The Free Lances: A Romance of the Mexican Valley

The Play of Eyes

The ceremony of laying the foundation-stone had been brief and it was yet only an early hour of the afternoon when the procession passed back along the Callé de Plateros. The scavengers were still at work, and it is scarcely necessary to say that two of their number were earnestly on the lookout for a certain carriage. Sorry plight as they were in, neither felt ashamed or reluctant to come again under those eyes, after the expression they had observed in them. Rivas had hopes that in another exchange of glances with the Condesa, he might see something still further to instruct him; while Kearney, not so confident about his interpretation of those given to himself, longed to have a second reading of them.

Nor was he disappointed. The procession returned sooner than they expected, the looked-for carriage still holding its place in the line; the ladies in it, but now no officer of Hussars, nor any other, riding alongside. Santander, an aide-de-camp as known, had likely been ordered off on some official errand, and likely, too, his chief did not relish seeing him so near that particular equipage. Whatever the cause, his absence gave gratification to the two men noting it. With less constraint glances might now be exchanged – even gestures.

And both were. The look Kearney had given to him was accompanied by a nod of recognition; slight and timid, for it could not well be otherwise under the circumstances. But the eyes spoke more eloquently, telling him of respect undiminished, faith that had never faltered, love strong and true as ever. If he read pity in them too, it was not such as he would now spurn.

To Rivas were accorded signs of a very different sort. He had them not only from eyes, but the movement of a fan and fingers. They seemed satisfactory to him; for as the carriage passed out of sight, he turned to the other and said in a cheerful whisper:

“Keep up heart, camarado! I perceive you’re not unknown to a friend of my friend. You heard the brute of a gaol-governor taunt me about a certain Condesa?”

“I did.”

“Well; that’s the lady, alongside her who’s just been making eyes at you. An old acquaintance of yours, I see; and I think I could say where it was commenced. Never mind about that now. Enough for you to know that if friendship can get us out of this fix, with gold to back it, we may yet have a chance of giving leg-bail to the turnkeys of the Acordada.”

Their dialogue was terminated by Dominguez, who, temporarily absent for a swill at one of the neighbouring pulquerias, now returned to the superintendence of his charge, and roughly commanded them to resume their work.

For nearly another hour the work went on, though not so regularly as before. The stream of returning sightseers still lined the foot-walks, many of them showing by their behaviour they had been paying a visit to pulquerias too, and more than once. Some stopped to fraternise with the soldiers, and would have done likewise with the forzados, if permitted. They were not hindered, however, from holding converse with the former, and extending hospitality to them in the shape of treats; sentry after sentry stealing away from his post after the proffered and coveted toothful. Nor was Dominguez an exception, he too every now and then repeating his visit to the dram-shop.

All this gave the scavengers licence of speech, with some liberty of action, or rather rest from their disagreeable task. And in the interval, while they were thus idling, the young Irishman noticed that the eyes of his chain companion were kept continuously on the foot-walks, now on one side now the other, his face towards the Plaza Grande – as though he expected to see some one coming that way. Kearney himself was regarding the people who came along – but only from curiosity – when his attention was more particularly drawn to one who had come to a stop on the sidewalk nearly opposite. This was a girl of rather diminutive stature, dressed in the ordinary fashion of the common people, short-skirted petticoat, sleeveless camisa, arms, ankles, and feet bare; but the head, breast, and shoulders all under one covering – the reboso. Even her face was hidden by this, for she was wearing it “tapado,” one eye only visible, through a little loop in the folded scarf, which was kept open by the hand that held it. The girl had drawn up in front of a jeweller’s window, as though to feast that eye on the pretty things therein displayed. And thus Kearney would not have noticed her, any more than the others, many of them in like garb passing to and fro. But, just as his eye happened to light upon her, he saw that hers – literally a single one – was fixed upon him, regarding him in a way altogether different from that which might be expected on the part of a chance stranger. Her attitude, too, was odd. Though facing nearly square to the shop window, and pretending to look into it, her head was slightly turned, and the eye surely on him.

At first he was puzzled to make out what it could mean, and why the girl should be taking such an interest in him. Possibly, had she been wearing shoes and stockings, he might have come easier to the comprehension of it. But a little brown-skinned, barefooted muchacha, in a petticoat of common stuff, and cheap scarf over her shoulders, he could think of no reason why she should have aught to do with him.

Only for a few seconds, however, was he thus in the dark. Then all became clear, the éclaircissement giving him a start, and sending the blood in quick rush through his veins – pleasant withal. For the girl, seeing she had caught his attention, relaxed her clasp upon the scarf, partially exposing her face, and the other eye.

