CHAPTER XIII
DON TOMAS DIGS A GRAVE
No Cristino bullet that ever was moulded could have stopped the man morecompletely. He stood again on the floor of the paven hall, pale, shakinglike an aspen leaf, his whole live soul upturned and aghast within him.
And above the youngling blared like a trumpet.
El Sarria was outside now. His knife was hidden in his breast. There wasno need of it, at least for the present. He looked out of the gate uponthe white and dusty highway. Like the hall, it was vague and empty,ankle-deep too in yet warm dust, that felt grateful to his feet afterthe sharp stones of the _arroyo_ out of which he had climbed.
Under the barn a woman crouched by a fire near a little tent pitched ina corner, evidently taking care of the _tan_ in the absence of hercompanions. Gipsies they were, as he could see, and strangers to theplace. Perhaps she could tell him something. She called aloud to him,and he went and sat down beside her, nothing loth.
"You are a Gallegan, I see!" said the woman, while she continued to stirsomething savoury in a pot without appearing to pay Ramon muchattention.
"A Gallician from Lugo--yes--but I have been long in these parts,"answered El Sarria, mindful of his accent.
"And we of Granada--as you may both see and hear!" said the old gipsy,tossing her head with the scorn of the Romany for the outlander.
"What is going on up there?" he said, indicating the mill-house with histhumb. And as he spoke, for the first time the woman ceased stirring thepot and turned her eyes upon him.
"What is that to thee?" she inquired with a sudden fiery thrill in herspeech.
As fierce and strong beat the passion in the heart of El Sarria, butnevertheless he commanded himself and answered, "Naught!"
"Thou liest!" she said; "think not to hide a heart secret from a hax, awitch woman. Either thou lovest to the death or thou hatest to thedeath. In either case, _pay_! Pay, and I will tell thee all thy desire,according to the crossing of my hand!"
El Sarria drew a gold double _duro_ from his pouch and gave it into herwithered clutch.
"Good," she said, "'tis a good crossing! I will tell you truth that youmay take oath upon, whether kissing or slaying be in your thought. Awoman is sick to the death or near by. A babe little desired is born.The Tia Elvira is with her. Whether the woman live or die, the Tia willdecide according to the crossing of _her_ hand. And the babe--well, whenthe mother is soon to be a bride, its life is not like to be long! Arough crossing for so short a sojourn, I wot. Good morning, brave man'sson! And to you, sir, a safe journey till the knife strikes or the lipsmeet!"
The cryptic utterance of the witch woman sitting crooning over her potaffected El Sarria greatly. He did not doubt for a moment that Doloreslay within the house of Luis Fernandez, and that he had heard thecrying of his own first-born son. He arose uncertainly, as if the solidearth were swaying beneath him.
Leaving her pot simmering on the wood-ashes, the gipsy woman came afterRamon to the corner of the garden. The broad-leaved fig-trees made adense green gloom there. The pale grey undersides of the olive whippedlike feathers in the light chill breeze of night.
"There--go in there!"
She pointed with her hand to a little pillared summer-house in thegarden. It was overgrown with creepers, and Luis had placed a fountainin it, which, however, only played when the waters were high in theCerde.
"Whether you hate the old or love the young, bide there," she whispered;"there is no need that Tia Elvira should have all the gold. Cross myhand again, and I am your servant for ever."
Ramon gave her a gold _duro_.
"I am not a rich man," he said, "but for your good-will you arewelcome!"
"You run eager-hearted in the dust with bare and bleeding feet," shesaid. "You carry a knife naked in your bosom. Therefore you are richenough for me. And I will spite Tia Elvira if I can. She would not giveme so much as an _ochavo_ of all her gettings. Why should I considerher?"
And she gripped Ramon by the arm with claws like eagles' talons andstood leaning against him, breathing into his ear.
"Ah, Gallego, you are strong to lean against. I love a man so," shesaid. "Once you had not stood so slack and careless if La Giralda hadleaned her breast against your shoulder--ah me, all withered now is itand hard as the rim of a sieve. But you love this young widow, you also.She is El Sarria's widow, they tell me, he whom the Migueletes slew atthe entering in of the Devil's Canyon. A fine man that, _Caramba_! And soyou too wish to marry her now he is dead. If I were a widow and young Iwould choose you, for you are of stature and thickness, yes--a properman through and through. Scarce can I meet my old arms about your chest.Yet woman never knows woman, and she may chance to prefer Don Luis. Butthe babe is in their way--the babe that cried to-night. Luis does notwish it well. He longs for children of his own by this woman, and ElSarria's brat would spoil his inheritance. The Tia let the secret out inher cups!"
She stopped and unclasped her arms.
"Ah," she said, "you love not Don Luis. I felt it when I spoke of hishaving issue by that woman. I wot well the thing will never happen. Yourknife or your pistol (of these you have two) will have conference withhim before that. But, if you wish this child to live--though I see notwhy you should, save that its father was like you a proper man and theslayer of many--stand yonder in the shadow of the summer-house, and ifany come out with the babe, smite! If it be a man, smite hard, but if itbe Aunt Elvira, the _hax_, smite ten times harder. For she is the devilin petticoats and hath sworn away many a life, as she would do mine ifshe could. I, who have never wished her any harm all the days of mylife! There, put your arm about me yet a moment--so. Now here is yourgold back. I wish it not. The other is better. Tighter! Hold me yetcloser a moment. Ay-ah, dearie, it is sweet to feel once more the gripof a strong man's arms about one--yes--though he love another--and shea little puling woman who cannot even deliver herself of her first-bornson without a _Sangrador_. Go--go, they are coming to the door. I seethe lights disappear from the chamber above. Remember to strike the Tialow--in the groin is best. She wears amulets and charms above, and youmight miss your mark!"
