III
The first two rooms were empty, but bore unmistakable signs of a desperate flight and struggle. Then a landing, a door and a dark cupboard, from which a loud cry for help now resounded throughout the deserted hacienda. Dick, signing to the Marquis to turn the light into the corner, bent down, and dragged a body from the cupboard. It was Libertad!
Covered with knife-wounds, the negro boy was on the point of’ death, struggling for air. They took him into the next room, and threw open the windows, while Dick questioned him brutally. “Where is your mistress?” A feeble hand pointed toward the sierra, and Dick stood away from the dying man. That was all he wanted to know. The Red Ponchos were already on the road to the mountains with his fiancée.
He dashed down into the road to find Uncle Francis with little Christobal. The boy, climbing into the motor had discovered his sister’s cloak there, and was crying over it. He threw himself into Dick’s arms, but was roughly pushed aside while the young engineer raged impotently.
What could he do? Anything for a horse, a mule, something to carry on the pursuit! The irony of it! That motor there, which had served for the crime, was useless now on the narrow rocky mountain pathway which they must follow.
Then little Christobal, listening with wide-open eyes, started. He had heard a noise at the far end of the court. Could there be horses in that deserted bodega. It sounded just like hoofs stamping on a plank flooring. Then the child heard a faint neigh.
Dick had vanished, and Christobal, running toward the farm buildings, slipped through a half-open door. Yes, there was something there… llamas… three llamas,.. but thin, miserable creatures, worn out by the heavy loads of years, and incapable of carrying even a child. But llamas do not neigh. The boy slipped round the corner of the building, and stopped short in the shadow. Sitting motionless a few yards away was a horseman, watching the house. At his stirrup, attentively immobile as the horseman, was a llama—one of those light, fine-limbed, long-necked beasts which carry a man’s belongings and follow him like a dog.
As Christobal caught sight of them, the horse shied. The rider reined it in, and swore, but his oath was cut short by a shot. A shadow had risen in the night, only a few feet away, and had fired; the rider rolled from his saddle, while the shadow, seizing the horse’s bridle, swung itself into his place. Little Christobal ran toward it.
“Tell your father I’ve bagged one of them,” shouted Dick, turning his mount and riding for the sierra.
The child, without answering, ran after the llama, which in its turn was following the horse. His little fingers caught in its wool, he checked it with the words one uses to llamas, scrambled up and dashed after Dick. Uncle Francis, on the roadway, was passed by two black streaks, and left alone there, speechless.
Meanwhile, in the room on the first floor, Libertad was making his confession. Natavitad had realized, and had made the Marquis realize, the great value to them which this might have. Nor, to tell the truth, did he forget the value of the Marquis as a witness to this confession, which he regarded in the light of a valuable piece of fresh evidence in his case against the Indians generally. For this twofold reason, Natividad was merciless, and forced the negro to speak till his last breath.
This confession, made in gasps and groans, built up by question and answer, and cut short by death, showed clearly that the abduction had been long planned, and that the daughter of the Marquis de la Torre had been chosen as the victim of the Interaymi at least two months before the festival. That was as clear as the wonderful tropical night without.
Two months before, Libertad had first been sounded, and he had not long resisted the temptation of the money offered him. All he was asked to do was to drive the motor to a certain spot on a certain day, without looking to see what was happening behind him. For this, he was to receive two hundred silver soles, of which fifty were paid to him in advance.
“And who did you make the bargain with?” demanded Natividad.
“With a clerk from the Franco-Belgian bank who sometimes came to see the señorita. His name was Oviedo.”
Don Christobal started. Oviedo Huayna Runtu, the intruder of the Cajamarca trip! If he had planned to kidnap Maria-Teresa at Callao, that voyage must have been particularly disagreeable to him. That would explain his close watch over them, and perhaps also the hint to the police at Cajamarca, which resulted in their hasty return to Lima.
“When did you first know the date chosen?” questioned Natividad, holding up the negro, who was choking.
“This morning. Oviedo came to see me. He told me that a man would say to me, ‘Dios anki tiourata’ (‘good-day,’ in Aimara), and that I was to obey that man. I was to take the wheel, not turn my head, and drive where I was told to go.”
