"Why do you say 'if you live,' Molas?"
"Because I think, lord, that then I shall be already dead; at least, death waits on me."
"What do you mean?" asked the señor.
"I will tell you. After the woman Luisa had gone I ate the food she brought me and drank some wine. Then I think that I fell asleep, for when I awoke the candle had burned out and I was in darkness. Hastily I turned to search for another candle that I had placed by the bottle, and was about to make fire when something drew my eyes, causing me to look up.
"This was what I saw: at the far end of the chamber, enclosed in a film of such pale light as is given by the glow–fly, stood the figure of a man, and that man myself, dressed as I am now. There I stood surrounded by faint fire; and though the face was the face of a dead man, yet the hand was not dead, for it beckoned towards me through the darkness.
"Now I saw, and the cold sweat of fear broke out upon me, so that I could scarcely light the candle which I held. At length, however, it burned brightly, and, holding it over my head, I walked towards the spot where I had seen the shadow, only to find that it was gone."
"Or in other words, that you had slept off your indigestion," said the señor. "I congratulate you on getting rid of it so soon."
"It is easy to mock," answered Molas, "but that which I have seen, I have seen, and I know that it portends my death. Well, so be it; I am not yet old, but I have lived long enough and now it is time to go. May Heaven have mercy on my sins, and thus let it be."
After this the señor and I strove to reason him out of his folly, but in vain, nor, in fact, was it altogether a folly, seeing that Molas was doomed to die upon the morrow; though whether the vision that he saw came to warn him of his fate, or was but a dream, it is not for me to say.
Presently we ceased talking of ghosts and omens, for we must look to our own bodies and the necessities of the hour. Some minutes before midnight we extinguished the light, and, creeping one by one through the hole in the panelling, we closed it behind us and took our stand in the little dungeon. Here the darkness was awful, and as the warmth of the wine that we had drunk passed from our veins, fears gathered thick upon us and oppressed our souls. Those hours on the sinking ship had been evil, but what were they compared to this?
Deep as was the silence, yet there were noises in it, strange creaks and flutterings that thrilled our marrows. We prayed till we were weary, then for my part I tried to doze, only to find that at such a time sleep was worse than waking, for my imagination peopled it with visions till it seemed to me that all the painted horrors on the walls of the chamber took life, and enacted themselves before my eyes.
I heard the groaning of the martyrs, and the cruel jeers of those who watched their agony, urged on by the hard–faced abbot, whose picture hung above us. Then the vision changed and I seemed to see the tragedy of the two Americans, of whose fate the señor had told me and whose blood still stained the floor. The darkness opened as it were, and I saw the beds on which they were sleeping heavily, stalwart men in the prime of life.
Then appeared figures standing over them, Don Pedro, Don José, and others, while from the shadows behind peeped the wicked face of their countryman, Don Smith. The bed–clothes were twitched away and once more all was black, but in the darkness I heard a sound of blows and groaning, of the hurrying feet of murderers, and the clinking of bags of money stolen from the dead men. Now the señor touched me and I woke with a start.
"Hark," he whispered into my ear, "I hear men creeping about the room."
"For the love of God, be silent," I answered, gripping his hand.
Chapter IX
The Duel
Now we placed our ears against the panelling and listened. First we heard creaks that were loud in the stillness, then soft heavy noises such as are made by a cat when it jumps from a height to the ground, and a gentle rubbing as of stockinged feet upon the floor. After this for some seconds came silence that presently was broken by the clink of steel, and the sound of heavy blows delivered upon a soft substance with swords and knives. The murderers were driving their weapons through the bed–clothes, thinking that we slept beneath them. Next we heard whisperings and muttered oaths, then a voice, Don José's, said:
"Be careful, the beds are empty."
Another instant and candles were lit, for their light reached us through small peep–holes in the panel, and by putting our eyes to these we could see what passed in the room. There before us we beheld Don José, Don Smith, and four of their companions, all armed with knives or machetes, while, framed, as it were in the wall, in the place that had been occupied by the picture of the abbot, stood our host, Don Pedro, holding a candle above his head, and glaring with his fish–like eyes into every corner of the room.
"Where are they?" he said. "Where are the wizards? Find them quick and kill them."
Now the men ran to and fro about the chamber, dragging aside the beds and staring at the pictures on the walls as though they expected to see us there.
"They are gone," said José at length, "that Indian, Ignatio, has conjured them away. He is a demonio and not a man; I thought it from the first."
"Impossible!" cried Don Pedro, who was white with rage and fear. "The door has been watched ever since they entered it, and no living thing could force those bars. Search, search, they must be hidden."
"Search yourself," answered Don Smith sullenly, "they are not here. Perhaps they discovered the trick of the picture and escaped down the passages to the chapel."
"It cannot be," said Don Pedro again, "for just now I was in the chapel and saw no signs of them. We have some traitor among us who has led them from the house; by Heaven, if I find him out―" and he uttered a fearful oath.
"Shall we bring the dogs?" asked José—and I trembled at his words: "they might smell their footing."
"Fool, what is the use of dogs in a place where all of you have been tramping?" answered the father. "To–morrow at dawn we will try them outside, for these men must be found and killed, or we are ruined. Already the authorities suspect us because of the disappearance of the two Americanos, and they will send soldiers from Vera Cruz to shoot us down, for without doubt this Inglese is rich and powerful. It is certain that they are not here, but perhaps they are hidden elsewhere in the building. Come, let us search the passages and the roof," and he vanished into the wall, followed by the others, leaving the chamber as dark and silent as it had been before their coming.
For a while the danger had passed, and we pressed each other's hands in gratitude, for to speak or even to whisper we did not dare. Ten minutes or more went by, when once again we heard sounds, and a light appeared in the room, borne in the hand of Don Pedro, who was accompanied by his son, Don José.
"They have vanished," said the old man, "the devil their master knows how. Well, to–morrow we must hunt them out if possible, till then nothing can be done. You were a fool to bring them here, José. Have I not told you that no money should tempt me to have more to do with the death of white men?"
"I did it for revenge, not money," answered José.
"A nice revenge," said his father, "a revenge that is likely to cost us all our lives, even in this country. I tell you that, if they are not found to–morrow and silenced, I shall leave this place and travel into the interior, where no law can follow us, for I do not wish to be shot down like a dog.
"Listen, José, bid those rascals to give up the search and go to bed, it is useless. Then do you come quietly to my room, and we will visit the Indian and his daughter. If we are to screw their secret out of them, it must be done to–night, for, like a fool, I told that Englishman the story when the wine was in me, thinking that he would never live to repeat it."