CHAPTER XIV – Entanglements
FROM the observatory high up among the hills, Mr. Robles had witnessed the arrest and the departure of the prisoner. He had understood every move just as if he had been present on the verandah down below and had heard each spoken word.
As he stood erect, his hand still rested on the telescope. For a few moments he pondered, then murmured to himself as he turned to leave the room: “A bad complication! I must break the news tonight to Merle. Poor little girl!”
But it was two hours later before he wended his way down through the moonlit forest in the direction of La Siesta.
There dinner was over. No word of untoward happenings had as yet come from the outside world to disturb the tranquillity of the little household. In the drawing room Merle was at the piano, while Grace, close by, was curled on a sofa reading the latest novel. At some distance from the young girls was Mrs. Darlington, occupied intermittently over a piece of embroidery.
She was seated in semi-darkness, only her hands and her work illumed by the soft pink radiance of a shaded lamp resting on a little table by her side. In the evening costume of the chatelaine of La Siesta was the suggestion of old lace and old-time lavender – the old lace at her bosom and around her neck, the subtle fragrance of lavender exhaled from her garments that gave to her a sort of personal atmosphere. And as she sat musingly, with the skeins of silk passing through her fingers, she might have formed a picture of some Penelope seated at the loom of pensive memory.
The music from the piano was in harmony with both her mood and her attitude – the soft dreamy melodies of Mendelssohn’s “Songs without Words” to which she was vaguely listening while busy with her thoughts and her stitches.
Downstairs amid the oriental luxuriousness of the cosy corner sat Tia Teresa, waiting in the dark to intercept the visitor of whose coming she had been apprized by a secret messenger. And at last Ricardo Robles came, with the noiseless footfall that was characteristic of the man and imparted to him an air of mystery. He was standing by the old duenna’s side before she had realized his presence.
“I wanted a few words with you first of all, Tia Teresa,” he murmured, as she grasped his hand in both her own and affectionately kissed it. “Something has happened.”
“I know what has happened, Don Manuel,” she whispered. “The young man deserved his fate, for I am sure you saw what occurred in the rose garden during the afternoon. For one of his breed to have dared even to touch my little girl!” She hissed the words venomously, then added in calmer tone: “So all is well. He brought down his doom upon his own head, and vengeance for Rosetta begins.”
Robles pressed her hand as he disengaged his own from her almost fiercely caressing touch.
“I nursed you both,” continued the duenna in a low impassioned voice. “Your people were my people, you children were my very life, and your revenge has come to be my own. So I rejoice that the young ruffian died.”
He had seated himself by her side on the divan. “We shall say no more then about that,” he responded. “In some ways I am sorry over the day’s work. At times I find it difficult to reconcile my firmness with my softness.”
“But you cannot forget that you are no longer the owner of your father’s lands and flocks, and are virtually childless besides.” She breathed the words with intense repressed fury, intensified as she added: “And all through the accursed gringo who wrecked our happy lives – Rosetta’s, yours, your beloved parents’ as well. While that abominable wretch lives, the vendetta can never end.”
For a moment Robles remained silent. Then he spoke resolutely:
“I know it, Tia Teresa. Today my work only begins. Rest assured that it will be carried to the bitter finish. For this I have waited all through those long years. But I wanted to tell you of another matter – to warn you of a very serious complication. Dick Willoughby has been arrested for the slaying of Marshall Thurston.” The duenna sat bolt upright in shocked surprise. “Oh, my! What will this mean?” she murmured.
“Terrible grief for my little girl – possibly much suffering for him until I choose to take the responsibility upon myself.”
“You must not do that.”
“No. Not yet, at all events. Or the victory will be his – my enemy’s.”
He mused again. She, too, remained silent. At last he broke the spell.
“But I have already devised measures for his safety. Now I must go upstairs. They have heard nothing yet?”
“Not a word.”
“Then I must tell them of the mysterious shooting in the woods, and at the same time reassure Merle that her lover is in no real danger.”
“And Mrs. Darlington?” asked Tia Teresa. “How much is she to know?”