Libertad’s story, told in jerky sentences, showed that he did not really know until the evening what had been plotted. Though he did not move or look, the sound of the struggle at the open window told him what was happening. It was then too late to draw back, and, when the order came, he drove the car to the calle San Lorenzo, where they stopped for a minute before a low door. Huascar came out, exchanged a few words with the occupants of the machine, and ordered him to take the Chorillos road, and not to stop until he had reached Ondegarda’s hacienda. There was not a sound behind him throughout the journey.
At the hacienda, when his passengers got out, he had instinctively glanced sideways, and had seen the señorita, unconscious, being lifted out by three dwarfs with horribly-shaped heads. They took her into the casa, while he, more dead than alive, waited where he was, anxious only to be paid and to get away.
Then they were overtaken by a troop of mounted Indians, all wearing red ponchos, and led by Oviedo. Huascar was also with them, and ordered Libertad to come into the house. To his surprise, he found there half a dozen women, veiled in black, and guarding the door to another room.
“The mammaconas,” gasped Natividad. “We can have no doubts now.... Speak, Libertad.... Speak, and God may forgive you.”
“Yes, the mammaconas,” said the negro lad, feverishly.... “But I did not know.... God will forgive me.... The señorita, too, will forgive me.... You must save her.... She was so good to me.... And I betrayed her… betrayed her for two hundred silver soles.... They did not know I understood Aimara… they said that Atahualpa would have a beautiful bride.... And they fell on their faces before her when she passed.”
“You saw her, then?” demanded the Marquis, bending low over the prostrate figure at his feet to catch the faint words.
“Yes, I saw her.... She was so good.... And I sold her for two hundred silver soles.”
“Tell us how it happened,” interrupted Natividad. “Was she no longer unconscious?”
“She came out of the room, held up by women in black veils… the three dwarfs were dancing around her.... She seemed to be in a dream… they have terrible poisons and perfumes.... My sweet señorita… wrapped in a gold veil… her face was hidden… only her eyes, staring sightlessly before her.... The mammaconas were all round her… and the dwarfs were dancing. I saw it all, because they had left me alone, and I looked out of the window… they put her on a mule… in front of one of the mammaconas… and the others followed.... Yes, señor, it is true… all these stories you hear in the ranchos.... Quite true… the dwarfs followed, señor.... Oviedo was there… they had prepared everything in this hacienda.... I believe they murdered the owner and all his people....
“Yes, I saw it all.... I did not care then that I had not been paid.... I watched.... And the Red Ponchos carried off my mistress… they are taking her to the Temple of the Sun.... It is the Interaymi.... But you will find them first… You must.... And God will forgive me.”
Libertad closed his eyes and fell back, but seemed to recover his forces with the last flicker of life, and opened them again.
“What happened to you?” asked Natividad. “Was it in trying to save your mistress?…”
Libertad smiled bitterly, and tried to cross himself, but his arm fell nerveless by his side.
“Huascar,” he said. “He came into the room, and when I asked him to pay me, pointed to the two hundred silver soles… they were on the table there.... Not one over.... It was not much for betraying my mistress.... I did not know that was what they wanted.... When I told him so, he asked me what I would have done if I had known.... I answered I would have asked double the amount....”
“What then?”
“Then he drew a knife and came at me.... I ran, but he followed.... He stabbed me once, and I escaped, but he followed.... I ran upstairs.... He stabbed me again and again.... When I fell, he thought I was dead… and I am… I am… dying… oh!… Have mercy!”
Libertad’s last moment had come. The Marquis and Natividad, bending over him, were startled by the shot outside, and rushed downstairs. They found Uncle Francis by the motor, staring down the road. When they asked him where Dick and little Christobal were, he gazed back as if not understanding, and vaguely answered that he was looking for them.
Don Christobal and Natividad, turning to look in the direction the old scientist was staring, suddenly saw two shadows dash across a moonlit stretch of road and vanish in the darkness of a ravine leading into the mountains, and spanned above by the railway bridge. Dick on his horse, little Christobal on his llama, did not even check for an instant at their hail.
Hardly had the hoof-beats died out in the depths of the ravine than the sound of galloping horses came from the right, on the Chorillos road. A moment later, a knot of riders appeared.
IV
Horses!” exclaimed Natividad. “Then we have them. They are probably making for the Cuzco, or some place round Titicaca, But they are bound to pass through Veintemilla’s lines, and we shall catch them at Canete or Pisco.”
