The Curse of Capistrano by Harrington Strong (story read aloud TXT) 📕
- Author: Harrington Strong
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“We’d run you down in short order and stretch a rope with your weight,” Sergeant Gonzales told him. “Did you help his excellency’s soldiers more, perhaps his excellency would treat you with more consideration.”
“I give aid to no spawn of the devil,” Fray Felipe said.
“Ha! Now you grow angry, and that is against your principles. Is it not the part of a robed fray to receive what comes his way and give thanks for it, no matter how much it chokes him? Answer me that, angry one.”
“You have about as much knowledge of a Franciscan’s principles and duties as has the horse you ride.”
“I ride a wise horse, a noble animal. He comes when I call and gallops when I command. Do not deride him until you ride him. Ha! An excellent jest.”
“Imbecile!”
“Meal mush and goat’s milk!” said Sergeant Gonzales.
THE TWO TROOPERS CAME BACK INTO the room. They had searched the house well, they reported, invading every corner of it, and no trace had been found of any person other than Fray Felipe’s native servants, all of whom were too terrified to utter a falsehood, and had said they had seen nobody around the place who did not belong there.
“Ha! Hidden away well, no doubt!” Gonzales said. “Fray, what is that in the corner of the room?”
“Bales of hides,” Fray Felipe replied. “I have been noticing it from time to time. The dealer from San Gabriel must have been right when he said the hides he purchased of you were n6t properly cured. Are those?”
“I think you will find them so.”
“Then why did they move?” Sergeant Gonzales asked. “Three times I saw the corner of a bale move. Soldiers, search there.”
Fray Felipe sprang to his feet.
“Enough of this nonsense,” he cried. “You have searched and found nothing. Search the barns next and then go! At least let me be master in my own house. You have disturbed my rest enough as it is.”
“You will take a solemn oath, fray, that there is nothing alive behind those bales of hides?” Fray Felipe hesitated, and Sergeant Gonzales grinned. “Not ready to forswear yourself, eh?” the sergeant asked. “I had a thought you would hesitate at that, my robed Franciscan. Soldiers, search the bales.”
The two men started toward the corner. But they had not covered one half the distance when Senorita Lolita Pulido stood up behind the bales of hides and faced them.
“Ha! Unearthed at last!” Gonzales cried. “Here is the package Senor Zorro left in the fray’s keeping! And a pretty package it is! Back to carcel she goes, and this escape will but make her final sentence the greater!”
But there was Pulido blood in the senorita’s veins, and Gonzales had not taken that into account. Now the senorita stepped to the end of the pile of hides, so that light from the candelero struck full upon her.
“One moment, senores,” she said.
One hand came from behind her back, and in it she held a long, keen knife such as sheep skinners used. She put the point of the knife against her breast, and regarded them bravely.
“Senorita Lolita Pulido does not return to the foul carcel now or at any time, senores,” she said. “Rather would she plunge this knife into her heart, and so die as a woman of good blood should. If his excellency wishes for a dead prisoner, he may have one.”
Sergeant Gonzales uttered an exclamation of annoyance. He did not doubt that the senorita would do as she had threatened, if the men made an attempt to seize her. And while he might have ordered the attempt in the case of an ordinary prisoner, he did not feel sure that the governor would say he had done right if he ordered it now. After all, Senorita Pulido was the daughter of a don, and her self-inflicted death might cause trouble for his excellency. It might prove the spark to the powder magazine.
“Senorita, the person who takes his or her own life risks eternal damnation,” the sergeant said. “Ask this fray if it is not so. You are only under arrest, not convicted and sentenced. If you are innocent, no doubt you soon will be set at liberty.”
“It is no time for lying speeches, Senor,” the girl replied. “I realize the circumstances only too well, I have said that I will not return to carcel, and I meant it—and mean it now. One step toward me, and I take my own hie.”
“Senorita—” Fray Felipe began.
“It is useless for you to attempt to prevent me, good fray,” she interrupted. “I have pride left me, thank the saints. His excellency gets only my dead body, if he gets me at all.”
“Here is a pretty mess,” Sergeant Gonzales exclaimed. “I suppose there is nothing for us to do except retire and leave the senorita to her freedom.”
“Ah, no, senor!” she cried quickly. “You are clever, but not clever enough by far. You would retire and continue to have your men surround the house? You would watch for an opportunity, and then seize me?”
Gonzales growled low in his throat, for that had been his intention, and the girl had read it.
“I shall be the one to leave,” she said. “Walk backward, and stand against the wall, senores. Do it immediately, or I plunge this knife into my bosom.”
