of the corridor door pierced her through and throughwith the dread of uncertainty. Some of the guerrillas had entered theeast wing of the house. She heard a babel of jabbering voices, theshuffling of boots and clinking of spurs, the slamming of doors andransacking of rooms.
Madeline lost faith in her hiding-place. Moreover, she found itimpossible to take the chance. The idea of being caught in that darkroom by those ruffians filled her with horror. She must get out into thelight. Swiftly she rose and went to the window. It was rather more of adoor than window, being a large aperture closed by two wooden doors onhinges. The iron hook yielded readily to her grasp, and one door stuckfast, while the other opened a few inches. She looked out upon a greenslope covered with flowers and bunches of sage and bushes. Neither mannor horse showed in the narrow field of her vision. She believed shewould be safer hidden out there in the shrubbery than in the house. Thejump from the window would be easy for her. And with her quick decisioncame a rush and stir of spirit that warded off her weakness.
She pulled at the door. It did not budge. It had caught at the bottom.Pulling with all her might proved to be in vain. Pausing, with palms hotand bruised, she heard a louder, closer approach of the invaders of herhome. Fear, wrath, and impotence contested for supremacy over her anddrove her to desperation. She was alone here, and she must rely onherself. And as she strained every muscle to move that obstinate doorand heard the quick, harsh voices of men and the sounds of a hurriedsearch she suddenly felt sure that they were hunting for her. Sheknew it. She did not wonder at it. But she wondered if she were reallyMadeline Hammond, and if it were possible that brutal men would harmher. Then the tramping of heavy feet on the floor of the adjoining roomlent her the last strength of fear. Pushing with hands and shoulders,she moved the door far enough to permit the passage of her body. Thenshe stepped up on the sill and slipped through the aperture. She saw noone. Lightly she jumped down and ran in among the bushes. But thesedid not afford her the cover she needed. She stole from one clump toanother, finding too late that she had chosen with poor judgment. Theposition of the bushes had drawn her closer to the front of the houserather than away from it, and just before her were horses, and beyonda group of excited men. With her heart in her throat Madeline croucheddown.
A shrill yell, followed by running and mounting guerrillas, roused herhope. They had sighted the cowboys and were in flight. Rapid thumping ofboots on the porch told of men hurrying from the house. Several horsesdashed past her, not ten feet distant. One rider saw her, for he turnedto shout back. This drove Madeline into a panic. Hardly knowing what shedid, she began to run away from the house. Her feet seemed leaden. Shefelt the same horrible powerlessness that sometimes came over her whenshe dreamed of being pursued. Horses with shouting riders streakedpast her in the shrubbery. There was a thunder of hoofs behind her. Sheturned aside, but the thundering grew nearer. She was being run down.
As Madeline shut her eyes and, staggering, was about to fall, apparentlyright under pounding hoofs, a rude, powerful hand clapped round herwaist, clutched deep and strong, and swung her aloft. She felt a heavyblow when the shoulder of the horse struck her, and then a wrenching ofher arm as she was dragged up. A sudden blighting pain made sight andfeeling fade from her.
But she did not become unconscious to the extent that she lost the senseof being rapidly borne away. She seemed to hold that for a long time.When her faculties began to return the motion of the horse was nolonger violent. For a few moments she could not determine her position.Apparently she was upside down. Then she saw that she was facing theground, and must be lying across a saddle with her head hanging down.She could not move a hand; she could not tell where her hands were. Thenshe felt the touch of soft leather. She saw a high-topped Mexican boot,wearing a huge silver spur, and the reeking flank and legs of a horse,and a dusty, narrow trail. Soon a kind of red darkness veiled her eyes,her head swam, and she felt motion and pain only dully.
After what seemed a thousand weary hours some one lifted her from thehorse and laid her upon the ground, where, gradually, as the bloodleft her head and she could see, she began to get the right relation ofthings.
She lay in a sparse grove of firs, and the shadows told of lateafternoon. She smelled wood smoke, and she heard the sharp crunch ofhorses' teeth nipping grass. Voices caused her to turn her face. A groupof men stood and sat round a camp-fire eating like wolves. The looks ofher captors made Madeline close her eyes, and the fascination, thefear they roused in her made her open them again. Mostly they werethin-bodied, thin-bearded Mexicans, black and haggard and starved.Whatever they might b
e, they surely were hunger-stricken and squalid.Not one had a coat. A few had scarfs. Some wore belts in which werescattered cartridges. Only a few had guns, and these were of diversepatterns. Madeline could see no packs, no blankets, and only a fewcooking-utensils, all battered and blackened. Her eyes fastened uponmen she believed were white men; but it was from their features and nottheir color that she judged. Once she had seen a band of nomad robbersin the Sahara, and somehow was reminded of them by this motley outlawtroop.
