“By God, no!” he muttered, staring into her defiant eyes. “That was a fine thing, and your mother gave good blood to her children, Jocasta. And then–?”

“I laid her on the bed among her bridal laces, all white–white! Over her breast I folded her still hands, and set a candle at her head, though I dared not pray! The door was giving way.

“I pushed back the bolt, also I spoke, but it did not seem me! That is strange, but of a truth I did not know the voice I heard say: ‘Enter, her body is yours–and she no longer flees from you.’

“‘Ha! That is good sense at last!’ said José, and Conrad laughed and praised himself as a lover.

“‘I told you so!’ he grunted. ‘The little dear one knows that a nice white German is not so bad!’

“And again I heard the voice strange to me say, ‘She knows nothing, José–and she knows all!’

“José stumbled in smiling, but Conrad, though drunk, stopped at the door when he saw my hand with the knife. I thought my skirt covered it as I waited for him–for the child had told me enough–I–I failed, Ramon! His oath was a curious choked scream as I tried to reach him. I do not know if it was the knife, or the dead girl on the bed made him scream like that, but I knew then the German was at heart a coward.

“José was too strong for me, and the knife could not do its work. I was struck, and my head muffled in a serape. After that I knew nothing.

“Days and nights went by in a locked room. I never got out of it until I was chained hand and foot and sent north in a peon’s ox-cart. Men guarded me until Marto with other men waited for me on the trail. José Perez could have had me killed, yes. Or he could have had me before the judges for murder, but silence was the thing he most wanted–for there is Doña Dolores Terain yet to be won. He has sent me north that the General Terain, her father, will think me out of his life. One of the guards told an alcalde I was his wife, he was sure that story would be repeated back to Hermosillo! These are days in Sonora when no one troubles about one woman or one child who is out of sight, and we may be sure he and Conrad had a well-made story to tell. He knows it is now all over with me, that I have a hate of which he is afraid, so he does not have me shot;–he only sends me to Soledad in the wilderness where fighting bands of the revolution cross all trails, and his men have orders that I am not to go out of the desert alive.”

“I see!” said Rotil thoughtfully, “and–it is all gone now–the love of him?”

“All the love in the world is gone, amigo,” she said, looking away from him through the barred window where the night sky was growing bright from the rising moon. “I was a child enchanted by the glory of the world and his love words. Out of all that false glitter of life I have walked, a blackened soul with a murderer’s hand. How could love be again with me?”

He looked at her steadily, the slender thing of creamy skin and Madonna eyes that had been the Dream of Youth to him, the one devotee at an altar in whom he had believed–nothing in the humanity of the world would ever have faith of his again!

“That is so, Jocasta,” he said at last, “you are a woman, and in the shadow. The little golden singing one is gone out of your life, and the new music must be different! I will think about that for you. Go now to your sleep, for there is work of men to be done, and the night scarce long enough for it.”

He opened the door for her and stood with bent head as she passed. His men lounging in the patio could see that manner of deference, and exchanged looks and comments. To the victor belong the spoils in Mexico, and here was a sweeping victory,–yet the general looked the other way!

“Child, accompany the señora,” he said kindly to Tula at the door. “Chappo, bring Marto to see me. The new American capitan said he was a man of value, and the lad was right. Work of importance waits for him tonight.”

CHAPTER XVIII
RAMON ROTIL DECIDES

Whatever the labors of Marto Cavayso for the night they appeared to have been happy ones, for ere the dawn he came to Kit’s door in great good humor.

“Amigo,” he said jovially, “you played me a trick and took the woman, but what the devil is that to hold a grudge for? My general has made it all right, and we need help. You are to come.”

“Glad to,” agreed Kit, “but what of this guard duty?”

“Lock the door–there is but one key. Also the other men are not sleeping inside the portal. It is by order of General Rotil.”

Perez awoke to glare at his false major-domo, but uttered no words. He had not even attempted conversation with Kit since the evening before when he stated that no Americano could fool him, and added his conviction that the said Americano was a secret service man of the states after the guns, and that Rotil was a fool!

Kit found Rotil resting in the chapel, looking fagged and spent.

“Marto is hell for work, and I had to stay by,” he grumbled with a grin. “Almost I sent for you. No other man knows, and behold!”