Kearney needed not seeing the whole of it for recognition now. Well remembered he those features – pretty in spite of the dark skin – he had often seen wreathed with pleasant smiles, as their owner used to open the door for him in the Casa de Calvo.

Chapter Twenty Seven

A Letter Dexterously Delivered

Pepita it was, though in a different style of dress to what he had been accustomed to see her in; as at New Orleans she had not kept to her national costume. Besides, there was a soupçon of shabbiness about her present attire, and then the shoeless feet!

“Dismissed the Valverde service – out of a situation – poor girl!”

He would not have so pityingly reflected, had he seen her as she was but a short half-hour before, in a pretty muslin dress, snow-white stockings, and blue satin slippers. Since then she had made a change in her toilet under direction and by help of the Condesa, who had attired her in a way more befitting the task intended.

Kearney, in full belief of her being a discharged servant, remembering her many little kindnesses to himself in the Casa de Calvo, was about to call her up, and speak a word of sympathy for old time’s sake. Dominguez was still absent, and the nearest sentry engaged in a chaffing encounter with some one in the crowd.

Just then he observed a slight tremor of her head, and with a sudden movement of the hand which seemed to say, “No, don’t speak to me.” She, too, could talk that mute language, so well understood in her country.

So restrained, he kept silent; to see her now glance furtively around, as if to make sure no one else was observing her. She had again closed the scarf over her face, but in the hand that held it under her chin something white – a piece of paper he supposed – appeared; just for one instant, then drawn under. Another significant look accompanied this gesture, saying plain as word could speak it: —

“You see what I’ve got for you; leave the action all to me.”

He did, for he could not do otherwise; he was fixed to this spot, she foot free. And the use she now made of this freedom was to walk straight out into the street, though not as coming to him; instead, her steps, as her eyes were directed towards Cris Rock and the hunchback, who were at work some paces further on. She seemed bent on making a closer inspection of the odd pair, nor would any one suppose she had other object in crossing over to them. No one did, save Kearney himself. Rivas had been again ordered into the sewer, and was at work in it. Besides, he did not know Pepita, though he was the one she most wished to be near. Chiefly for him was the communication she had to make.

It could not be, however, without a demonstration likely to be observed, therefore dangerous. But her wit was equal to the occasion, proving how well the ladies had chosen their letter-carrier.

“Ay Dios!” she exclaimed aloud, brushing past the young Irishman, and stopping with her eyes bent wonderingly on the strangely contrasted couple; then aside in sotto voce to Kearney, whom she had managed to place close behind her, apparently unconscious of his being there – “A billetita, Don Florencio – not for you – for the Señor Rivas – you can give it him – I daren’t. Try to take it out of my hand without being seen.” Then once more aloud. “Gigante y enano!” just as others had said, “Rue cosa estranja!” (what a strange thing).

She need not say any more, nor stay there any longer. For while she was speaking the crumpled sheet had passed through the fringe of the scarf, out of her fingers into those of Don Florencio, who had bent him to his work bringing his hand to the right place for the transfer.

Her errand, thus vicariously accomplished with another wondering look at the giant and dwarf, and another “Ay, Dios!” she turned to go back to the side walk. But before passing Kearney she managed to say something more to him.

“Carriage will come along soon – two ladies in it – one you know – one dear to you as you to her.”

Sweet words to him, though muttered, and he thanked her who spoke them – in his heart. He dared not speak his thanks, even in whisper; she was already too far off, tripping back to the flagged foot-walk, along which she turned, soon to disappear from his sight.

What she had said about the coming of a carriage was to Kearney not altogether intelligible. But, no doubt, the note, now concealed inside his shirt bosom would clear that up; and the next step was to hand it over to him for whom it was intended.

Luckily, Rivas had not been unobservant of what was going on between the girl and his companion. Her look seeming strange to him, had attracted his attention, and though keeping steadily at work, his eyes were not on it, but on them, which resulted in his witnessing the latter part of the little episode, and having more than a suspicion it also concerned himself. He was not taken by surprise, therefore, when Kearney, drawing closer to the edge of the drain, spoke down to him in a half-whisper —

“I’ve got something for you. Bring the point of your tool against mine, and look out when you feel my fingers.”

“Muy bien! I understand,” was the muttered response.

In a second or two after the shafts of their implements came into collision accidentally, it appeared. He would indeed have been sharp-witted who could have supposed it intentional, and lynx-eyed to have seen that scrap of twisted paper passed from one to the other – the second transfer dexterously done as the first. All any one could have told was, that the two scavengers seemed sorry for what had occurred, made mutual apologies, then separated to the full length of their coupling-chain, and went to work again, looking meek and innocent as lambs.

