Suzanna

by Harry Sinclair Drago

  The letter which Ramon handed to Guara, read:

  “Pérez, I need you. Unless you can contrive to prevent it, Suzanna will be married to-morrow morning to Montesoro. It is too late for argument. No matter what the danger, I beg you to carry her off. I guarantee you with my life that you shall not come to harm.

  My hand on it,

  RAMON GUTIERREZ.”

  “I do not know where you will find the man, Guara,” the boy said to the Indian. “He is somewhere in the Santa Cruz hills. Take a lead horse with you; drive them to the limit. There is no danger for you in this, except you fail me. The night is clear: you know the trails well. Go!—And by the blood of your fathers, Guara, swear to me that you will find him.”

  CHAPTER XXII

  THE GROOM TAKES HIS PLACE

  MORNING dawned without the Indian having returned. Ramon tramped his room impatiently. In two hours his father would be coming for him. What had happened to Guara? Had his fear of Pérez proven greater than his devotion to his master’s son? Glancing from his window, Ramon saw that already the carriage in which he and Chiquita were to ride away had drawn up before Don Diego’s house, its wheels and body covered with flowers. The patios of his own home were a riot of color as servants and guests moved about in holiday splendor.

  The hoy had his coffee served to him in his room. Fifteen minutes later his father sent word that it was time to dress. Ramon stole to the roof of the house and swept the horizon for sight of Guara as soon as the servant had left. The road was dotted with many traveling hitherward; but the pace at which they moved was proof enough that the Indian was not among them.

  Despairing, his brain dulled to what went on about him, he stumbled downstairs to his room. His father’s barber awaited him. Mechanically, Ramon permitted the man to shave him. The barber had not left before another servant arrived to lay out his wedding garments, and to help his young master don them.

  The boy’s indifference hindered the man, and before the dressing was accomplished Ramon’s father came in. Don Fernando was fully attired for the wedding, and he raised his eyebrows at his son’s apparent tardiness.

  “We have but a quarter of an hour,” he warned. “Your mother is waiting already.”

  Ramon nodded his head silently.

  “Join us as soon as you can, then,” his father ordered. “Everything has been attended to.”

  Ramon’s thoughts as he surveyed himself in his mirror were the bitterest of his life. In his resplendent clothes of velvet and doeskin, he was a handsome figure. Somehow the scowl on his face hut enhanced the quality of his strong features.

  The servant begged him to come to the window for a glimpse of the bridal procession which was forming in Don Diego’s patio. Ramon glared at the man for his trouble. Now, that it was too late, the boy could have leaped from that window and dashed for the distant hills.

  Trapped, his heart dead within him, he joined his parents. A cry broke from the crowd as they stepped from the house. It was for Ramon, and the boy bowed in recognition. Then with full regard for the dignity of the occasion, Don Fernando led the way to Don Diego’s mansion.

  Señor de Sola met them and escorted them into his study. He noted the paleness of Ramon’s face.

  “My son,” he whispered to him. “Let me get you a nip of the best brandy in California. This day is ever one of terror for a man. Come.” And placing his arm through the boy’s, he led him away, vouchsafing a smile to Don Fernando and Doña Luz.

  Every step that Ramon took was one of fear. He refused to think what he would do if he should encounter Suzanna. The corridors were filled with hurrying servants. Only a miracle could prevent their meeting. And yet, they did not, for at that very moment Suzanna was donning her own wedding dress.

  By the time that Don Diego and Ramon returned to the study it was time for the marriage to occur. Kissing his mother, the boy permitted himself to be led to his position before the chancel in the chapel.

  Barely had he taken his place when the Bishop and his assistants appeared. Ramon eyed them stonily as they mounted the altar steps. The Bishop began the mass, the audience singing the responses; but Ramon gave no heed to the multitude or its whispered comments. Solemn, erect, he stood as a man stands before a firing squad. But once did he smile, and it was his mother who won it from him as she took her position on the opposite side of the chancel. There was such sadness in his eyes that Doña Luz’ heart bled for him. She fancied she knew the sacrifice this son of hers made.