“Nothing! The vendetta is for us Spaniards. It is ours and ours alone. No one knows of my vow but you and I. Let it remain so. Adios, my dear friend.”
In the darkness he stooped and kissed her on both cheeks. For a moment she clung to him, but he gently liberated himself from her embrace. He moved toward the stairway, and Tia Teresa followed him cautiously up to the drawing room door, outside of which she remained. Knowing that she was there, he left the door ajar. The soft music was still playing, but suddenly ceased when Robles advanced into the apartment.
“My word, but this is an unexpected pleasure,” exclaimed Merle, as she came from the piano with outstretched hands.
He took them both in his own, and bestowed on her a grave but kindly smile. He also nodded to Grace, who had dropped her book and risen in courteous greeting.
“But you look sad and serious,” Merle went on, with quick intuition that his coming at this late hour meant something more than a mere neighborly visit.
“Something sad and serious has happened,” he replied.
Mrs. Darlington had advanced from her lamp-lit table.
“What?” she enquired eagerly. “Somehow I had a sense of impending trouble all day long.”
“Young Thurston of the rancho has met with an accident.”
“Dead?” gasped Merle, her hands clasped against her bosom.
“Yes, dead, I am afraid. He was mysteriously shot this afternoon when riding through the pine woods.”
Merle was stricken dumb. Grace glided to her side and listened in silent expectancy.
“Shot! By whom?” asked Mrs. Darlington.
“That I cannot tell,” gravely replied Robles. Then he smiled faintly. “But an amazingly stupid blunder has been made. By some combination of circumstances suspicion is being fastened on our dear friend Dick Willoughby.”
“Dick!” exclaimed Merle. “Who dares to suggest such a thing?” she added indignantly.
“I infer that Mr. Thurston is his accuser,” replied Robles.
“The two young men quarreled,” murmured Mrs. Darlington, in a voice of deep agitation.
“Mother!” cried Merle reprovingly. “Even to think for one moment that Dick, whatever the provocation, could have done such a thing! He is absolutely innocent, Mr. Robles,” she went on decisively, again turning to their visitor.
“Of course he is innocent – absolutely innocent. No one knows that better than myself.” And he gave an enigmatic smile as he spoke the words of reassuring confidence.
“Where is Mr. Willoughby now?” queried Grace.
“He has been compelled to go to Bakersfield.”
“To Bakersfield?” exclaimed Merle, half wonderingly.
“There to prove his innocence,” replied Robles.
But Mrs. Darlington had probed the real significance of his words.
“You don’t mean to say that they have – arrested him?”
Robles nodded gravely. “That’s how the law acts. A man under suspicion must be taken into custody – he must be charged so that he can refute the shameful calumny.”
Merle had dropped into a settee – white and speechless. Her lips trembled. Then she burst into a passion of weeping, burying her face against an arm flung across the upholstery.
Mrs. Darlington moved forward quickly to comfort the sobbing girl.
“Oh, don’t take on like this, my dear child. The arrest was a mere formality. He will be immediately set at liberty.”
Merle raised her tear-stained face. She spoke in gulping sobs.
“But, mother, I never told you – I shrank from telling any of you. While you and Grace were away this afternoon, Marshall Thurston called and wanted to make love to me – he even dared to try to kiss me. Tia Teresa flung him out of the rose garden. It was I who made Tia Teresa promise to say nothing about it to anyone. I feared trouble. And, oh, trouble, terrible trouble, has already come.” Again she bowed her head and continued weeping, but quietly weeping now. Grace was bending over her, patting her shoulder in soothing sympathy.
Mrs. Darlington’s eyes met those of Robles.
“This may prove serious,” she said softly, that Merle might not overhear.
“It is decidedly unfortunate,” replied Robles; “an unfortunate complication that may, of course, strengthen the suspicion against Willoughby and so render it more difficult for us to help him.”
Merle sprang to her feet, and with a hand dashed away her tears.
“Suspicion!” she exclaimed. “There can be not one moment’s suspicion.” And she gazed up into Robles’ face in ardent appeal.
“Of course not, my dear, among us – among all those who know Dick Willoughby. But there is the harshly judging world to reckon with besides. They may say that this discloses a motive for the crime.”
