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 "l TELL VOL I AM A BRITISH SUBJECT 
 
DON Q. IN THE 
 SIERRA 
 
 BY 
 
 K. AND HESKETH PRICHARD 
 
 AUTHORS OF "CHRONICLES OF 
 DON Q.." ETC. 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 BY FRANK X. CHAMBERLIN 
 
 rx^rx:S3ciixiiDcir>arx:irx:^x^0a^Darx^rx^^3^ 
 
 PHILADELPHIA 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY 
 
 1906 
 
Copyright, 1905, by Ainslek Magazinb Company 
 
 Copyright, 1906, by Ainslek Magazine Company 
 
 Copyright, 1906, by J. B. Lippincott Company 
 
 Published^ November^ 1906 
 

 CONTENTS 
 i 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. How Don Q. Came Back i 
 
 II. How Don Q. Dealt with a Famous Cricketer. 30 
 
 III. How Don Q. Dealt with a Thief 57 
 
 IV. How Don Q. Had Need of a Surgeon 82 
 
 V. How Don Q. Fought for the Valderejos 107 
 
 VI. How Don Q. Dealt with Professor Japsley, 
 
 F.R.S., Ph.D 131 
 
 VII. How Don Q. Kept Christmas 154 
 
 VIII. How Don Q. was Asked in Marriage 180 
 
 IX. How Don Q. Became a Squire of Dames 205 
 
 X. How Don Q. Attended a Bull-Fight 232 
 
 XI. How Don Q. Played Substitute 261 
 
 XII. How the End Came 287 
 
 6 
 
 M69Si882 
 
UST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 **I tell you I am a British subject!" Frontispiece. 
 
 *' Ah ! So you perceive who I am ! " 24 
 
 They came upon an encampment of wild-looking men 
 
 seated round a blazing fire 92 
 
 There was a rush and a hubbub among the spectators 124 
 
 On and on he ran 176 
 
 He made out that he was lying beside a fire on the stone 
 
 floor 194 
 
 Sebastian fell full length beside the dying bull 254 
 
 **To overtake a woman who has lost all her friends is 
 
 a triumph to boast of." 272 
 
 7 
 
DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 HOW DON Q. CAME BACK 
 
 Those who read the last chronicles of Don Q. 
 may remember that, after he defeated Don Hugo's 
 long-planned expedition into the mountains, he dis- 
 appeared. There were but three people in the world 
 who believed that he still lived ; one of these was far 
 away in England, the two others, the hunter Robledo 
 and his wife, dwelt for a time in the little white city 
 under the foothills. At first, these two expected 
 news of their master almost daily, but months, 
 and even years, rolled by, and Don Q.'s fame was 
 already passing into history in the sierra. 
 
 Now that he was gone the romantic heart of Spain 
 forgot the darker shades of his character and re- 
 membered chiefly his virtues — the splendour of his 
 generosities, his almost diabolic courage, his spirit 
 of chivalry, and perhaps most of all, his unswerving 
 fidelity to the poorest who served him. The people 
 missed the glamour of that mysterious life among 
 the mountains, which was only enhanced by the 
 flashlight illumination of his exploits. They con- 
 
 9 
 
lo DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 tinued to speculate curiously on those unspoken 
 wrongs, which had driven him, a man of high birth 
 and lineage, to the lawless shelter of the sierra ; they 
 loved to explain to strangers the reason of the name, 
 Don Q., by which alone they knew him. It was 
 not so much, they would say, that he possessed some 
 facial resemblance to the quebrantchhuesos, the bone- 
 breaking vulture, but rather that his dealings with 
 the world at large were marked by the same terrible 
 finality which searched deep to the very marrow of 
 being. 
 
 In the ventas and the little wayside wineshops, 
 men's mouths were filled with his praise; one heard 
 but laments for the lost friend of the poor — "Ahi, 
 Dios mio, when the eagle was up above, there were 
 no hawks, now there are many hawks and no eagle." 
 This grew into a saying. 
 
 Amongst those hawks — certain petty robbers and 
 thieves — at length arose one of large ambitions, who 
 aspired to wear the mantle of Don Q. He named 
 himself El Zurriago, anglice, the Whip, by which 
 appellation this modern Jeroboam desired to an- 
 nounce to the country-side that his little finger would 
 be thicker than his predecessor's loins. He kept his 
 word, indeed, after his own reading of the matter, 
 which, however, differed vastly from the traditions 
 of Don Q. 
 
 For EI Zurriago, although he now and then 
 made a prisoner of sufficient wealth or rank to be 
 held to ransom, filled in most of his time with 
 
HOW DON Q. CAME BACK ii 
 
 harrying the weak, the indigent, the already hungry. 
 The February nights after his advent were Ht with 
 the flames of burning huts, or outlying dwellings 
 of hill villages, where all were " poor to solemnity." 
 In a word. El Zurriago and his wolf-pack ran amok 
 through the land, for he was a man without bowels 
 of mercy, who gave license to his followers to com- 
 mit deeds which struck remonstrance cold. 
 
 Witness the story of the wife of Tomas, the 
 charcoal burner — she who, with unhealed scars upon 
 her face and unbalanced mind, still nursed the only 
 one left alive to her of her brown, bare-footed brood. 
 And this under the same sky and on the same stage 
 where legends lingered of Don Q.'s jealously 
 guarded honour of reward and punishment, and his 
 inviolable recognition of the claims of the poor. 
 
 Further, it was owned that more than one priest 
 sighed as he toiled about his cliffside cure to think 
 that the tolling of his bell would no more bring 
 stragglers from the wild band in the Boca de Lobo — 
 stricken into reverence by their soft- voiced, terrible 
 captain — travelling down the mountains to mass, or 
 even to confession, for Don Q. was always a good 
 Catholic. 
 
 Is it any wonder that in waste places the rare 
 lights were covered while the night wind, laden with 
 terror, howled at the doors ? " El Zurriago is a 
 man of dread," said the peasants who cling about 
 those hills ; '* he walks in the darkness, he knocks 
 with the naked knuckle-bone upon the door." 
 
12 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 Now there was one person to whose heart these 
 doings brought something very Hke despair, who 
 argued to himself that if his master still lived such 
 things could not continue. This was Robledo, once 
 the most favoured follower of Don Q. After his 
 marriage, the life of the city soon palled upon him, 
 and he journeyed into the mid levels of the sierra 
 with his wife, and there upon the south side of a 
 group of granite boulders, amongst which thickets 
 of elder and laurustinus thrust out ragged branches, 
 he, being a skilled woodsman, built a dwelling. 
 Over the lintel he carved a cross, and provided one 
 or two simple necessaries to signify that here was 
 a posada, an inn, where wayfarers could be provided 
 with shelter, salt, and a glass of aguardiente. 
 
 It was a long, low windowless place, with a bench 
 by the wall inside the door, and opposite to it the 
 small counter with its half-dozen glasses, backed by 
 a recess where the wineskins bulged dimly in the 
 gloom. At one end of the house Isabellilla kept her 
 cooking-pots, at the other, lost to sight, though not 
 perhaps to the perception of other senses, lodged 
 Robledo's mule. The means of entertainment were 
 slight, yet parties of sportsmen, attracted by the 
 fame of the hunter, came and slept uncomplainingly 
 on the earthen floor, and were afterwards led to 
 seek ibex by Robledo into the mountains he knew so 
 well. 
 
 This move into the sierra had given a fresh lease 
 of life to the expectation of Don Q.'s return, and. 
 
HOW DON Q. CAME BACK 13 
 
 during their first bleak winter there, any sound of 
 wind or falling stone would bring Robledo springing 
 to the door, with the fierce, handsome face of his 
 wife peering over his shoulder. Their hopes sur- 
 vived many disappointments, but not until the par- 
 ody of El Zurriago's career had lasted for some time 
 did despair lay his grip upon them. 
 
 Now about the period when this narrative opens, 
 Robledo was expecting one of the occasional sports- 
 men who visited his inn. The matter had been 
 arranged by letter, and to none had Robledo or his 
 wife spoken of the matter ; yet rumour carried to the 
 ears of El Zurriago the fact that the ca^ador was 
 expecting an English nobleman of fabulous fortune 
 to hunt in the sierra. 
 
 Upon this, El Zurriago issued his commands to 
 Robledo. The English lord was to be betrayed into 
 the hands of the bandit, or the inn would be burnt 
 to the ground and its inmates be given over to a fate 
 of unqualified horror. 
 
 As dark fell, the door was closed and barred on 
 the crying wind, and the couple in the lonely inn 
 spoke at intervals of the evil fortune that threatened 
 them. A rushlight lit up the shadows of the interior. 
 Isabellilla was frying pancakes in the fat of a deer 
 that her husband, who could not altogether keep 
 to the paths of virtue, had poached from a distant 
 preserve. The girl's hair was dressed becomingly 
 as of old, her coarse yellow skirt did not hide the 
 slender ankles formerly so much admired in the 
 
14 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 streets of Malaga, and except that perhaps her face 
 was a Httle paler, her bust a little fuller, there 
 was no change in her beauty. Now and then she 
 would glance nervously back over her shoulder, and 
 Robledo on the bench by the door sat brooding and 
 dejected, listening to the wind which howled dry- 
 eyed without. 
 
 A sudden stamp and a snort broke in upon the 
 tension of the moment. Isabellilla whirled round, 
 her eyes brilliant as ever and with the same smoulder 
 of temper. Robledo, without changing his attitude, 
 nodded slightly. 
 
 " It is but the mule, Leon," he muttered. 
 
 "An apoplexy take him! May he die on his 
 head ! " exclaimed the girl, lowering her voice, 
 " and El Zurriago also ! What answer did you send 
 him?" 
 
 "None; it is wiser to be silent than to offend." 
 
 " You will not give this Englishman to him ? " 
 
 The young man roused himself. " I have eaten 
 my lord, Don Q.'s, salt. Shall I serve another?" 
 he asked hotly. 
 
 "Hush, hush!" Isabellilla stood staring into 
 the shadows. " The Englishman comes to-morrow, 
 very soon El Zurriago will know — then what is to 
 become of us? Saints in Paradise! these are hard 
 times ! It is in my heart, Robledo, that if you save 
 this Englishman, we will die like scorched flies here 
 in the mountains ! " 
 
 Robledo lifted his head, " It may be, yet the 
 
HOW DON Q. CAME BACK 15 
 
 mother of Heaven forbid that I should die in a 
 town ! " he exclaimed with fervour. 
 
 The girl knelt down beside him, and slipped her 
 arm across his shoulders. 
 
 " It is now two years since you were a brigand, 
 beloved," she whispered in his ear, " and yet my 
 lord keeps silence. Men say he is dead." 
 
 Robledo sighed heavily. " I have not believed 
 it, for my lord promised he would return. I have 
 waited — day by day I have said : * To-day my lord 
 will come, and throw the carcase of El Zurriago to 
 the vultures ! ' " He broke off. 
 
 " Perhaps my lord journeys far away — perhaps 
 to Cuba," suggested his wife. 
 
 " No, no ! While my lord lived he heard every- 
 thing, he knew everything. If he were yet alive 
 would he not have heard long ago of El Zurriago? " 
 His voice sank to a toneless whisper. " No, my lord 
 is dead!" 
 
 His wife leaned closer. ".Beware," she whis- 
 pered, " one moves round the house." 
 
 Robledo snatched up his gun, Isabellilla covered 
 the rushlight. She had not been Robledo's wife 
 so long without learning that the man who enters 
 a room lit only by the glow of red-hot charcoal 
 is at a disadvantage as compared with one already 
 within. These two lived with perceptions that their 
 mode of life had strung to perpetual alarm. 
 
 A sharp rattle drummed on the door. The man 
 and woman stood hushed and tense, listening in the 
 
i6 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 gloom. Was it a scurry of pebbles blast-driven, or 
 stones thrown by a human hand? 
 
 " None pass at this hour," she muttered, " Blessed 
 be Heaven you carved a cross on the lintel ! " 
 
 Robledo shook off her grasp, and flung open the 
 door on a night of storm and stars. " Who is there? 
 Come in, or I fire." 
 
 A sound of squeaking leather answered him as 
 of a man dismounting from the saddle. 
 
 ''Ahi, Dios mio? " moaned the woman, " it is the 
 civile." (The Civil Guard, who are the terror of 
 evildoers, but the succour of any in peril or distress 
 throughout the land of Spain.) 
 
 "Are you not the cazador, Robledo? " asked 
 a quiet voice in halting Spanish from the night out- 
 side. " I am Lord Guy Barwood ; do you not expect 
 me?" 
 
 Robledo ran out. "A thousand pardons, excel- 
 lency, we did not expect you until to-morrow; a 
 thousand pardons, but these are wild times up here 
 in the sierra. I am, indeed, Robledo the cazador, 
 and this is my poor house. It and all within It are 
 at your service. Enter, I pray you, and I will stable 
 your horse." 
 
 The stranger entered, pulling open his fur coat 
 to get at his pince-nez, which he set on the bony 
 ridge of his nose to look round the house. 
 