Stacked on either side were packing cases of rifles and ammunition, dozens and dozens of them. The dusty canvas was back in its place and no sign to indicate where the cases had come from.

“It is a great treasure chest, that,” stated Rotil, “and we have here as much as the mules can carry, for the wagons can’t go with us. But I want every case of this outside the portal before dawn comes, and it comes quick! It means work and there are only three of us, and this limp of mine’s a trouble.”

“Well,” said Kit, stripping off his coat, “if the two of you got them up a ladder inside, and down the steps to this point I reckon three of us can get them across that little level on record time. Say, your crew will think it magic when guns and ammunition are let fall for you by angels outside of the gate.”

“The thought will do no harm,” said Rotil. “Also I am not sure but that you speak true, and the magic was much needed when it came.”

They worked fast, and ere the first hint of dawn the cases were stacked in imposing array on the plaza. And no sign by which they could be traced. Rotil looked at them, and chuckled at the wonder the men would feel.

“It is time they were called, for it is a long trail, go you, Capitan, and waken them, tell them to get ready the pack mules and get a move.”

“All right, but if they ask questions?”

“Look wise and say nothing! When they see the cases they will think you either the devil or San Antonio to find what was lost in the desert. It is a favor I am doing you, señor.”

“Sure you are! If the Indians ever get the idea that I can win guns from out the air by hokus-pokus, I will be a big medicine chief, and wax fat under honors in Sonora. Head me to them!”

Rotil had seen to it that though sentinels stood guard at Soledad, none were near enough the plaza to interfere with work of the night, and Kit found their main camp down by the acquia a quarter of a mile away. He gave orders as directed for the pack animals and cook wagon over which a son of the Orient presided. That stolid genius was already slicing deer meat for broiling, and making coffee, of which he donated a bowl to Kit, also a cart wheel of a tortilla dipped in gravy. Both were joyously accepted, and after seeing that the men were aroused from the blankets, he returned to the hacienda full of conjecture as to the developments to be anticipated from the night’s work. That reserve stock of ammunition might mean salvation to the revolutionists.

Rain had fallen somewhere to the east in the night time, and as the stars faded there were lines of palest silver and palest gold in the grays of dawn on the mountains. As he walked leisurely up the slight natural terrace to the plaza, he halted a moment and laughed aloud boyishly at a discovery of his, for he had solved the century-old riddle of the view of El Alisal seen from the “portal” of Soledad. The portal was not anyone of the visible doors or gateways of the old mission, it was the hidden portal of the picture,–once leading to a little balcony under which the neophytes had gathered for the morning blessing and daily commands of their superiors!

That explained its height from the floor. The door had at some later period been sealed, and a room built against it from the side towards the mountain. In the building of the ranch house that old strong walled section of the mission had been incorporated as the private chapel of some pious ranchero. It was also very, very simple after one knew of that high portal masked by the picture, and after one traced the line of vision from the outside and realized all that was hidden by the old harness room and the fragmentary old walls about it. He chuckled to think of how he would astonish Cap Pike with the story when he got back. He also recalled that Conrad had unburdened his heart to him with completeness because he was so confident an American never could get back!

He was speculating on that ever-present problem when he noted that light shone yellow in the dawn from the plaza windows, and on entering the patio it took but a glance to see that some new thing was afoot.

Padre Andreas, with his head upholstered in strips of the table linen, was pacing the patio reciting in a murmuring undertone, some prayer from a small open volume, though there was not yet light enough to read. Valencia was bustling into the room of Doña Jocasta with an olla of warm water, while Tula bore a copper tray with fruit and coffee.

“This is of a quickness, but who dare say it is not an act for the blessing of God?” the padre said replying in an absent-minded manner to the greeting of Kit.

“True, Padre, who can say?” agreed the latter politely, without the slightest idea of what was meant.

But Marto, who fairly radiated happiness since his reinstatement, approached with the word that General Rotil would have him at breakfast, for which time was short.

“It is my regret that you do not ride with me, señor,” said Rotil as he motioned him to a seat. “But there is work to be done at Soledad for which I shall give you the word. I am hearing that you would help recover some of the poor ones driven south from Palomitas, if they be left alive!”

“I am pledged to that, General,” stated Kit simply.

“Who has your pledge?”

“A dead man who cannot free me from it.”