“However, Merle has just told us,” commented Mrs. Darlington, “that only she and Tia Teresa know anything about this unhappy episode in the rose garden. Mr. Willoughby has not been here at all today.”
“But I happen to know that he was not far away this afternoon – that he was rounding up some cattle in the near-by canyons. Malice may suggest that he was a witness of Thurston’s insolent behavior.”
“Then we should all keep silent on the subject.”
“Which might be compromising in the long run, my dear Mrs. Darlington. Altogether it is a difficult situation.”
Merle had been hardly listening to this conversation. She had been thinking, and with thinking had regained her composure. Her mind was quickly made up as to the line of prompt action that must be taken. She spoke quite calmly now.
“He is in prison. You have not spoken the word, Mr. Robles, but I know the truth all the same. We shall go to him tonight.”
“Not tonight, my dear,” replied Robles, with gentle firmness. “But tomorrow morning, certainly, I would suggest that you drive over to Bakersfield. He will appreciate your kindness in paying him this prompt visit, and you can at the same time convey to him my message of absolute belief in his innocence.”
“You will not come, too?”
“I can do more for him, Merle, by not going to Bakersfield for the present. Do not forget that for reasons of my own I live in seclusion. My name must be mentioned to no one but Mr. Willoughby. Trust me, all three of you, and leave me to work quietly alone and by my own methods. There, I give my promise. The captive will be set free within a short time. My hand on that, and you know that I never break my word.”
There was a joyous smile of confidence on his face as he spoke the words. Merle took the extended hand gratefully, trustfully, and pressed it to her lips. Robles went on:
“My advice is – try to sleep tonight. Tomorrow, or within a few brief tomorrows, all will be well. Good night.”
Tia Teresa followed him from the open door down into the outer hall.
“You heard everything,” he said as he paused to speak a final word of parting. “Comfort her, but at the same time guard our secret closer than ever. Not one hair of Willoughby’s head will be touched – make her know that for certain. And everything will come right in a very little time.”
“My poor little girl,” he murmured to himself as he strode down the silent tree-shadowed avenue.
CHAPTER XV – Behind the Bars
Dick Willoughby had been lodged in the county jail at Bakersfield, duly charged by Ben Thurston as the murderer of his son. To his surprise, and indeed to his dismay, the prisoner was informed that, the crime alleged being a capital one, no bail could be accepted. This was first of all a blow to Willoughby’s pride. Here he was under the stigma of imprisonment, but with no possibility of redress. It was not the loss of comforts, the deprivation of personal liberty, the hardships to body and to soul, inseparable from such restraint, that he resented, so much as the semiconviction of guilt implied by the durance vile to which he was to be subjected, although absolutely innocent of the deed of which he was accused.
However, after first chagrin came manly philosophy. The law might be right or wrong, wise or unwise, necessary or superfluous. But all the same it was the law of the state and had therefore to be obeyed. So, when the situation was finally reviewed, it was Lieutenant Munson who, when bidding his friend good-night, had been the angry man, fretting and fuming over such an abominable act of injustice, while the prisoner himself was tranquilly resigned to the ordeal through which he must pass and to which unkind fate was subjecting him for reasons that he was powerless to fathom.
“Good night, Ches, old man. You’ll see me again in the morning. It’s mighty kind of you to stay in town all night. But we can decide on the best lawyer to employ, and then you must hasten back to break the bad news at La Siesta.”
Such had been Dick’s quiet words when their colloquy had been broken up, and he had been ordered to the retirement of his prison cell. To enter that place was for Dick a horrible experience. But he accepted the experience calmly, bade the turnkey a cheerful good-night, and laid him down to sleep on the narrow mattress resting upon the hard bench, at peace with himself and the world, even with the bitter enemy who had all so unexpectedly appeared on his path.
Although Munson was back in the jail betimes next morning, he found Dick already conferring with a lawyer – the best and most honored in the town, as Munson knew the moment his name was mentioned.
“Let me introduce you to Mr. Bradley,” said Dick, presenting him. “Some kind friend whose name he declines to reveal for the present, sent him a special message last night retaining his services for my defence.”
