Part 10 (1/2)
”She is arrested.”
”Arrested!” said Eleanor Keene, her cheeks aflame with indignation. ”For what? Who dare do this thing?”
”The Comandante. She has a missive--a despatch from the insurrectionaries.”
Without another word, and feeling that she could stand the suspense no longer, Miss Keene forced her way past the young girls, unheeding their cries of consternation and apology, and quickly reached the patio.
A single glance showed her that Mrs. Brimmer was gone. With eyes and cheeks still burning, she swept past the astounded peons, through the gateway, into the open plaza. Only one idea filled her mind--to see the Commander, and demand the release of her friend. How she should do it, with what arguments she should enforce her demand, never occurred to her. She did not even think of asking the a.s.sistance of Mr. Brace, Mr.
Crosby, or any of her fellow-pa.s.sengers. The consciousness of some vague crisis that she alone could meet possessed her completely.
The plaza was swarming with a strange rabble of peons and soldiery; of dark, lowering faces, odd-looking weapons and costumes, mules, mustangs, and cattle--a heterogeneous ma.s.s, swayed by some fierce excitement. That she saw none of the Excelsior party among them did not surprise her; an instinct of some catastrophe more serious than Mrs. Brimmer's vague imaginings frightened but exalted her. With head erect, leveled brows, and bright, determined eyes she walked deliberately into the square.
The crowd parted and gave way before this beautiful girl, with her bared head and its invincible crest of chestnut curls. Presently they began to follow her, with a compressed murmur of admiration, until, before she was halfway across the plaza, the sentries beside the gateway of the Presidio were astonished at the vision of a fair-haired and triumphant Pallas, who appeared to be leading the entire population of Todos Santos to victorious attack. In vain a solitary bugle blew, in vain the rolling drum beat an alarm, the sympathetic guard only presented arms as Miss Keene, flushed and excited, her eyes darkly humid with gratified pride, swept past them into the actual presence of the bewildered and indignant Comandante.
The only feminine consciousness she retained was that she was more relieved at her deliverance from the wild cattle and unbroken horses of her progress than from the Indians and soldiers.
”I want to see Mrs. Markham, and to know by what authority she is arrested,” said Miss Keene boldly.
”The Senor Comandante can hold no conference with you until you disperse your party,” interpreted the secretary.
She was about to hurriedly reply that she knew nothing of the crowd that had accompanied her; but she was withheld by a newly-born instinct of tact.
”How do I know that I shall not be arrested, like my friend?” she said quickly. ”She is as innocent as myself.”
”The Comandante pledges himself, as a hidalgo, that you shall not be harmed.”
Her first impulse was to advance to the nearest intruders at the gate and say, ”Do go away, please;” but she was doubtful of its efficiency, and was already too exalted by the situation to be satisfied with its prosaic weakness. But her newly developed diplomacy again came to her aid. ”You may tell them so, if you choose, I cannot answer for them,”
she said, with apparent dark significance.
The secretary advanced on the corridor and exchanged a few words with her more impulsive followers. Miss Keene, G.o.ddess-like and beautiful, remained erect behind him, and sent them a dazzling smile and ravis.h.i.+ng wave of her little hand. The crowd roared with an effusive and bovine delight that half frightened her, and with a dozen ”Viva la Reyna Americanas!” she was hurried by the Comandante into the guard-room.
”You ask to know of what the Senora Markham is accused,” said the Commander, more gently. ”She has received correspondence from the pirate--Perkins!”
”The pirate--Perkins?” said Miss Keene, with indignant incredulity.
”The buccaneer who wrote that letter. Read it to her, Manuel.”
The secretary took his eyes from the young girl's glowing face, coughed slightly, and then read as follows:--
”ON BOARD THE EXCELSIOR, of the Quinquinambo Independent States Navy, August 8, 1854.
”To Captain Bunker.--Sir,” . . .
”But this is not addressed to YOU!” interrupted Miss Keene indignantly.
”The Captain Bunker is a raving madman,” said the Commander gravely.
”Read on!”
The color gradually faded from the young girl's cheek as the secretary continued, in a monotonous voice:--