 " Is there not a fire, patrona? " he said in the same 
 cold voice and diffident Spanish. 
 
 Isabellilla hastened to lay together some pieces 
 
HOW DON Q. CAME BACK 17 
 
 of wocxi, apologising as she did so for the smoke. But 
 she was not too busy to inspect the sportsman. Her 
 survey satisfied her, for he looked rich indeed, from 
 the beauty of his furs to the fine leather of his 
 leggings and the solidity of his unmistakably English 
 boots. Isabellilla had become something of a con- 
 noisseur in sportsmen. 
 
 Lord Guy sat down on the bench, and taking off 
 his cap, passed his hand slowly over his thick dark 
 hair and beard, but he did not speak until Robledo 
 led a mule into the doorway. 
 
 ''You are alone, excellency?" the mountaineer 
 said with much surprise. 
 
 Lord Guy put on his glasses again. " They told 
 me in the plains that a mule was safer than a horse 
 in the sierra." He seemed to find his words with 
 difficulty. "And two Guardias Civiles escorted me 
 to the wood in the valley, and put me on this path. 
 My — my — baggage comes to-morrow." 
 
 In silence Robledo stabled the mule at a safe dis- 
 tance from his own, in silence his wife prepared the 
 best fare she had in the house. Their guest ate 
 sparingly, and also in silence, but when the last olive 
 stone dropped upon his plate, he lit his curved pipe 
 and turned to Robledo. 
 
 " Now of the ibex," he said. " Shall I have good 
 sport?" 
 
 Robledo stood before him. " There is no longer 
 any sport in the sierra, excellency," he said fiercely. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 2 
 
i8 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 Isabellilla wrung her hands and struck her bosom. 
 " It is not his fault, excellency." 
 
 But the Englishman was still looking sternly at 
 Robledo. " Speak ! " he ordered. " Explain ! " 
 
 " There is danger in the mountains for travellers," 
 repeated the ca^ador, " danger that lies in wait up 
 above there." 
 
 " Do you mean brigands — are they not always 
 in your sierra! I have heard of some Don Z. or 
 Don Q." 
 
 Isabellilla brought her palms sharply together. 
 "Alas ! excellency, Don Q. is dead ! " 
 
 Lord Guy appeared rather taken aback. " Do 
 you, then regret him ? " 
 
 Robledo and his wife looked at one another. This 
 would certainly be an awkward admission to make. 
 Then Robledo spoke. 
 
 " Had your excellency been fortunate enough to 
 have been entertained by Don Q., that would have 
 been an honour, believe me. For Don Q. was the 
 friend of princes. But this El Zurriago, although he 
 boasts of himself, is but a vile dog of the gutter, one 
 who would eat offal in the streets;" and he spat 
 forcibly into the flames. 
 
 "All brigands are alike," commented Lord Guy, 
 scornfully. 
 
 " Pardon, excellency ! " exclaimed Robledo, af- 
 fronted, " you did not know Don Q." 
 
 " Did you^ " demanded the Englishman, grimly. 
 
 Robledo hesitated. " My papers are all in order, 
 
HOW DON Q. CAME BACK 19 
 
 excellency. Have not many at the foothills told 
 you that I am an honest man, and that none meet 
 with — trouble who go with me into the mountains? '* 
 
 " Yes, I have heard this is so ; therefore I shall 
 certainly hunt ibex to-morrow," was the answer. 
 
 " You will of a surety fall into the hands of El 
 Zurriago. He may shoot me, but I cannot save 
 you. Thus you will be shamed, for El Zurriago is 
 not a true seqnestrador who holds to ransom, but a 
 mean and vile thief who has sought refuge in the 
 sierra. Afterwards he will come down and burn 
 my posada and my wife in it," said Robledo. " Turn 
 back, excellency, I beseech you! " 
 
 " I never turn back," said Lord Guy in his cold, 
 indifferent voice. 
 
 Silence dropped on the little group. Without 
 the wind tore at the walls, and to the hunter and 
 his wife a sense of loneliness and impending doom 
 seemed to creep in with its moaning. 
 
 " Then we perish," said Robledo at last very 
 quietly. Isabellilla turned away and covered her face 
 with her hands. 
 
 Lord Guy rose. " It is time to sleep. Give me 
 a glass of aguardiente, patron;" he followed Rob- 
 ledo to the counter; "also a second glass for the 
 patrona, and a third for yourself. Now, let us drink 
 to the old days, my children ! " he added in a 
 changed voice, which caused Isabellilla to whip round 
 with a scream. 
 
 The figure was indeed that of Lord Guy, but his 
 
20 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 pince-nez dangled uselessly across his breast, his 
 wig and whiskers lay on the counter, and it was 
 Don Q.'s bald head and well-known face that bowed 
 in grave courtesy before her. 
 
 " My lord has come to save us," she sobbed. 
 
 Robledo and his wife looked at one another. This 
 Zurriago, lord — " he began. 
 
 " Yes, yes, I heard of him in England," said Don 
 Q., " and also they told me much in the plains." 
 
 " My lord will kill him ! " exclaimed the young 
 mountaineer, leaping up eagerly. " I know where 
 Caspar lives — in Barcelona — Pablo, Estaban. In 
 a week I can gather forty of my old comrades, and 
 my lord will lead them into the sierra — " 
 
 Don Q.'s geniality disappeared. ** Have I asked 
 for suggestions ? " he inquired harshly. 
 
 Robledo hung his head. 
 
 " Your tongue has grown loose during my ab- 
 sence, Robledo," went on Don Q. " It is a fault you 
 must hasten to correct. To-morrow at daybreak you 
 and the English sportsman, Lord Guy Barwood, 
 will start to shoot ibex in the high gorges." 
 
 He spoke no further word that night. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 HOW DON Q. CAME BACK — (continued) 
 
 It was yet black dark and very cold when Isabell- 
 illa, hooded in her shawl, brewed steaming chocolate, 
 such as men drink in the hill villages, for Don Q. 
 and her husband. Later she watched them vanish 
 into the gloom that yet hung about the valley. Lord 
 Guy rode ahead, his rifle slung behind his saddle, 
 while Robledo followed on foot, leading his own 
 mule, laden with bedding, food, cooking pots, and his 
 employer's valise. The stars were now hidden, and 
 as they rode the ink-black night turned ashen, hard- 
 ened into bleak stencillings, and then the light of 
 dawn filtered through the air like milk through a cup 
 of tea. The sun rose with a chilly shower. 
 
 By vague bridle-paths the casador and the pre- 
 tended Lord Guy travelled upon their way, hardly 
 exchanging a word as they mounted from one 
 sombre defile to another. A forsaken land this, with 
 not a hut to break its solitude ; the sole reminder that 
 man had ever trod those lonely trails were the 
 ghastly tokens set up to show that here or there one 
 had been done to death by violence, and to implore 
 passers-by to remember in their prayers the shudder- 
 ing souls hurried unshriven into eternity. 
 
 Clouds drew up to the zenith, and the sierra put 
 on its most forbidding aspect, and for the first time 
 
 21 
 
22 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 in his life Robledo felt the menace of their enfold- 
 ing. Even his seasoned courage was shaken as the 
 grey shoulders of the hills closed in behind them, 
 for he had expected a rendezvous with his old com- 
 rades of the Boca de Lobo. But as they entered 
 one sinister ravine after another his hope failed, and 
 some shadow of Don Q.'s plan came to his appre- 
 hension. 
 
 Knowing as he did the almost fiendish intrepidity 
 of his master, he yet found it difficult to believe 
 that Don Q. actually intended facing El Zurriago 
 practically singled-handed, even perhaps allowing 
 himself to be made prisoner. A premonition of evil 
 weighed upon the young mountaineer until the frail 
 figure ahead chanced to turn, and Robledo saw the 
 angled face eye-bright with anticipation of conflict. 
 
 So evening drew on, and in the mouth of a snow- 
 streaked valley, Robledo pitched camp under the lee 
 of a clump of firs. Now it is hard to know what 
 Don Q. might have done had the development for 
 which he waited been delayed. But it came that 
 same evening. The raven and his mate, first of 
 birds to foretell the night, were already flapping to 
 their roost in some mist-hidden cliff, when a bullet 
 sang mournfully over the camp fire, and a voice 
 cried out to the Englishman to surrender. 
 
 Lord Guy arranged his pince-nez with delibera- 
 tion, and surveyed the seven or eight men bound 
 about the head and middle with garish colours, who 
 gradually drew within the circle of the firelight. 
 
HOW DON Q. CAME BACK 23 
 
 It is quite unnecessary to tell of the fight which 
 followed. Don Q. was of all men the last to omit 
 observance of any detail likely to lend credibility to 
 the role he chose to sustain. In this case it is probable 
 that, unless he desired it, he would never have been 
 taken at all. But when he had, with Robledo's help, 
 thinned the eight brigands down to five, he sur- 
 rendered with all dignity and some of the honours 
 of war. 
 
 "You vermin will be wise not to interfere too 
 greatly with me," he said imperiously; ** I will 
 accompany you. That is sufficient." 
 
 He, however, submitted to be bound upon his 
 mule, and as it was led further and further into the 
 remoter gorges, he gave way to a train of thought, 
 to which he mentally acknowledged circumstances 
 had hitherto forced him to remain a complete 
 stranger. In short, he was, for the first time in his 
 life, a prisoner, and, as he was borne on towards the 
 brigands' camp, he endeavoured with some success 
 to analyse the hopes and fears proper to a man in 
 so perilous a position. He found this occupation 
 more engrossing than he had imagined possible, 
 and the line of thought led him so far afield that he 
 was surprised, and almost disagreeably brought to 
 earth again, when the party, rounding a shoulder of 
 rock, saw below them the camp of El Zurriago. 
 
 Upon the cliff-bound slope great fires burned, 
 round which wild men, shaggy with their life among 
 the mountains, were squatting. In the gloom, above 
 
24 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 their heads, the flames made gnomes of out-jutting 
 crags and stumps, and gleamed upon the outer sur- 
 faces of a black couchant boulder, against which 
 stood out in relief a rough shelter of canvas, closed 
 to the public eye by a curtain of stained and ragged 
 red. 
 
 Don Q. was scandalised when instead of the 
 orderly and ceremonious advent formerly accorded 
 to his own captives, a score of men leaped from the 
 fires, and ran to meet him with uncouth cries and 
 jeers. They pulled and pushed the mule on which 
 he was riding as they hurried it down to the camp, 
 where twenty hands unbound Lord Guy's ankles 
 and set him on his feet. 
 
 A sound like a pistol-shot echoed at the same 
 moment round the cliff, and Lord Guy perceived 
 a burly fellow seated on an overturned barrel where 
 the full play of the pine- fed fire beat upon him. He 
 held a whip in his hand, and as he cracked it the men 
 rose up and herded together behind the prisoner. 
 Some act of brutality seemed imminent. El Zurri- 
 ago's evil reputation, entirely justified by his aspect, 
 promised as much. Robledo shivered with fury as 
 he beheld his lord standing thus exposed to the 
 chance of insult. 
 
 But Lord Guy lost no time. He bowed cere- 
 moniously, as a man bows to his equal, and with a 
 suavity that made amends for his broken Spanish, 
 he said : 
 
 " I am Lord Guy Barwood from England. I 
 
AH, SO VOU peRCCIVE WHO 1 AM?" 
 
HOW DON Q. CAME BACK 25 
 
 beg to introduce myself, seiior, for I perceive that 
 you are the captain here." 
 
 El Zurriago eyed his captive. His vicious glance 
 betrayed perplexity. 
 
 "Ah, so you perceive who I am ? " he sneered. " I 
 am the Whip, the Scourge of the sierra," 
 
 Lord Guy bowed again. " I have heard of you," 
 he said, and his complimentary tone implied that 
 the things told him were of a pleasant nature. 
 
 El Zurriago considered this sulkily, biting at the 
 handle of his whip meanwhile. 
 
 " Have you heard what happens to my prison- 
 ers? " he inquired presently with a twisted grin. 
 
 " I presume it is necessary for them to find a 
 ransom." 
 
 " Not so easy as that, you English pig ! I will 
 teach you very soon. Here, comrades, take this 
 man and tie him to a tree, and I will flog the skin 
 from his back ! " 
 
 To his surprise, the captive listened unmoved. 
 
 " You do not understand me," he shouted, " or 
 you would grovel for mercy. I will flay you alive ! 
 — do you understand now ? " He looked again for 
 a change in the prisoner's indifference, but could dis- 
 cern none. He repeated his threats in a bellow, and 
 added : "Are you dumb — ^have you nothing to say? " 
 
 Lord Guy shrugged his shoulders. " Merely that 
 I find I have made a very grave mistake," he replied ; 
 but he had exchanged his former graciousness for a 
 freezing and distant manner. 
 
26 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 El Zurriago laughed angrily. " You imagined 
 that a ransom — " 
 
 " More than that," interrupted Lord Guy. " I 
 heard of a brigand in the sierra, who was a man 
 of birth and breeding, one with whom a gentleman 
 might agreeably keep company, and, at the first 
 glance, I believed this to be true — of you." 
 