They divided attention between the satisfying of ravenous appetitesand a vigilant watching down the forest aisles. They expected some one,Madeline thought, and, manifestly, if it were a pursuing posse, theydid not show anxiety. She could not understand more than a word hereand there that they uttered. Presently, however, the name of Don Carlosrevived keen curiosity in her and realization of her situation, and thenonce more dread possessed her breast.
A low exclamation and a sweep of arm from one of the guerrillas causedthe whole band to wheel and concentrate their attention in the oppositedirection. They heard something. They saw some one. Grimy hands soughtweapons, and then every man stiffened. Madeline saw what hunted menlooked like at the moment of discovery, and the sight was terrible. Sheclosed her eyes, sick with what she saw, fearful of the moment when theguns would leap out.
There were muttered curses, a short period of silence followed bywhisperings, and then a clear voice rang out, "El Capitan!"
A strong shock vibrated through Madeline, and her eyelids sweptopen. Instantly she associated the name El Capitan with Stewart andexperienced a sensation of strange regret. It was not pursuit or rescueshe thought of then, but death. These men would kill Stewart. But surelyhe had not come alone. The lean, dark faces, corded and rigid, told herin what direction to look. She heard the slow, heavy thump of hoofs.Soon into the wide aisle between the trees moved the form of a man,arms flung high over his head. Then Madeline saw the horse, and sherecognized Majesty, and she knew it was really Stewart who rode theroan. When doubt was no longer possible she felt a suffocating sense ofgladness and fear and wonder.
Many of the guerrillas leaped up with drawn weapons. Still Stewartapproached with his hands high, and he rode right into the camp-firecircle. Then a guerrilla, evidently the chief, waved down thethreatening men and strode up to Stewart. He greeted him. There wasamaze and pleasure and respect in the greeting. Madeline could tellthat, though she did not know what was said. At the moment Stewartappeared to her as cool and careless as if he were dismounting at herporch steps. But when he got down she saw that his face was white. Heshook hands with the guerrilla, and then his glittering eyes roved overthe men and around the glade until they rested upon Madeline. Withoutmoving from his tracks he seemed to leap, as if a powerful current hadshocked him. Madeline tried to smile to assure him she was alive andwell; but the intent in his eyes, the power of his controlled spirittelling her of her peril and his, froze the smile on her lips.
With that he faced the chief and spoke rapidly in the Mexican jargonMadeline had always found so difficult to translate. The chief answered,spreading wide his hands, one of which indicated Madeline as she laythere. Stewart drew the fellow a little aside and said something forhis ear alone. The chief's hands swept up in a gesture of surprise andacquiescence. Again Stewart spoke swiftly. His hearer then turned toaddress the band. Madeline caught the words "Don Carlos" and "pesos."There was a brief muttering protest which the chief thundered down.Madeline guessed her release had been given by this guerrilla and boughtfrom the others of the band.
Stewart strode to her side, leading the roan. Majesty reared and snortedwhen he saw his mistress prostrate. Stewart knelt, still holding thebridle.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"I think so," she replied, essaying a laugh that was rather a failure."My feet are tied."
Dark blood blotted out all the white from his face, and lightning shotfrom his eyes. She felt his hands, like steel tongs, loosening the bondsround her ankles. Without a word he lifted her upright and then uponMajesty. Madeline reeled a little in the saddle, held hard to the pommelwith one hand, and tried to lean on Stewart's shoulder with the other.
"Don't give up," he said.
She saw him gaze furtively into the forest on all sides. And itsurprised her to see the guerrillas riding away. Putting the two factstogether, Madeline formed an idea that neither Stewart nor the othersdesired to meet with some one evidently due shortly in the glade.Stewart guided the roan off to the right and walked beside Madeline,steadying her in the saddle. At first Madeline was so weak and dizzythat she could scarcely retain her seat. The dizziness left herpresently, and then she made an effort to ride without help. Herweakness, however, and a pain in her wrenched arm made the tasklaborsome.
