At the Point of the Sword

  CHAPTER XXI.

  ROUGH JUSTICE.

  I did not take much rousing in the morning, and even before rememberingthe exact circumstances, felt oppressed by the weight of coming sorrow.I breakfasted alone, Sorillo sending a profuse apology for not beingable to join me, though I was rather glad than otherwise at his absence.

  Leaving the hut, I went into the ravine. There were perhaps a hundredmen in sight, all armed, and apparently waiting for some signal. Theircomrades, no doubt, had been dispatched on an errand, or were guardingthe neighbouring passes. In front of Don Felipe's hut stood a sentry,and, somewhat to my surprise, I now noticed a second hut, slightlylower down and similarly guarded.

  "Two prisoners!" I thought. "I wonder who the other is? Sorillo didnot mention him."

  Nearer the head of the ravine some soldiers were at work, and goingtowards them I beheld a strange and significant sight. In the side ofthe hill was a natural platform, broad and spacious, while round itstretched in a semicircle a wide stone seat, which the men werecovering with bright red cloth. Below the platform stood a ring ofsoldiers with impassive faces.

  I was still wondering what this might mean, when Sorillo, touching myarm, led me to the centre of the stone seat, saying, "Sit there; youshall be a witness that the people of the Silver Key treat theirenemies justly."

  Rather reluctantly I took the seat indicated. Sorillo sat next me, andsix officers, ascending the platform, took their places, three oneither side of us. That portion of the seat occupied by the chief wasslightly raised; but this, of course, makes no difference to the story.

  At a signal from Sorillo the door of Don Felipe's hut was opened, andthe prisoner came out escorted by two armed men. The soldiers, openingto right and left, made way for him, and by means of the boulders,which served as steps, he climbed to the platform.

  In spite of my prejudice against the man, I rejoiced to see how boldlyhe held himself. He appeared to have summoned to his aid all the prideof his dead-and-gone ancestors. He glanced contemptuously at thegigantic Sorillo, and meeting my eyes, smiled defiantly. As to theofficers, he did not give them even a look.

  He glanced contemptuously at the gigantic Sorillo.]

  "Thank goodness," said I to myself, "no one can call Rosa's father acoward!"

  Then Sorillo began to speak, clearly and distinctly, but with no noteof anger in his voice.

  "Don Felipe Montilla," he said, "you are brought here by order of theSociety of the Silver Key." Don Felipe's lips curled as if inamusement. "It is charged against you that you, having taken the oathof loyalty to the government, have since been in traitorouscommunication with the Royalist leaders. Do you deny or admit thecharge?"

  Don Felipe shrugged his shoulders carelessly, saying, "A truce to yourmummery! Do you think I would plead for my life to a band ofcut-throats? What care I for your society?"

  I thought this outburst would provoke his captors beyond measure, but,as far as I could judge, it produced no effect at all. They sat quitestill, as if the remarks had been addressed to others.

  "It is our custom," continued Sorillo, "to give those brought before usevery chance to defend themselves. We are not lawyers; we do notjuggle with words; our one desire is to get at the truth."

  "By St. Philip," muttered Montilla, "this is the last place I shouldhave thought to find it in!"

  "For this reason," continued the chief, ignoring the sarcasticinterruption, "the story shall be told plainly, and then you willunderstand exactly what you are charged with. Three nights ago westopped a man returning from Lima. Many times he had gone to and frounmolested, protected by a pass from Riva-Aguero. At last he wasrecognized by one of our men as Pardo Lurena, an utterly worthless man,who had already changed sides several times during the war."

  "He would have made a good recruit for you," remarked Montilla.

  "Suspecting this man, we had him watched," continued the chief, againpassing over the interruption, "and found that always he went to yourhouse, senor, returning under the cover of night. We knew you to be anexcellent Patriot, yet the circumstance made us uneasy. At length wedecided to ignore the president's passport. Lurena was stopped andsearched, with this result," and he flourished a letter before theprisoner.

  Don Felipe must have known by now how helpless his case was; but heonly smiled. In truth, at this crisis of his life he showed no want ofpluck.

