CHAPTER V
THE MISSOURIANS
"Men sententious of speech and quick of pistol practice." --_Major John N. Edwards._
An hour before nightfall the guerrillas attacked. Jacqueline wasstanding at the window, when she heard a jubilant din and saw a tawnytroop charging through the fields toward the house. They yelled as theycame, waving machetes and carbines. It was the usual theatrical dash ofMexicans. Like savages, they thought first to frighten theiradversaries.
"Won't you come and see, Berthe? It's like a hippodrome."
She felt sorry for them. The dulcet cane grew thorns. Under the leavesthe black soil was become clay red with leather jackets. The Cossackshad fixed sword-bayonets to their muskets, and were waiting on theirknees.
Stung by the hidden barbs, the first horses reared in air, pawing andscreeching frantically. Many sank down again, and they were limp as thelife ebbed. Others crashed backward, their riders underneath, and thosebehind plunged over them, unable to stop. Soon it was a fearful jumble;men and beasts, hoofs and steel, curses and shrill neighing. Then thefiring began, a woof of fine red threads through the warp of pale-greenreeds. The guerrillas yet fought. The myth of their own heavier numberskept them from panic. Ragged fellows with feet bare in the stirrupsleaned over to slash at heads between the tasselled stalks. Theysquirmed like snakes from under kicking horses, and fainting, got acarbine to the shoulder at aim, and someway, pulled the trigger. Thenthey were taken in the rear. One-half of the Contra forces, mounted, hadwaited under the sapling growth of the nearest foothill. Now they sprangfrom cover, bloodthirsty whelps trailing the Tiger. The guerrillas couldnot turn back. To retreat they must cleave the way in front, and theydid, by sheer desperation. Falling in the mesh at every step, they atlast gained the large open space around the cabin.
Then it was that Jacqueline got a near view of Don Rodrigo. He wassuperbly mounted, and his long body made a heroic figure on thecurveting charger. He frowned, and his mustachios bristled fiercely, andhis shouts of command were heavily ominous. The wind turned the folds ofhis black cloak. It was faced with scarlet silk; and the charro elegancebeneath was black and resplendent. All told, he was a very outburst ofglitter; breeches, jacket, sombrero, saddle, stirrups, and bridle; notof silver, but of gold. Good carbines for his vagabond Inditos,magnificence for himself, these had come from that fabulous theft of thebullion convoy. And he had arrayed himself this rainy day to dazzle aprincess of the Blood. So now he wielded his sword with a consciousflourish, glancing toward the window to see if he were seen.
"The poseur, never out of his role," murmured his audience there. "Howwill he enjoy running, I wonder?"
But to her astonishment he did not run, though Dupin was cutting closerand closer through tangled bodies, eager to grapple with his old-timeslippery foe. Don Rodrigo raised in his saddle, and looked anxiously inall directions. Suddenly his dark face lighted, and wheeling round, hecalled to his men, and in his turn strove as furiously to reach theTiger as the Tiger had striven to reach him. Jacqueline could not nowtell which side to feel sorry for. But she exulted in the thrill of it,even as she wrung her hands at sight of the red agony.
Then something happened, which even the Tiger, who knew his warfare sowell, had never known; which got into even his dried and toughenedmarrow. It was the Rebel yell. It rose over a sudden thunderous rush ofhoof beats. And next, as a puff of air, a herd of horsemen, a wildmud-spattering streak, surged past the house. On across the open, andstraight upon the fray, they merged everywhere, and made bigger andlivelier the blotch of mad swarming. Some wore slouch hats, others strawsombreros, and all were ruddily burned. They fought with revolvers, andoften one would pause between shots to spit tobacco. They brought to thebattle one thing above all else, and that was vim, vim unbounded, vimthat simply had to have vent.
Jacqueline caught her breath. What race of men were these? Exalted,quivering, she watched them doing as workmen what fell to their hands,yet ever with that whirlwind of vim.
"The Missourians--of course!" she cried.
Through powder smoke and misty rain the figure of one horseman slowlygrew familiar. She caught fleeting glimpses of him, as he darted into amelee, as he spurred round to find a hotter field. Suddenly her eyeswidened, and she pressed a hand hard against her breast.
"The coincidence!" she gasped, trembling from head to foot. "It is thecoincidence!"
Her nose flattened against the wet pane. She remembered how that generalof the Missourians had told Charlotte about this man, for the Empresshad asked. And the general had related how the troop had dubbed him theStorm Centre.