“By God!” remarked Rotil in a surprised tone. “By God, Don Pajarito, that is good! And it may be when that pledge is kept, you may be free to join my children in the fight? I make you a capitan at once, señor.”

“Perhaps, after–”

“Sure,–after,” agreed Rotil chuckling. “For I tell you there is work of importance here, and when I am gone the thinking will be up to you! What message did you give the muleteers?”

“To bring the animals to the plaza, and pack for the trail all the provisions found there.”

“Provisions is good! They will burn with curiosity. There could be fun in that if we had time to laugh and watch them, but there is no time. Marto!”

Marto, on guard at the door, came forward.

“Has the Señor Don José Perez received my message for conference?”

“Yes, my General. Except that he wished your messenger in hell, he will be happy to join you according to order.”

“Good!” grinned Rotil, “it is well to conduct these matters with grace and ceremony where a lady is concerned. Take him to the sala; it is illuminated in his honor. Come, señor, I want for witness an Americano who is free from Sonora influence.”

“Am I?” queried Kit dubiously. “I’m not so sure! I seem all tangled up with Sonora influences of all shades and varieties.”

Rotil’s jocularity disappeared as he entered the sala where quill pen and ink and some blank sheets from an old account book gave a business-like look to the table where four candles made a radiance.

Perez was there, plainly nervous by reason of the mocking civility of Marto. His eyes followed Rotil,–questioning, fearful!

The latter passed him without notice and seated himself at the table.

“Call the padre,” he said to Marto. But that was scarce needed as the padre was hovering near the door waiting for the word. He seated himself by the table at a motion from Rotil.

The latter turned for the first time to Perez, and bestowed on him a long, curious look.

“They tell me, señor, that you were about to take as bride a lovely lady?”

Perez frowned in perplexity. Evidently this was the last subject he had expected to hear touched upon.

“Perhaps so,” he said at last, “but if this is a question of ransom we will not trouble the lady. I will arrange your figures for that.”

“This is not a matter of figures, Señor Perez. It is a marriage we are interested in, and it is all well arranged for you. The padre here will draw up the contract of marriage in the old form; it is better than the manner of today. You will give him your name, the names of your parents, the name of your parish and abode.”

“I will see you damned first!”

“And, Padre,” continued Rotil, giving no heed to that heartfelt remark, “use less than one-third of the page, for there must be space for the record of the bride, and below that the contract between the happy two with all witnesses added.”

“If you think–” began Perez furiously.

“I do not think; I know, señor! Later you also will know,” Rotil promised with grim certainty. “This marriage is of interest to me, and has been too long delayed. It is now for you to say if you will be a bridegroom in chains, or if it please you to have the irons off.”

“This cannot be! I tell you a marriage is not legal if–”

“Oh, señor! Your experience is less than I thought,” interrupted Rotil, “and you are much mistaken,–much! We are all witnesses here. Señor Rhodes will be pleased to unfasten those heavy chains to oblige the lady. The chains might not be a pleasant memory to her. Women have curious prejudices about such things! But it must be understood that you stand quiet for the ceremony. If not, this gun of mine will manage it that you stay quiet forever.”

Perez stood up, baffled and beaten, but threatening.

“Take them off, you!” he snarled, “though it is a hell of a ransom,–and that woman will pay. Let no one forget that her pay will be heavy!”

“That paying is for afterwards!” decided Rotil airily, “but here and now we men would see a wedding before we leave Soledad. Capitan Rhodes, will you bring in Doña Jocasta?”

Kit, in some wonder, went on the errand, and found the women eager to deck her with blossoms and give some joyous note to the wedding of the dawn, but she sat cold and white with the flowers of the desert springtime about her, and forbade them.

“He terrifies me much in sending that word to wake me with this morning,” she protested. “I tell you I will kill myself before I live one more day of life with José Perez! I told him all my heart in the sala last night, and it means not anything to Ramon Rotil;–he would tie me in slavery to that man I hate!”

“Señora, I do not know what the general means, but I know it is not that. His work is for your service, even though appearance is otherwise.”

“You think that?”

“I almost know it.”

“Then I go,” she decided. “I think I would have to go anyway, but the heart would be more heavy, Santa Maria!–but this place of Soledad is strange in its ways.”