They could do nothing except obey. The soldiers looked to the sergeant for instructions, and the sergeant was afraid to risk the senorita’s death, knowing it would call down upon his head the wrath of the governor, who would say that he had bungled.
Perhaps, after all, it would be better to let the girl leave the house. She might be captured afterward, for surely a girl could not escape the troopers.
She watched them closely as she darted across the room to the door. The knife was still held at her breast.
“Fray Felipe, you wash to go with me?” she asked. “You may be punished if you remain.”
“Yet I must remain, senorita. I could not run away. May the saints protect you!”
She faced Gonzales and the soldiers once more.
“I am going through this door,” she said. “You will remain in this room. There are troopers outside, of course, and they will try to stop me. I shall tell them that I have your permission to leave. If they call and ask you, you are to say that it is so.”
“And if I do not?”
“Then I use the knife, senor.”
She opened the door, turned her head for an instant and glanced out.
“I trust that your horse is an excellent one, senor, for I intend to use it,” she told the sergeant.
She darted suddenly through the door, and slammed it shut behind her.
“After her!” Gonzales cried. “I looked into her eyes! She will not use the knife—she fears it!”
He hurled himself across the room, the two soldiers with him. But Fray Felipe had been passive long enough. He went into action now. He did not stop to consider the consequences. He threw out one leg, and tripped Sergeant Gonzales. The two troopers crashed into him, and all went to the floor in a tangle.
Fray Felipe had gained some time for her, and it had been enough. For the senorita had rushed to the horse and had jumped into the saddle. She could ride like a native. Her tiny feet did not reach halfway to the sergeant’s stirrups, but she thought nothing of that.
She wheeled the horse’s head, kicked at his sides as a trooper rushed around the corner of the house. A pistol ball whistled past her head. She bent lower over the horse’s neck and rode.
Now a cursing Sergeant Gonzales was on the veranda, shouting for his men to get to horse and follow her. The moon was behind a bank of clouds again. They could not tell the direction the senorita was taking except by listening for the sounds of the horse’s hoofs. And they had to stop to do that —and if they stopped they lost time and distance.
SENOR ZORRO STOOD LIKE a statue in the native’s hut, one hand grasping his horse’s muzzle. The native crouched at his side.
Down the highway came the drumming of horses’ hoofs. Then the pursuit swept by, the men calling to one another and cursing the darkness, and rushed down the valley.
Senor Zorro opened the door and glanced out, listened for a moment, and then led out his horse. He tendered the native a coin.
“Not from you, senor,” the native said.
“Take it. You have need of it, and I have not,” the highwayman said.
He vaulted into the saddle and turned his horse up the steep slope of the hill behind the hut. The animal made little noise as it climbed to the summit. Senor Zorro descended into the depression on the other side, and came to a narrow trail, and along this he rode at a slow gallop, stopping his mount now and then to listen for sounds of other horsemen who might be abroad.
He rode toward Reina de Los Angeles, but he appeared to be in no hurry about arriving at the pueblo. Senor Zorro had another adventure planned for this night, and it had to be accomplished at a certain time and under certain conditions.
It was two hours later when he came to the crest of the hill above the town: He sat quietly in the saddle for some time, regarding the scene. The moonlight was fitful now, but now and then he could make out the plaza.
He saw no troopers, heard nothing of them, decided that they had ridden back in pursuit of him, and that those who had been sent in pursuit of Don Carlos and the Dona Catalina had not yet returned. In the tavern there were lights, and in the presidio, and in the house where his excellency was a guest.
Senor Zorro waited until it was dark and then urged his horse forward slowly, but off the main highway. He circled the pueblo, and in time approached the presidio from the rear.
He dismounted now and led his horse, going forward slowly, often stopping to listen, for this was a very ticklish business and might end in disaster if a mistake were made.
He stopped the horse behind the presidio where the wall of the building would cast a shadow if the moon came from behind the clouds again, and went forward cautiously, following the wall as he had done on that other night.
When he came to the office window, he peered inside. Captain Ramon was there alone, looking over some reports spread on the table before him, evidently awaiting the return of his men.
Senor Zorro crept to the corner of the building and found there was no guard. He had guessed and hoped that the comandante had sent every available man to die chase, but he knew that he would have to act quickly, for some of the troopers might return.
He slipped through the door and crossed the big lounging-room, and so came to the door of the office. His pistol was in his hand, and could a man have seen behind the mask, he would have observed that Senor Zorro’s lips were crushed in a thin, straight line of determination.
As upon that other night, Captain Ramon whirled around in his chair when he heard the door open behind him,
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