CHAPTER III
THE VIOLENT END OF A TERRIBLE BANDIT
"Come listen to me, you gallants so free, All you that love mirth for to hear, And I will tell you of a bold outlaw." --_Robin Hood._
"Oh, oh, now he's coming to eat _us_!" Jacqueline gasped.
The fierce stranger, however, seemed undecided. His brow furrowed, andfor the moment he only stared. Jacqueline peeped through the lashescurtaining her eyes. She wanted to see his face, and she saw one of boldlines. The chin was a hard right angle. The mouth was a cruel linebetween heavily sensuous lips. The nose was a splendid line, and a veryassertive and insolent nose altogether. The forehead was rugged, with afree curving sweep. Here there would have been a certain nobility, onlyits slope was just a hint too low. The skin was tawny. The moustache wasblack and bristling, as was also the thick hair, which lay back likegrass before a breeze. The shaggy eyebrows were parted by deep clefts,the dark corrugations of frowning. One wondered if the man did not turnthe foreboding scowl on and off by design. But all these were mattersthat fitted in with the other striking "properties," and Jacqueline wasfairly well satisfied with her Fra Diavolo. As she declared to herself,here was the very dramatic presence to mount upon a war charger!
"RODRIGO GALAN""The fierce stranger, however, seemed undecided. His brow furrowed,and for the moment he only stared"]
Now when Jacqueline peeped--there was something irresistible aboutit--the furrows in the black-beetled brow smoothed themselves out,whether the stranger meant them to or not. And a vague resolve took holdon him, and quickened his breath. Her glance might have beeninvitation--Tampico was not a drawing room--but still he hesitated.There was a certain hauteur in the set of the demoiselle's head, whichoutbalanced the mischief in her eyes. He felt an indefinable severity inher tempting beauty, and this was new to his philosophy of woman. But ashe drank in further details, his resolve stiffened. That Grecian bend toher crisp skirt was evidently an extreme from the Rue de la Paix,foretelling the end of stupendous flounces. Then there was the tilt tothe large hat, and the veil falling to the level of the eyes, and thedisquieting charm of both. The wine-red lips had a way of smiling andcurling at the same time. And still again there was that line of theneck, from the shoulder up to where it hid under the soft, old-goldtendrils, and that line was a thing of beauty and seductive mystery. Thedreadful ranchero went down in humility before the splendor of thetantalizing Parisienne.
Michel Ney leaned nearer over the table. "In all conscience,mademoiselle, your Fra Diavolo is bizarre enough," he said, "but pleasedon't let us stir him up. Think, if anything should happen to you, whyMexico, why France would----"
"You flatter!" she mocked him. "Only two empires to keep me out of aflirtation? It's not enough, Michel."
A shadow fell over them. "My apologies," spoke a deep voice, "but thesenorita, she is going to the City, to the Capital, perhaps?"
The syllables fell one by one, distinct and heavy. The Spanish waselaborately cermonious, but the accent was Mexican and almost gutteral.
"L'impertinent!" cried Ney, bounding to his feet. No diffidence cloyedhis manner now. He was on familiar ground at last, for the first timesince fighting Arabs in Algeria. He was supremely happy too, and as madas a Gaul can be. "L'impertinent!" he repeated, coaxingly.
"Now don't be ridiculous, Michel," said Jacqueline. "He can't understandyou."
Moreover, the fame of the Chasseurs, of those colossal heroes with theirterrible sabres, of their legendary prowess in the Crimea, in China, inItaly, in Africa, none of it seemed to daunt the Mexican in the least.
"How, little Soldier-Boy Blue?" he inquired with cumbrous pleasantry.
"Alas, senor," said Jacqueline, "he's quite a little brother todragons."
"What are you talking about?" Michel demanded.
"I am keeping you from being eaten up, young sire, but," andJacqueline's tone changed, "pray give yourself the trouble to be calm.He only means a kindly offer of service, no doubt, however strange thatmay seem to your delicacy of breeding, Monsieur the Duke."
Michel heaved a sigh and--sat down. He was no longer on familiar ground.Then Fra Diavolo proceeded to verify mademoiselle's judgment of him.Sombrero in hand and with a pompous courtliness, he repeated his naturalsupposition that the senorita was on her way to the City (meaning theCity of Mexico), and perhaps to the court of His Glorious Majesty,Maximiliano. He offered himself, therefore, in case he might have thefelicity to be of use. This she need not consider as personal, if it inany way offended, but as an official courtesy, since she saw in him anofficer--an officer of His Most Peace-loving Majesty's ContraGuerrillas. And thus to a conclusion, impressively, laboriously.
Jacqueline was less delighted than at first. The dash and daredeviltrywas somehow not quite sustained. But she replied that he had surmisedcorrectly, and added that she was Mademoiselle d'Aumerle.