Stewart had struck off the trail, if there were one, and was keepingto denser parts of the forest. The sun sank low, and the shafts of goldfell with a long slant among the firs. Majesty's hoofs made no soundon the soft ground, and Stewart strode on without speaking. Neither hishurry nor vigilance relaxed until at least two miles had been covered.Then he held to a straighter course and did not send so many glancesinto the darkening woods. The level of the forest began to be cut upby little hollows, all of which sloped and widened. Presently the softground gave place to bare, rocky soil. The horse snorted and tossed hishead. A sound of splashing water broke the silence. The hollow openedinto a wider one through which a little brook murmured its way over thestones. Majesty snorted again and stopped and bent his head.
"He wants a drink," said Madeline. "I'm thirsty, too, and very tired."
Stewart lifted her out of the saddle, and as their hands parted she feltsomething moist and warm. Blood was running down her arm and into thepalm of her hand.
"I'm--bleeding," she said, a little unsteadily. "Oh, I remember. My armwas hurt."
She held it out, the blood making her conscious of her weakness.Stewart's fingers felt so firm and sure. Swiftly he ripped the wetsleeve. Her forearm had been cut or scratched. He washed off the blood.
"Why, Stewart, it's nothing. I was only a little nervous. I guess that'sthe first time I ever saw my own blood."
He made no reply as he tore her handkerchief into strips and bound herarm. His swift motions and his silence gave her a hint of how he mightmeet a more serious emergency. She felt safe. And because of thatimpression, when he lifted his head and she saw that he was pale andshaking, she was surprised. He stood before her folding his scarf,which was still wet, and from which he made no effort to remove the redstains.
"Miss Hammond," he said, hoarsely, "it was a man's hands--a Greaser'sfinger-nails--that cut your arm. I know who he was. I could have killedhim. But I mightn't have got your freedom. You understand? I didn'tdare."
Madeline gazed at Stewart, astounded more by his speech than hisexcessive emotion.
"My dear boy!" she exclaimed. And then she paused. She could not findwords.
He was making an apology to her for not killing a man who had laid arough hand upon her person. He was ashamed and seemed to be in a torturethat she would not understand why he had not killed the man. Thereseemed to be something of passionate scorn in him that he had not beenable to avenge her as well as free her.
"Stewart, I understand. You were being my kind of cowboy. I thank you."
But she did not understand so much as she implied. She had heard manystories of this man's cool indifference to peril and death. He hadalways seemed as hard as granite. Why should the sight of a little bloodupon her arm pale his cheek and shake his hand and thicken his voice?What was there in his nature to make him implore her to see the onlyreason he could not kill an outlaw? The answer to the first questionwas that he loved her. It was beyond her to answer the second. But thesecret of it lay in the same strength from which his love sprang--anintensity of feeling which seemed characteristic of these Western men ofsimple, lonely, elemental lives. All at once over Madeline rushed a tideof realization of how greatly it was possible for such a man as Stewartto love her. T
he thought came to her in all its singular power. All herEastern lovers who had the graces that made them her equals in the sightof the world were without the only great essential that a lonely, hardlife had given to Stewart. Nature here struck a just balance. Somethingdeep and dim in the future, an unknown voice, called to Madeline anddisturbed her. And because it was not a voice to her intelligence shedeadened the ears of her warm and throbbing life and decided never tolisten.
"Is it safe to rest a little?" she asked. "I am so tired. Perhaps I'llbe stronger if I rest."
"We're all right now," he said. "The horse will be better, too. I ranhim out. And uphill, at that."
"Where are we?"
"Up in the mountains, ten miles and more from the ranch. There's a trailjust below here. I can get you home by midnight. They'll be some worrieddown there."
"What happened?"
"Nothing much to any one but you. That's the--the hard luck of it.Florence caught us out on the slope. We were returning from the fire. Wewere dead beat. But we got to the ranch before any damage was done. Wesure had trouble in finding a trace of you. Nick spotted the prints ofyour heels under the window. And then we knew. I had to fight the boys.If they'd come after you we'd never have gotten you without a fight. Ididn't want that. Old Bill came out packing a dozen guns. He was crazy.I had to rope Monty. Honest, I tied him to the porch. Nels and Nickpromised to stay and hold him till morning. That was the best I coulddo. I was sure lucky to come up with the band so soon. I had figuredright. I knew that guerrilla chief. He's a bandit in Mexico. It's abusiness with him. But he fought for Madero, and I was with him a gooddeal. He may be a Greaser, but he's white."
"How did you effect my release?"
"I offered them money. That's what the rebels all want. They need money.They're a lot of poor, hungry devils."
"I gathered that you offered to pay ransom. How much?"