"And no wonder!" she breathed. "Mon Dieu, how he _enjoys_ it!--But,oh--he will be killed--oh!"
Yet nothing of the kind happened. When she uncovered her eyes, hisassailants were in flight. Every Cossack survivor was in flight. TheStorm Centre wheeled and confronted Don Rodrigo, who raised his sombreroeffusively.
"Rebellion makes strange comrades," thought Jacqueline. "But no,my--the--chevalier--does not take his hand."
Indeed Driscoll was looking the guerrilla over with little favor. "So,"he exclaimed, "it was you I was to help here!"
"And what better patriot, senor----"
"Never mind that. Why didn't you wait till dark to attack? Weren't thosethe orders, or--that is, the suggestion?"
"But whose suggestion? Perhaps, senor, _you_ know who El Chaparritois?"
"Haven't the least idea, nor anyone else. But it's certain, Rod, thatthis is your first experience of Shorty. Another time, and you'll havesense enough to take his hints. Now then, where's the emperor we were tocatch?"
Fra Diavolo's smile was Satanic. "Your Chaparrito was either mistakenabout the Emperor, or," and he glanced toward the window, "or hedeceived you into helping me capture a beautiful young woman."
"How? What----"
"I mean that His Cautious Majesty did not come, however much ElChaparrito seems to want him. But--" and Rodrigo's tone lowered heavily,"but his August Spouse came instead. She is in that cabin now. It iswell, senor, for vengeance in kind is just. It is righteous, it isbiblical. Since fate has thrown----"
"E-a-s-y! Eas-y, boy. Of course, if we've gone and netted an empress,we'll ask 'em to please take her back. This ain't a woman's game."
"Give up a queen's ransom?"
Driscoll nodded cheerfully.
"I believe, caballero," said the brigand with awful dignity, "that Icommand here."
Driscoll looked at his Missourians returning from the chase. "Well," helaughed, "you might try it on, and see how they take it."
Behind Jacqueline the door opened. She almost jumped. Of the hundredslikely to enter there, her startled fancy pictured only one. But the newcomer was a stranger.
"Oh-ho, come a-visiting, eh?"
The voice was cordial, robust, Western.
"Missour-_i_!" she exclaimed involuntarily.
"Yes'm, Cooper county."
She turned, won to friendliness, and beheld a man who, to use her mentalejaculation, was "of a leanness!"
"Monsieur----" and she paused.
"Boone, ma'am. Daniel, your most obedient servant. If I'd known--Sho',we might of had things spruced up a bit. Are you the queen, maybe?"
The lady's laugh rang as clear as a bell. Taken aback, Boone sought tocorrect his mistake. He saw that Berthe was seated in the hammock. She,then, must be the Empress.
"I'm downright sorry we went and captured Your Majesty," he began.
"Her Imperial Highness does not understand English," Jacquelineexplained.
Then to her surprise the man proceeded in French. He was evidentlygreatly disturbed because Missouri hospitality did not harmonize withwar. "It was a blunder," he apologized earnestly, "come of our decidingjust this morning to make you Europeans vacate our continent. But don'tlet that worry Your Majesty. Here, under my roof, the decision doesn'thold, _at_ all!"
Berthe lifted her head quickly. It was her second promotion in thesocial scale that
day. She had trembled when the door opened, for sheknew that Rodrigo's side had triumphed. But this tall stranger broughtrelief to one's nerves, and somehow she had watched him trustingly. Hewas of the same race as Monsieur Driscoll, to whom also she had onceturned instinctively for help. But when the tremendous young fellowaddressed her with reverence due a queen, she felt only the respectfuladmiration due a pretty young woman. It unexpectedly awakened in her theknowledge that she was a pretty young woman; and with a winsomeness thatamazed and delighted Jacqueline, to say nothing of its effect on Daniel,she gently put him right as to her identity.
"It doesn't matter," Boone protested stoutly, "you ought to be one!"
The door opened again. It struck the wall with an insolent bang, and instrode Don Rodrigo. Jacqueline noted who it was and indifferently seatedherself in the rocking chair, with her back toward him. The Mexicanadvanced to the centre of the room. The brief twilight had fallen, andthe place was in half light except for the blazing logs. He stoppedrigid and flung his scarlet-lined cloak back over his shoulder.
"Where," he demanded in the huge tones of a victorious general, "is thetyrant's empress?"
No one volunteered as to where the tyrant's empress might be. The toe ofJacqueline's boot was indolently busy with the embers on the hearth. Theheads of both girls were in shadow.