He started at the name, and her eyes sparkled to note the effect. "TheMarquesa Juana de Aumerle!" he repeated.
"Jeanne d'Aumerle, no other, sir," she assured him, but she watched himquizzically, for she knew that another name was hovering on his lips.
"Surely not----" he began.
"Si senor," and she smiled good humoredly, "I am--'Jacqueline.'"
It was a name that had sifted from the court down into distant plebeiancorners of the Mexican Empire, and it was tinged--let us say so atonce--with the unpleasing hue of notoriety.
"His Ever Considerate Majesty Maximiliano would be furious if any harmshould befall Your Ladyship," Fra Diavolo observed, "though," he addedto himself, "the empress would possibly survive it."
Jacqueline looked at him sharply. But in his deferential manner shecould detect no hint of a second meaning. Yet he had laid bare thekernel of the whole business that bore the name of Jacqueline. Shebetrayed no vexation. If this were her cross, she was at least toohaughtily proud to evade it. For a passing instant only she looked asshe had in the small boat, when she had said that about the mission of awoman being to give. The next moment, and the mood was gone.
With knowledge of her identity, the project that was building in thestranger's dark mind loomed more and more dangerously venturesome. Butas he gazed and saw how pretty she was, audacity marched strong and hewavered no longer. And when she thanked him, and added that the ship wasonly waiting until she finished her coffee, he roused himself and drovewith hard will to his purpose.
"Going on by water?" he protested. "But Senorita de Aumerle, we are inthe season for northers. Look, those mean another storm," and he pointedoverhead, to harmless little cotton bunches of clouds scurrying away tothe horizon.
"Eh bien," returned the senorita, "what would you?"
He would, it appeared, that she go by land. He hoped that she did notconsider his offer an empty politeness, tendered only in the expectationof its being refused. He so contrived, however, that that was preciselythe way his offer might be interpreted, and in that he was deeper thanshe imagined. She grew interested in the possibility of finishing herjourney overland. He informed her that one could travel a day westwardon horseback to a place called Valles, then take the City of Mexico andMonterey stage, and reach the City in two days, which was much shorterthan by way of the sea and Vera Cruz. He spoke as dispassionately as atime table. But he noted that she clothed his skeleton data with apersonal interest. And Ney also, who had caught the drift of things, sawnew mischief brewing in her gray eyes.
"You really are not thinking, mademoiselle----" he interrupted.
"And why not, pray?"
"Why not? Why--uh--the bandits, of course."
Jacqueline turned to the stranger who served as itinerary folder. Wouldhe dispose of the childish objection? He would. But he wondered why thesenor had not mentioned one who was the most to be feared of allbandits; in fact, the most implacable of the rebels still battlingagainst His Truly Mexican Majesty. The stranger paused expectantly, butas Ney seemed to recognize no particular outlaw from the description, hewent on
with a deepening frown, "----and who is none other than theCapitan Don Rodrigo Galan."
"Who's he?" Ney inquired, willing enough to have any scarecrow whateverfor Jacqueline.
"Is it possible?--Your Mercy does not know?"
Ney pleaded that he had never been in the country before.
"But surely," the Mexican objected, "Don Rodrigo is a household wordthroughout Europe?"
"He has certainly been heard of in Mexico," said Jacqueline, whereat FraDiavolo turned to her gratefully. "But," she added, "Monsieur Ney willnow find in him another objection to my journeying overland."
The ardor of the bandit's eulogist faltered. "The senor might indeed,"he confessed, "only," and here he hesitated like a man contemplatingsuicide, "only, Don Rodrigo has been--yes, he's been shot, from ambush;and his band--yes, his band is scattered forever."
Having achieved the painful massacre, Fra Diavolo traveled on moreeasily to assure the senorita that since then the country had beenentirely pacified. Ney, however, was not. How did they know the storywas true? And if it was, he was sorry. He would enjoy meeting theterrible and provokingly deceased Monsieur Rodrigue, if only to teachhim that being terrible is not good manners. But, did they know forcertain that the bandit was dead?
"We do," said the Mexican, again like a reluctant suicide, "because Ikilled him myself."
"But how are we to know, sir," Ney persisted, "that you are so terribleon your own account?"
"My identification, you mean? Bueno, it is only just. Here, this maydo," and the ranchero drew a paper from his money belt and handed it toJacqueline. The paper was an order addressed to one Captain Maurel, whowas to proceed with his company to the district of Tampico, and there totake and to shoot the guerrilla thief, Rodrigo Galan, and all his band,who infested the district aforesaid, known as the Huasteca. The CaptainMaurel would take note that this Rodrigo Galan frequented the very cityof Tampico itself, with an impudence to be punished at all hazards.Signed: Dupin, Colonel of His Majesty's Contra Guerrillas.