"Two thousand dollars Mex. I gave my word. I'll have to take the money.I told them when and where I'd meet them."
"Certainly. I'm glad I've got the money." Madeline laughed. "What astrange thing to happen to me! I wonder what dad would say to that?Stewart, I'm afraid he'd say two thousand dollars is more than I'mworth. But tell me. That rebel chieftain did not demand money?"
"No. The money is for his men."
"What did you say to him? I saw you whisper in his ear."
Stewart dropped his head, averting her direct gaze.
"We were comrades before Juarez. One day I dragged him out of a ditch. Ireminded him. Then I--I told him something I--I thought--"
"Stewart, I know from the way he looked at me that you spoke of me."
Her companion did not offer a reply to this, and Madeline did not pressthe point.
"I heard Don Carlos's name several times. That interests me. What haveDon Carlos and his vaqueros to do with this?"
"That Greaser has all to do with it," replied Stewart, grimly. "Heburned his ranch and corrals to keep us from getting them. But he alsodid it to draw all the boys away from your home. They had a deep plot,all right. I left orders for some one to stay with you. But Al andStillwell, who're both hot-headed, rode off this morning. Then theguerrillas came down."
"Well, what was the idea--the plot--as you call it?"
"To get you," he said, bluntly.
"Me! Stewart, you do not mean my capture--whatever you call it--wasanything more than mere accident?"
"I do mean that. But Stillwell and your brother think the guerrillaswanted money and arms, and they just happened to make off with youbecause you ran under a horse's nose."
"You do not incline to that point of view?"
"I don't. Neither does Nels nor Nick Steele. And we know Don Carlos andthe Greasers. Look how the vaqueros chased Flo for you!"
"What do you think, then?"
"I'd rather not say."
"But, Stewart, I would like to know. If it is about me, surely I oughtto know," protested Madeline. "What reason have Nels and Nick to suspectDon Carlos of plotting to abduct me?"
"I suppose they've no reason you'd take. Once I heard Nels say he'd seenthe Greaser look at you, and if he ever saw him do it again he'd shoothim."
"Why, Stewart, that is ridiculous. To shoot a man for looking at awoman! This is a civilized country."
"Well, maybe it would be ridiculous in a civilized country. There's somethings about civilization I don't care for."
"What, for instance?"
"For one thing, I can't stand for the way men let other men treatwomen."
"But, Stewart, this is strange talk from you, who, that night I came--"
She broke off, sorry that she had spoken. His shame was not pleasant tosee. Suddenly he lifted his head, and she felt scorched by flaming eyes.
"Suppose I was drunk. Suppose I had met some ordinary girl. Suppose Ihad really made her marry me. Don't you think I would have stopped beinga drunkard and have been good to her?"
"Stewart, I do not know what to think about you," replied Madeline.
Then followed a short silence. Madeline saw the last bright rays of thesetting sun glide up over a distant crag. Stewart rebridled the horseand looked at the saddle-girths.
"I got off the trail. About Don Carlos I'll say right out, not what Nelsand Nick think, but what I know. Don Carlos hoped to make off with youfor himself, the same as if you had been a poor peon slave-girl down inSonora. Maybe he had a deeper plot than my rebel friend told me. Maybehe even went so far as to hope for American troops to chase him.The rebels are trying to stir up the United States. They'd welcomeintervention. But, however that may be, the Greaser meant evil to you,and has meant it ever since he saw you first. That's all."
"Stewart, you have done me and my family a service we can never hope torepay."
"I've done the service. Only don't mention pay to me. But there's onething I'd like you to know, and I find it hard to say. It's prompted,maybe, by what I know you think of me and what I imagine your family andfriends would think if they knew. It's not prompted by pride or conceit.And it's this: Such a woman as you should never have come to thisGod-forsaken country unless she meant to forget herself. But as you didcome, and as you were dragged away by those devils, I want you to knowthat all your wealth and position and influence--all that power behindyou--would never have saved you from hell to-night. Only such a man asNels or Nick Steele or I could have done that."
Madeline Hammond felt the great leveling force of the truth. Whateverthe difference between her and Stewart, or whatever the imagineddifference set up by false standards of class and culture, the truthwas that here on this wild mountain-side she was only a woman and he wassimply a man. It was a man that she needed, and if her choice could havebeen considered in this extremity it would have fallen upon him who hadjust faced her in quiet, bitter speech. Here was food for thought.
"I reckon we'd better start now," he said, and drew the horse close to alarge rock. "Come."