  “Dominus vobiscum,” the Bishop droned. And then through the door at Ramon’s side came his father. Behind him the boy caught a glimpse of the wedding procession. Leading it came Chiquita on the arm of Don Diego; the man proud, stately.

  Chiquita, her head slightly bowed, a suspicious pinkness in her olive tinted cheeks, was almost incomparably beautiful. Her wedding gown, a wondrous garment of satin and rare lace, flared widely at the bottom, and as she walked her red slippers peeped out cautiously. Draped about her shoulders clung a mantilla of purest silver thread. A jeweled comb sparkled in her midnight hair. The mantilla hung from this ornament in her hair, and as she turned her head both comb and mantilla glistened in the sunlight.

  Ramon had to admit that she was beautiful,—but hers was the beauty that kills.

  A procession of children followed in the bridal train, casting flowers at the bride and her attendants, and making a veritable pathway of blossoms upon which the bride and groom were to tread as they left the chapel.

  The last of the children entered, and Ramon saw his bride take her place opposite him. Turning his eyes away, that she might not read his thoughts, he stared through the open door at the flower strewn path. And as he continued to gaze into the empty patio, he saw Montesoro and Suzanna move across the garden toward a temporary altar which had been hurriedly arranged for their marriage.

  Suzanna’s olive tinted cheeks were pale; but she was magnificent in her wedding garments as head erect she walked beside the man whom she was about to wed. Never once did she look to the right or left, but continued with steady step toward the altar.

  Montesoro was clad in fitting raiment, and although he hovered near Suzanna protectingly, he shot a hurried glance toward the chapel, dreading some last minute interference with his plans.

  Ramon’s blood froze in his veins as he beheld the two of them. What had happened to Guara? Had the Indian’s courage failed him? Surely he had not found Pérez, or else the man would have come. Another ten minutes and no power on earth could stop Suzanna from marrying the man beside her.

  A look of horror crossed the boy’s face. Terror came into his eyes. And then as he watched, he saw another figure follow them, a man in dashing raiment. Something familiar about the swagger of him struck Ramon. His lips moved inarticulately as he strained his eyes for a better look at the man’s face. And then, like a flash, the boy’s eyes snapped.

  His blood warmed again. He wanted to cry out, to shout with ecstacy, for here was help. Let Montesoro and the others do their worst, they dealt with a man now.

  “Por Dios!” he mumbled. “I knew he would not fail me. It’s Pérez, himself!”

  CHAPTER XXIII

  “THE WAY IS OPEN!”

  GUARA had not found Pérez. The man had come unsummoned to the caserio. He had timed his arrival well, and for once he entered by the gate. Neither Pancho or Suzanna had seen him waiting for them to cross to the altar. In fact, they did not become aware of his presence until he addressed them.

  Montesoro’s hand went to his sword as he recognized the bandit. Pérez ignored him, and turning to Suzanna he said:

  “I am late,—as usual; but not too late—and as I have come all the way from Monterey since sunrise, perhaps you will forgive my tardiness.”

  Suzanna had no ready answer, so great a shock had his appearance given her. Pérez saw her confusion.

  “You did not send for me, as I suggested,” he ran on, “but that prize fool, Miguel, unwittingly served as your messenger.”
<
br />   The man spoke in riddles. But he was not one to risk his neck for the thrill of it.

  “Miguel?”Suzanna questioned, hoping to discover what it was that Pérez was trying to say. “Have you taken him prisoner, too.”

  The man bowed as he answered.

  “Miguel is also a guest of mine,” he replied ironically. “Or rather I might say that I have been their guest; inasmuch as the entertainment has taken place within the walls of Señor Alvarez’s own home. But no matter,—as a companion, the father has proven a distinct disappointment; his sense of humor is negligible. But allow me to say, Señorita, that I have succeeded in finding out why friend Alvarez was so exceedingly anxious to have his son wed you.”

  Pancho had stood being brushed aside as long as he could bear it. With a clicking of syllables he said to Pérez:

  “You choose an ill time for your gossip. You will find the wedding presents arrayed in Don Diego’s study.”