  "There is much in this letter," said the chief mercilessly. "Itcontains a full list of the troops just dispatched to the south, and ofthose still remaining in Lima, with an exact statement as to thequantity of their stores and ammunition. It describes their position,and advises General Canterac how he can best enter Lima and seizeCallao. It provides also a list of those who will join him, andstipulates that the writer shall keep not only his own estates, butshall be given those of which he has lately been deprived."

  At this last revelation Don Felipe changed colour somewhat, andwithdrew his eyes from my face.

  "This letter," said Sorillo, "came from your house; it is signed F. M.,and I charge you with having written it. Can you deny that it is inyour handwriting?"

  The prisoner seemed to have regained self-possession, for lookingsteadily at Sorillo, he exclaimed, "A gentleman of Spain does notanswer the questions of a mountain robber."

  Passing the letter to me, Sorillo said, "You know this man'shandwriting; perhaps you will satisfy yourself that he wrote thisletter?"

  "No," said I coldly, thrusting the paper away; "I will be neither judgenor witness in this case."

  "Very well," answered the chief; "let the second prisoner be broughtforward." And two men immediately fetched Pardo Lurena from his hut.

  He was still a young man, but looked old. His eyes were shifty andcunning, his lips full and thick; he did not seem to be at all the kindof man to play so daring a game. Don Felipe looked at him soscornfully that he turned away his face in confusion. He gave hisanswers clearly, however, and told the story from beginning to endwithout a tremor.

  It was as Sorillo had said. The fellow admitted being a Royalist spyemployed in carrying messages between General Canterac and Montilla.The Don, he declared, had procured him the pass signed by Riva-Aguero,and had given him the letter now in the guerilla chief's possession.

  Don Felipe never once interrupted him either by word or gesture; tolook at him, one would have thought he was merely a spectator, with nointerest in the matter one way or another. But when at last the taleended, and Sorillo called upon him to speak, his attitude changed.

  "Do your murders your own way," he cried defiantly. "If the farcepleases you, play it. What has it to do with me? When I am accused ofcrime by the government of my country, I will answer."

  "Don Felipe is right, Sorillo," I interrupted. "If he has done wrong,let him be brought before a proper tribunal. Whether he be innocent orguilty, if you kill him you commit murder. You and your followers haveno right to punish him."

  "In the case of a traitor we take the right," answered Sorillodrily.--"But there is a further charge, Don Felipe Montilla, moreserious still. You have been proved false to your country; I accuseyou also of being false to your friend."

  Hitherto, I am bound to admit, the guerilla chief had acted like aperfectly impartial judge; now there was a ring of anger in his voiceand a dangerous glitter in his eyes. As to Montilla, I could hardlysuppress an exclamation of surprise at the change in his appearance.No longer boldly erect, he stood with drooping head, pale cheeks, anddowncast eyes. In the first act he had behaved like a man of spirit;the second he began like a craven.

  "Listen!" exclaimed Sorillo sternly, and his first words told me whatwould follow. "For many years there has lived in Lima a man who lovesthe Indians. He saw that they were treated as dogs, and because of hisgreat pity he resolved to help them. To this end he worked day andnight, making many enemies among the rulers of the country. They triedto turn him from his purpose, now with threats, again with offers ofheavy bribes: he would not b
e moved. So badly were the Indians treatedthat it mattered little whether they lived or died. They bandedtogether, procured arms and ammunition, and determined to fight fortheir liberty. Their friend sent them word that the attempt washopeless; but they were very angry, and would not listen. Then he lefthis home to speak to them himself, and endeavour to dissuade them fromtheir purpose."

  Montilla had not once raised his head, and now his limbs quivered. Asfor me, I sat listening with fascinated interest.

  "Side by side with this friend of the Indians," the chief continued,"there lived a Spanish gentleman, who told the viceroy falsely that hisneighbour was going to the mountains to raise the standard ofrebellion. The viceroy, who was frightened, sent soldiers to seizehim. Second in command of the party was a lieutenant, young in yearsbut old in crime. To him this Spaniard went secretly. 'If this manshould be killed in the scuffle,' said he, 'you can come to me for fivethousand dollars.'