 El Zurriago stood quite still, amazed, pondering 
 on this reluctant but flattering admission. The idea 
 bit deep — this English lord had taken him, El Zurri- 
 ago, for a man of birth ! Here was a touch upon his 
 weak point, the chief weakness of the true malcon- 
 tent. 
 
 " Take him away," he ordered gruffly. " Lodge 
 him in my tent." 
 
 " I cannot escape from you, therefore I request 
 you will permit my cazador to unbind me," said the 
 prisoner. " No, no, I will not be handled again by 
 your mountain cats, who smell intolerably of garlic." 
 
 " I will unbind you myself." El Zurriago ap- 
 proached. 
 
 Lord Guy gave him a quick look. " I should cer- 
 tainly prefer it." 
 
 " Sefior," whispered the bandit as he fingered 
 the knots, " you have divined the truth. You will 
 find that I am surely a person of the noblest birth, 
 of the most superb breeding. But before these 
 animals, you understand, I must play a part." 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 HOW DON Q. CAME BACK (contifiued) 
 
 From that hour began a veritable " Comedy of 
 Errors." Like a bird in spring, El Zurriago 
 assumed his finest feathers to consolidate the good 
 opinion of Lord Guy. He recalled all that he had 
 ever heard of Don Q., and endeavoured to mould 
 himself upon that once famous type, little guessing 
 under whose eyes he essayed the part. 
 
 After Robledo had been despatched to the city 
 with the demand for the Englishman's ransom, the 
 time passed slowly, and every day saw the same 
 routine enacted. El Zurriago set himself to enter- 
 tain his prisoner, and in the evenings across a bottle 
 of wine, often of so indifferent a quality that to swal- 
 low it needed all the courtesy of Lord Guy (or shall 
 we say of Don Q. ?), the bandit rambled on of him- 
 self and his deeds, while the slender figure opposite 
 sat listening wrapped in a mantle of polite silence. 
 Many things did El Zurriago tell, and all of them 
 tended to his own aggrandisement, the unalterable 
 reserve of his captive only driving him to redouble 
 his boastings. 
 
 It must be owned that Lord Guy found all his 
 nerves grow daily more irritated, and more antag- 
 onistic to his captor. Though the words hidalgo, 
 caballero, were seldom off his lips, the man's habits, 
 
 27 
 
28 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 his very personality, awoke in his prisoner sensa- 
 tions of almost physical nausea. For instance, El 
 Zurriago could not keep his distance, he must always 
 finger and touch those with whom he spoke, while 
 he thrust his face into that of his interlocutor. In- 
 deed, he had long ago palled upon Don Q., who could 
 overlook much because he understood much of 
 humanity, but who found this loud-patterned bandit 
 insufferable. " The creature during his unbridled 
 career in the sierra," he wrote later in his autobiog- 
 raphy, " had merged into the sub-human, the mon- 
 strous. He bragged of his brutalities to the poverty- 
 stricken, which, alas ! were true ; of his amours, gro- 
 tesquely apocryphal! among the noble names of 
 Spain — of his bad faith to all." 
 
 At an early period of his captivity the prisoner 
 made a suggestion, with which El Zurriago fell in; 
 this was that a palisade of reeds or brushwood should 
 be erected in front of the tent in which they took 
 their meals, in order to supply two needs. The one 
 being to insure greater privacy, the other to keep 
 off the wind, which at that season blows cold. So 
 it was done, and thereafter Lord Guy and his captor 
 dined in aristocratic seclusion, but always within ear- 
 shot of the band where they lay around their fires. 
 
 Exactly how much longer this state of affairs 
 could have continued it is not in the historian's 
 power to tell; but on the evening of Robledo's 
 return with the ransom-money, a conversation arose 
 which hurried events to their conclusion. 
 
HOW DON Q. CAME BACK 29 
 
 Up to that date the name of Don Q. had never 
 once been spoken by El Zurriago; although Lord 
 Guy sat waiting for it every night, the egotism of his 
 companion kept that one subject jealously excluded. 
 The itinerant talk had droned along v^ell into the 
 night, its burden being, as usual, the past love-affairs, 
 the present exploits, of the speaker. 
 
 " I shall miss these pleasant conversations when 
 I go down into the plains to-morrow," observed 
 Lord Guy, suddenly. 
 
 El Zurriago started from the rapture of his vaunt- 
 ings, and dropped back into reality. He was pecul- 
 iarly annoyed at the interruption, which cut short 
 a tale of intrigue with a duchess. 
 
 " To-morrow ? " he said scowling. " Why should 
 you go to-morrow?" 
 
 " My ransom has arrived, what is there to detain 
 me?" 
 
 EI Zurriago leaned forward. " This, that it is 
 not my will to let you go. You will die to-morrow. 
 I have promised my men that they shall see an amus- 
 ing death." 
 
 " But surely you will not break your word. I 
 believed you to be a person of honour, senor." 
 
 El Zurriago laughed derisively. " I am not Don 
 Q.," he said. " I obtain my ransom, but I allow 
 nothing to rob me of the sport of watching my 
 prisoner die ! You have perhaps heard of Don Q. ? " 
 
 " Assuredly," replied Lord Guy. " I was well 
 acquainted with one of his captives, a certain Sir 
 
30 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 Graham Marks, who, at his house in England, often 
 tells an anecdote over the wine of the days he spent 
 in these very mountains with a great brigand. What 
 has become of him?" 
 
 That Lord Guy should remain unmoved even 
 under sentence of death did not astonish El Zurriago, 
 who by this time had come to expect almost any- 
 thing from his imperturbability. But words in praise 
 of Don Q. galled. 
 
 " Don Q. is dead," he answered roughly. 
 
 "I have gathered that he was not unpopular 
 among the strange people who inhabit your moun- 
 tains," observed the Englishman. 
 
 El Zurriago tossed his head and made a gesture 
 of contempt. " It may be so, for, see you, he was 
 one of themselves, of vulgar birth." 
 
 Lord Guy started, but controlled himself. " Can 
 this be true? " 
 
 " I can swear to it. Besides, he was easy to deal 
 with. But to be a brigand of note a number of very 
 great qualities are required. These he did not 
 possess. A fine presence, for example," El Zurriago 
 tapped himself on the breast. " Look upon me ! 
 Whereas he was but a meagre, sickly fellow, not 
 five feet high." 
 
 " I have always been told that his height was 
 exactly five feet five and a half inches ! " exclaimed 
 Lord Guy with unwonted sharpness, " and that he 
 looked even taller by reason of the air with which he 
 carried himself." 
 
HOW DON Q. CAME BACK 31 
 
 El Zurriago laughed irritably. " They told you 
 wrong. I say that he was not five feet high ; more- 
 over, he did not appear to be even of that height, 
 he appeared a dwarf. And I should know," he 
 ended with meaning. 
 
 " What ? You were acquainted with him ? " 
 
 " Intimately. He implored me again and again 
 to take over the leadership of his band. He desired 
 to serve as lieutenant under me." 
 
 A close observer might have noticed Lord Guy*s 
 hand open and close firmly as though he were crush- 
 ing something. 
 
 " Why did you not accept this obliging offer ? " 
 
 " Because his men were completely out of hand. 
 He was not a disciplinarian, you understand. He 
 was a coward at heart, and would have shielded 
 himself behind me." 
 
 " Some say that Don Q. is not dead. He may 
 return," suggested Lord Guy. 
 
 " He will never return ! " cried the other. 
 
 " How can you be sure ? How can you know that 
 he is dead?" 
 
 El Zurriago hitched his packing-case nearer, and 
 thrust his face into Lord Guy's. " I say that he is 
 dead. And, look you, senor, I should know, for it 
 was I who killed him ! " 
 
 There could be no doubt about it now. Lord Guy 
 was distinctly moved. 
 
 *' You killed him? How interesting! I trust 
 he made a good end ? " 
 
32 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 " No, no ! He screamed for mercy. It was in- 
 deed droll ! It was incredible ! " 
 
 " Incredible ? There can be no doubt of that ! " 
 Lord Guy dropped his voice, and muttered, " Five 
 feet high — a dwarf ! " 
 
 El Zurriago caught the words. Pushing back 
 his seat, he nodded. " Yes, five feet high. What 
 could you expect from such a man ? " 
 
 " This !" With the word Lord Guy sprang on him 
 across the table. He had no knife, but he caught up 
 the bottle from which they had been drinking v/ine, 
 and struck the bandit full on the temple. " You, a 
 brigand — ^you, a sequestrador! " he hissed as he 
 struck again, " you, who are but a cat of Madrid ! 
 a plucked fowl ! " For a fraction of a second El 
 Zurriago's eyes stared and then contracted as he 
 fell forwards, striking his forehead upon the table. 
 
 With the extraordinary quickness that character- 
 ised his moments of action, Don Q. bound his 
 opponent's hands and feet, and with the whip pre- 
 pared an entirely efficacious form of gag. Next, 
 after carefully removing his own false beard and 
 wig, he found a cloak and sombrero, which he put on 
 with care and accurate attention to effect. Then with 
 the other man's weapons in his belt, he sat down 
 beside the table, and clapped his hands with a reson- 
 ant force. 
 
 A long silence followed. El Zurriago's men were 
 not accustomed to be summoned by that method, 
 which in truth savoured too much of the difference 
 
HOW DON Q. CAME BACK 33 
 
 of class and would have been resented as such by the 
 band. But Robledo, playing cards by the fire, heard 
 and turned his head to listen with so violent a move- 
 ment that the cards doubled and broke in his clenched 
 fist. 
 
 After an interval the sound came again. He 
 leaped up. 
 
 " It is my lord. I must go to him ! " he cried, but 
 half-a-dozen men flung themselves upon him. For 
 a moment he struggled desperately, but numbers 
 were too strong for him. " Come, then, to the tent 
 of your capitan. Has he ever called you like this? 
 Hark! "he said. 
 
 The men looked at one another. " No, he is not 
 a hidalgo that we should be as his servants. He 
 dare not clap his hands to call us." 
 
 " Then who claps? Come and see." 
 
 Not a man remained at the fire — a long straggling 
 line wound round the end of the palisade and massed 
 before the tent door. The curtains were thrown 
 back, and within lay their capitan upon the ground, 
 while at the table sat a silent, sinister figure, such as 
 most among them had met with terror in their 
 dreams. They stood huddled together open-mouthed. 
 From within El Zurriago, who had recovered con- 
 sciousness, stared at them with fury and appeal in 
 his eyes. But none heeded him. 
 
 At length Robledo's excitement burst out in words. 
 
 " My lord, Don Q., has returned to the sierra. 
 Viva! Viva!" 
 8 
 
34 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 An odd noise like a gasp went up from the crowd. 
 
 " I am of a truth Don Q.," said the sibilant voice 
 softly, " and you have all of you heard of me from 
 your cradles. Is not that so? " 
 
 A quick assent broke from the listeners. 
 
 " I give you your choice. Here is your captain. 
 Choose now between him and me." 
 
 A hubbub of noise and cheering called out the 
 echoes, and in it El Zurriago heard the warning of a 
 speedy death. When the agitation had died down, 
 Don Q. spoke again. 
 
 " Robledo, you will divide among these bandits a 
 sixth of the ransom you have brought into the sierra 
 for Lord Guy Barwood. Go, my children." 
 
 " It is of a truth Don Q., for so did he always 
 call his followers," said one fellow as they withdrew. 
 
 Then Don Q. took the whip from the mouth of 
 El Zurriago. 
 
 " You have heard ? " he asked. "I am he who has 
 none of the qualities of a great brigand! I am he 
 who is not five feet high ! " he added furiously, for 
 this indeed was the unforgivable insult which 
 wounded the diseased vanity that had its root set 
 deep among the contradictory foundations of his 
 strange character. 
 
 " Kill me swiftly," was El Zurriago*s reply. 
 
 In the early sunshine the man was taken and bound 
 upon the back of Robledo's old mule, and several 
 of the robbers crowded round and forced the animal 
 to the edge of the precipice. 
 
HOW DON Q. CAME BACK 35 
 
 " Shall we prick him with our knives and send 
 him over? " inquired one eager renegade of his new 
 master. 
 
 " For the mule's sake, you will do nothing of the 
 kind," said Don Q. " Here, Robledo, take this man 
 down the mountains until you sight the Guardia 
 Civile; then tie this label upon him, and drive the 
 mule downwards." 
 
 Some hours later two Civiles came upon a brows- 
 ing mule, upon whose back sat bound a man who 
 bore this label across his breast : 
 " El Zurriago, 
 Passenger to any prison in my 
 Beloved Spain. 
 
 (signed) Don Q." 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 HOW DON Q. DEALT WITH A FAMOUS 
 CRICKETER 
 
 The first prisoners taken by Don Q. after his 
 return were two Englishmen, named Rimbolt and 
 Essenden. It was to the enterprise of Robledo that 
 he owed them, and we must take up their story on 
 the evening of their capture. 
 
