CHAPTER XXV.

THE LOYALTY OF THE APACHE.

"This is the gate," said the Mayo Indian, touching the palisades. "See,

it moves at a pressure. Now, who comes?"

The captain shuddered, he knew not why, as the secret piece in the

stockade yawned ajar.

"We await," said Iron Shirt, laconically, pointing to his followers,

who were huddling up against the long wall, and taking advantage of

every irregularity in its line.

"You await? Here?" cried the robber, astounded, "You never mean to

say you are not going to accompany me now that you see the way is

unimpeded?"

"Here we await," replied the Apache, firmly, "till we hear the war cry

of the Foe-to-all-Men. When the Legless Man sends up the whoop for

reinforcements, the Apaches will dash in and succour him."

"But, chief--"

"The chief has spoken, and his tongue is tired of talk."

"Well, if it is no avail remonstrating with the great warrior," replied

Pedrillo, grumbling to himself, "hang him for an obstinate red devil!

On, come on," he added, to his own five men and their corporal, as

reluctant as himself, on seeing the Apaches leave them to their own

valour, and he pushed them before him roughly with his horse's shoulder.

The Mexicans had all dismounted, not having his reason for keeping

in the saddle, and noiselessly stole in at the opening after the

redskinned pilot.

The little party was within the corral.

"To mark the place of this gate," said the salteador, "two of you

remain here."

"Good," said Diego, who pushed the gate shut, whereupon so neatly was

it contrived that, particularly in such absence of light, the joining

place of the edges was not perceptible.

"Deuce take you--what's that for?" cried the robber, suspiciously.

"Not to arouse observations if a keen eye follows the line of the

fences," replied the Mayo. "Your men plainly denote the spot, if we

must retreat."

"That is true," rejoined the valiant captain, but not in a tone of

assurance, whilst his men looked downhearted at one another, and

enviously at the couple left behind.

However, with the Apaches at hand, a retreat without striking a blow

would probably have caused a dispute which would have imperilled their

unholy alliance; and had as the prospect was, at least the Mexicans

might show a fellow countryman quarter, while the Indians would surely

not spare the turncoat whites.

After all, so far the smoothness of the entry promised fairly, and to

have to do with twenty gentlewomen was no formidable matter.

"On!" said he, impatiently, twitching up his wooden leg so that it

seemed to point the way.

They crossed the enclosure, and reached the second wall without a

challenge, over a ground eight inches deep in water, in the depressions

caused by horses' hoofs, and rude cartwheels.

Diego scrambled up the pickets like a cat. He almost instantly dropped

down, and said, in an ordinary tone--

"Not a head along the wall far or near."

"They have drawn in their sentries," said Zagal, a quick-eyed,

nimble half-breed, "or they have fallen back under the verandah for

protection. It's quite right of them. I would not put a dog out this

weather."

"Bah," returned the captain, eager to believe the coast was clear of

sharpshooters, and well defended by his waterproof, "war dogs should

disregard the rain. As I cannot leap my horse over those pikes, suppose

you find the gate."

The Mayo had already groped along the corral, and unexpectedly the

gate was opened by him. With a few strokes of his knife he had cut the

rawhide thongs that served as fastenings and were relaxed by the wet.

"Let two of you stay here," said Pedrillo, before following the others

through.

Then he pushed his horse between the main post and the gate held half

open by Diego.

He and his three trusty rogues were before the house, which loomed up

large at the end of the long, wide enclosure.

The thunder was dying away, and the swishing of the rain in the puddles

and against the palisades seemed lessening in intensity. Certainly, the

sentries were removed, and the building was silent as a mausoleum.

Nevertheless, they durst not directly cross the open spaces, but

skirted the stockade until they could move forward in the cover of

outbuildings which favoured a zigzag advance.

In this manner they attained a brick wall, where Diego halted them with

his uplifted hand.

"The garden," he whispered.

