Randall Parrish - The Strange Case of Cavendish
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Randall Parrish >> The Strange Case of Cavendish
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"It hurts, _senor_," she said, satisfied. "Well, to hurt you a little
is better than what you planned for me. Now lead on. No, listen
first. I know who you are and your power here. That is why we took
this chance of making you prisoner. We are desperate; it is either
your life, or ours, _senor_. You are an outlaw, with a price on your
head, and you realise what chances one will take to escape. Now there
is just one opportunity given you to live."
"What, _senorita_?"
"That you accompany us down this passage into the valley as hostage.
You will compel your men, if we encounter any, to furnish us horses."
"But the men may not obey. I cannot promise; Senor Cateras----"
"Senor Cateras will not be there," she interrupted sharply. "We have
already seen to Senor Cateras. The others will obey you?"
"They may; I cannot promise."
"Then it will be your own loss; for if there be a shot fired, you will
get either a bullet or a knife thrust. I would try no sharp tricks,
Senor Mendez. Now we go on."
Mendez smiled grimly in the dark, his mind busy. He had seen much of
life of a kind and felt no doubt but this young woman would keep her
word. She had become sufficiently desperate to be dangerous, and he
felt no desire to drive her to extremes. Besides he was helpless to
resist, but would watch for opportunity, trusting in luck.
"I am to go first?" and his voice assumed polite deference.
"Beside Mr. Cavendish," she replied, "and I will be behind."
"This gentleman, you mean?"
"Yes; and there is no need for any more acting. This is the revolver
pressing against your back, _senor_. I could scarcely miss you at that
distance."
They advanced in silence, through the faint gleam of light which
illumined the passage through the stone slits over the cell doors.
Only then did Mendez venture to pause, and glance back at his captor.
"Pardon, _senorita_," he said gallantly, "but I would have view of the
first lady who ever took Pasqual Mendez prisoner. The sight robs me of
all displeasure. In truth it is hardly necessary for you to resort to
fire-arms."
"I prefer them," shortly. "Go on!"
The darkness swallowed them again, but the way was clear, and, once
around the sharp turn, a glimmer of distant daylight made advance
easier. There was no sign of any guard visible, nor any movement
perceptible in the open vista beyond the cave entrance. The girl
touched Mendez's arm.
"Wait; I would ask a question, or two first, before we venture further.
I was brought in this way, yet my memory is not clear. There are two
log houses before the cave?"
"Yes," he answered readily, "one somewhat larger than the other--the
men occupy that; the other is for myself and my officers."
"Besides Cateras?"
"No, not at present; at times I have guests. It would be pleasurable
to entertain you, and your friend."
"No doubt. You expect Lacy?"
"You know that also? How did you learn?"
"I heard you talk to the men at the other end. It is true, is it not?"
"I have sent for him; it was yesterday."
"And he could be here now?"
"Not before night; it is a hard ride; why ask all this?"
"I have reasons. Now another thing; where are your men?"
His eyes wandered to the gleam of daylight.
"There will be one or two in the bunk-house likely; the others are with
the cattle up the valley."
"But none in your cabin?"
He shook his head.
"And you say Lacy cannot get here before dark? How late?"
He hesitated over his reply, endeavouring shrewdly to conjecture what
could be the object of all this questioning, yet finally concluding
that the truth would make very little difference.
"Well, _senorita_, I may as well tell you, I suppose. It is the rule
not to enter this valley until after dark. I expect the Americanos to
arrive about ten o'clock."
"The Americanos?"
"_Si_, there will be three in the party, one of them a man from New
York, who has business with me."
Miss Donovan's decision was rapidly made, her mind instantly grasping
the situation. This man would be Enright, and the business he had with
Mendez concerned Cavendish, and possibly herself also. She glanced
again into the stern, hawklike face of the Mexican, recognising its
lines of relentless cruelty, the complete absence of any sense of
mercy. His piercing eyes and thin lips gave evidence enough that he
was open to any bargain if the reward should be commensurate with the
risk. The man's age, and grey hair, only served to render more
noticeable his real character--he was a human tiger, held now in
restraint, but only waiting a chance to break his chains, and sink
teeth in any victim. The very sight of him sent a shudder through her
body, even as it stiffened her purpose.