 " I don't agree with you, Rimbolt. The thing is 
 our own fault. We had our warning, and we disre- 
 garded it. Consequently we are here," said Essen- 
 den. 
 
 Rimbolt grunted irritably as he shifted his weight 
 from one shoulder to another, where he lay propped, 
 hands and feet tied, against the wattled side of the 
 choza. 
 
 " If you had only taken my advice when those 
 fellows began to close in on us — well, it is too late 
 to talk of that now," he grumbled. " Here we 
 are in this beastly hencoop, and likely to be kept 
 here goodness knows how long! We are helpless, 
 yet it is certain from all I have heard of Don Q., 
 a more infamous coward does not breathe in Spain." 
 
 " Oh, go slow," said Essenden. " His worst 
 enemies — and he has an army of them — do not 
 deny him the quality of courage. I rather look 
 forward to seeing him." 
 
 80 
 
DON Q. AND A CRICKETER 37 
 
 Rimbolt jerked out an impatient word. "All 
 your life, my good Essenden, you have been an 
 idealist. Even when we were at Charter-house 
 you used to take things in this easy way. It looks 
 like a fine fortitude, but it is in reality a form of 
 self-indulgence — you don't wish to recognise the 
 disagreeable element that is mixed up with all that 
 one does or experiences. You should be harder with 
 yourself." 
 
 " Recognising the disagreeable won't mend our 
 case, I'm afraid," suggested Essenden, good- 
 humouredly. 
 
 " Perhaps not, but it is better to face facts," 
 persisted the other. " You talk of wanting to see 
 Don Q. I suppose you have forgotten what that 
 meeting is going to cost us. Certainly a great 
 deal more money than I, for my part, can afford." 
 
 " Very likely. Therefore I say my point of view 
 is the more reasonable. Since we are going to 
 pay a big price, let us enjoy ourselves, and get as 
 much of a run as we can for our money." Essenden 
 laughed as he tried to stretch his cramped limbs. 
 
 " We shan't think it much of a run when this 
 brute sends the lobes of our ears down to Ingram 
 at the Consulate to hurry him up with the ransom," 
 objected Rimbolt. 
 
 " Let us hope it won't come to that. This guide, 
 Robledo, tells me that Don Q. is a very courtly — " 
 
 " Oh, if you are going to listen to the charming 
 Robledo, who has betrayed us into our present 
 
38 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 disgusting position, I have no more to say ! " And 
 Rimbolt turned away his face and shut his eyes 
 determinately. 
 
 " I grant you Robledo may be a ruffian, but he's 
 all the more likely to be able to speak from knowl- 
 edge of Don Q." 
 
 A short silence followed, but Rimbolt could not 
 for long bottle up his annoyance. ** It is a national 
 disgrace that these nests of robbers should be al- 
 lowed to exist," he began again. " Wait till I get 
 back to the coast and out of this infernal sierra, and 
 I will raise such a hue and cry that the Government 
 will be forced to sweep the country clear of such 
 pests! I hope to see our friend Robledo garroted 
 yet!" 
 
 He waited for a reply, but Essenden made none, 
 and presently he resumed. " There is one thing 
 I do ask of you, Essenden, and that is to leave me 
 to bargain with this brigand. I know how fatally 
 offhand you are in your dealings, but I expect by a 
 little judicious management to get off cheaper than 
 you expect." 
 
 "All right. I'll only put my oar in if things get 
 hot." 
 
 Essenden smiled in the dusk. He could picture 
 Hammond Rimbolt's notion of tact ! 
 
 " Yes, better keep quiet, my boy, or you won't 
 be back to play the Australians this season," re- 
 turned Rimbolt, solemnly. " If it was a matter 
 of cricket, I should be the first to ask your opinion, 
 
DON Q. AND A CRICKETER 39 
 
 but in the realities of life you must allow me to 
 consult my own." 
 
 It was a queer-grained friendship, if friendship 
 it could be called that was rather long acquaintance 
 and association. Habit more than actual liking 
 formed its foundation. Certain it is many people 
 wondered why Essenden " put up with " Hammond 
 Rimbolt. One taste, however, was common to both 
 men — a love of cricket, and this created a bond 
 between them; but while Essenden was a great bat 
 with a world-wide reputation, Rimbolt was no more 
 than a respectable player. 
 
 Summer was beginning to make itself felt even 
 in the high passes, and the wind usually so cold 
 and pure carried now the scent of herb and drowsy 
 flower. The two Englishmen had undertaken a 
 short walking tour in the sierra, and fell among 
 thieves by the way. During a midday siesta they 
 were set on and overpowered by several pictur- 
 esque but distinctly dirty mountaineers. At night, 
 after having marched a long distance, they were 
 cast into a bottle-shaped hut of reeds to await 
 orders of Don Q. The sun had risen, and was 
 drawing out the strong resinous odour of the fallen 
 pine-needles, when Robledo put his head into the 
 choza. 
 
 " The command has come, excellencies. We are 
 to be taken to the Boca de Lobo." 
 
 " What for? " asked Rimbolt, indignantl} 
 
 " Quien sabe, sehor?" replied Robledo; and not 
 
40 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 all Rimbolt's questions could get any other answer 
 from him. 
 
 The Boca de Lobo was looking its best when the 
 Englishmen, emerging from the tunnel of rock that 
 led to it, passed again into the grateful warmth of 
 mountain sunshine. A number of men, mostly 
 leather-clad, with waistbands of scarlet cloth, were 
 lounging near the fires. Far up the surrounding 
 cliffs flowers bloomed along the ledges where the 
 sun touched them during some hour of his daily 
 round. Against the sky at the other end of the 
 gorge a string of wind-blown pines stood aslant, 
 whispering to a breeze that scarcely moved their 
 branches. 
 
 Essenden looked round with some curiosity, and 
 remarked on the notable absence of litter. 
 
 "It is like a stage-scene — got up for our benefit, 
 I suppose " — it was never an easy matter to escape 
 Rimbolt's disdain — " Tree could do it much better 
 at His Majesty's." 
 
 ** Come along. They say Don Q. is waiting for 
 us." 
 
 " Take your time, Essenden. It will do him 
 good to wait. He must be made to understand 
 that we do not belong to the common run of 
 captives." 
 
 As they advanced along the terrace that led to 
 the mouth of the cave, Don Q. rose and saluted 
 them in his usual punctilious manner. Essenden 
 took off his hat in return, but Rimbolt only nodded. 
 
DON Q. AND A CRICKETER 41 
 
 He was the kind of Briton who believes in the power 
 of impoHteness. 
 
 Don Q. resumed his seat and eyed the two men 
 as they stood side by side. 
 
 " May I inquire your names, senors ? " 
 
 " My name is Rimbolt — Hammond Rimbolt. I 
 daresay you .have heard of me." 
 
 The brigand in his coldest tones expressed him- 
 self desolate to confess that he never had heard his 
 name. 
 
 " That's a pity ; but you may as well know that 
 I am a man about whose detention a good deal of 
 noise is likely to be made, for I am the private 
 secretary of Lord Flitterby, the coming Prime 
 Minister of Great Britain." 
 
 " During my stay in Great Britain I have heard 
 of Lx)rd Flitterby," replied Don Q. " Let us hope 
 that he values his private secretary, and is prepared 
 to make some sacrifice to regain him." 
 
 "You mean in the way of ransom? Under the 
 circumstances we shall no doubt be forced to pay 
 you something. Well, how soon can we get away 
 to Malaga or to the coast?" demanded Rimbolt, 
 briskly. 
 
 Don Q. lit a fresh cigarette before he answered. 
 " You go a little too fast. For example, I have 
 not yet heard the name of your friend. May I 
 ask ? " He looked at Essenden. 
 
 ** I am Egbert Essenden, senor," said the young 
 man. 
 
42 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 Don Q. put a slender finger to his forehead reflec- 
 tively. " I seem to know that name." 
 
 " I am afraid I cannot claim to be anybody in 
 particular," admitted its owner. 
 
 " Nonsense ! Do let me manage the affair ! " 
 interrupted Rimbolt. " You're only making your- 
 self cheap. I want to frighten the fellow into 
 releasing us." 
 
 Don Q. began to speak, but Rimbolt overbore 
 him. 
 
 ** Egbert Essenden is a very great cricketer, and 
 has played for England," adding in an aside, " not 
 that he'll know much about that." 
 
 To their astonishment, the brigand's face cleared, 
 and a light of real interest came into it. " My good 
 fortune overwhelms me ! " he exclaimed. " I have 
 long desired to converse upon the game of cricket 
 with one who entirely understands its intricacies. 
 I now know why your name seemed familiar. Are 
 you not the famous ' Double E.' ? " 
 
 Rimbolt raised his eyebrows. " That is his nick- 
 name on the cricket-field," he said. " How do you 
 come to know it ? " 
 
 " I have of late spent some time in England," 
 explained Don Q., "and I possess many English 
 friends. I am not so ignorant of your national 
 game as you might suppose. In fact, I made a 
 point of watching one or two cricket matches in 
 your country." 
 
 " You can talk of all that another time," put in 
 
DON Q. AND A CRICKETER 43 
 
 Rimbolt. "Just now we want to hear how much 
 money you intend to ask for by way of ransom." 
 
 Don Q. clapped his hands. *' Caspar, you will 
 bring a chair beside mine for the tall sefior, and 
 conduct the lesser one to the end of the terrace out 
 of earshot. This will afford you leisure, Sefior 
 Rimbolt, to ponder on the subject of your ransom 
 until I am prepared to discuss the matter with you. 
 Now, Don Double E., we will for a moment interest 
 ourselves in cricket.'* 
 
 " What did you think of it as a game ? " asked 
 Essenden, falling in with his humour. " Did you 
 see any good matches ? " 
 
 " I have reason to believe so, senor. For instance, 
 I was passing one day through a hamlet, when I 
 perceived a number of men in coats of bright colours 
 issuing from an inn. I followed them to one of your 
 beautiful village greens, where I took my seat on a 
 bench placed under trees upon the side of the grass, 
 and from there gained a little insight into your 
 national pastime." 
 
 " Pray tell me what happened," said Essenden, 
 sure that the brigand's view would be, at any rate, 
 novel. 
 
 " For a considerable time several men — I counted 
 fifteen — performed the complicated evolutions nec- 
 essary to the game. My sympathies were naturally 
 with the persons who wielded the bat, seeing that 
 each stood singlehanded against so many opponents." 
 Don Q. looked questioningly at the cricketer. 
 
44 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 " It may look rather one-sided, seiior/' replied 
 Essenden with gravity, " but I can assure you the 
 batsman very often has the best of it." 
 
 " I confess that appearances led me to conclude 
 otherwise. A gentleman, who had been batting for 
 several minutes, when struck upon the leg by the 
 ball, suddenly walked away from the game, and 
 perceiving my bench to be somewhat isolated, hast- 
 ened to throw himself upon it at my side. He 
 was evidently in a state of the deepest chagrin. * I 
 never heard of such a decision ! ' he exclaimed. I 
 replied sympathetically, and begged him to inform 
 me of the particulars. * Why, the ball did not 
 pitch in the parish ! ' he said, * I have been swindled 
 out ! ' I inquired who had swindled him. He stared 
 at me. 'That umpire,' he replied, indicating a 
 strong and determined-looking person in a white 
 coat. * Since that is so, you must at once seek 
 redress,' I said, and rose to assist him. * What d'ye 
 mean ? ' he cried. * This,* I answered ; ' if you have 
 been overreached or victimised by the person in the 
 white coat, I will aid you in forcing him to give you 
 redress,' and I grasped my sword-stick and prepared 
 to accompany him." Don Q. paused. 
 
 "And what followed then?" Essenden allowed 
 no symptom of his inward amusement to appear. 
 
 " Would you believe it, senor, he immediately 
 began to mumble excuses for the man in fault, and 
 after edging further and further away from me 
 along the bench, he rose, and fled at full speed 
 
DON Q. AND A CRICKETER 45 
 
 towards the tent in which his comrades were 
 ensconced." 
 
 Essenden contrived to throw into his face the 
 look of shocked surprise which Don Q. obviously 
 expected. 
 
 " I have often revolved this episode in my mind, 
 senor," he resumed, " but never yet have I com- 
 prehended it. And I may admit I have occasionally 
 regretted that I did not follow that personage to 
 demand an explanation of his churlish behaviour. 
 I conclude that in spite of his comme-il-faut exter- 
 ior, he must have been a man of no breeding." 
 
 " Shouldn't wonder," said Essenden ; " I've 
 occasionally seen something of the same sort 
 myself." 
 
 The brigand pondered this reply before he spoke. 
 " Then we must regard it as an eccentricity merely," 
 he said. " Now we will recall your friend, and 
 descend for a short time to the coarse details of busi- 
 ness. It is fortunate, senor," he added to Rimbolt 
 when he rejoined them, " that you mentioned the 
 fact of Don Double E.'s fame as a cricketer at a 
 critical moment." 
 
 Rimbolt nodded complacently at Essenden, he 
 felt he was carrying the affair through with credit. 
 " How so? " he inquired. 
 