It was the first time he had seen her frightened, but her mouth trembled, and her eyes sought the floor.

He reached out and took her hand; it was terribly cold.

“Courage, and trust Rotil,” he said reassuringly. “When you sift out the whole situation that is about all left to any of us here in the desert.”

He led her along the corridor, the women following. Men with pack animals were gathering in wonder around the cases in the plaza, and through the portal they saw the impromptu bridal procession, and fell silent. The Americano appeared to have a hand in every game,–and that was a matter of wonder.

As they entered, Padre Andreas was reading aloud the brief history of Jocasta Benicia Sandoval, eldest daughter of Teresa Sandoval and Ignatius Sanchez of Santa Ysobel in the Sierras. Padre Andreas had balked at writing the paternity of children of Teresa Sandoval, but a revolver in Rotil’s hand was the final persuader.

“This is to be all an honest record for which there are witnesses in plenty,” he stated. “Teresa Sandoval had only one lover,–even though Padre Ignatius Sanchez did call her daughters nieces of his! But the marriage record of Señora Jocasta Sandoval shall have only truth.” Jocasta wrote her name to the statement as directed, and noted that José had already signed.

She did not look at him, but moved nearer to Rotil and kept her eyes on the table. He noted her shrinking and turned to the priest.

“Señor,” he said, “these two people will write their names together on the contract, but this is a marriage without kisses or clasping of hands. It is a civil contract bound by word of mouth, and written promise, under witness of the church. Read the service.”

There was a slight hesitation on the part of Perez when asked if he would take Jocasta Sandoval as wife, but the gun of Rotil hastened his decision, and his voice was defiantly loud. Jocasta followed quietly, and then in a benediction which was emptiest mockery, José Perez and Jocasta Sandoval were pronounced man and wife.

“May I now go?” she murmured, but the contract was signed by all present before Rotil nodded to Kit.

“You will have the honor of conducting the Doña Jocasta Perez to breakfast,” he said. “The rest of us have other business here. Señora, will you do us the favor to outline to this gentleman the special tasks you would like attention given at once. There are some Indian slaves in the south for whom the Palomitas people ask help. You are now in a position to be of service there, and it would be a good act with which to establish a new rule at Soledad.”

“Thanks, General Rotil,” she answered, rather bewildered by the swiftness with which he turned over to her the duties devolving upon her newly acquired position. “I am not wise in law, but what I can I will do.”

“And that will be nothing!” volunteered Perez. “A woman of my name will not make herself common in the markets or law courts,–to have her Indian ancestry cast in my teeth!”

“As to that,” said Rotil humorously, “there is not so much! The father of Teresa Sandoval was the priestly son of a marquise of Spain! only one drop of Indian to three of the church in the veins of Señora Perez, so you perceive she has done honor to your house. You will leave your name in good hands when God calls you to judgment.”

Kit noted the sudden tension of Perez at the last sentence, and a look of furtive, fearful questioning in his eyes as he looked at Rotil, who was folding the marriage contract carefully, wrapping it in a sheet of paper for lack of an envelope.

But, as squire of dames, Kit was too much occupied to give further heed to business in the sala. Doña Jocasta expressed silently a desire to get away from there as soon as might be; she looked white and worn, and cast at Rotil a frightened imploring glance as she clung to Kit’s arm. He thought he would have to carry her before they crossed the patio.

“When Ramon laughs like that–” she began and then went silent, shuddering. Kit, remembering the look in the eyes of Perez, did not care to ask questions.

The older women went back to the kitchen to finish breakfast and gossip over the amazing morning, but Tula remained near Doña Jocasta,–seeing all and her ears ever open.

Padre Andreas followed, under orders from Rotil, who told him to do any writing required of him by the Señora Perez, and arrange for safe couriers south when she had messages ready. His knowledge of villages and rancheros was more dependable than that of the vaqueros; he would know the names of safe men.

Doña Jocasta sighed, and looked from one to the other appealingly.

“It is much, very much to plan for before the sun is showing,” she murmured. “Is there not some little time to think and consider?”

“Even now the men of Ramon Rotil are packing the beasts for the trail,” said the priest, “and he wants all your plans and desires stated before he goes east.”