By all these movements an hour and a half had elapsed. They were so

close to the house that the windows were seen to be outlined here and

there by the glow around the edges of the sashes and, through insect

protectors of gauze, from subdued lights within.

All seemed asleep.

"We might have taken the hacienda," observed Captain Pedrillo, vexedly.

"But those poltroon redskins hung back."

"Nay," replied the Mayo, shaking his head. "They are on their guard

within, never fear. There is only one weak point, and that I am showing

to your honour."

With his knife, the Indian's tool of all work, he severed the wooden

bolt of a door in the wall, and burst it open from a hasp within by a

steady pressure of the shoulder. He drew on one side, after pushing it

open, in respect. The glimpse within was purely of a black den where

wet vines and nodding plants glistened dully of the pouring shower.

"Thank you," said the captain, "for myself and band. But just you go in

and scout about first. So far we have done a deed of daring; to run our

heads into the wolf's very jaws smacks of rashness."

Diego plunged into the doorway in a cautious manner.

"What do you think of all this, Zagal?" inquired the Mexican chief

quickly.

"That we ought to have carried fifty pounds of that blasting powder

each man, and we could have blown the hacienda into mud pies! What a

chance to miss!"

"Very true," said the captain, pretending to see the venture in the

same way. "I wish we had the affair to begin all over again: I should

act in a very different way."

In the next instant the Indian reappeared.

"The garden is deserted. Not so much as a horned owl drowned out of its

nest," he said.

"Ah!" sighed Pedrillo, like a martyr; "Let us go on. Only one of you

remain at this post, his foot in the doorway, holding the door close,

but not letting it shut, on his life."

The horseman, the Indian, and the two other Mexicans then invaded

the garden. Pedrillo shook with eager heroism so that his steed

participated in the tremor. It was a night, and the garden a place to

inspire terror, even in the breast least timid, one must grant.

The garden was a maze designed after some labyrinth in a Spanish palace

grounds, and rendered more bewildering by the luxuriant growth of the

plants and shrubbery chosen to form the intervolutions.

It angered El Manco very much that Zagal would not regard the affair

with his own eyes, but persisted in cherishing the plan.

"What a splendid spot for an ambush," said he. "The keenest eye cannot

perceive any of us, even your Excellency on the horse's back."

"So be it," answered the captain testily. "Take your nestling places,

then, at least till after this clearing-off shower. What a swamping!

'Sdeath of my life! I do not blame the men of don Benito for keeping

indoors."

Diego pointed out a species of alcove of verdure into which he backed

his horse, equally grateful for shelter in the worst torrent of all

that had fallen.

Diego, grinning and showing shark teeth, stood at the mouth of this

bay, lashed by the swinging vines and lianas, eyeing the sky and

listening attentively to all sounds, quiet as a statue.

After that waterspout, the tempest fled with haste, sweeping away all

the gloomy clouds.

Out of the sky of deep blue suddenly sparkled a myriad of stars. The

moon, too, presented a pale face in a watery vapour, which gave an

effect of mirage as if it had a misty partner and the two were slowly

dancing.

The atmosphere became of singular limpidity, and the smallest leaves

and the flower cups so tiny that only the hummingbirds' bills could

pierce their hollow, were discernible at a distance. Thousands of

gnats and mosquitoes swarmed out of their retreats and played in the

moonlight like motes in the solar beams. The earth began to smoke with

vapour, and the flowers exhaled oppressive wealth of perfumes.

The captain, galvanised by the fresh morning breeze, for it must have

been about three o'clock, was about to call his men for a consultation,

when on each side of him he felt a figure rise, and in each of his

leather cheeks was pressed the muzzle of a pistol. At the same time,

his arms were grasped and pressed down by his sides. Another pair of

hands seized each leg, real and fictitious, and lifting him up, he was

held in the air like a puppet, whilst the traitorous Diego drew the

horse out from under him. Then his unknown seizers lowered him to the

ground, in the softness of which his stump was deeply embedded, and a

low but firm voice muttered in his ear:

"No nonsense, or you are a dead man before being justly hanged!"