It was now Rivas’ turn to prove himself possessed of quick wit. He had reason to think the letter required immediate reading; and how was this to be done? To be seen at it would surely bring the sentries upon him, even though Dominguez was not there. And for them to get possession of it – that was a calamity perhaps worst of all! Possibly to compromise the writer; and well knew he who that was.

For a time he was perplexed, looking in all directions, and thinking of every way possible for him to read the letter unobserved. But none did seem possible. He could stoop down, so as to be unseen by those passing along the sidewalk; but close to the sewer’s edge were two or three of the sentries, who would still command view of him.

All at once a look of satisfaction came over his countenance, as his eyes rested on a side drain, which entered the main one, like many others, from adjacent dwellings. He had just scraped the mud out of its mouth, and was close to it.

The very thing, was his thought – the very place for his purpose. And shortly after he might have been seen standing before it, in bent attitude, his arms busy with his shovel, but his eyes and thoughts busier with a sheet of paper which lay at the bottom of the branch drain, some two or three feet inside it. It was the billetita, and though the creases were but hastily pressed out, he contrived to make himself master of its contents. They were but brief and legibly written – the script familiar to him.

“Querido, – Soon after receiving this – say, half an hour – look for a carriage – landau shut up – two ladies inside – pair of large horses —frisones– grey. When opposite, be ready – with him who shares your chain. Leave manners in the mud – make a rush, storm the carriage, eject the occupants rudely – violently – and take their places. You can trust the cochero. Some danger in the attempt, I know; but more if not made. Your old enemy implacable – determined to have your life. Do this, dearest, and save it – for your country’s sake, as also that of Ysabel.”

Chapter Twenty Eight

Looking out for a Landau

From the way Rivas treated the “billetita” after he had finished reading it, one unacquainted with its contents might have supposed they had made him either mad angry, or madly jealous. Instead of taking it up tenderly, and treasuring it away, he planted his muddy boot upon it, with a back scrape brought it into the main sewer, still keeping it under the mud and trampling it with both feet, lifted and set down alternately, the while shovelling away, as though he had forgotten all about it. Not so, however. The tread-mill action was neither accidental nor involuntary, but for a purpose. The writer had committed herself in sub-signing a portion of her name, as by other particulars, and should the letter fall into hands he knew of, her danger would be as great as his own.

In a few seconds, however, any uneasiness about this was at an end. The most curious chiffonier could not have deciphered a word written on that sheet, which by the churning he had submitted it to must have been reduced to a very pulp.

During all this time no one had taken notice of his proceedings, not even the man chained to him, except by an occasional side glance. For Kearney, well aware of what he was at, to draw attention from him had got up a wordy demonstration with the dwarf – to all appearance a quarrel. There was real anger on the side of the latter; for the “gringo,” as he contemptuously called the Irishman, had cruelly mocked his deformity. A cruelty which gave pain to the mocker himself; but he could think of no other way to secure inattention to Rivas, and this efficiently did. Both talking the tongue of the country, their war of words, with some grotesque gestures which Kearney affected, engrossed the attention of all within sight or hearing; so that not an eye was left for the surreptitious reader of the letter.

When the sham quarrel came to an end – which it did soon as he who commenced it saw it should – the knot of spectators it had drawn around dispersed, leaving things as before. But not as before felt Rivas and Kearney. Very different now the thoughts stirring within them, both trying to appear calm while under the greatest agitation. For they had again contrived to bring their ears together, and the latter now knew all about the contents of the Condesa’s letter, their purport being fully explained, nor did they draw apart, till a thorough understanding had been established between them as to the action they should take.

All this without loss of time was translated to Cris Rock, who was told also of their resolve to attempt to escape, in which the Texan was but too glad to take part. Kearney would have stayed there, and gone back into the Acordada, loathsome gaol though it was, sooner than leave his old filibustering comrade behind. He could never forget the incident of El Salado, nor cease to feel gratitude to the man who had offered to give up life for him.

But there was no need for Rock being left behind. Rivas himself wished it otherwise, for more than one reason; but one good one, that instead of obstructing their escape he would be an aid to it.

The hunchback alone was not let into their secret. No doubt he too would be glad to get free from his chains, since he was under a sentence of imprisonment for life. But who could tell whether at the last moment he might not purchase pardon by turning out and betraying them? They knew him to be vile enough even for that, and so kept him in the dark about their design.

There was no need of further premeditation or contrivance of plans. That had all been traced out for them in the singular epistle signed “Ysabel,” and a few whispered words from one to the other completed the understanding of it, with what was to be done. From the time this was settled out, never looked three pair of eyes more eagerly along a street than did theirs along the Callé de Plateros; never was a carriage more anxiously awaited than a landau which should show itself with hood up, drawn by a pair of grey horses.