Her clear, thoughtful eyes turned inquiringly toward Cavendish, but the
survey brought with it no encouragement. The man meant well, no doubt,
and would fight valiantly on occasion; he was no coward, no
weakling--equally clear his was not the stuff from which leaders are
made. There was uncertainty in his eyes, a lack of force in his face
which told the story. Whatever was decided upon, or accomplished, must
be by her volition; she could trust him to obey, but that was all. Her
body straightened into new resolve, all her womanhood called to the
front by this emergency.
"Then we will make no attempt to leave the valley until after dark,"
she said slowly. "Even if we got away now, we would be pursued, and
overtaken, for the desert offers few chances for concealment. If we
can reach that smaller cabin unseen we ought to be safe enough there
for hours. Cateras will not bother, and with Mendez captive, his men
will not learn what has occurred. Is not this our best plan, Mr.
Cavendish?"
"And at night?"
"We must work some scheme to get horses, and depart before those others
reach here. There will be plenty of time between dark and ten o'clock.
If we leave this man securely bound, his plight will not even be
discovered until Lacy arrives. By that time, with any good fortune, we
will be beyond pursuit, lost in the desert. Do you think of anything
better?"
That he did not was evidenced by the vacant look in his eyes, and she
waited for no answer.
"Here," she said, thrusting the revolver into his hand, "take this, and
guard Mendez until I return. It will only be a moment. Don't take
your eyes off him; there must be no alarm."
She moved forward through the gloomy shadows toward the light showing
at the mouth of the cave. The rocks here were in their natural state,
exactly as left by the forces which had originally disrupted them, the
cavern's mouth much wider than the tunnel piercing the hill, and
somewhat obstructed by ridges of stone.
Sheltered by these Stella crept to the very edge of the opening, and
was able to gain a comprehensive view of the entire scene beyond.
Within the cave itself there was no movement, no evidence of life.
Quite clearly no guard had been posted here, and no precautions taken,
although doubtless the only entrance to the deep valley was carefully
watched.
A glance without convinced her that no other guardianship was necessary
to assure safety. The valley lay before her, almost a level plain,
except for the stream winding through its centre, and all about,
unbroken and precipitous, arose the rampart of rocks, which seemed
unscalable.
She rested there long enough to trace this barrier inch by inch in its
complete circle, but found no opening, no cleft, promising a possible
exit, except where the trail led up almost directly opposite, and only
memory of her descent enabled her to recognise this. Satisfied that
the top could be attained in no other way, her eyes sought the things
of more immediate interest. The two cabins were directly before the
entrance, the smaller closely in against the cliff, the larger slightly
advanced. Neither exhibited any sign of life; indeed the only evidence
that the valley contained human occupants was the distant view of two
herders, busily engaged in rounding up a bunch of cattle on the
opposite bank of the stream. These were too far away, and too intently
engaged at their task, to observe any movement at this distance.
Her study of the situation concentrated on the small cabin immediately
in front. It was low, a scant story in height, but slightly elevated
from the ground, leaving a vacant space beneath. It was built of logs,
well mortised together, and plastered between with clay. The roof
sloped barely enough to shed water, and there were no windows on the
end toward the cliff, or along the one side which she could see from
where she lay. The single door must open from the front, and
apparently the house had been erected with the thought that it might
some time be used for purposes of defence, as it had almost the
appearance of a fort. The larger building was not entirely unlike this
in general design, except that small openings had been cut in the log
walls, and a rude chimney arose through the roof. Both appeared
deserted. Confident there could be no better time for the venture,
Stella signalled with her hand for the others to join her.
They advanced slowly, Cavendish holding the revolver at the Mexican's
head, the latter grinning savagely, his dark eyes never still. Bitter
hate, desperate resolve, marked his every action, although he sought to
appear indifferent. The girl's lips were compressed, and her eyes met
his firmly.
"The way is clear," she said, "and, listen to my warning, _senor_. We
are going straight along the north side of your cabin there, until we
reach the door. For about twenty feet we shall be exposed to view from
that other cabin, if any of your men are there. If you dare utter a
sound, or make a motion, this man will shoot you dead in your
tracks--do you understand?"
His look was ugly enough, although he compelled the thin lips to smile.
"Quite clearly--yes; but pardon me if I doubt. You might kill me; I
think that, yet how would it serve you? One shot fired would bring
here a dozen men--then what?"