As Natividad had surmised, the riders were cavalrymen sent out from Chorillos at his order. They ran toward them, Uncle Francis questioning the Marquis, who did not answer. Indeed, Don Christobal, doubly anxious now that his son had left his side, could not contain himself. Hardly had the troopers dismounted than he swung himself into the nearest saddle, and rode off after Dick.
“Sheer madness,” growled Natividad. “If they ever overhaul the Indians, they are lost.”
“What are we going to do now?” demanded Uncle Francis. Maria-Teresa’s fate moved him deeply, particularly from a literary point of view, but under the circumstances he asked no better than to keep a little in the background.
“We can only follow at a distance,” replied Natividad.
“Excellent… excellent… find out where they are making for, and all that sort of thing.”
“There are still laws, a police force and troops in Peru, señor. We are not afraid of the Indians.”
With which he turned to the four soldiers who had joined them, and who represented what remained of the military force of the costa. Uncle Francis, already delighted with Natividad’s plan of following at a distance, approved of it even more warmly when he found that this little escort was to accompany them.
Three policemen mounted on mules, coming from the direction of Callao, now appeared on the road. Natividad at once requisitioned the mules for his expedition. Before starting, however, he went back into the casa to write a hurried letter to President Veintemilla, explaining what had happened. He did so with a certain malice, remembering that ten years ago this same president had been Chief of Police, and had threatened to suspend him for his “mad reports.”
One of the policemen, entrusted with the letter, started back toward Callao at once. The two others were ordered to take charge at the hacienda and begin a preliminary enquiry. Then Natividad and Uncle Francis mounted two of the commandeered mules, the third being taken by the soldier whose horse had been carried off by Don Christobal. When the soldiers saw that they were heading for the sierra instead of Chorillos, there was a grumble, but Natividad silenced them. “Forward,” he ordered, and they, in their turn, entered the ravine.
“We can, at all events, travel as fast as the mammaconas,” said the Chief of Police to Uncle Francis.
“The mammaconas? Were they here then?” The scientist, intensely interested, urged his mount alongside Natividad’s.
“Yes señor… the mammaconas… and three head priests of the temple… only they may touch the Virgin of the Sun.... señor, for the past fifteen years I have known all this, but they called me a lunatic. Why should we suppose that the Indians have changed? Do they not eat, drink, and get married just as they did five centuries ago? If their outward customs have not changed, why should their secret rites have done so? Why, señor, why?… But nobody will believe me. It all began when I was a young man. I had to investigate a mysterious crime, the only possible explanation for which was a religious one. You must not forget that you are dealing with Incas to this day.... And I got my knuckles rapped.... Five years later, when the Orellana girl disappeared, they treated me in the same way. So I let them give what explanation they liked, and worked on my own. I speak Quichua like a native now, señor. I also learned Aimara, which is their sacred language in the Cuzco and round Titicaca.... That’s where they are making for now; some hidden temple, where their priests have been working since the days of the conquest.”
Uncle Francis looked at his companion suspiciously. Were they all engaged in a huge practical joke at his expense? This Chief of Police was singularly calm under the circumstances; off-handed, almost gay.
“We are sure to catch them, are we not?”
“Of a surety, señor. Dios mio, be content! We will catch them.... How can they possibly escape? We are on their heels; if they stick to the mountains, they run into our troops; if they go down into the costa, every corregidor (mayor) is at my orders.”
There was a moment’s silence, and he went on:—
“Will you not put on that cloak at your saddle-bow, señor? The nights are chilly, and we are nearing the cordilleras.... The only road, you see. They must have passed here. At dawn, we shall be able to see their trail distinctly.... If only those crazy people who dashed on ahead do not make fools of themselves.... A plucky youngster, little Christobal.... We shall soon overhaul them.... One does not climb these mountains as a bull jumps over the barrier at the ring....”
Natividad’s garrulous flow of words was interrupted by a chuckle from Uncle Francis. Not a little astonished, he asked him what he meant, but Mr. Montgomery contented himself with replying:—“I understand, I understand.” Natividad, who did not understand, eyed him doubtfully.
Just before day-break they reached the first masses of the true Andes. Their mounts did not appear over-tired, and after a two-hours’ halt at a wayside guebrada, where beasts and men obtained food, they continued the journey. Over them towered the giant mountain chain, blazing in the molten light of dawn.