“My desires!” and her smile held bitterness as she turned to Kit. “You, señor, have never seen the extent of the Perez holdings in Sonora. They are so vast that one simple woman like me would be lost in any plans of change there. José Perez meant what he said;–no woman can take control while he lives.”

“Still, there are some things a woman could do best,” ventured Kit, “the things of mercy;” and he mentioned the Palomitas slaves–

“That is true. Also I am in debt for much friendship, and this child of Palomitas must have the thing she asks. Tell me the best way.”

“Learn from Perez which ranch of General Estaban Terain shelters the political prisoners taken from the district of Altar,” suggested Kit. “Either Perez or Conrad can tell.”

Doña Jocasta looked at the priest.

“José Perez will hate you for this marriage, and we must seek safety for you in some other place,” she said kindly, “but you are the one most able to learn this thing. Will it please you to try?”

Padre Andreas went out without a word. In his heart he resented the manner of the marriage ceremony, and scarce hoped Perez would be acquiescent or disposed to further converse, and he personally had no inclination to ask help of the General Rotil.

He was surprised as he crossed the patio to see Perez, still free from chains, walking through the portal to the plaza with Marto Cavayso beside him. He was led past the ammunition cases, and the men in their jubilant work of packing the mules. Far out up the valley to the north a cloud of dust caught the red glow of sunrise, and the priest knew the vaqueros with the Soledad cattle were already on the trail for the main body of revolutionists in the field.

Saddle horses were held a little apart in the plaza, and Padre Andreas hastened his steps lest they mount and be gone, but Marto spoke to him sharply.

“Walk in front to do your talking,” he suggested. “This gentleman is not inviting company for his pasear.”

José Perez turned a startled, piercing look on the priest.

“Did Rotil send you?” he demanded.

“No, señor, I came back to ask a simple thing concerning the Altar people who went south for Yucatan. Can you give me the name of the ranch where they are held?”

“I can,–but I give nothing for nothing!” he said bitterly. “Already I am caught in a trap by that marriage, and I will see that the archbishop hears of your share in it. Nothing for nothing!”

“Yet there may be some service I can give, or send south, for you,” said the priest.

Perez regarded him doubtfully.

“Yes–you might get a message to General Terain that I am a prisoner, on my own estate–if Rotil does not have you killed on the road!”

“I could try,” agreed the priest. “I–I might secure permission.”

“Permission?”

“It is true, señor. I could not attempt it without the word of General Rotil,” announced Padre Andreas. “Of what use to risk the life of a courier for no purpose? But I make a bargain: if you will tell which ranch the Altar Indians were driven to I will undertake to get word for you to a friend. Of course I can get the information from the German if you say no.”

“Damn the German!” swore Perez.

“Good Father,” said Marto, “you halt us on the way to join the advance, and we have no mind to take all the dust of the mule train. Make your talk of fewer words.”

“Shall I go to the German?” repeated the priest.

“No,–let him rot alone! The plantation is Linda Vista, and Conrad lied to General Terain to get them housed there. He thought they were rebels who raided ranches in Altar,–political prisoners. Take General Terain word that I am a prisoner of the revolutionists, and–”

“Señor, the sun is too high for idle talk,” said Marto briefly, “and your saddle waits.”

The priest held the stirrup for José Perez, who took the courtesy as a matter of course, turning in the saddle and casting a bitter look at the sun-flooded walls of Soledad.

“To marry a mistress and set her up as the love of another lover–two other lovers!–is not the game of a man,” he growled moodily. “If it was to do over, I–”

“Take other thoughts with you,” said Padre Andreas sadly, “and my son, go with God!”

He lifted his hand in blessing, and stood thus after they had turned away. Perez uttered neither thanks nor farewell.

The men, busy with the final packing, stared after him with much curiosity, and accosted the priest as he paced thoughtfully back to the portal.

“Padre, is this ammunition a gift of Don José, or is it magic from the old monks who hid the red gold of El Alisal and come back here to guard it and haunt Soledad?” inquired one of the boldest.

“There are no hauntings, and that red gold has led enough men astray in the desert. It is best forgotten.”

“But strange things do come about,” insisted another man. “Marto Cavayso swore he had witchcraft put on him by the green, jewel eyes of Doña Jocasta, and you see that since she follows our general he has the good luck, and this ammunition comes to him from God knows where!”