Some stifled oaths and cries, at the same time as a scuffle, betokened

that his followers were being mastered in the like manner. Only the

horrid grating of a knife along a bone, and a deep groan or two proved

that Zagal or another had offered such a manful resistance as their

captain well heeded not to attempt.

Two men took the salteador between them, bending like a sack of grain,

and carried him, heels first, in that ignominious attitude, through the

maze, which was no puzzle to them, into the house over the porch and in

at a window from the verandah. The room into which he was transported

was that where Mr. Gladsden had been entertained. Don Benito, his son,

and another gentleman, chiefs of the defensive operations, were there

seated. Two lamps, burning low, were quickly turned up on the arrival

of the prisoner, evidently expected. His carriers were two Mexicans

of strong build, armed to the teeth, who set him in an armchair,

confronting their master, and stood, one each side of him, pistols

still in hand.

For a moment don Benito and his captive looked at one another. Hatred

and anguish at having been thus placed before his old enemy gave the

former don Aníbal the impudence not to quail.

"My so-called captain," said the hacendero, "you are my prisoner."

"By the cursedest treachery," returned Pedrillo, bitterly and really

burning with indignation.

"Which trick has only prevented you attempting a more shameful deed

against women and children of your own race--a race that repudiates

such as you, though."

"I am a volunteer frontier guard," rejoined the freelance, still more

impudently. "If it were not for my band doing soldierly duty along the

border, your houses, your sheep, your cattle, your families would not

be safe."

"Trash!" returned don Benito. "You are an ally of the redskin

murderers, not their repressor."

"This is the first time I have ever been hand in hand with them," went

on Pedrillo, pleading direct to the third Mexican whom he knew to be

a rich proprietor. "They have forced me to act with them. When one is

among wolves, he must howl with them."

"A wolf howls with wolves, but a dog dies battling with them," retorted

señor Bustamente.

Diego entered the room at this juncture.

"Well?" demanded the hacendero.

"One dead with his own knife in his heart; one wounded with a pistol

shot which went off in the folds of his blanket, the other safe and

sound," reported the false guide.

"This Indian will bear me out that I entered on the mad enterprise

reluctantly," began the bandolero in a less firm voice.

"This Indian Diego knows you of old, and I advise you not to require

a character from him. In the time when you resumed your old craft of

piracy and attacked me in the Gulf, this Indian and his father scuttled

your steamer, effectually executing that diversion which prevented your

crew from overwhelming my brave friend."

Captain Pedrillo rewarded the Mayo with a malignant look. If he had

only have suspected this before when he had him in his camp. Whilst he

ground his teeth and jerked his stump nervously, his judge pursued:

"I have had you decoyed out of your forces that the savages may

not have the benefit of your cultured cunning. You deserve death a

hundredfold for warring against Mexico, and that death should be the

traitor's--that by the ignoble rope. But I have no hangman's noose

here; you are going to be honoured with the soldier's fate--you shall

only be shot!"

"Beware!" said Pedrillo, stoutly, though his heart sank; "This house is

surrounded by a multitude like the waves of a sea. When the assault is

made for which the signal is the crushing shot of an enormous cannon

being levelled hereon under cover of the stormy darkness, you will be

inundated by the sands of a desert storm. My murder will be avenged on

each of you, your wives, your daughters and your sons and servants,

over and over again!"

"Thanks for the caution, but we mean to sell our lives and our dear

ones' honour most dearly. Meanwhile, you will be shot. Take the carrion

hence to the room where Father Serafino will try to soften his hard

heart, and then lead him out to execution."

The cold, stern sentence annihilated the salteador's insolence. His

hands dropped and hung each side of the armchair, whilst he murmured in

deep terror.

"You have robbed me before of my ship, of my bravest men, and now would

have my blood! It is of evil omen to you!"