The half-breeds at the guebrada could not, or would not, give them any information as to those they followed. That the Indian cavalcade had not stopped there, however, was certain, or larder and loft would have been empty. Natividad, convinced he would get nothing else out of the men, forced them, in the name of “the supreme government,” to exchange two strong mules for two of the horses.
Shortly after they had started again, they came on unmistakable traces of a strong party of horse. Thistles, and the great yellow flower of the amancaes, trampled flat, showed where hoofs had passed.
“We are close on them now, señor,” said Natividad.
Uncle Francis, coughing knowingly, assented in such a detached manner that Natividad began to have serious doubts as to the mental welfare of that illustrious scientist.
Before long, though, he was worrying a great deal more about something else. So far, there had not been a sign anywhere of the Indians’ first pursuers. Uncle Francis, on the other hand, was thoroughly happy, and seemed to be enjoying the scenery.
As they climbed steadily upwards, the road was becoming more and more dangerous, twisting and turning round the mountain-side. Peaks, sky, and precipices; in the blue of the distance, a few mountain goats, all four feet joined together, balancing on some rocky point.
The cold was now intense, and the soldiers grumbled openly. When Natividad reminded them that they were serving “the supreme government,” they let it be inferred that they did not give a tinker’s damn for the supremo gobesnie, but nevertheless followed.
“Are you sure of those men of yours?” asked Uncle Francis.
“As sure as of myself,” replied Natividad, determined to be optimistic.
“What are they? Indians?”
“Quichuas, of course.... Where else would we get soldiers?”
“They do not seem to me to be enthusiastic militarists.”
“A grave error, señor. They are delighted to be soldiers. What else could they be?”
“They are volunteers, then?” questioned the scientist. And to Natividad’s stupefaction, he produced his note-book.
“No, not volunteers, illustrious señor.... We send troops into the Indian villages, and arrest every able-bodied man who has not bolted. Then we enroll them as volunteers.”
“Charming! And you are not afraid that they may turn on you when you have armed them?”
“Not in the least. After the first few days they decide they are so much better off under the colors that they would not go back to their families for anything.... You should see them join in the recruiting afterwards!… They make very good soldiers.... These men are only annoyed at being taken into the mountains; they would die for Veintemilla.”
“So much the better,” concluded Uncle Francis philosophically. And he added, to Natividad’s growing amazement:—“But why insist on their coming with us? We can find those other Indians just as well without their aid.”
Natividad jumped. What kind of a man was this? Then his attention was suddenly drawn to the road again.
“There, over there! They camped there.”
At this point, the mountain path widened to a kind of little plateau, on which were unmistakable traces of a recently-pitched camp. The ashes of the fire had not yet been swept away by the wind, and remains of food littered one corner. Natividad, convinced that he had found the first resting-place of the escort of the Virgin of the Sun, urged on his party.
“It is strange,” he said, “that we should have seen nothing yet of the Marquis, little Christobal, or your nephew.”
“Why worry? We’ll find them all, sooner or later.”
“What?”
“Sooner or later—some day.... Hello, what’s the matter? This beast of mine won’t move. Gee up.”
Calm and collected, quite different from the frightened Mr. Montgomery of the flight from Cajamarca, he urged on his mount, but the mule refused to answer to his heel. Then Natividad, pressing forward to see what was the matter, saw the body of a llama stretched across the narrow path. Dismounting, he lifted its head, examined the nostrils, and then pushed the body over the edge of the ravine.
“Little Christobal’s llama,” he pronounced. “The animal has been ridden to death.... Poor child! I wonder where he is.”
Uncle Francis, busy with his note-book, refused to get excited.
“With my nephew, probably. Even if Dick had left him behind, his father must have come upon him.”
“That is possible, of course,” said Natividad, doubtfully.
“Is this llama-riding common over here?” questioned the scientist, intent on acquiring knowledge.
“No. Children sometimes amuse themselves with it if the llama is willing. Rich people give them to their sons occasionally. Christobal probably had his.”
“I would never have believed a llama capable of going so far, and so fast.”
“No pack-llama could. But that was a good one, trained to carry light weights and travel fast. Probably used to being ridden by children.... I wonder where they found it… Your nephew’s horse, too… in the hacienda stables, I suppose.... A tragedy might have been avoided had they not.”
The little party had ridden on, and now, taking a sharp corner, came suddenly upon Dick and the Marquis, the former on foot, and the latter mounted. Little Christobal was not there.