“It may be the Americano knows,” hazarded the first speaker. “He took her from Marto, and rides ever beside her. Who proves which is the enchanter?”

“It is ill work to put the name of ‘enchantment’ against any mortal,” chided the priest.

“That may be,” conceded the soldier, “but we have had speech of this thing, and look you!–Doña Jocasta rode in chains until the Americano crossed her trail, and Don Ramon, and all of us, searched in vain for the American guns, until the Americano rode to Soledad! Enchantment or not, he has luck for his friends!”

“As you please!” conceded the priest with more indifference than he felt. The Americano certainly did not belong to Soledad, and the wonder was that Ramon Rotil gave him charge of so beauteous a lady. Padre Andreas could easily perceive how the followers of Rotil thought it enchantment, or any other thing of the devil.

Instinctively he disapproved of Rhodes’ position in the group; his care-free, happy smile ill fitted the situation at Soledad. Before the stealing away of Doña Jocasta she had been as a dead woman who walked; her sense of overwhelming sin was gratifying in that it gave every hope of leading to repentance, but on her return the manner of her behavior was different. She rode like a queen, and even the marriage was accepted as a justice! Padre Andreas secretly credited the heretic Americano with the change, and Mexican girls put no such dependence on a man outside of her own family,–unless that man was a lover!

He saw his own influence set aside by the stranger and the rebel leader, and with Doña Jocasta as a firebrand he feared dread and awful things now that Rotil had given her power.

He found her with bright eyes and a faint flush in her cheeks over the letter Kit was writing to the south. It was her first act as the wife of José Perez, and it was being written to the girl whom Perez had hoped to marry!

Kit got considerable joy in framing her request as follows:

To

Señorita Dolores Terain,

Linda Vista Rancho, Sonora,

Honored Señorita:

As a woman who desires to secure justice and mercy for some poor peons of our district of Altar, I venture to address you, to whom womanly compassion must belong as does beauty and graciousness.

This is a work for the charity of women, rather than debates in law courts by men.

I send with this the names of those poor people who were herded south for slavery by Adolf Conrad, a German who calls himself American. To your father, the illustrious General Terain, this man Conrad represented these poor people as rebels and raiders of this region. It is not true. They were simple peaceful workers on little ranches.

They were given shelter at your rancho of Linda Vista to work for their food until they could be deported, but I send with this a payment of gold with which to repay any care they have been, or any debts incurred. If it is not enough, I pledge myself to the amount you will regard as justice.

Dear Señorita, my husband, Don José, warns me that women cannot manage such affairs, but we can at least try. Parents wait here for sons and daughters, and little children wait for their parents. Will you aid in the Christian task of bringing them together quickly?

At your service with all respect,
Jocasta Benicia Perez,
Soledad Rancho, Sonora.

“But you write here of gold sent by messenger, señor!–I have no gold, only words can I send,” protested Doña Jocasta helplessly.

“Ah, but the words are more precious than all,” Kit assured her. “It is the right word we have waited for, and you alone could give it, señora. These people have held the gold ransom while waiting that word, and this child can bring it when the time is right.”

Doña Jocasta regarded Tula doubtfully; she certainly gave no appearance of holding wealth to redeem a pueblo.

“You,–the little one to whom even the Deliverer listens?” she said kindly. “But the wealth of a little Indian ranch would not seem riches to this illustrious lady, the Doña Dolores Terain.”

“Yet will I bring riches to her or to you, Excellencia, if only my mother and my sister are coming again to Palomitas,” said Tula earnestly.

“But whence comes wealth to you in a land where there is no longer wealth for anyone?”

Kit listened with little liking for the conversation after the padre entered. It was a direct question, and to be answered with directness, and he watched Tula anxiously lest she say the wrong thing. But she told the straight truth in a way to admit of no question.

“Long ago my father got gold for sacred prayer reasons; he hid it until he was old; when he died he made gift of it to me that my mother and sister buy freedom. That is all, Excellencia, but the gold is good gold.”

She slipped her hand under her skirt and unfastened the leather strings of the burro-skin belt,–it fell heavily on the tile floor. She untied the end of it and poured a handful on the table.

“You see, señora, there is riches enough to go with your words, but never enough to pay for them.”

“Santa Maria!” cried the amazed priest. “That is red gold! In what place was it found?”