  "The lieutenant did his best to earn the money, and thought he hadsucceeded. As it chanced, however, his victim did not die, but hisestates were confiscated and given to the man who had betrayed him."

  The speaker stopped. All was still; save for the leaping waters of thetorrent, no sound was to be heard. I glanced at Montilla: he wasdeathly pale, and on his forehead stood great beads of perspiration,which, with his bound hands, he was unable to wipe away.

  "Shall I tell you who these men were?" asked Sorillo. "One is DonEduardo Crawford; the others stand here," and he pointed to theprisoners. "Listen to your accomplice, Felipe Montilla, if you care tohear the story repeated."

  Again Lurena gave his evidence glibly. I think he had no sense ofshame, but only a strong desire to save his life. He might not havecommitted the deed for the sake of the money alone, he said, but hehated my father for having cast him into prison.

  It was poor evidence on which to try a man for his life, yet no onedoubted Montilla's guilt. There he stood with trembling limbs andashen face--truly a wretched figure for a cavalier of Spain! Hiscourage had broken down completely, and to all the questions put by hisself-appointed judge he answered no word.

  At length Sorillo asked his officers for their verdict, and with oneconsent they pronounced him "Guilty!"

  "It is a true verdict," exclaimed Sorillo; "any other would be alie.--And now, Felipe Montilla, listen to me for the last time. Youhave been proved a traitor to your country, and that alone meritsdeath; but this other crime touches the members of the Silver Key moreclosely. When the great men of Peru called the Indians dogs, DonEduardo was our friend. He took our side openly, encouraged us,sympathized with us, pitied us. And you tried to slay him! not in fairfight, mind you, and only because you coveted his possessions. Forthat you die within forty-eight hours, as surely as the sun will riseto-morrow!" And all his hearers applauded.

  The condemned man still made no reply, uttered no appeal for mercy, butstood as one dazed. But I thought of the daughter who loved him sowell, and sprang to my feet.

  "Hear me!" I cried excitedly. "If Don Felipe has done wrong, it isagainst my father. Do you think he will thank you for killing hisenemy? Is that his teaching? You know it is not; you know that hewould forgive him freely--would beg his life from you on his bendedknees. If you really love my father, if you feel that he deserves yourgratitude, spare this man's life. If he has sinned he will repent. Ihave come here for him. Do not let me go back alone. Am I to say tomy father, 'You are foolish in thinking the Indians care for you; theycare nothing! I asked of them a boon in your name, and they refusedit'? Raymon Sorillo, I appeal to you, give me this man's life for myfather's sake!"

  I looked at him earnestly, hoping to find a spark of mercy in his eyes.Alas, there was none! He was hard as iron, cold as ice; on that day,at least, there was no pity in him.

  "You are foolish," said he; "you are like a child who cries for themoon. Set this man free and he will immediately begin his old games ofdeceit and trickery. He cannot help himself. It is his nature, as itis a spider's to weave its web. Your father's happiness depends onthis traitor's death."

  I heard him patiently, and then renewed my appeal. It was quiteuseless.

  "Remove the prisoners," said he; and at a sign the troops marched off,the officers dispersed, and none save we two remained on the platform.For a long time neither spoke. I was thinking of Rosa anxiouslyawaiting my return. I had bidden her hope, and there was no longer anyhope. I made no attempt to deceive myself in this respect. Sorillowould do much for me, but this one thing he would not do. I dreadedthe thought of returning to Lima. What would Rosa say and do when sheheard of her father's shameful death? Perhaps that part might bespared her; she need not learn the whole truth. I must invent somestory which would save her the knowledge of his double treachery.

  At last I turned to the chief, saying, "Will you allow me to speak withDon Felipe in private? He has a daughter at home; he may wish to sendher a last message."

  "He is not worth your kindness; but do as you please."