"I thank you, _senor_; there will be no shot fired. Give me the
revolver, Mr. Cavendish; now take this knife. As we advance walk one
step behind Mendez. You will know what to do. Now, _senor_, if you
wish to try an experiment--we go now."
There was not a sound, not a word. Not unlike three shadows they
crossed the open space, and found shelter behind the walls of the hut.
The girl never removed her eyes from the other cabin, and Cavendish, a
step behind his prisoner, poised for a quick blow, the steel blade
glittering in uplifted hand, saw nothing but the back of the man before
him. The latter shrugged his shoulders and marched forward, his eyes
alone evidencing the passion raging within.
Without pausing they reached the door, which stood slightly ajar.
Stella pushed it open, took one swift glance within and stepped aside.
The other two entered, and she instantly followed, closing the door,
and securing it with a stout wooden bar. Her face was white, marked by
nervous emotion, her eyes bright and fearless. With one swift glance
she visioned the interior; there were two rooms, both small, divided by
a solid log partition, pierced by a narrow door-way.
The back room was dark, seemingly without windows, but this in which
they stood had an opening to the right, letting in the sunlight. It
was a mere slash in the logs, unframed, and could be closed by a heavy
wooden shutter. She stepped across and glanced out. The view revealed
included a large portion of the valley, and the entrance to the other
cabin. There was no excitement, no evidence of any alarm--their
crossing from the mouth of the cave had escaped observation. Thus far
at least they were safe.
Her heart beat faster as she turned away, satisfied with the success of
her plan. Nothing remained now but to secure Mendez, to make it
impossible for him to raise an alarm. If he could be bound, and locked
into that rear room. She looked at the two men--the Mexican had
slouched down into a chair, apparently having abandoned all hope of
escape, his chin lowered on his breast, his eyes hidden beneath the
wide brim of his hat. He was a perfect picture of depression, but
Cavendish appeared alert enough, the deadly knife still gripped in his
hand, a motionless, threatening figure. Feeling no trepidation, she
crossed toward the other room, noting as she passed that Mendez lifted
his head to observe her movements. She paused at the door, turning
suspiciously, but the man had already seemingly lost interest, and his
head again drooped. She stepped within.
CHAPTER XXVIII: WITH BACK TO THE WALL
It was dingy dark once she had crossed the threshold, yet enough of
light flickered in through the doorway to enable her to perceive the
few articles of furniture. The room itself was a small one, but
contained a roughly constructed wooden bed, two stools, and a square
table of unplaned boards. A strip of rag carpet covered a portion of
the floor, and there was a sort of cupboard in one corner, the door of
which stood open, revealing a variety of parcels, littering the
shelves. Against the wall in a corner leaned a short-barrelled gun, a
canvas bag draped over its muzzle.
She had no opportunity to observe more. To her ears there came the
sound of a blow in the room she had just left, a groan, the dull thud
of a body striking the floor, accompanied by a Spanish oath, and a
shuffling of feet. She sprang back into the open doorway, startled,
certain only of some catastrophe, her fingers gripping hard on the
revolver.
Cavendish lay writhing on the floor, the chair overturned beside him,
and the Mexican, with one swift leap forward, cleared the body, and
reached the window. Even as she caught this movement, too dazed for
the instant to act, the injured man struggled up on one elbow, and,
with all the force he possessed, hurled the knife straight at the
fleeing figure. It flashed through the air, a savage gleam of steel,
barely missing Mendez's shoulder, and buried itself in a log, quivering
from the force of impact. With a yell of derision, his hands still
bound, the desperate fugitive cast himself head-first through the
opening. Without aim, scarcely aware of what she did, the girl flung
up her weapon and fired. With revolver yet smoking she rushed forward
to look without. Rolling over and over on the ground, his face covered
with blood, Mendez was seeking to round the corner of the cabin, to get
beyond range. Again she pulled the trigger, the powder smoke blowing
back into her face, and blinding her. When she could see once more, he
was gone, but men were leaping out through the door of the bunk-house,
shouting in excitement.
One of these caught sight of her, and fired, the bullet chugging into
the end of a log, so closely it caught a strand of her hair, but,
before another shot could follow, she had seized the shutter, and
closed the opening, driving the latch fast with the revolver butt. She
was cool enough now, every nerve on edge, realising fully the danger of
their position. All the blood of a fighting race surged through her
veins, and she was conscious of no fear, only of a wild exultation, a
strange desire to win. As she turned she faced Cavendish, only vaguely
visible in the twilight caused by the closed window. He was still
seated on the floor, his expression betraying bewilderment.