Rodrigo's furrowed brow creased more deeply. "Which of you is she?" Theheavy syllables dropped one by one. He stepped tentatively towardBerthe. So did Boone.
"Stand aside, senor!"
"Can't, dear brigand," said Daniel.
Then Berthe spoke. "Please, messieurs," she began, "Her Majesty isnot----"
"It's only a maidservant," Rodrigo exclaimed in chagrin.
"Don't make any difference," said Boone, "she's come a-visiting."
"If, Seigneur Brigand," spoke a clear voice, "you had not interruptedMademoiselle Berthe, you would stand informed by now that Her Majesty isnot here. Will you deign to close the door?"
Rodrigo knew well those bell-like tones. Forgetting the question of anempress, he drew nearer to the lady of the rocker. She gave him no heed,but her profile against the red glow was very soft and beautiful. Hischagrin vanished. Here was a more ravishing triumph.
"A vengeance in kind," he muttered, wetting his lips. "Ha, he tooknobody's wife, as to that; and his wife may go. But in the matter ofsweethearts--ah!"
Bending, he laid a hand caressingly on her neck, against the tendrils.
At the touch she sprang to her feet, and Boone leaped forward with fistdrawn back. But both stopped. Her face changed from fury to pallor.Boone's expressed approval.
The room had filled through the open door with men and torches, but thefirst man among them had come as far as Rodrigo's shoulder even as theinsult occurred. From behind, the man's arm had straightened underRodrigo's chin, and twisting to a lever, was gradually forcing back hishead. Rodrigo groped for a knife, but half way to his waist the fingersclutched vainly in a sharp spasm, and all involuntarily flew up andgripped at the vise under his chin. Yet another ounce of pressure, andit seemed his neck must snap like a dry twig. Suddenly his spine bentlimp. Muscles relaxed. The whole body capitulated. Then the man behindstooped a little, and Rodrigo began to rise. Slowly at first, and next,as from a catapult, the brigand shot backward over the man's shoulderand struck his length on the floor.
"No, not that, boys," said the man. "Don't kick him. Laugh at him, ithurts more."
He spoke more particularly to one "Tall Mose" Bledsoe of Pike county whowas purple with indignation that a "saddle-colored Greaser should darelay hands on a white woman."
But there were also "Rube" Marmaduke of Platte, "Mac" Crittenden ofNodaway, the "Doc" of Benton, "Cal" Grinders from the Ozarks, Clay ofCarroll, and Carroll of Clay, besides a ruddy sprinkling from the countyof Jackson. Among the latter was "Old Brothers and Sisters," a plumplittle young man with cherubic eyes behind round brass spectacles. ClemDouglas had been ordained in the M. E. Church (South), and becamethereupon the Rev. Mr. Douglas. "Old Brothers and Sisters" was atheological degree of later acquirement, lovingly bestowed by the IronBrigade. But in his more recent gospel of pistol practice, Clem Douglaswas not a backslider. He was simply all things Southern to all men. Likethe others in the cabin, his hat was off, his muddy boots scraped; andlike the others, he was not unaware of the two girls.
"Rather showery out," he observed genially, wiping the mist off hisglasses, and imagining weather a livelier topic than battle.
Jacqueline did not hear. Her eyes were still on the man who haddisdained to strike Rodrigo from behind, who had flung him away instead,as one would a dog. She stood motionless, and her face was very white.She saw that he wore loose leather "chaps," a woolen shirt, and an oldcoat, with only stained shoulder straps, green braid on dark blue, toindicate a uniform. His wet black hair was curly. His brown eyes flashedwhimsical contempt on the resplendent guerrilla at his feet. He was theCoincidence; he was the Storm Centre. He turned, expecting to see theEmpress, and he met her eyes. His own darkened with a new anger, andinvoluntarily, he swung round, himself to kick the Mexican who hadinsulted her. But a flood of memory swept over him, the memory of whathe had seen at Cuernavaca. Not for her could he touch a fallen man.
"Take him into the back room, two of you."
Red, red to the neck, he was turning to follow, when he saw Berthe.
"Miss Burt!" he exclaimed.
Heartily he shook hands with her. "It's my first chance, you know, tomention what you did for me over a year ago. But I sure appreciatehaving my life saved, you know that. There now, you're not to worry overthis present mess. We'll have it straightened out, just in no time."
He stammered as he spoke, and when he turned and left the room, hisbearing was constrained. Jacqueline's eyes followed him until the innerdoor closed behind him. Then, with a half shrug, she sat down andpensively resumed the building of fiery mounds on the hearth.
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