 " I was about to assess your ransoms at £1000 
 each." 
 
 "Ah, indeed ? And now you have thought better 
 of it!" 
 
46 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 '' But certainly, senor ! They will now be 
 double that amount; in fact, £2000 each — £4000 
 in all." 
 
 Rimbolt flushed angrily. " I fear you had better 
 reconsider that decision. You will be lucky to get 
 half the amount." 
 
 " Speak for yourself, senor," said Don Q. with 
 increasing coldness, "for I am aware I have a 
 treasure in Don Double E. All England would 
 subscribe, if needful, to rescue their favourite." 
 
 " From what ? Do you dare to threaten us ? " 
 Rimbolt completely lost his temper under the blow 
 to his self-satisfaction. " Suppose we do not choose 
 to pay any ransom — what then? " 
 
 Don Q. waved his hand. " We will not dwell 
 upon such dismal anticipations," he said. " Send 
 your demands down the mountains, and until the 
 answer arrives you will remain as my guests." 
 
 *' This is absurd ! Suppose our ransoms fail to 
 arrive? How long are we to remain as — ^your 
 guests ? " 
 
 " You forgot, senor," Don Q. replied with bleak 
 indifference, " I have the exigencies of my position 
 to consider. If so deplorable a situation should 
 arise, you will indeed remain — not as my guests — 
 but as the guests of the sierra for ever ! " 
 
 A long, strained silence followed, until Don Q. 
 left them to prepare their letters. " I was going 
 to suggest," said Rimbolt at last, "that I should 
 write to Ingram. My name may have some influ- 
 
DON Q. AND A CRICKETER 47 
 
 ence with him, though this boor knows nothing 
 of it." 
 
 "All right," agreed Essenden, " and you can in- 
 close my letter to my bankers. They will have to 
 bustle a bit to send £2000 for me, I can tell you." 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 HOW DON Q. DEALT WITH A FAMOUS 
 
 CRICKETER — ( Continued ) 
 
 After the packet had been despatched down the 
 mountains by the hand of Robledo, the reader must 
 imagine the quiet passing of the days. Although 
 Rimbolt grumbled incessantly, this period was a 
 much pleasanter experience than either of the cap- 
 tives had expected. They were permitted on parole 
 to wander as they liked about the inclosed glen of 
 the Boca de Lobo, and, indeed, became to all intents 
 and purposes the guests of Don Q. 
 
 To use Essenden's words, Don Q. " did them 
 very well.'* They drank excellent wine, and throve 
 on the fare provided for them. They solaced the 
 hours of detention with tobacco. They played cards, 
 notably picquet, and discovered that at that game 
 the brigand had few equals. They expounded to 
 their host something of the science of bridge, and 
 occasionally, late in the night, the stakes rose high, 
 for Rimbolt, who had an opinion of his own play, 
 conceived the project of winning back a sum equiv- 
 alent to his ransom from his pale antagonist. He 
 was not successful, for as he ever afterwards 
 complained, the cards seemed to lay always against 
 him. 
 
 As day joined day in the bosom of Buddha, 
 48 
 
DON Q. AND A CRICKETER. 49 
 
 Essenden found favour with Don Q., while Rimbolt 
 as surely fell from grace. Although it was often pos- 
 sible to discern the sadder self below, Essenden made 
 a pleasant companion, whose fundamental reserve of 
 character was discounted by his readiness to be 
 entertained or to entertain. Whereas Rimbolt was a 
 man of moods, a good deal occupied with himself 
 and his own feelings. He imagined he was confer- 
 ring a favour upon the brigand by accepting his hos- 
 pitality, thus his early grumblings grew into imper- 
 tinences, and these in turn into manifest affronts as 
 he became emboldened by Don Q.'s impassive polite- 
 ness. But Essenden, the onlooker, more than once 
 caught the glance with which the brigand followed 
 Rimbolt, and at length he made up his mind to 
 break the silence and to warn his companion. 
 
 " By the way, don't you think it would pay to 
 be a little more civil to our host? " he said. 
 
 Rimbolt regarded him from under a disdainful 
 eyebrow. " I am not in the habit of truckling.'* 
 
 " You may offend him mortally, and he has it in 
 his power to make things very awkward for us." 
 
 " Doe^look like it? " sneered the other. " He 
 knows where his'43est interest lies. I could kick 
 him out of his own cave, and he would probably 
 take off his hat and beg my pardon." 
 
 " I wouldn't try it," said Essenden, rather drily. 
 " I can only repeat that I believe your attitude is 
 unwise." 
 
 "And I beg to differ with you," retorted Rimbolt. 
 
 4 
 
50 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 " You will find before we leave this infernal sierra 
 that my method of making the man respect me will 
 prove invaluable. I believe he already regrets hav- 
 ing laid hands on me. May I add, Essenden, that I 
 do not appreciate interference." 
 
 " Oh, all right," returned Essenden, good-tem- 
 peredly. 
 
 And so the subject dropped, with the result that 
 Don Q. addressed more and more of his conversation 
 to Essenden, omitting Rimbolt excepting in so far 
 as his duty as host demanded. But Rimbolt had no 
 hesitation about obtruding his opinions, and these 
 not infrequently were expressed in a manner likely 
 to be more than unpalatable to Don Q. Once or 
 twice it happened that the brigand was on the point 
 of replying, but Essenden always threw himself 
 conversationally into the breach, and open war re- 
 mained undeclared. 
 
 There were occasions when Rimbolt, disgusted 
 with his bad luck at cards, would stalk away early 
 to his couch of pine-boughs and furs, constantly fol- 
 lowed by the glance Essenden had grown to dread 
 for his fellow-captive's sake. Often when Rimbolt 
 withdrew, the brigand would thaw from his silence, 
 and converse with Essenden on many subjects rang- 
 ing from brigandage to high policy. Indeed, the 
 young man soon discovered that between these two 
 topics there existed a strong connection in the mind 
 of his companion. It is, perhaps, a pity that we have 
 here no space to set forth the gist of these midnight 
 
DON Q. AND A CRICKETER 51 
 
 interviews, for Don Q.'s point of view was apt to be 
 original and often not lacking in humour, but it is 
 only necessary to touch upon one of them, since it 
 had a momentous bearing upon the future of this 
 three-cornered intercourse. 
 
 ** Your friend, the sefior Rimbolt, has not unseldom 
 commented on the brutalities which we Spaniards as 
 a nation delight to witness. He had, if you remem- 
 ber, much to say about the bull-ring to-day. But he 
 most obstinately denies that the killing of bulls in 
 such a manner is a form of sport much in line with 
 your method of killing foxes in England. Is not 
 that a truth?" 
 
 " Perhaps one may say so," replied Essenden, dip- 
 lomatically, for he wanted to hear more. 
 
 " Now I further maintain, sefior, that no sport can 
 be of the highest character that does not include the 
 element of danger. Much as I admire your English 
 cricket, I find it falls very far short in this respect." 
 
 " Why, yes, we do not expect to get killed at 
 any moment when playing." 
 
 " I contended that in the bull-ring each man is 
 aware death stands at his elbow. Your friend, who 
 is, pardon me, of a singular blindness where British 
 institutions are concerned, upholds that a batsman 
 requires as much sang froid to defeat the ball sent 
 against him, as a matador who waits to give the 
 death-blow. He argues that to win the game is the 
 important point in both cases, and that, therefore, 
 an equal amount of emotion is felt in both. One 
 
52 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 sees the futility of arguing with a prejudice. But 
 it has struck me that in one particular way even 
 sefior Rimbolt could be convinced of the truth. Sup- 
 pose he were to participate in a game of cricket 
 where a slight error with the bat or the ball would 
 place the player in peril of his life? " 
 
 " Cricket under such conditions is not possible," 
 said Essenden, smiling, " and, personally, I should 
 be very sorry to take part in it." 
 
 ** On the contrary, a little cricket under such con- 
 ditions could very readily be arranged, my friend," 
 insisted Don Q., much interested. " Let us imagine 
 an open keg of powder for a wicket, and instead of 
 those small cylinders of wood we should balance 
 delicately on the top a mere mariposa — a rushlight. 
 The aim of those who threw the ball would be to 
 overturn the light into the powder, while the wielder 
 of the bat would endeavour to baffle that intention." 
 
 " The rushlight instead of balls ! I shall not ask 
 a place in that match, sefior ! " 
 
 " If by any chance," resumed Don Q., musingly, 
 " your friend's ransom should fail to be sent — it 
 might be possible to try how he would bear himself 
 under such circumstances. Although he is of an 
 obdurate nature, we might succeed in convincing 
 him." 
 
 Now it must be recorded that this conversation 
 haunted Essenden unpleasantly. The evil look Don 
 Q. reserved for Rimbolt, and that personage's con- 
 ceit, brought very ominous factors into the situation. 
 
DON Q. AND A CRICKETER 53 
 
 Moreover, Essenden was at a loss to account for the 
 suppressed smirk that always sat on the features of 
 Rimbolt whenever the subject of ransom was men- 
 tioned between them. The more he thought of it 
 the less did Essenden like the outlook. While he 
 waited for the conclusion of the matter, he found 
 himself day by day comparing the two men into 
 whose undiluted company Fate had flung him, and, 
 strange to relate, the comparison usually resulted 
 in favour of the brigand. For, while Don Q. 
 marched gallantly along the high road of life, Rim- 
 bolt halted in the by-ways, and carped unendingly 
 at the shoulder-galls of daily burdens, which, in 
 his case, were many of them self-inflicted. But Don 
 Q., with all his faults, had the power of drawing 
 forth respect from those with whom he came into 
 familiar contact; he never rubbed bare as a meaner 
 nature must; no man ever lost less of the heroic 
 quality by reason of propinquity. 
 
 Then, on a hot and sullen afternoon, the end came. 
 They were seated with Don Q. on the terrace, a 
 sun like a blood-orange hung above the misty air, 
 the fire beside them burnt red and low. Their 
 desultory talk had for a long half-hour waned to 
 silence, when Rimbolt pulled himself up in the chair 
 and spoke. 
 
 " Is it not about time that rufiian, Robledo, re- 
 turned ? " he said, addressing Don Q. " We should 
 have had an answer from Ingram days ago." 
 
 " It is true." Don Q. lit a cigarette from the 
 
54 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 butt of the last. " Perhaps, after all, senor, I shall 
 be enabled to give you an opportunity of convert- 
 ing me to one of your opinions by practical proof." 
 
 " What do you mean? " 
 
 " I have been amusing myself by thinking that 
 if you v^ere disappointed in the arrival of your 
 ransom, I might permit you to carry out your own 
 suggestion, and prove to me that an English sports- 
 man can wield the bat with as much coolness and 
 success when his — what do you call it? — wicket? — 
 ah, yes — when his wicket is a keg of powder with a 
 light balanced over it, instead of the ordinary mul- 
 tiplicity of little sticks. In very many of our con- 
 versations you have upheld this view — " 
 
 " Nonsense ! You would not dare — " Rimbolt 
 caught himself up. 
 
 " If your ransom did not come, I should be 
 entitled by the terms of our bargain to give you 
 over to my men, who, believe me, are very thorough 
 in their treatment of a captive in so disagreeable a 
 position," Don Q.'s cold, even voice went on; "but 
 with my usual inclination to mercy, I have decided, 
 should occasion arise, to allow you to prove your 
 case in the manner I have mentioned, and also, if 
 successful, to preserve your life." With that he 
 left them. 
 
 Rimbolt sat still for a few moments, then rose 
 abruptly, and with his hands deep in his pockets 
 walked away to the other end of the terrace, where 
 he stood looking out blankly into the mountain haze. 
 
DON Q. AND A CRICKETER 55 
 
 A touch upon Essenden's shoulder roused him. 
 He looked up. Don Q. was at his side. 
 
 ^'Permit me, sefior, to inform you that Robledo 
 has arrived with the reply from seiior Ingram." 
 The brigand's bearing was altered ; he was no longer 
 the solicitous host, but the bleak captor of their first 
 interview. Essenden unconsciously pressed his feet 
 hard into the ground. The situation had become 
 suddenly intense. "Is that his letter?" he said, 
 putting out his hand. 
 
 Without looking at the address he tore the enve- 
 lope open, while Don Q. walked round to the oppo- 
 site side of the fire. He read the letter once, then 
 twice very carefully. The words confused him, their 
 unexpectedness struck him like a blow. This, then, 
 was Rimbolt's foolish secret. He had applied for 
 a ransom for Essenden only; for himself he had 
 relied on the weight of his political importance, and 
 the pressure Lord Flitterby would bring to bear on 
 the Spanish Government. The ineptitude that 
 prompted the act, the shallow judgment that con- 
 tinued to approve it in the face of a growing knowl- 
 edge of Don Q., fixed for ever his verdict on Rim- 
 bolt. We must give to Essenden the credit due to 
 so capable a man as, in the next few seconds, he 
 chose his course of action. 
 
 There was much of scorn in his mental attitude 
 towards Rimbolt, something, too, of resignation, 
 much of the humour which consists in laughing at 
 oneself. Yet, in the same instant, he saw his way. 
 