Madeline's will greatly exceeded her strength. For the first time sheacknowledged to herself that she had been hurt. Still, she did not feelmuch pain except when she moved her shoulder. Once in the saddle, whereStewart lifted her, she drooped weakly. The way was rough; every stepthe horse took hurt her; and the slope of the ground threw her forwardon the pommel. Presently, as the slope grew rockier and her discomfortincreased, she forgot everything except that she was suffering.
"Here is the trail," said Stewart, at length.
Not far from that point Madeline swayed, and but for Stewart's supportwould have fallen from the saddle. She heard him swear under his breath.
"Here, this won't do," he said. "Throw your leg over the pommel. Theother one--there."
Then, mounting, he slipped behind her and lifted and turned her, andthen held her with his left arm so that she lay across the saddle andhis knees, her head against his shoulder.
As the horse started into a rapid walk Madeline gradually lost all painand discomfort when she relaxed her muscles. Presently she let herselfgo and lay inert, greatly to her rel
ief. For a little while she seemedto be half drunk with the gentle swaying of a hammock. Her mind becameat once dreamy and active, as if it thoughtfully recorded the slow, softimpressions pouring in from all her senses.
A red glow faded in the west. She could see out over the foothills,where twilight was settling gray on the crests, dark in the hollows.Cedar and pinyon trees lined the trail, and there were no more firs. Atintervals huge drab-colored rocks loomed over her. The sky was clearand steely. A faint star twinkled. And lastly, close to her, she sawStewart's face, once more dark and impassive, with the inscrutable eyesfixed on the trail.
His arm, like a band of iron, held her, yet it was flexible and yieldedher to the motion of the horse. One instant she felt the brawn,the bone, heavy and powerful; the next the stretch and ripple, theelasticity of muscles. He held her as easily as if she were a child. Theroughness of his flannel shirt rubbed her cheek, and beneath that shefelt the dampness of the scarf he had used to bathe her arm, and deeperstill the regular pound of his heart. Against her ear, filling it withstrong, vibrant beat, his heart seemed a mighty engine deep within agreat cavern. Her head had never before rested on a man's breast, andshe had no liking for it there; but she felt more than the physicalcontact. The position was mysterious and fascinating, and somethingnatural in it made her think of life. Then as the cool wind blew downfrom the heights, loosening her tumbled hair, she was compelled to seestrands of it curl softly into Stewart's face, before his eyes, acrosshis lips. She was unable to reach it with her free hand, and thereforecould not refasten it. And when she shut her eyes she felt thoseloosened strands playing against his cheeks.
In the keener press of such sensations she caught the smell of dust anda faint, wild, sweet tang on the air. There was a low, rustling sigh ofwind in the brush along the trail. Suddenly the silence ripped apart tothe sharp bark of a coyote, and then, from far away, came a long wail.And then Majesty's metal-rimmed hoof rang on a stone.
These later things lent probability to that ride for Madeline. Otherwiseit would have seemed like a dream. Even so it was hard to believe. Againshe wondered if this woman who had begun to think and feel so much wasMadeline Hammond. Nothing had ever happened to her. And here, playingabout her like her hair played about Stewart's face, was adventure,perhaps death, and surely life. She could not believe the evidence ofthe day's happenings. Would any of her people, her friends, ever believeit? Could she tell it? How impossible to think that a cunning Mexicanmight have used her to further the interests of a forlorn revolution.She remembered the ghoulish visages of those starved rebels, andmarveled at her blessed fortune in escaping them. She was safe, and nowself-preservation had some meaning for her. Stewart's arrival in theglade, the courage with which he had faced the outlawed men, grewas real to her now as the iron arm that clasped her. Had it been aninstinct which had importuned her to save this man when he lay ill andhopeless in the shack at Chiricahua? In helping him had she hedged roundher forces that had just operated to save her life, or if not that, morethan life was to her? She believed so.
Madeline opened her eyes after a while and found that night had fallen.The sky was a dark, velvety blue blazing with white stars. The coolwind tugged at her hair, and through waving strands she saw Stewart'sprofile, bold and sharp against the sky.
Then, as her mind succumbed to her bodily fatigue, again her situationbecame unreal and wild. A heavy languor, like a blanket, began to stealupon her. She wavered and drifted. With the last half-conscious senseof a muffled throb at her ear, a something intangibly sweet, deep-toned,and strange, like a distant calling bell, she fell asleep with her headon Stewart's breast.