“Mrs. Darlington, I bet,” interjected the lieutenant.
“No, not Mrs. Darlington, let me assure you,” rejoined the lawyer, “although undoubtedly she would be willing to do the same thing. But I am not permitted to say any more.”
“And he has carte blanche for all expenses,” smiled Dick. “Although I should not think there will be much money required to clear an innocent man,” he added.
“Wait till you see,” said the lawyer crisply. “We have to reckon with a malignant persecutor, I am already informed.”
“Well, I’ve got a bit to my bank credit,” Dick replied. “And we’ll draw on that first before I accept the generosity of an unknown friend. It will be quite a saving here,” he went on with a humorous twinkle in his eye as he glanced around. “Free board and lodging at the state’s expense for a week at all events.”
“Much longer than that, I am afraid,” gravely remarked the lawyer. “You see, Mr. Munson, just before you arrived we were discussing the decidedly unfortunate coincidence that at the time the shooting occurred, Mr. Willoughby, by his own admission, was in the little canyon below the scene of the tragedy.”
“Rounding up some cattle,” observed Dick. “Of course. But all the same, open to suspicion as being on the ground, and indeed being the first to reach the dead man’s side.”
“That should be proof of innocence,” observed Munson.
“Or may be taken as evidence of well-reasoned audacity to throw accusers off the trail,” retorted the attorney. “You see we have to look at everything, not from our own point of view, but from the other side. Now I want to learn something more about that quarrel between you and young Thurston at the cattle muster.”
“He made an insulting remark about one of the young ladies from La Siesta,” replied Dick. “I told him I would tan his hide if he ever did it again. That’s all. But the last thing I want is that these ladies’ names should be dragged into the case.”
“But his remark and your reproof were overheard by others,” commented the attorney.
“Oh, yes, by a bunch of ranch hands.”
“Whose evidence will undoubtedly be called for the prosecution, necessitating, perhaps, the evidence of the young ladies on our side.”
“By God, I won’t stand for that,” exclaimed Dick hotly. “I can defend myself without their being called to the witness stand. Think, Munson, of subjecting Merle or Grace to any such thing” – and his indignant face appealed to the lieutenant’s.
“I saw nothing of the quarrel,” observed Munson, addressing the lawyer, “although, of course, I heard something about it later on – not from Willoughby, however, for he has never once referred to the matter in conversation with me. But I say, Dick, old fellow, you know that Merle Farnsworth and Grace Darlington, too, will be only too proud and happy to stand up for you in a law court or anywhere else.”
“That may be,” replied Dick gloomily, “but I don’t propose that they shall be made the objects of vulgar curiosity in a crowded court-room, or that their ears should ever hear the vile words that fell from that miserable degenerate who has at last met the fate he properly deserved.”
“Well, it is a point that we shall have to consider carefully,” spoke the lawyer as he rose to take his departure. “I have all the main facts of the case now, Mr. Willoughby. Of course I shall apply formally to the court for bail, but I know it is bound to be refused. I’ll make all arrangements outside for your comfort here – meals, etc., and no doubt your friend, Mr. Munson, will bring you over clothing, toilet requisites, and the other little things you will require. I’ll see you again later on today.”
The lawyer was gone, and the two comrades were alone in the little room, stone-walled and bare of furniture except for a few chairs, where the consultation had been held. Beyond the open door stood a constable, just out of earshot. But he now took his stand within the room.
“Well, Munson, old chap,” said Dick with cheerful alacrity, “you get back to the rancho in double-quick time. Then go on to La Siesta and tell Merle not to worry on my account. Tell her that I’m bright and happy, and just enjoying a good rest, and will be set at liberty within a week or so. But remember, she is not to come here. Good Lord, I never want her to see me in a place like this.” And he glanced around forlornly, and in a measure ashamed.
But at the very moment there was a flutter along the corridor – the sound of voices, and women’s voices, too. A moment later the superintendent of the jail appeared, bringing with him Mrs. Darlington and Merle. At the doorway he spoke to the officer on guard; the man withdrew.