  I thanked him, and walked toward the hut in which Don Felipe wasconfined. The sentry let me pass without protest, and opening the doorI entered.

  The sight before me was a pitiful one. The wretched prisoner sat on awooden bench in the dreary hovel. His arms were bound, but he was freeto walk about if he so wished. At the click of the latch he raised hishead, but seeing me dropped it again quickly, as if ashamed to meet mygaze.

  "Don Felipe," I began, "have you any message for your daughter?"

  Instead of answering my question, he himself asked one.

  "Will that brigand really put me to death?" he said.

  "I am afraid so. I have begged hard for your life, but in vain."

  Looking at me curiously, he exclaimed, "I cannot understand why youshould wish to save me!"

  "For Rosa's sake! When you were carried off, she came to me, and Ipromised if it were possible to bring you back with me."

  "Then you do not believe the story you heard to-day, about--about--"

  "My father? Yes, I believe it; but that is no reason why I should beunkind to Rosa. Poor girl! 'twill be hard enough for her to lose you."

  "Is there no way of escape?"

  I shook my head. "An armed sentry stands outside; a hundred soldiersare in the ravine; the path is closely watched. I would help you if itwere possible."

  "It will be dark to-night."

  "That would help us little. Even if you escaped from the hut, youwould be challenged at every dozen yards. No, I can see no way out."

  I think that at this time he began to fully realize the danger he wasin. He had a hunted look in his eyes, and again the perspiration stoodon his forehead. Fear was fast killing shame, and he seemed to carenothing that I was the son of the man whom he had tried to murder.

  "Juan," said he, "can't you make an excuse to visit me after dark?"

  "I should think so," I replied.

  "And will you cut these cords?"

  "If you think it will help you at all."

  "Leave that to me," said he, speaking almost hopefully. "By St.Philip, I shall escape the ruffian yet!"

  What his plan was he did not tell me, but it seemed to please himgreatly. He even laughed when I again mentioned Rosa, and said hewould carry his message himself. And with hope there came back to himsomething of the old cunning and smoothness of speech for which he wasso noted.

  "I am sorry you were misled by that preposterous tale," said he softly."Pardo Lurena is a villain, but we will unmask him. Of course, therewas a little truth in his story, but so twisted and distorted that itcould not be recognized. Your father will understand, however, andeven you will come to see that I am not greatly to blame. A littlethoughtlessness, Juan, and a desire to help a friend--no more; but thatcan wait. You will be sure to come, Juan; you will not fail me?"

  "I will do my very best, Don Felipe, for your daughter's sake."

  Wishing him farewell, I returned to the chief's hut. He was not there,so
I lay down to think out the situation; but my head was in a hopelessmuddle. I went into the ravine again, and, watching the soldiers,wondered how the unhappy prisoner hoped to escape them.

  As it chanced, his plan was doomed to disappointment. Toward the endof the afternoon I stood chatting with Sorillo and some of hisofficers, when a messenger rode up the ravine. His horse had travelledfar and fast, while he looked worn out with fatigue.

  Springing to the ground, he saluted, while the chief cried, "What news,Sanchez? it should be worth hearing!"

  "I think it is," replied the man, with a significant smile. "GeneralCanterac is marching on Lima at the head of a Spanish army."

  "How many men has he?"

  "Nine thousand, perhaps ten--horse, foot, and guns. The advance-guardis not far off."

  "Thanks, Sanchez.--Let the men assemble, Barros: a dozen to stay here,the rest to follow me. Has Cerdena sent word to Lima? Good. He knowshis business.--Juan, you will just have time to ride clear, and notmuch to spare. No doubt Canterac has sent some of his troops by thenear cut."

  All was bustle and activity in the ravine. Officers issued commands,troopers saddled their horses, muskets were seen to, an extra supply ofammunition was served out, and in a very short time everybody save thefew men left to guard the ravine was ready to march.

  "What can your handful of men do against Canterac's army?" I askedSorillo as we rode away.

  "Not much beyond cutting off a few stragglers," he replied, smiling;"but we shall obtain information of which our leaders in Lima seem tostand badly in need."