  “So-o-o?”Pérez inquired with rising inflection, a dreadful whine in his voice. “Think you that I am always bent on business? I have my moments, man. The time is short; allow me to finish.”

  “Not if it is only idle gossip which you have to retail!”

  Pérez smiled to himself.

  “I will leave that to your judgment, Señor,” he replied. “Suzanna,” he began again, “on the word of a lawyer, I can assure you that you have been most grievously sinned against.”

  Suzanna smiled enigmatically, at a loss to understand the man.

  “On unimpeachable authority, believe me, I say to you that you are the real Chiquita de Sola. The girl, who stands inside that chapel door about to wed young Gutierrez, is a peon,—the daughter of Ruiz, the peon!”

  Suzanna’s hand leaped to her mouth.

  ''Wha-t-t-t!'' she cried, her body trembling. Surely this man was mad. In fear, she stepped nearer to Pancho, and sent an appealing glance at him. But Montesoro was speechless. Was this girl to be snatched away from him at the very altar?

  “I repeat myself,” Pérez went on, “you are Don Diego’s daughter! I suspect that this man has known it for some time.”

  “Your suspicions are in keeping with the rest of your weird tale,” Montesoro cried angrily. “Enough of your witless chatter! Ramon saved you once; I doubt if he could accomplish it were I to raise my voice now.”

  Pérez made no reply until he had stared the man down.

  “There is truth in your surmise,” he said at last. “But you will not cry out against me, Señor,—I am quite certain of that. And as for witless chatter,—a man does not speak witlessly when hot irons are caressing the soles of his feet. Believe me, Señor Alvarez never spoke more to the point. Ruiz went to him with his secret. Here I have the statement of friend Alvarez!”

  Tersely then did Pérez acquaint Suzanna with the truth. No wonder there had always been a warm affection in her heart for Don Diego; it was the natural affinity of a daughter for her father.

  Weak, dazed, Suzanna leaned against the altar for support. How would her father receive this news And Don Fernando,—and Ramon?—would he scorn her now? And then her heart almost stopped beating. The marriage! No doubt but what the Bishop was pronouncing Chiquita man and wife this very instant. Pérez had said that he was not too late; but he was! What good could come of his news now? The document he had given her burned her fingers.

  The girl’s brain reeled and her power to think left her. She heard a strange voice, which she barely recognized for Montesoro’s, saying:

  “It’s a story-book tale that you tell. You will have to prove it! And you have not named your price, either.”

  Pérez started to reply, but Suzanna stopped him. Turning to Pancho she asked:

  “Does it not make you happy to know the truth?”

  “More than I can say,—if it is the truth,” Montesoro muttered. “But the thought of losing you is maddening.”

  “I have not said that I would not marry you,” Suzanna answered slowly.

  “But I say that you shall not marry him!” a voice boomed behind her. “You are mine, and no man shall take you from me!”

  That voice! Suzanna put out her hand unsteadily.

  “Ramon!”she whispered. “My Ramon——”

  “At last,”he said to her. “God bless you, Pérez,”he exclaimed as he turned to the bandit. “Have you a horse?”

  “Outside the gate,—a white stallion. The crowd is coming!”

  Ramon reached for Suzanna, and as he did so, Pancho’s sword flashed.

  “You’ll not run so fast!” he cried aloud.

  The boy was caught without hope of defending himself. Suzanna screamed as she saw the steel blade reach for Ramon’s throat. And then through the air another blade whistled; the swish of it ending in a groan as Montesoro sank to the ground, pierced to the heart.

  “Go!”Pérez commanded. “The way is open!”

  CHAPTER XXIV

  “WHITHER DO WE GO?”

  RAMON had stood at the chancel, waiting, until his hands had shaken, for some sign of action on the part of Pérez. Helplessly he had fought the excitement raging within him. The Bishop had read the Pater Noster; another minute or two and the mass would be over; the wedding would be consummated. Something in Ramon had snapped, then. Time and place, parents, betrothed, custom, traditions,—everything was swept away in the flood of emotion which had engulfed him. The decision he had despaired of ever reaching, had given him strength. Let the cost be what it might, Chiquita de Sola could be no bride of his! Without pausing to calculate his chances of success, he had leaped through the door and rushed to Suzanna’s side.