So, much astonished, and with his gold pieces in his hand, Ramon foundhim in the little roughly finished lath-and-plaster temple. He sat onthe dry basin of the fountain and parted the vine leaves with his hands.He was scarce a dozen yards from a door in the wall--a door recentlybroken, which by two stone steps gave direct access to the garden.
Behind him were the wall and the fig-tree where he had spoken with thegipsy. As he looked he fancied a figure still there, dark against thesky, doubtless the woman La Giralda waiting to see if his knife struckthe Tia in the proper place.
Ramon listened, and through the darkness he could discern the keen,insistent, yet to his ear sweet crying of the babe, presently broken bya series of pats on the back into a staccato bleat, and finally stillingitself little by little into an uncertain silence.
Then the door into the garden was cautiously opened, and a man clumsilydescended. He shut the door softly behind him and stood a while gazingup at the lighted room. Then shaking his fist at the illuminated panes,he moved towards the summer-house. El Sarria thought himself discovered,and with a filling of his lungs which swept his breast up in a grandcurve, he drew his knife and stood erect in the darkest corner.
Stumbling and grumbling the man came to the aperture. He did not descendthe step which led to the interior, but instead groped through one ofthe open windows for something behind the door.
"May holy San Isidro strike my brother with his lightnings!" hemuttered. "He gives me all the ill jobs, and when I have done them butscant thanks for my pains!"
His hand went groping blindly this way and that, unwitting of whatlurked in the further gloom.
"From Ramon Garcia's knife at the Devil's Gorge to this young one'sundoing, all comes to poor Tomas. And now, when he might have left methe mill-house he must needs marry this widow Garcia and set to workforthwith to chouse me out of my inheritance! A foul pest
on him and onhis seed!"
This mutter of discontent he interspersed with yet more potentanathemas, as he groped here and there in the darkness for what hesought. By-and-by he extracted a spade, a mattock, and a skin-coveredcorn measure holding about the quarter of an _arroba_.
With these he went grumbling off towards the deep shade of the fig-treewhere Ramon had talked with the gipsy woman. With great impartiality hecursed his brother Luis, El Sarria and his knife, the widow Dolores andher child.
Ramon heard him laugh as he stumbled among the vine roots.
"It is a blessing that such puling brats need no iron collar whensentenced to the garotte. It will not be pleasant, I suppose--a nastything enough to do. But after all, this little trench under the fig-treewill be an excellent hold over my good brother Luis. Many a stout'ounce' of gold shall he bleed because of the small squalling bundlethat shall be hushed to sleep under this garden mould!"
Nothing was heard for the next ten minutes but the measured stroke ofthe mattock, and the deep breathing of the night workman. But a broadshadow had drifted silently out from the corner of the little templesummer-house, and stood only a yard or two from the hole Don Tomas wasmaking in the ground under the fig-tree.
El Sarria knew his man by this time, though he had not seen him for manyyears. The grave-digger was Don Tomas, Luis Fernandez's ne'er-do-wellbrother, who had been compelled to flee the country the year ofAngouleme's French invasion, for giving information to the enemy. He itwas whom he had seen at his old tricks by the Devil's Canyon. Not butwhat Luis must all the same have set him on, for he alone knew of thesecret way of retreat.
Presently with many puffs and pants Tomas finished the work to hissatisfaction. Then he shook a handful of grass and leaves into thebottom of the excavation.
"There," he muttered with a cackle of laughter, "there is yourcradle-bed cosily made, young Don Ramon! Would that your father werelying cheek by jowl with you! Would not I cover you both up snugly. HolyCoat of Treves, but I am in a lather! This it is to labour for others'good! I wonder how soon that hell-hog Tia Elvira will be ready to do herpart. The _Sangrador_ must have gone home hours ago. She is to bring theyoungling out and then go back to tell her story to the mother howsweetly it passed away--ah, ah--how heavenly was its smile. So it willbe--so it will! Tomas Fernandez knows the trick. He has quieted many aleveret the same way!"
The garden door opened again, this time very slightly, a mere slit oflight lying across the tangled green and yellowish grey of the garden.It just missed El Sarria and kindled to dusky purple a blossom ofoleander that touched his cheek as he stooped. The whites of his eyesgleamed a moment, but the digger saw him not. His gaze was fixed on hisbrother in the doorway.
"The signal," he muttered, "I am to go and wait outside for the Tia. Ofcourse, as usual, my good and respectable brother will not put a fingerto the job himself. Well, _toma_! he shall pay the more sweetly when allis done--oh yes, Luis shall pay for all!"
He was standing leaning upon his mattock at the head of the little gravewhich he had destined for the child of Dolores Garcia. He had beenwhistling a gay Andalucian lilt of tune he had learned on his longtravels. A devil of a fellow this Tomas in his day, and whistledmarvellously between his teeth--so low that (they said) he could makelove to a Senorita in church by means of it, and yet her own mother ather elbow never hear.
"Well, better get it over!" he said, dropping his mattock and startingout towards the door. "Here comes the Tia!"
But at that moment the heavens fell. Upon the head of the midnightworkman descended the flat of his own spade. El Sarria had intended theedge, but Tomas's good angel turned the weapon at the last moment orelse he had been cloven to the shoulder-blade. For it was a father's armthat wielded the weapon. Down fell the digger of infant graves, rightathwart the excavation he himself had made. His mouth was filled withthe dirt he had thrown out, and the arm that threw it swung like apendulum to and fro in the hole.
The Firebrand Page 13