56 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 That test of cool-headedness — the chance of life 
 spoken of by the brigand — how would Rimbolt carry 
 it through ? He had not the necessary skill, possibly 
 not the nerve. No, Rimbolt could never do it! 
 Essenden dropped the letter lightly into the fire, and 
 watched it shrivel as his fellow-prisoner came up. 
 
 *'The letter has come?" he asked, ** and the 
 ransoms — " 
 
 " For one only," replied Essenden. 
 
 " Which ? " Rimbolt's lips grew dry, and he felt 
 some difficulty in saying the single word. 
 
 Essenden took his eyes from the charred scrap of 
 paper, solitary evidence of the truth. " I never did 
 have any luck myself," he replied with a laugh, and 
 turned away. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 HOW DON Q. DEALT WITH A FAMOUS 
 
 CRICKETER — ( Continued ) 
 
 So it was done. It was not to save a friend, not 
 altogether, but rather as a sequence to his own man- 
 hood that Essenden made up his mind — as some- 
 thing due to his own honour, to that alter ego, who 
 in such crises often points out the way to a man, 
 lest haply he should dash his self-respect against a 
 stone. 
 
 And the other, for whom the sacrifice was made, 
 stood gorgeously unconscious of it. After that one 
 strained moment of suspense, he fell back easily into 
 his normal conceit, congenitally sure of himself and 
 of his system of life, blandly superior to the rest of 
 his race. 
 
 " What did you burn the letter for ? " he asked 
 sharply. " You very readily lose your head, Essen- 
 den. Tell me what was in it ? " 
 
 " Have I not told you ? " answered Essenden from 
 his chair. 
 
 Don Q. eyed them both strangely; then at last 
 he said with a grave dignity : 
 
 " I cannot express how greatly I regret the duty 
 that is forced upon me, senor Essenden. But I have 
 lived long in the sierra, and I conceive myself to be 
 in the position of a man whose hold on fortune and 
 
 67 
 
58 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 on life takes the form of a threat. I cannot set you 
 at liberty, for by so doing I should ruin my credit 
 in the plains. I may never forego a claim I have 
 once made, unless under some such condition of trial 
 or ordeal as I proposed for senor Rimbolt. The 
 authorities down below there know that I am as 
 good as my word at all times, on that my reputation 
 depends, and also the safety of my men. I cannot 
 endanger this, even for you ; but if you are willing 
 to undertake the ordeal I proposed for your com- 
 panion, I now make you the same offer." 
 
 "And I accept it, senor," said Essenden. 
 
 The sun was within a hand's breadth of the peaks 
 when the preparations were complete, and Essenden 
 with Rimbolt was led from the Boca de Lobo, and 
 over a high knuckle or ridge, from where they could 
 see the pink mists rolling about the lower escarp- 
 ments of the mountains, to a fairly level valley 
 through the bottom of which brawled a mountain 
 torrent. There on the best bit of ground available, 
 stood the open keg of powder with an unlit rush- 
 light set on a thin strip of wood that barely stretched 
 across the diameter of its rim. 
 
 A bridle-path ran up the glen, and on the further 
 hillside most of the bandits stood in a knot, crowing 
 and gesticulating; while a few lower down were 
 flinging a ball from one to another. 
 
 " Senor, you see the cross by the track," began 
 Don Q., meeting Essenden, " it was erected to our 
 poor Felipito, whose friends were naturally anxious 
 
DON Q. AND A CRICKETER 59 
 
 for the repose of his soul. Until the shadow of the 
 peak behind me touches the cross you will endeavour 
 to save yourself by repelling the ball cast at the rush- 
 light by these men," he pointed at the group on the 
 level. " I grieve that the bat is not better-fashioned, 
 but we have done all in our power to make it a 
 weapon of defence." 
 
 So armed with what was little more than a club, 
 Essenden moved into the heart of this nightmare 
 game. Conceive his position. The rushlight flame, 
 bleached to white by the sun glare, flickered not 
 five inches above the powder heaped below; the 
 mountaineers came up to a prescribed line, and from 
 there hurled the ball in turn. Never while he lived 
 did he forget the scent that lived on the wind which 
 roved through the valley. The concomitant parts 
 of the scene were etched in on his memory then and 
 for ever — a drunken bandit lying on the track where 
 he had fallen on his way to the spectacle, the sky 
 flushed as in a picture, the soft chill of early evening, 
 and his own grotesque employment in the mountains. 
 
 To attempt a detailed description of the next 
 quarter of an hour would be absurd. Essenden was 
 at once mentally submerged in the conflict, he had 
 no eyes but for the rotation of figures who threw the 
 ball, for the ball itself as it came hurtling towards 
 him, and at momentary intervals for the crooked 
 cross of Felipito shining in the golden light. 
 
 Thus through the blinding mist of excitement and 
 effort the thin wrangling of Rimbolt's voice upraised 
 
6o DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 in advice vexed him dimly as a sound vexes a 
 dreamer. 
 
 For the most part the bandits were content to 
 throw the ball full pitch at their mark, knowing that 
 the slightest concussion on the barrel would bring 
 about the tragic finale they desired. As the minutes 
 crept by they broke into wondering cries as Essen- 
 den, active and dexterous, maintained the integrity 
 of his defence. The chances in his favour were small 
 enough, when one of those accidents occurred which 
 seem to confirm the existence of some active malign 
 principle. 
 
 He was settling to his task, congratulating him- 
 self that there was no Jack Hearne among the rob- 
 bers to take advantage of the inequalities of the 
 ground, when one of the men, a knock-kneed crea- 
 ture, stumbled, and the ball flew from his hand. It 
 struck a stone, ricochetted a yard from its course and 
 missed the rushlight by a hair's breadth. Loud 
 applause greeted this feat, and all tried to adopt the 
 new style. 
 
 At once the difficulties of Essenden's posi- 
 tion become increased fivefold. The space in front 
 of him was knobbed with roots and rocks, and 
 the mountaineers, though ignorant of the gentle art 
 of bowling, could throw with both force and effect. 
 Besides, the most exigent of modern bowlers would 
 not have desired a wider wicket. It was soon plain 
 to Essenden that the completion of his task ap- 
 proached the improbable. Hitherto he had attempted 
 
DON Q. AND A CRICKETER 6i 
 
 no risk, but now, abandoning caution, he tried to 
 gain time by harder hitting. 
 
 Presently a ball rose high. He swung up his 
 club, and struck at it with all his force. It flew 
 soaring into the air, fell from a great height upon a 
 rock, received new life from the impact, and went 
 bounding down the slope. Don Q. clapped his hands 
 in approbation. 
 
 The men leaped after the ball like a pack of 
 hounds. One outran the rest, he was not five yards 
 behind it as it bounced more slowly and slowly to- 
 wards the hollow of the river-bed. Then came a 
 cry: "El rio! El rio!" and they paused agape. 
 The ball bobbed for a moment or two on the swirl 
 of the current, and was swept out of sight. 
 
 Essenden looked at the shadow of the peak, its 
 black head had not yet touched the broken foot of 
 Felipito's cross. Then he turned to Don Q. and said 
 slowly : " Lost ball, seiior. I think I must claim the 
 game." 
 
 Don Q.'s good-bye brought, in different ways, 
 a surprise to both his captives. He shook Essenden 
 warmly by the hand. "Adios, Don Double E. Pray 
 accept my felicitations. That quickly-burnt letter 
 did not deceive me. You are a gallant fellow." 
 Then, turning to Rimbolt, he added : "As for you, 
 senor, whose folly brought about the danger, let me 
 tell you a piece of news. It was your ransom which 
 failed to be sent, and but for your friend, who imper- 
 
62 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 illed his life for your sake, you must have died, for 
 you are incapable of such hardihood as he has shown. 
 You owe him not a mere £2000 — ^you owe him the 
 price a man pays for the boon of existence. You 
 look amazed that, knowing this, I should have 
 allowed Senor Essenden to take your place. You 
 could never comprehend my reason, yet I will give 
 it to you. Noble deeds are rare. When one beholds 
 such a deed planned, one stands aside in reverence, 
 for who would dare to baffle its fulfilment ? " 
 
 Robledo led the two Englishmen to the foothills, 
 and long after he left them the thin golden air of 
 morning brought him the echoes of Rimbolt's high 
 note. 
 
 " Do have some consideration for others, Essen- 
 den," he was saying. "As it has turned out, you 
 got off cheaply. Look at me ! This horrible affair 
 is going to cost me £2000." 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 HOW DON Q. DEALT WITH A THIEF 
 
 One of the most curious episodes in the career of 
 Don Q. was that of his dealings with Fenders 
 Coppledown. It claims narration for three reasons. 
 In the first place the facts are curious, in the second 
 they throw a vivid light upon the character of Don 
 Q., in the third the results which sprang from them 
 were widespread, and formed a sequel to one of the 
 most remarkable of our English ccmses celebre. 
 
 Many of our readers will remember, even in these 
 days of a plethora of press news, the name and 
 notoriety of Fenders Coppledown, erstwhile director 
 and salaried manager of the East End Savings' 
 Bank, and the associated Fence for the Million 
 societies. They will remember also the flaring post- 
 ers, delineating a farthing changing by a gradation 
 of illuminating shades into a sovereign, which at one 
 time decorated the hoardings and high places of 
 London. All these devices sprang from the brain 
 of Fenders Coppledown. 
 
 Nor can many people have forgotten the sem- 
 blance of the man himself, his bulk, his clean-shaven, 
 violent face, pouched eyes, and solid poses. It was 
 possibly this hint of the ungovernable in his aspect 
 which so much endeared him to timid investors. 
 For at one period he enjoyed an immense popular- 
 
 68 
 
64 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 ity. Up to the moment of his disappearance not 
 a breath had sullied the mirror of his solvency or 
 of his character. 
 
 Then one morning London woke to find him gone, 
 his business hideously in tatters, his intrusted mil- 
 lions vanished. Nor will any who saw them forget 
 the crowd that swayed and fought with a fury 
 pitiful in its senselessness round his offices in Minc- 
 ing Lane, hoping to salve some portions of their 
 savings, or, as it was in many cases, entire means of 
 support, from the engulfing sea. 
 
 Meantime, in spite of the numerous expedients 
 now in the hands of civilisation which tend to 
 insure the capture of a fugitive from justice. Fen- 
 ders Coppledown made his escape. Behind him 
 newspapers raised such a hue and cry that it seemed 
 to echo to the farthest corners of the English-speak- 
 ing world. Men discussed him equally by Alaskan 
 camp-fires and in Thibetan rest-houses. The police 
 " displayed activity," " discovered clues," were said 
 to be " determined to run the scoundrel to earth." 
 But nothing came of all this reverberation of words. 
 Perhaps Mr. Punch, whose arrows shot at a venture 
 so often hit the mark, most nearly approached the 
 truth in his famous cartoon, where a wolf, furnished 
 with the features of Coppledown, was depicted nos- 
 ing the trail of his. pursuers before vanishing into 
 the safety of a snowy steppe. 
 
 Prolonged inquiries followed. An extraordinary 
 amount of capital, mostly composed of innumerable 
 
DON Q. AND A THIEF 65 
 
 small deposits, had been placed in the care of the 
 " Poor man's Friend/' but the bulk of it was gone, 
 and could no more be traced than that personage 
 himself. Many of those he left destitute must have 
 cursed him when they realised that Coppledown not 
 only was a rascal who had accepted payments up 
 to the very eve of his failure, but that he was also 
 one of the most successful thieves of modern 
 times. 
 
 The last facts known as to his movements were 
 as follows : At about seven o'clock of a spring even- 
 ing the great financier left his office and returned 
 home to dress for dinner before going to entertain 
 a large party at one of the most fashionable 
 restaurants in. London. Shortly after eleven o'clock 
 he bade his friends goodnight, and was seen into 
 a hansom by a commissionaire at the door. From 
 that moment he had disappeared, and this was the 
 more unaccountable since his face and his unusual 
 girth were familiar to the man in the street. Up 
 to the present hour no human being knows by what 
 subterfuges Fenders Coppledown managed to out- 
 wit the police during the first two weeks of his 
 flight. 
 
 Suffice it to say that he reached Portugal, and 
 for a space enjoyed Cintra. There some hint of 
 danger must have come to him, for afterwards 
 Setubal knew him, then Evora. Turning south, he 
 moved from Tavira to Huelva, by boat he arrived at 
 San Lucar. After a hurried flight to Malaga, he 
 6 
 
66 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 started for Almeria, but was never known to have 
 arrived there. 
 
 As a matter of fact, finding the margin of escape 
 growing less, he dropped away from the main chan- 
 nels of communication. He bought a stout mule, 
 and set his face towards the little-populated sierra, 
 where he hoped to lose himself for a while until the 
 storm and clamour of the pursuit should have died 
 down. 
 
 He crossed stretches of heath and of palmetto, 
 he plunged into the forests, he lodged in solitary 
 huts among the foothills, avoiding the clinging vil- 
 lages with their orchards of grey olive-trees, and so 
 gradually worked his way deeper and deeper into 
 the sierra. 
 