"Colonel Dupin?" Jacqueline repeated with a wry mouth. Dupin, theContra-Guerrilla chief, was a brave Frenchman. But the quality of hismercy had made his name a shudder on the lips of all men, his owncountrymen included.
"Yes," said Fra Diavolo between his teeth, "Mi Coronel Dupin--theTiger."
"So he is called, I know," said Jacqueline. "And you, it appears, areCaptain Maurel--Maurel, but that is French?"
"The way it is spelled on the paper, yes. But my Coronel, being French,made a mistake. He should have written it 'Morel.'"
"No matter," said Jacqueline, "for you are only a trite, conventionalofficer, after all. But how much merrier it would be if youwere--were----" and suddenly she leaned over the paper and placed animpetuous finger on the bandit's name. "So," she continued wistfully,"there is no danger. We ride, we take a stage. It is tame. I say it istame, monsieur!"
Captain Maurel, or Morel, desired to add that there was a trader whoowned an hacienda in the interior, and that this trader was starting forhis plantation the very next morning; all of which was very convenient,because the trader had extra horses, and he, Captain Morel, had acertain influence with the trader. The senorita's party could travelwith his friend's caravan as far as the stage.
"Voila!" cried Jacqueline. "It is arranged!"
"Diable, it is not!" Michel was on his feet again.
His wayward charge looked him over reflectively. "Our Mars in his babyclothes again," said she, as a fond, despairing mother with anincorrigible child.
The Mexican had shown himself hostile and ready. But seeing Jacqueline'scoolness he melted out of his somewhat theatrical bristling, lest hersarcasm veer toward himself.
The tempestuous Mars, however, was beyond the range of scorn. He keptone stubborn purpose before him. "We go back to the ship, or"--he tookbreath where he meant to put a handsome oath--"or--it's a fight!"
"There, there," said Jacqueline gently. "Besides, are you not to go withme just the same?"
Ney turned to the stranger. "I ask you to withdraw, sir, both yourselfand your offers, because you're only meddling here."
The intruder grew rigid straightway. "_I_ am not one to take backan offer," he stated loftily. His voice was weighted to a heavierguttural, and in the deep staccatos harshly chopped off, and eachfalling with a thud, there was a quality so ominous and deadly that evenJacqueline had her doubts. But she would not admit them, to herselfleast of all. "And I, Monsieur Ney," she said, "have decided to accept,"though she had not really, until that very moment.
Ney turned to the one sailor with him. "Run like fury!" he whispered."Bring the others!"
"Oh, very well," said the Mexican.
As he doubtless intended, Fra Diavolo's words sounded like the low growlof an awakening lion, and at the same time he brought forth the reedwhistle and put it to his lips. The note that came was faint, like thatof a distant bird in the forest.
Ney smiled. It seemed inadequate, silly. Lately he had become familiarwith the sonorous foghorn, and besides, he was not a woodsman and knewnothing of the penetration of the thin, vibrant signal. When the sailorsshould come, he would take the troublesome fellow to the commander ofthe garrison on the hill. But then a weight fell on him from behind, anduncleanliness and garlic and the sweating of flesh filled his nostrils.Bare arms around his neck jerked up his chin, according to the stroke ofPere Francois. Other writhing arms twined about his waist, his legs, hisankles; and hands clutched after his sabre and pistol. But at last hestood free, and glared about him, disarmed and helpless. Jacqueline'sinfernal Fra Diavolo was surveying him from the closed door of the Cafe,behind which he had swept the two women. His stiff pose had relaxed, andhe was even smiling. He waved his hand apologetically over hisfollowers. "His Exceeding Christian Majesty's most valiant contraguerrillas," he explained.
The so-called contra guerrillas were villainous wretches, at thegentlest estimate. Their scanty, ragged and stained cotton manta flappedloosely over their skin, which was scaly and as tough as old leather.Most of them had knives. A few carried muskets, long, rusty,muzzle-loading weapons that threw a slug of marble size.
Almost at once the burly French sailors appeared, but Fra Diavolo'slittle demons closed in behind them and around them and so kept themfrom reaching Ney. Thus both sides circled about and moved cautiously,waiting for the trouble to begin in earnest. Michel only panted, untilat last he bethought himself that there was such a thing as strategy.
"One of you out there," he shouted in French, "quick, go to the fort.Bring the soldiers!"
The Mexicans did not understand, and before they could prevent, a sailorhad taken to his heels.
Then Fra Diavolo comprehended. "You idiots!" he bellowed. "You--Pedro!Catch him! Faster!--Catch him, I say!"
A little demon darted away in pursuit of the sailor. Obviously, thesituation hung on the swifter in the race.
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