XXV. At the End of the Road
Madeline saw that the car was surrounded by armed Mexicans. Theypresented a contrast to the others she had seen that day; she wondered alittle at their silence, at their respectful front.
Suddenly a sharp spoken order opened up the ranks next to the house.Senor Montes appeared in the break, coming swiftly. His dark face wore asmile; his manner was courteous, important, authoritative.
"Senora, it is not too late!"
He spoke her language with an accent strange to her, so that it seemedto hinder understanding.
"Senora, you got here in time," he went on. "El Capitan Stewart will befree."
"Free!" she whispered.
She rose, reeling.
"Come," replied Montes, taking her arm. "Perdoneme, Senora."
Without his assistance she would have fallen wholly upon Nels, whosupported her on the other side. They helped her alight from the car.For a moment the white walls, the hazy red sky, the dark figures of therebels, whirled before Madeline's eyes. She took a few steps, swayingbetween her escorts; then the confusion of her sight and mind passedaway. It was as if she quickened with a thousand vivifying currents,as if she could see and hear and feel everything in the world, as ifnothing could be overlooked, forgotten, neglected.
She turned back, remembering Link. He was lurching from the car, helmetand goggles thrust back, the gray shade gone from his face, the cool,bright gleam of his eyes disappearing for something warmer.
Senor Montes led Madeline and her cowboys through a hall to a patio,and on through a large room with flooring of rough, bare boards thatrattled, into a smaller room full of armed quiet rebels facing an openwindow.
Madeline scanned the faces of these men, expecting to see Don Carlos.But he was not present. A soldier addressed her in Spanish too swiftlyuttered, too voluble for her to translate. But, like Senor Montes, hewas gracious and, despite his ragged garb and uncouth appearance, hebore the unmistakable stamp of authority.
Montes directed Madeline's attention to a man by the window. A loosescarf of vivid red hung from his hand.
"Senora, they were waiting for the sun to set when we arrived," saidMontes. "The signal was about to be given for Senor Stewart's walk todeath."
"Stewart's walk!" echoed Madeline.
"Ah, Senora, let me tell you his sentence--the sentence I have had thehonor and happiness to revoke for you."
Stewart had been court-martialed and sentenced according to a Mexicancustom observed in cases of brave soldiers to whom honorable and fittingexecutions were due. His hour had been set for Thursday when the sun hadsunk. Upon signal he was to be liberated and was free to walk out intothe road, to take any direction he pleased. He knew his sentence; knewthat death awaited him, that every possible avenue of escape was blockedby men with rifles ready. But he had not the slightest idea at whatmoment or from what direction the bullets were to come.
"Senora, we have sent messengers to every squad of waiting soldiers--anorder that El Capitan is not to be shot. He is ignorant of his release.I shall give the signal for his freedom."
Montes was ceremonious, gallant, emotional. Madeline saw his pride, anddivined that the situation was one which brought out the vanity, theostentation, as well as the cruelty of his race. He would keep her inan agony of suspense, let Stewart start upon that terrible walk inignorance of his freedom. It was the motive of a Spaniard. SuddenlyMadeline had a horrible quaking fear that Montes lied, that he meant herto be a witness of Stewart's execution. But no, the man was honest;he was only barbarous. He would satisfy certain instincts of hisnature--sentiment, romance, cruelty--by starting Stewart upon that walk,by watching Stewart's actions in the face of seeming death, by seeingMadeline's agony of doubt, fear, pity, love. Almost Madeline felt thatshe could not endure the situation. She was weak and tottering.
"Senora! Ah, it will be one beautiful thing!" Montes caught the scarffrom the rebel's hand. He was glowing, passionate; his eyes had astrange, soft, cold flash; his voice was low, intense. He was livingsomething splendid to him. "I'll wave the scarf, Senora. That will bethe signal. It will be seen down at the other end of the road. SenorStewart's jailer will see the signal, take off Stewart's irons, releasehim, open the door for his walk. Stewart will be free. But he will notknow. He will expect death. As he is a brave man, he will face it. Hewill walk this way. Every step of that walk he will expect to be shotfrom some unknown quarter. But he will not be afraid. Senora, I haveseen El Captain fighting in the field. What is death to him? Ah, will itnot be magnificent to see him come forth--to walk down? Senora, you willsee what a man he is. All the way he will expect cold, swift death. Hereat this end of the road he will meet his beautiful lady!"
"Is there no--no possibility of a mistake?" faltered Madeline.
"None. My order included unloading of rifles."
"Don Carlos?"
"He is in irons, and must answer to General Salazar," replied Montes.
Madeline looked down the deserted road. How strange to see the lastruddy glow of the sun over the brow of the mountain range! The thoughtof that sunset had been torture for her. Yet it had passed, and now theafterlights were luminous, beautiful, prophetic.
With a heart stricken by both joy and agony, she saw Montes wave thescarf.