"Are you hurt?"
"No--not--not much. He knocked all the wind out of me. I--I'm all
right now."
"Get up then! There's fighting enough ahead to make you forget that.
What happened?"
"He--he kicked me, I guess. I--I don't exactly know. I heard you go
past us into that other room, and--and just turned my head to see. The
next I knew I was on the floor, so damned sick--I beg your pardon--I
thought I was going to faint. Did I get him with the knife?"
"No, it's over there, and I am afraid I didn't touch him either; it was
all so sudden I got no aim. Do you hear those voices? There must be a
dozen of the band outside already."
He looked up at her, his glance almost vacant, and she could but
perceive how his chin shook.
"What shall we do?"
"Do!" she gripped his shoulder. "Are you a man and ask that? We will
fight! Did you imagine I would ever surrender myself into the hands of
that devil, after what has happened? I would rather die; yes, I will
die before he ever puts hand on me. And what about you, Mr. Cavendish?
Are you going to lie there moping? Answer me--I thought you were a
man--a gentleman."
The words were like a blow in his face, and under their sting he
staggered to his feet; scarlet blazed in both his cheeks.
"You have no right to say that to me," he said angrily. "I'm not that
kind."
"I know it," she admitted, "but you lose your nerve; this isn't your
game. Well, it isn't mine either, for the matter of that.
Nevertheless it has got to be played, and we're going to play it
together. Those fellows will be at that door presently--just so soon
as Mendez tells them who are inside here. They'll try us once, and, if
we can beat them back, that will give us a breathing spell."
She paused, glancing swiftly about, listening to the increasing hubbub
without.
"There is no other way they can break in except through this door,
unless, perhaps, they smash that shutter. Two of us ought to hold them
for some time."
"But we have only one weapon--that knife is no use."
"There is a sawed-off shotgun back yonder; go get it, and hunt for some
cartridges. They may be in the cupboard--quick now; that's Mendez's
voice, and he'll be savage."
There was a shouting of commands without in Spanish, punctuated by
oaths, the meaning of which the girl alone understood. She leaned
forward, her eyes on the door, the cocked revolver held ready. She had
meant what she said to Cavendish; to her mind death was far preferable
to any surrender to that infuriated Mexican; she expected death, but
one hope yet buoyed her up--Westcott. Odd that any memory of him
should have come to her at that moment--yet it did; as though he spoke,
and bade her believe in his coming. She had thought of him before,
often in the past two days, but now he was real, tangible; she could
almost feel the strong grip of his hand, and hear the sound of his
voice. It was exactly as though the man called to her, and she
responded. A dream, or what, it brought her courage, hope.
He would come; she had faith in that--and he would find she had fought
to the end, even if he came too late. She buried her face in her
hands, stifling a sob that shook her body, yet when she lifted the head
again, there was no glimmer of tears in her eyes, and her cheeks were
crimson. She waited motionless, scarcely seeming to breathe--the
statue of a woman at bay.
All this was but for a moment, a moment of swift thought, of equally
swift decision. The next Cavendish stood beside her, grasping the
shotgun, no longer a victim of weakness, his eyes meeting hers eagerly.
"I could only find twelve cartridges," he exclaimed, "but I know how to
use those."
He took a step forward, and held out his hand.
"Forgive me, Miss Donovan," he pleaded. "Really I do not know what
makes me like that, but you would make a man out of anybody."
Her firm, slim fingers met his eagerly, her eyes instantly glowing in
appreciation.
"Of course I forgive you," she exclaimed. "Your fear is no greater
than my own. I am a woman, and dread this sort of thing. All that
gives me courage is the knowledge that death is preferable to
dishonour," her voice lost its firmness, "and--and my faith in a man."
"You mean in possible rescue?"
Her eyes lifted to his face.
"Yes, Mr. Cavendish. It may prove all imagination, yet there is one--a
real man, I am sure--who must know of my plight before this. If he
does, and lives, he will come to me. If we can only defend ourselves
long enough there will be rescue."
He hesitated, yet something told him this was no time to fear asking
all.
