Part 37 (1/2)
Diaz, unknown to the family, and therefore without fear of his voice being recognised, is to do the talking.
No one answers the knock; and it is repeated. Louder, and still louder.
The s.e.xagenarian janitor sleeps soundly to-night, thinks De Lara, deeming it strange.
Another ”rat-at-tat” with the pistol-b.u.t.t, followed by the usual formulary:
”_Ambre la puerta_!”
At length comes a response from within; but not the customary ”_Quen es_?” nor anything in Spanish. On the contrary, the speech which salutes the ears of those seeking admission is in a different tongue, and tone altogether unlike that of a native Californian.
”Who the old scratch are ye?” asks a voice from inside, while a heavy footstep is heard coming along the _saguan_. Before the startled burglars can shape a reply, the voice continues:
”d.a.m.n ye! What d'ye want anyhow--wakin' a fellur out o' his sleep at this time o' the night? 'Twould sarve ye right if I sent a bullet through the door at ye. Take care what you're about. I've got my shootin'-iron handy; a Colt's revolver--biggest size at thet.”
”_Por Dios_! what does this mean?” mutters De Lara.
”Tell him, Diaz,” he adds, in _sotto-voce_ to the c.o.c.kfighter--”tell him we're from the British man-o'-war with--_Carrai_! I forgot, you don't speak English. I must do it myself. _He_ won't know who it is.” Then raising his voice: ”We want to see Don Gregorio Montijo. We bring a message from the British man-o'-war--from the two officers.”
”Consarn the British man-o'-war!” interrupts the surly speaker inside; ”an' yur message, an' yur two officers, I know nothin' 'bout them. As for Don Gregorio, if ye want to get sight on him, ye're a preeshus way wide o' the mark. He ain't here any more. He's gin up the house, an'
tuk everything o' hisn out o't this mornin'. I'm only hyar in charge o'
the place. Guess you'll find both the Don an' his darters at the _Parker_--the most likeliest place to tree thet lot.”
Don Gregorio gone!--his gold--his girls! Only an empty house, in charge of a caretaker, who carries a Colt's repeating pistol, biggest size, and would use it on the smallest provocation!
No good their going inside now, but a deal of danger. Anything but pleasant medicine would be a pill from that six-shooter.
”_Carramba! Caraio! Chingara! Maldita_!”
Such are the wild exclamations that issue from the lips of the disappointed housebreakers, as they turn away from the dismantled dwelling, and hasten to regain their horses.
CHAPTER FORTY FIVE.
A SCRATCH CREW.
It was a fortunate inspiration that led the ex-haciendado to have his gold secretly carried on board the Chilian s.h.i.+p; another, that influenced him to transfer his family, and household G.o.ds, to an hotel in the town.
It was all done in a day--that same day. Every hour, after the sailing of the _Crusader_, had he become more anxious; for every hour brought intelligence of some new act of outlawry in the neighbourhood, impressing him with the insecurity, not only of his Penates, but the lives of himself and his ladies. So long as the British s.h.i.+p lay in port, it seemed a protection to him; and although this may have been but fancy, it served somewhat to tranquillise his fears. Soon as she was gone, he gave way to them, summoned Silvestre, with a numerous retinue of _cargadores_, and swept the house clean of everything he intended taking--the furniture alone being left, as part of the purchased effects.
He has indeed reason to congratulate himself on his rapid removal, as he finds on the following day, when visiting his old home for some trifling purpose, and there hearing what had happened during the night.
The man in charge--a stalwart American, armed to the teeth--gives him a full account of the nocturnal visitors. There were four, he says-- having counted them through the keyhole--inquiring for him, Don Gregorio. They appeared greatly disappointed at not getting an interview with him; and went off uttering adjurations in Spanish, though having held their parley in English.
A message from the British man-of-war! And brought by men who swore in Spanis.h.!.+ Strange all that, thinks Don Gregorio, knowing the _Crusader_ should then be at least a hundred leagues off at sea.
Besides, the messengers have not presented themselves at the _Parker House_, to which the caretaker had directed them.
”What can it mean?” asks the ex-haciendado of himself.