  The crowd had murmured at his unceremonious exit. Don Fernando and Don Diego exchanged a wondering glance, but even now they had no suspicion of what went forward in the patio; and it was not until the sound of angry voices arose that Ramon’s father stepped to the door. His eye took in the scene at a glance,—Montesoro lying dead at the foot of the altar; Pérez, sword in hand standing above him; Ramon running for the gate, Suzanna in his arms.

  “Hold! Hold!” He cried aloud. “Stop them!”

  The crowd in the chapel was thrown into a panic. Men, who had been friends but a moment before, fought each other to gain access to the garden.

  Don Fernando had drawn his sword on seeing no one arise to bar the way to Ramon’s escape. The portly man called again as he ran after them; but as the crowd poured into the garden, Ramon lifted Suzanna onto the horse’s back and swung into the saddle in front of her.

  “Stop! Stop him!” Don Fernando shouted, but the cry was in vain; Ramon and Suzanna dashed away.

  The boy’s father turned to his men, who surrounded him. “Pursue them!” he ordered.

  Horses were needed first, before this could be done, and minutes must elapse before they could be saddled. Ramon was heading for the hills to the west. In a few minutes, he was far enough away from the caserio to permit those who watched to follow him with their eyes.

  “He is pursued!” some one cried.

  And true enough, a long-striding black horse had turned from the road and was leaping after the fugitives.

  “That horse,” Don Fernando exclaimed,—“his gait is familiar!”

  “ ’Tis Guara,” Ruiz answered. “I recognize the horse he rides.”

  “He bids fair to overtake them. But to your horses, men. And look to it you are quick about it!”

  Ramon and Suzanna had passed from sight by now, Guara riding close.

  Another mile and the Indian caught up with them. The boy had seen that they were followed, and that their pursuer must overtake them.

  Suzanna pointed to him in alarm.

  “Never fear!” Ramon cried. “By my life I swear they shall not take you from me.”

  That it was Guara who followed them, caused the boy to wonder; but be he friend or foe, Ramon vowed that the Indian should not turn him back. Sword in hand, he swung to the ground and faced the man.

  The Indian shook his head at sight of the boy’s dra
wn sword.

  “Do you mean that you come as a friend?” Ramon questioned. “Didn’t my father order you to bring us back?”

  “I have not seen your father. I was returning to the Caserio when I saw you gallop off. Pérez—he came, I see,” Guara smiled, pointing to the outlaw’s horse. “He was in Monterey; I ride one horse to death trying to find him.”

  “Your reward shall not be forgotten, Guara.”

  “This black mare is for her,” the man grinned, nodding toward Suzanna. “She is fresh. Hurry! Many men come soon.”

  Ramon’s only plan so far had been to get away from the caserio. He knew the hill trails to the west. One of them led to Monterey. If they were fortunate enough to reach there, they could find a haven of refuge; but the way was overly long for Suzanna.

  The Indian seemed to sense the boy’s indecision as he wheeled his horse ahead of Suzanna’s mare. With cunning quite equal to a white man’s, Guara said pointedly: “The lower trail leads to San Carmelo.”

  Ramon smiled. Here was the plan he had lacked! With a wave of his hand to the Indian, the boy gave his horse its head and he and Suzanna drew rapidly away.

  It was forty miles to San Carmelo. The pace began to tell on the girl. “Whither do we go?” she cried as they swept down into a rocky cañon.

  “To the Mission San Carlos de Carmelo,” Ramon flung back at her without ever slacking the speed at which they rode.

  San Carlos de Carmelo,—the Mission! Suzanna smiled bravely to herself. What mattered this torturing saddle now?

  She thought of Pérez as she rode, and of the sacrifice the man had made for her, for surely he had been captured that they might ride free. The man had proven himself a true friend; and in spite of all his failings, Suzanna found him worthy of her respect.

  The bandit had been captured as she surmised. Indeed, he had made no attempt to escape; nor did he resist when Don Diego ordered him bound.