"Surely you are not married? Of course not; then he----"
"Is merely a friend; no, there has been no other word spoken between
us, yet," her voice trembling slightly, "there are secrets a woman
knows instinctively without speech. I know this man cares--enough to
come. Isn't that strange, Mr. Cavendish, when we have only met three
times?"
"No," he said gallantly, "not to any one who has known you. I believe
you might even trust me. Where is this man?"
"In Haskell; but please do not ask any more--there! They are coming."
A blow struck the outer door, and was repeated, evidently dealt by the
butt of a gun; then the two, standing silent and almost breathless
within, heard Mendez's voice. There was no mistaking his slow,
carefully chosen English.
"_Senorita_, and you also, Senor Cavendish," he called his words
intended to be conciliatory. "It is of no use that you resist. We are
many and armed. If you surrender, and not fight, I pledge you
protection."
The girl glanced at Cavendish.
"You answer him."
He stepped closer to the door.
"Protection from whom?" he asked briefly.
"From my men; I am Pasqual Mendez."
"But you propose holding us prisoners? You intend delivering us up to
the man Lacy as soon as he arrives?"
"Yes," he admitted, "but I hold no animosity--none. The _senorita_
need not fear. I will intercede for you both with the Senor Lacy, and
he will listen to what I say. You may trust me, if you unbar the door."
"And if we refuse?"
"We shall break in, and there will be no promise. I ask you now for
the last time."
Cavendish turned his head slightly to regard his companion.
"What shall I say?" he whispered.
"The man lies; he will keep no promise once we are in his power.
Besides they have not yet found Cateras. When they do there will be no
thought of mercy."
"Then we fight it out?"
"I shall; I will never give myself into the hands of that creature."
"Senor," and Cavendish stepped aside to the protection of the logs, "we
will not surrender. That is our answer."
"Fools!" he called back, his voice rising harsh above the growling of
others. "We will show you. Silva, Felipe, quick now; do what I told
you. We will teach these Americano dogs a lesson. No, stand back!
Wait until I speak the word."'
A faint glimmer of light through one of the log crevices caught
Cavendish's attention, and he bent down, his eye to the crack, one hand
grasping the barrel of his gun. Stella watched him motionless and
silent, her face again pale from strain. A moment he stared out,
without speaking, the only noise the movement of men beyond the log
walls, and the occasional sound of a voice in Spanish.
"I can count about a dozen out there," he said finally, his words
barely audible, and his eye still at the slight opening. "All Mexican
except two--they look American. Most of them are armed. You must have
pricked Mendez, for he has one arm in a sling, and the cloth shows
bloody. Ah! Wait! The fellows have searched the cells and discovered
Cateras. Do you hear that yell? It will be a fight to a finish now.
Here come two men with a log--that's their game then; they mean to
smash in the door."
He straightened up, casting a swift glance about the apartment. All
hesitancy, doubt, had left him, now that the supreme test had come. He
was again capable of thinking clearly, and acting.
"Miss Donovan," he burst out, "we can never hope to hold back those men
here--in this room. There must be fifteen of them, and our ammunition
is scanty. We shall be in bright light as soon as the door is battered
down, and then, if they crush in the window also, we shall surely be
attacked from two sides."
"What will be better?" she asked.
"The back room; it is dark, with no windows, and there are strips
nailed between the logs. We can force that heavy wooden bed across the
door, and hide behind it. We ought to hold them there as long as our
cartridges last, unless they set the cabin afire. Good God! They have
begun already. Three more blows like that and the door goes down.
Come; it's our only chance."
It was the work of a moment; it had to be. The inner room was so dark
they had to feel their way about blindly, yet those splintering crashes
on the outer door, interspersed by the shouts of the men, spurred both
to hurried effort. Nor was there much to be done. The heavy bed was
thrown upon its side, and hauled and pushed forward until it rested
against the door jambs, the mattress and blankets so caught and held as
to form protection against bullets. Breathless the two sank to their
knees in the darkness behind, their eyes on the brightening daylight of
the room beyond. Already a hole had been stove through the upper panel
of the door, the surrounding wood splintered. Some one fired once
through the jagged opening, and an exultant yell followed from without.
"No firing!" the voice was Mendez's rising sharply above the other
sounds. "I don't want the girl shot, you fools. Take that other log
around to the window. They'll surrender fast enough once we're inside.
Now, another one. Here, five of you swing her!"
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