“Mr. Willoughby, here are some more friends,” said the superintendent as he ushered in the ladies. “I am going to interpret the regulations as leniently as possible – that’s a matter which can rest between ourselves. I’ll come back for you, Mrs. Darlington, in half an hour.”
Merle advanced toward Dick with outstretched hand. In her other hand was a fine bouquet of roses.
“What a shame that you should be here,” she exclaimed. “But I realize that the only thing to do is to submit as cheerfully as possible to the inevitable. Mother and I came over to give you our sympathy and proffer our help in every possible way. Grace also sends her very kindest regards, and I was bidden by Mr. Robles, whom we saw last night, to assure you of his complete belief in your innocence.”
“Oh, I’m not afraid of any real friend thinking me capable of a cowardly deed like that,” replied Willoughby. “But it is nice to have these kind messages, although I could have wished, Miss Farnsworth, that you had not seen me amid such surroundings.”
“Do you think that we would desert you in such a time of trouble as this?” replied Merle, as she sat down. “But seeing that our visit is to be restricted to half an hour, it is well that we should get to the important points without delay. I have been talking over a certain matter both with mother and Mr. Robles, and although I shrink from telling it, they have decided that you must know about the affair.”
She then proceeded, in a low voice and with lips that trembled, to tell how young Thurston had forced his attentions on her just a little time before the shooting occurred and how Tia Teresa had rescued her from his clutches.
This was the first that Dick had heard of the incident and his face flushed with anger. But Merle quieted him at once. “You need not be angry now, Mr. Willoughby. It is all over. But your lawyer will want to consider what bearing this may possibly have upon the case.”
“It can have no bearing at all,” maintained Dick. “In the first place I didn’t even know till now that Marshall had been visiting at La Siesta. And in the second place, just as I was saying to Munson a few minutes ago, I am determined that the names of you ladies shall not be dragged into this miserable affair. Isn’t that right, Mrs. Darlington?”
“In a measure. But all the same we are ready to stand by you so as to establish your innocence with the least possible delay. I heard this morning that Mr. Thurston is very bitter against you, keeps vowing vengeance, and announces that no money will be spared to bring the slayer of his son to retribution.”
“Well, I hope he’ll find him without loss of time,” smiled Dick. “That will be the quickest and easiest way to get me out of confinement. But at this moment I have not the faintest idea on whom to fasten the charge. Lots of the cowboys despised young Thurston, but none were really his enemies, and I don’t know any one among the bunch who would have shot him in that dastardly, cold-blooded manner.”
“Which makes the situation for you all the more disagreeable,” commented Munson. “You had been known to threaten him, and if there is no one else to whom suspicion can point, you may be kept here, Dick, for quite a time – for months, perhaps, until the case goes to trial.”
Dick’s face fell. “For months!” he exclaimed. “Surely that would be an outrage.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t be too despondent,” protested Merle. “Besides, Mr. Robles has pledged his word to me that you will be free in a very brief time.”
“Then he may know who the culprit is,” remarked Dick eagerly.
“No,” interposed Mrs. Darlington. “He is like ourselves – quite in the dark. But you may rest assured that Mr. Robles will leave no stone unturned to solve the mystery and restore you to liberty, Mr. Willoughby, for I happen to know that he holds you in highest esteem.”
“I’m glad of that,” replied Dick. “Well, I want you to tell him from me how keen I am that you ladies shall be spared from all association with this case. You know that I am exercising great self-denial, Miss Farnsworth, when I say that you are never to come here again. This is no place for you.”
“Pardon me,” laughed Merle, “but we are interested in you and will excuse the hotel you have chosen to patronize. We brought these roses for you from La Siesta” – as she spoke she presented him with the beautiful blooms – “and if Lieutenant Munson will be kind enough to come out to our automobile he will find there some books, also a box of fruit and a few delicacies which we hope will help to make your stay here just a little more tolerable.”
“You’re kind indeed,” murmured Dick gratefully. “Don’t worry about me,” he added cheerfully, “I’ll have a fine rest here, and will be able to catch up with my arrears of reading.”
And in this philosophic frame of mind the prisoner was left to begin his holiday.