Part 1 (2/2)

Half an hour had perhaps pa.s.sed, and I was turning from the gate, when two hors.e.m.e.n dashed up at full speed. One was Joseph Craig, or Jose as the Spaniards called him, and my feeling of uneasiness returned as I noticed that his face, too, wore a strange and startled look.

Jose, as I have said, was my father's servant; but we all regarded him more as a friend, and treated him as one of ourselves. He was a well-built man of medium height, with good features and keen gray eyes.

He spoke English and Spanish fluently, and could make himself understood in several Indian dialects. He kept the accounts of the estate, and might easily have obtained a more lucrative situation in any counting-house in Callao. He excelled, too, in outdoor sports, and had taught me to fence, to shoot, and to ride straight.

The second man I did not know. He seemed to be an Indian of the mountains, and was of gigantic stature. His dress was altogether different from that of the Spaniards, and in his cap he wore a plume of feathers. His face was scarred by more than one sword-cut, his brows were lowering, and his ma.s.sive jaw told of great animal strength.

Jose's horse had galloped fast, but the one ridden by the stranger was flaked with foam.

Antonio would have opened the big gate without question: but I, thinking of Rosa, forbade him, saying to Jose in English, ”Does he mean harm to the girl?”

You see, my head was full of the one idea, and I could think of nothing else. I imagined that Rosa had run away from some peril, and that this man with the savage face and cruel eyes had tracked her to our gate.

So I put the question to Jose, who looked at me wonderingly.

”The girl?” he repeated slowly; ”what girl?”

”Rosa Montilla,” I answered.

We spoke in English; but at the mention of Rosa's name the mountaineer scowled savagely, and leaned forward as if to take part in the conversation.

”The man has come from the mountains with a message for your mother,”

said Jose; ”I met him at the entrance to the park. But if Rosa Montilla is here, the news is known already.”

His face was very pale, and he spoke haltingly, as if his words were burdensome, and there was a look in his eyes which I had never seen before.

I motioned to Antonio, and the two pa.s.sed through. What message did they bring? What news could link dainty little Rosa with this wild outlaw of the hills?

Jose jumped to the ground and walked with me, laying a hand on my shoulder. Until then I had no thought of the truth, but the touch of his fingers sent a s.h.i.+ver of fear through me, and I looked at his face in alarm.

”What is it, Jose?” I asked; ”what has happened? Why did Rosa steal here alone and sob in my mother's arms as if her heart would break?”

”The little maid has heard bad news,” he answered quietly, ”though how I do not know.”

”And as she had no mother, she came to mine for comfort,” I said. ”It was a happy thought: mother will make her forget her trouble.”

Jose stopped, and looked searchingly in my face.

”Poor boy!” he said. ”You have no idea of the truth, and how can I tell you? The little maid did not weep for her own sorrow, but for yours and your mother's.”

At that I understood without further words, though I was to learn more soon. The reason of it I guessed, though not the matter; but I knew that somewhere my dear father lay dead--killed by order of the Spanish viceroy.

Jose saw from my face that I knew, and there was sympathy in the very touch of his hand.

”It is true,” he whispered. ”The Spaniards trapped him in the mountains, whither he had gone to meet the Indians. They wished to rise against the government; but he knew it was madness just now, and thought to keep them quiet till his own plans were ready.”

”And the Spaniards slew him?”

”Yes,” replied Jose simply. ”Here,” pointing to the mountaineer, ”is our witness.”

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