He trembled, and his eyes seemed to be moistened; clearly his ferocious

soul was weakening, and fear had stricken him to the heart. The two

peons bore him away between them, like an automatic figure, of which

the limbs of flesh and bone were no more vivified than that of wood.

In this supine, hopeless state, the priest could in no way prevail on

him. Half an hour was entirely wasted in unavailing pleading. Then came

the guard to carry out the prostrated miscreant to meet his doom at the

dawn of that day when he anticipated he should have the farm at his

mercy.

Without resistance, ceasing to tremble but still a weakling, the once

dreaded bandit allowed himself to be propped up against the palisade.

By the morn's early light his figure, firmly set by his wooden leg

being fixed in the wet ground, his back against the wood, his head

on one shoulder, his eyes closed, his white lips muttering nothing

intelligible, could all be seen by the Indians and his followers

upon the other eminence. Thence, too, could be discerned the firing

party of peons, five in number, ranged at a few paces, before don

Benito, who was to give the word. The miserable aspect of the lame

man, like a buzzard with a broken and trailing wing, pitiable despite

its loathsomeness, made the Mexican see that he was judicious in not

hanging the robber; the sight of the single leg twitching in the death

struggle in air would have appealed to humanity, and Pedrillo el Manco

would become an exalted legend among the reprobates of the province.

All was ready.

A gleam of sunlight irradiated the corral, and glistened on the wet

pickets, and yellowed the waxen face of the wretch condemned to death.

Don Benito looked at the five gun barrels just catching the sunbeam,

and was about to give the order for them to fire, when a totally

unforeshadowed interposition occurred.

When, during the night, the Apaches at the secret gate had heard the

scuffle within the enclosure, which denoted how the Mexicans had fallen

on the unfortunate companions of Pedrillo, they were off at full speed

without delay, clearing the moat at a tremendous bound. Two of the

robbers succeeded in passing through the postern, but were overtaken

and cut down on the brink of the ditch. After that, during the trial of

Captain Pedrillo, the environs of the hacienda had not been disturbed.

At the present moment all eyes within the corral were directed on the

culprit so soon to expiate his crimes. Nevertheless, the sentries

would not have permitted a numerous body of enemies to have approached

unchallenged. But it was another matter as regarded a solitary Apache,

who, now hanging by the side of his war pony, now leading it, now

crawling on alone before, and whistling softly for it to join him, came

up to the palisade totally unseen and unexpected. In fact, how could

the two hundred peons and Mexicans in the farm enclosure fear anything

from a solitary red man?

Thus had Iron Shirt, for it was the chief who devoted himself to a

desperate enterprise, reached the outside of the stockade just where

the bullets, sure to perforate the wood around the death-awaiting

bandolero, would salute the unsuspected bystander painfully. The

woodwork rose some fourteen feet high, effectually masking him and his

equally as steadily moving steed. He stopped the latter, vaulted on his

back like a circus rider, stood up, and all of a sudden the startled

Mexicans beheld the plumed head, the black painted face, and the long

arm of the Apache above the pointed posts, just over the cowering

bandit's form.

"Fire!" cried don Benito.

But even as he spoke the red arm was extended downwards, the steellike

fingers clutched the shoulder of Captain Pedrillo, and he was lifted

up with what was a prodigious expenditure of force, albeit he was the

lighter by a limb than most men, clear of the low aim of the peons.

Then, caught in both arms of the savage, standing on his horse, the

Mexican was transferred to the farther side of the barricade.

It was the deed of an instant, this snatching aloof of the victim.

Fifty eager men, shaking off their stupefaction, sprang to the

stockade, and leaping upon shelves, placed there for the purpose,

fired on the disappearing pony, burdened with the double charge, but

gallantly bounding away.

At the same time, to draw off a second volley from their gallant chief,

a number of Apaches, and the rebels who ran up the incline as far as

the verge of the ditch, shot arrows and bullets into the corral. The

Mexicans were compelled to drop down and retire.

True to the chivalric creed that a chief's scalp is to be rescued at

any cost, Iron Shirt had saved his brother commander.