Then she waited. No change manifested itself down the length of thatlonely road. There was absolute silence in the room behind her. Howterribly, infinitely long seemed the waiting! Never in all her futurelife would she forget the quaint pink, blue, and white walled houseswith their colored roofs. That dusty bare road resembled one of theuncovered streets of Pompeii with its look of centuries of solitude.
Suddenly a door opened and a tall man stepped out.
Madeline recognized Stewart. She had to place both hands on thewindow-sill for support, while a storm of emotion swayed her. Likea retreating wave it rushed away. Stewart lived. He was free. He hadstepped out into the light. She had saved him. Life changed for her inthat instant of realization and became sweet, full, strange.
Stewart shook hands with some one in the doorway. Then he looked upand down the road. The door closed behind him. Leisurely he rolled acigarette, stood close to the wall while he scratched a match. Even atthat distance Madeline's keen eyes caught the small flame, the firstlittle puff of smoke.
Stewart then took to the middle of the road and leisurely began hiswalk.
To Madeline he appeared natural, walked as unconcernedly as if he werestrolling for pleasure; but the absence of any other living thing,the silence, the red haze, the surcharged atmosphere--these were allunnatural. From time to time Stewart stopped to turn face forward towardhouses and corners. Only silence greeted these significant moves of his.Once he halted to roll and light another cigarette. After that his stepquickened.
Madeline watched him, with pride, love, pain, glory combating for amastery over her. This walk of his seemingly took longer than all herhours of awakening, of strife, of remorse, longer than the ride tofind him. She felt that it would be impossible for her to wait till hereached the end of the road. Yet in the hurry and riot of her feelingsshe had fleeting panics. What could she say to him? How meet him? Wellshe remembered the tall, powerful form now growing close enough todistinguish its dress. Stewart's face was yet only a dark gleam. Soonshe would see it--long before he could know she was there. She wanted torun to meet him. Nevertheless, she stood rooted to her covert behind thewindow, living that terrible walk with him to the uttermost thought ofhome, sister, mother, sweetheart, wife, life itself--every thought thatcould come to a man stalking to meet his executioners. With allthat tumult in her mind and heart Madeline still fell prey to theincomprehensible variations of emotion possible to a woman. Every stepStewart took thrilled her. She had some strange, subtle intuition thathe was not unhappy, and that he believed beyond shadow of doubt that hewas walking to his death. His steps dragged a little, though they hadbegun to be swift. The old, hard, physical, wild nerve of the cowboy wasperhaps in conflict with spiritual grow
th of the finer man, realizingtoo late that life ought not to be sacrificed.
Then the dark gleam that was his face took shape, grew sharper andclearer. He was stalking now, and there was a suggestion of impatiencein his stride. It took these hidden Mexicans a long time to kill him! Ata point in the middle of the road, even with the corner of a houseand opposite to Madeline's position, Stewart halted stock-still. Hepresented a fair, bold mark to his executioners, and he stood theremotionless a full moment.
Only silence greeted him. Plain it was to Madeline, and she thought toall who had eyes to see, that to Stewart, since for some reason he hadbeen spared all along his walk, this was the moment when he ought to bemercifully shot. But as no shots came a rugged dignity left him for areckless scorn manifest in the way he strolled, across to the corner ofthe house, rolled yet another cigarette, and, presenting a broad breastto the window, smoked and waited.
That wait was almost unendurable for Madeline. Perhaps it was only amoment, several moments at the longest, but the time seemed a year.Stewart's face was scornful, hard. Did he suspect treachery on the partof his captors, that they meant to play with him as a cat with amouse, to murder him at leisure? Madeline was sure she caught theold, inscrutable, mocking smile fleeting across his lips. He held thatposition for what must have been a reasonable time to his mind, thenwith a laugh and a shrug he threw the cigarette into the road. He shookhis head as if at the incomprehensible motives of men who could have nofair reasons now for delay.
He made a sudden violent action that was more than a straightening ofhis powerful frame. It was the old instinctive violence. Then he facednorth. Madeline read his thought, knew he was thinking of her, callingher a last silent farewell. He would serve her to his last breath, leaveher free, keep his secret. That picture of him, dark-browed, fire-eyed,strangely sad and strong, sank indelibly into Madeline's heart ofhearts.
The next instant he was striding forward, to force by bold and scornfulpresence a speedy fulfilment of his sentence.
Madeline stepped into the door, crossed the threshold. Stewart staggeredas if indeed the bullets he expected had pierced him in mortal wound.His dark face turned white. His eyes had the rapt stare, the wild fearof a man who saw an apparition, yet who doubted his sight. Perhaps hehad called to her as the Mexicans called to their Virgin; perhapshe imagined sudden death had come unawares, and this was her imageappearing to him in some other life.
"Who--are--you?" he whispered, hoarsely.
She tried to lift her hands, failed, tried again, and held them out,trembling.
"It is I. Majesty. Your wife!"
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