 But a very few days brought him to a deadlock 
 of disappointment. The food he had carried with 
 him was gone, and to obtain any among the poor 
 and scattered folk of that region seemed next to 
 impossible. He was, truth to tell, at his wits' end ; 
 the horror of a long imprisonment loomed close 
 before him, and he wanted, oh, far more, he literally 
 hoarded every hour left to him of life in which 
 to enjoy in his own way the wealth which he had 
 stolen ! 
 
 So, on a grey afternoon, he rode and brooded 
 along a steep mountain-path when he fell in with 
 a couple of Guardias Civiles. 
 
 The men drew up. " You will do well to turn 
 back, scfior; these roads are not safe. There are 
 
DON Q. AND A THIEF 67 
 
 many perils up above there," said the spokesman of 
 the two. 
 
 Coppledown raised his heavy face, stubbled with 
 a growth of beard, and laughed. He was amused 
 that the law should be upon his side. " What 
 perils ? " he asked with laconic bad-temper. 
 
 " Have you not heard of the brigand, Don Q. ? 
 He has returned." 
 
 Coppledown scowled and considered. A sudden 
 wild notion took possession of him. " I have busi- 
 ness of my own in these parts," he replied. " He 
 would not dare to molest me." 
 
 " The devil himself can only guess what he would 
 dare ! " exclaimed the patrol. " If he should catch 
 you, he would demand a long ransom, or he might 
 kill you. All who fear the law take to the hills. It 
 would be wiser, seiior, to return with us to the lower 
 road. We could guide you to an inn." 
 
 *' Perhaps when you learn that I have no money 
 to reward you, you will leave me in peace," shouted 
 Coppledown, every line of his massive face and 
 figure charged with a sudden brutal resentment. 
 
 The Spaniard sat still more erect in his saddle: 
 " When the caballero has been longer in my coun- 
 try, he will learn that the Civil Guard do not 
 accept money for any services they may have the 
 good fortune to render to strangers. Good-night, 
 senor." With that he and his comrade rode away, 
 leaving Coppledown frowning beside the track. 
 
 He remained as they left him, tossed in a tumult 
 
66 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 of thought. When a few minutes had elapsed, he 
 turned after the men, but halted at the comer round 
 which they had disappeared; from there he could 
 see them riding one behind the other at a good pace 
 down-hill. 
 
 Then he drew back to review his position. A 
 cold evening was settling down on the sierra. The 
 dark scrap of rock above his head was rendered yet 
 more forbidding by the east wind that whistled over 
 it. The words of the Civil Guard reiterated them- 
 selves in his brain : "All who fear the law take to 
 the hills ;" and the quality of imagination, which had 
 so often stood his friend during his career, came to 
 his aid. Suppose he braved the higher road. Sup- 
 pose he were to be taken prisoner by these brigands. 
 Why, here was the very hole in the net for which 
 he had been seeking! He pictured the riding up- 
 wards, his capture, and the meeting with Don Q. 
 
 Such a man would do anything for £5000 ! And 
 what was £5000 to Fenders Coppledown, he who 
 owned more than a million ! He would buy a death 
 certificate, so to speak, from Don Q. He fancied 
 the news reaching England — 
 
 " DEATH OF FENDERS 
 COFFLEDOWN 
 
 "Murdered by Bandits in the Spanish 
 Mountains " 
 
 He foreread the press comments on his fate. 
 
DON Q. AND A THIEF 69 
 
 " Nemesis " — they would say, " Dogged to his death 
 by the slow foot of retribution." Perhaps finally, 
 " May his soul rest in peace ; he did not live long 
 to enjoy his ill-gotten wealth.*' Yes, they would 
 even pity him, while he — he laughed aloud — he 
 would stay a while with these robbers in the sierra 
 till the aflfair was somewhat forgotten, and then, 
 reborn with a new name, descend once more into 
 the lower world, take ship for the Spanish Indies, 
 and — and — 
 
 An angry spatter of rain striking upon his face 
 brought him back to the present moment. He 
 wrenched the mule's head round, his mind was 
 made up. Behind were the pursuers, before him 
 risk, but also, as he believed, an ultimate safety. Far 
 away to the right lay the lazy sea he would one 
 day cross again ; to the left the higher sierra, rutted 
 with their dark gorges, towered tumultuously into 
 the sky. A cutting breeze met him. He shivered, it 
 may be his heart doubted, but he rode on by moulder- 
 ing shrines and crosses, filled with a fierce resolution 
 to succeed. Only beast and bird made their dwelling 
 in those waste places, and still the sterile bridle 
 path ahead twisted away dimly into the unknown. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 HOW DON Q. DEALT WITH A THIEF (cOfltinued) 
 
 " The pleasure is the keener because entirely 
 unlocked for, senor," said Don Q. "A visitor rarely 
 comes to us of his own accord." 
 
 Coppledown, stretched in a deep chair, with a 
 flagon of wine at his elbow, eyed the brigand ask- 
 ance. He had not failed to notice the manner in 
 which the other's sombrero swept its bow of wel- 
 come. He believed in judging other men's motives 
 and actions by his own; he felt certain it was the 
 way by which to reach the most correct conclusions. 
 In Don Q.'s case, however, he was over-hasty, 
 for he indexed him by his calling — a vital mistake. 
 
 " Of my own accord ? " A smile crossed his large 
 fleshy face. 
 
 The brigand with chill politeness trusted his men 
 had not used unnecessary violence. 
 
 " If to be dragged from the saddle in the bight 
 of a rope constitutes your idea of no unnecessary 
 violence," replied the other. 
 
 " I apologise for their zeal, senor. But what 
 would you? You do not carry the face of a man 
 who readily submits." 
 
 " You are right. As I said before, if I had 
 not wished to come I should not be here." 
 
 Don Q. reseated himself, lit a cigarette, and 
 70 
 
DON Q. AND A THIEF 71 
 
 remarked : " This grows quite interesting. Pray, 
 proceed, sefior." 
 
 " I am half sorry I did not shoot some of your 
 men last night," added Coppledown, suddenly smart- 
 ing at the remembrance. 
 
 "And why? They were but doing their duty." 
 
 " Doing their duty," echoed the other, un- 
 pleasantly. 
 
 " But certainly — to me," replied Don Q., gently; 
 yet a look shot from between his eyelids was not 
 altogether lost upon his companion, who muttered 
 some sort of excuse, which Don Q. accepted with 
 dignity. 
 
 " This Don Q. has picked up good manners some- 
 how — much in the same way as I picked them up 
 myself, no doubt," Coppledown reflected; he was 
 always cynically blunt with himself — one reason 
 of his success, perhaps. " Look here, Don Q., I am 
 going to tell you something of my personal history." 
 
 " Is it needful?" a little deprecatingly. 
 
 "Absolutely, since it leads me up to the busi- 
 ness which has brought me here." 
 
 Don Q. inclined his head. 
 
 " My name does not matter," resumed the other, 
 " it is sufficient to say that I was the son of wealthy 
 parents, and while at Oxford — our most aristocratic 
 university in England, you understand — I became 
 entangled with a woman, older than myself — of 
 course," with a shrug of the thick shoulders. " She 
 infatuated me, however, and the upshot was I mar- 
 
72 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 ried her. There existed a difference of rank be- 
 tween us — " 
 
 " Pardon me, sefior," the urbane voice of Don Q. 
 broke in, " but on which side lay the advantage of 
 this difference of rank ? " 
 
 Coppledown turned his prominent stare upon his 
 companion. " She was a woman of the people, while 
 I—" 
 
 The brigand nodded absently, yet Coppledown 
 changed the words on his lips. " She has made 
 my whole life an inferno. At last I got away; 
 I went to Chili, where I spent a considerable time." 
 
 "Ah, senor, I imagined your Spanish was not of 
 Oxford!" 
 
 " In the end my wife discovered me. Such people 
 as she find many to sympathise with them in Eng- 
 land. I tell you I cannot lead that life again I But 
 she has traced me — she is hunting me down ! Curse 
 them all ! " There was a convincing fury about the 
 man, for, indeed, as he spoke his imaginary wife 
 had faded into the very real ranks of his pursuers, 
 and every fibre in him was strung to outwit 
 them. " You alone, senor, in all the world can 
 help me." 
 
 " Pray proceed." 
 
 " You must rid me of this incubus ! " 
 
 A very dark look gathered on the brigand's peaked 
 face. " Rid you — what is it that you mean ? " 
 
 " The world will soon learn that I am your cap- 
 tive. All that I ask you to do is to send evidence 
 
DON Q. AND A THIEF 73 
 
 down to the plains of my death. They will not 
 doubt but that it is true. What do you say ? " 
 
 " They will certainly not doubt but that it is true," 
 repeated Don Q., grimly. 
 
 Coppledown twisted his bulky body round with a 
 jerk. '* I'll pay you well for it," he said. 
 
 " I am not greatly influenced by sordid considera- 
 tions," remarked the brigand, " and — " 
 
 " I know all about that." Coppledown put on 
 a manner that had done him service in the heyday of 
 his career in London. " We are men of the world, 
 and we know the greased wheel goes faster and 
 squeaks less. I am not a rich man — now, but I 
 will pay you a couple of thousand pounds to send this 
 message to the plains and to smuggle me out of the 
 country. Come, let us clinch the bargain." 
 
 " Wait a moment, senor," Don Q. raised his hand. 
 " You will pardon me when I say that I have my 
 reputation to consider. I cannot mix myself up 
 with any questionable affair." 
 
 " I see your object," interrupted the other, impa- 
 tiently. "As I have said, I am no longer a rich man, 
 but this matter happens to be of the first importance 
 to me, and you are forcing me to increase my 
 offer—" 
 
 " Not at all, senor ! you labour under terrible 
 delusions. Your offers are nothing to me. I assess 
 the amount of ransom ; my captives have no more to 
 do, I assure you, tlian to pay it," the brigand said 
 softly. 
 
74 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 "Well, £4000. Curse it, man, you could retire 
 upon that ! " Coppledown was standing now, a 
 formidable bulk alive with a formidable personality. 
 
 Don Q. raised his eyes. " Be silent ! for this is 
 my last word," he said, with a sudden change of 
 manner, " I will send you safely to the coast, and 
 allow the authorities to make their own conclusions 
 as to your fate up here in the sierra, and for this you 
 will pay me £10,000. But since I am not in the 
 mountains for purposes of plunder, if it should 
 transpire in the meantime that you have told me a 
 false history, or that your flight has a less innocent 
 cause than you have led me to suppose, not ten 
 times the sum I have named would induce me to 
 move in the matter." 
 
 Fenders Coppledown made a violent step forward 
 — ^what he would have done cannot be guessed — ^but 
 the brigand was already walking away into the 
 recesses of the cave. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 HOW DON Q. DEALT WITH A THIEF — (conttfiued) 
 
 An interval of changeable weather followed upon 
 that first blue day. Rain drummed on the rocks or 
 the sun swam from a mist-bath into mid-heaven. 
 Within the cave between these two men, so strangely 
 flung together by destiny, the seeds of personality 
 began to bear fruit upon the common ground of 
 their intercourse. 
 
 All day long Coppledown would lie in a long 
 chair solacing the hours with tobacco and with 
 dreams. In his thoughts of the tropic land of his 
 desire, his mind dwelt with an odd persistency on 
 the vivid-feathered birds. 
 
 The man was a voluptuary, but also an artist in 
 the shades of living. Lying there, heavy in much 
 flesh, he toyed with the promise of the future; 
 was alternately assailed with the minutest thorns of 
 doubt, or abandoned himself to the weaving of chains 
 of golden web from the material of a ray of sunshine. 
 In that great body beat such nerves of sensibility as 
 none would have suspected. Neither the artistic 
 sense nor even something of the romanceful out- 
 look was lacking in his mental furnishing. Sen- 
 sualist, positivist, and dreamer, yet he was through 
 all the disciple of naked expedience. 
 
 So Fenders Coppledown lived and grew familiar 
 
 76 
 
76 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 with the daily iteration of life among the mountains. 
 His eyes saw new things. The sky a vault to hold 
 the winds or burnt hot and blue with sunshine, 
 swooping birds on ragged wings, the fires and the 
 bandits who sprawled near them, even the air of 
 tame savagery that hung about the glen — these 
 things painted themselves into a background against 
 which his thoughts moved in panoramic guise. 
 
 Thus the drama moved to its completion, while 
 each man read by snatches in the book of the 
 other's personality, as a penniless scholar reads in 
 a volume he cannot buy at a bookstall. At one point 
 of their interview Coppledown had become keenly 
 alive to certain ominous possibilities in his captor. 
 Later on he discovered, or fancied he discovered, 
 signs of speciousness in his host's conversation, 
 which, indeed, were wholly imaginary. Thus his 
 early impression of the inexorable in Don Q. became 
 somewhat obscured. 
 
 All the while the brigand watched Fenders Copple- 
 down from the intimate point of vantage, sitting 
 always opposite at the same table, meditating beside 
 the same twilight fire, and whereas to the mental 
 eye of Coppledown there took shape a false Don 
 Q., each hour crystallised to the more alert intelli- 
 gence of the brigand the true proportions of milk 
 and gall that went to make up his captive's rather 
 monstrous individuality. 
 
 Among the various species of human beings likely 
 to provoke dislike in Don Q., Coppledown was cal- 
 
DON Q. AND A THIEF 77 
 
 culated to take a chief place. The brigand writes 
 of him : ** This man possesses all the qualities which 
 I imagine make for success in the world of business, 
 and for the enjoyment of the grosser pleasures, but 
 I look in vain for a single higher trait which should 
 endear him to his fellow-men. His mind is a 
 gigantic ledger with all humanity entered on the 
 debit side." 
 
 So life droned on, Fenders Coppledown still 
 drowsing through the afternoons, wallowing in an- 
 ticipations, until the day came that hurled him from 
 that Nirvana into the exigencies of a present 
 struggle. 
 
 The development could not have been avoided, 
 for who can guard against the accidental ? Readers 
 of these chronicles may remember one Caspar, a 
 knotty man of evil aspect, but an excellent brigand, 
 and, after Robledo, perhaps of all Don Q.'s men 
 the best. It so happened that this Caspar, at the 
 time of Don Q.*s return, was working in Barcelona 
 as a cleaner of the bullring. As soon, however, as 
 the news came to him and the rallying call, the man 
 threw up his occupation, which indeed seemed to 
 be no more than cigarette-smoking on weekdays and 
 scattering sand over the bloodstains on Sundays, and 
 started for the Boca de Lobo, taking with him as 
 many of the most recent newspapers as he could 
 collect, for his master's reading. 
 
 A still more remote cause had also a heavy bear- 
 ing on Coppledown's fortunes. Away in England 
 
78 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 in a back office behind Fleet Street, the cosmopolitan 
 gentleman, sometime tutor to the heir of the Duke of 
 Peckham, and presently London correspondent of a 
 Spanish paper, by over-indulgence in pleasure, fell 
 short of news, and, as his custom was under such 
 circumstances, purchased some photographs, the 
 insertion of which would fill up the column of his 
 omissions. Among these photographs was one of 
 Fenders Coppledown. In due time the paper in 
 Spain reproduced this picture, and a very good 
 likeness was the result. Below it were set out some 
 striking finger-posts as to the career of the original. 
 
 Caspar, being aware that El Mundo was a journal 
 held in esteem by his lord in the mountains, bought 
 copies of the last weeks' issues, and started to 
 resume his old life. 
 
 At the nightfall of a blusterous day of drying winds 
 he came to the Boca de Lobo. The newspapers 
 were sent up to the cave, where the brigand, with 
 his usual courtesy, passed the more recent ones over 
 to Coppledown, while he opened the others. 
 
 The lamp had been early lighted, and the two 
 men were seated near the fire, a table with the lamp 
 between them. 
 
 Coppledown looked up suddenly as if some touch 
 on his nerves had startled him. Conceive the scene. 
 Don Q. had a ten-days* old El Mundo open before 
 his face, and he appeared to be reading with interest. 
 On the next page, which for the moment was turned 
 back, Coppledown saw, swimming in the light 
 
DON Q. AND A THIEF 79 
 
 beneath the lampshade, his own likeness. So clear 
 was it that he discerned a dark line across it where 
 some graving tool had scored the block. 
 
 Coppledown gazed for an instant at the bald head 
 above the top of the newspaper. He had but a 
 moment in which to act. Long ago he had made 
 up his mind as to the kind of man with whom he 
 would have to deal should events bring him into 
 conflict with his captor. Here was the event come. 
 For he realised that if ever the eyes of Don Q. rested 
 upon the portrait reproduced from the defective 
 block, it was likely, and more than likely, that a new 
 cross would front no distant morning in the gorges. 
 
 After the manner of his race, Fenders Coppledown 
 grew suddenly cool and his muscles tightened. Lift- 
 ing his heavy foot, he kicked over the table with the 
 lamp upon it. His objective was, of course, the 
 paper. Don Q. moved sharply back at the fall. The 
 lamp shot beyond him, smashed upon the floor, and 
 went out. At the same moment Coppledown leaped 
 across the overturned table, and tore the paper from 
 the brigand's hands. 
 
 " Take care ! " he shouted stridently, crushing 
 up the sheet, and thrusting it into the wood fire. 
 
 It flared, the folds reopening slowly under the 
 action of the flames. He felt rather than saw a 
 quick movement on the part of Don Q. For what 
 was that clearly picked out in the centre of the circle 
 of fire? A face framed in ripples of red smoulder 
 with a dark graving line across the cheek. Of the 
 
8o DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 four portraits on the sheet only his own appeared, as 
 if the finger of Fate, which he so often railed at, had 
 written his accusation in letters of fire. 
 
 He turned to Don Q. Their glances encountered, 
 and at that moment Coppledown, using his immense 
 strength, tore a leg from the table and rushed like 
 a baresark upon the brigand. 
 
 But a life of alarms, and his many necessities, 
 had equipped Don Q. with great qualities of per- 
 sonal warfare. Coppledown was quick in his rush, 
 but Don Q. was quicker still. Springing to one 
 side, he flung his cloak round his antagonist's feet 
 and jerked it sharply. The huge man fell forward 
 like a mast. 
 
 Very slowly Fenders Coppledown gathered his 
 mental forces together, consolidating his will, his 
 inherent strength of purpose, and that ruthless in- 
 stinct of self-preservation to which he owed so many 
 of his former victories over men. Fhysically he was 
 helpless, bound hand and foot, while over against 
 him brooded the silent, portentous figure of 
 Don Q. 
 
 The brigand had spent that last hour in reading 
 and considering all that El Mundo had, in later 
 editions, told its readers of the swindle of the East 
 End Savings' Bank and Fence for the Million 
 Societies, and of their colossal promoter. 
 
 " So you are Fenders Coppledown ? " he said at 
 length ; " and you lied to me." 
 
DON Q. AND A THIEF 8i 
 
 " No. To be quite correct, I bluffed. I played 
 a g^me — to win." 
 
 " I was about to say I do not wonder that you 
 lied." Don Q. brushed the back of his hand across 
 the papers on his knee. 
 
 "All is fair in business." 
 
 " What a detestable creed ! Yet it was that upon 
 which you habitually acted. You lied to me because 
 you were assured that I could not give my protection 
 to one whose career had been so infamous." 
 
 " I do not follow you." Coppledown forced him- 
 self to speak quietly. " In conducting my business, 
 I was the ordinary business man using the ordinary 
 business methods." 
 
 " No, senor ; for I, Don Q., am likewise a business 
 man in one aspect of my life." 
 
 "And what of the infamy of your career? " roared 
 Coppledown. 
 
 " My worst enemies will tell that no poor man or 
 woman, no widow or orphan, no helpless cripple, 
 or aged people have ever been a peseta the worse for 
 me. No, these unhappy folk ask for justice, charity, 
 and at my hands have never yet been refused. But 
 what do I read here ? You indulged your gross body 
 on the savings of the thrifty and the already indi- 
 gent; you swallowed the livelihood of those who 
 dwelt always on the borderland of starvation. Why 
 do I waste my words? You have doubtless read of 
 that black procession of suicides which followed upon 
 your disappearance. I have but one question to ask^ 
 6 
 
82 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 you — ^what have you done with the money of which 
 you deprived those wretched ones? " 
 
 Fenders Coppledown's big face lowered at him. 
 "What is that to you?' 
 
 " We shall come to that point presently." 
 
 " Oh, I understand it now ! Your demand for 
 a ransom is about to grow in proportion to my 
 alleged wealth," sneered Coppledown furiously. 
 
 To his surprise the brigand replied in his soft 
 voice : " There is something of truth in your guess. 
 I now require you to give me full information as 
 to where that million and a quarter, which you have 
 stolen, is waiting for you to regain it. Next I shall 
 endeavour to persuade you to send instructions for 
 the repayment out of that fund of those poor cred- 
 itors who trusted you. When this is fully done, 
 there will still doubtless be a remainder upon which 
 you can continue to enjoy some moderate pleasures 
 of life." 
 
 Coppledown's smile was evil. " Look here, Don 
 Q., or whatever you call yourself, in this affair you 
 have shown considerable sagacity, but there is just 
 one factor with which you have not reckoned." 
 
 "Which is?" 
 
 " That immutable man as you may believe your- 
 self to be, you have not realised that I am equally 
 immutable. Yes," he went on, raising his voice, " in 
 this gross body, as you called it, you will find a stark 
 man, one whom you cannot compel ! Now attend to 
 my offer. I will procure for you £20,000 to give me 
 
DON Q. AND A THIEF 83 
 
 my liberty; if you will not take that, you shall get 
 nothing ! " 
 
 " I fear that you have failed to understand my 
 words." Don Q. moved so as to envisage the other 
 man more directly. 
 
 *' Not a bit of it ! I can read you easily. Like 
 all bargainers, you begin by asking more, far more 
 than you intend to close for. You have had my last 
 word, however." The tremendous resistance of will 
 in the man seemed almost palpable. 
 
 " Sefior, I do not bargain. As I have said, so it 
 shall be, no more, no less ! " 
 
 Coppledown's under lip closed in viciously. 
 " Then you are about to kill me. Well, I do not 
 fear death." 
 
 *' Not at this moment," put in the brigand. " But 
 we have a proverb in my language, ' Never say, 
 This bread I will not eat.' " 
 
 "You think to force me by torture?" 
 
 " No," came the unexpected answer, " you are 
 merely to have such an experience as you have pro- 
 vided for those others — who trusted you." 
 
 The brigand clapped his hands. Robledo entered 
 the cave. " The barrel is prepared, Robledo ? " 
 
 " Yes, lord." 
 
 "And Caspar has safely affixed the pulley ? " 
 
 " Yes, lord." 
 
 "Good ! Now assist this senor to rise, and loosen 
 the ropes for walking. Then lead him to the tree." 
 
 By the light of torches a procession formed 
 
84 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 itself, Coppledown between two brigands going first, 
 then Don Q. alone, after him a mob of his men 
 moving quietly, but hugely entertained at the pun- 
 ishment in store for the fat Englishman. They 
 halted under the group of trees at the head of the 
 glen. 
 
 Don Q. pointed upwards to where the winds 
 roared among the branches, and Coppledown saw 
 dimly that a barrel had been slung high up towards 
 the crest of the highest tree. 
 
 " You are about to be placed in that barrel, Sefior 
 Coppledown, where you will suffer cold and hunger, 
 discomfort and misery, and there will be none to 
 help you. With these things your victims in Eng- 
 land must now be well acquainted. And you will 
 remain up there unless your heart relents towards 
 them," said Don Q. " Caspar, proceed with your 
 work." 
 
 With some difficulty and a good deal of laughter, 
 Coppledown was fastened into the barrel, which was 
 hoisted and securely lashed into position. Then a 
 great fire was kindled at a short distance, round 
 which the appointed guard lay at ease. 
 
 And so that dreadful night began. The tree 
 rocked and groaned under its unaccustomed burden, 
 and as the hours wore away the gusts of wind grew 
 louder and stronger. Demons of cold and cramp 
 plucked at the prisoner's pampered flesh, and he 
 endured attacks of giddiness and sickness from the 
 violent swaying of the tree. Above, to his unsteady 
 
DON Q. AND A THIEF 85 
 
 gaze, the stars whirled in the tree-tops; below the 
 dizzy earth fell away in the gloom. At intervals 
 he could see the men sleeping by the fire wrapped 
 in their warm cloaks under the lee of the cliff, 
 while he pictured to himself with a shuddering 
 horror the breaking of the tree, and — 
 
 It is a fact that, after all, pleasure is relative, and 
 long before the small hours Coppledown found him- 
 self longing more for warmth and safe footing — 
 merely those elementary comforts — than ever he 
 had longed for the Spanish Indies and the paradise 
 of golden-plumaged birds. 
 
 Dawn came at length with a slant of rain, blow- 
 ing out for an instant the dancing stars. Clad in 
 sober black and grey, with no hint of colour, the 
 cold day crept across the peaks like a wolf drenched 
 in storms. And Fenders Coppledown watched it 
 come, oh, how slowly. For, sick and cramped, 
 hungry and shivering, worn out with the wrenching 
 battle of the tree, he had had enough of Don Q.'s 
 discipline. 
 
 But had a similar desperate ruin of his plans 
 happened to him in London, unquestionably Fenders 
 Coppledown would not have hesitated to kill him- 
 self at the dramatic moment rather than submit 
 to it, for there he would have cut something of a 
 figure in the eyes of the world and gained some 
 amount of sympathy. But here he only made a 
 sorry spectacle for a score or two of grinning 
 bandits — ^besides, if he escaped, life might hold a 
 
86 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 good deal still for a man yet on the sunny side of 
 middle age! 
 
 He shouted to the robbers, he called to the chang- 
 ing guard to bring Don Q., but they paid no heed. 
 And it was not till the heats of midday were pouring 
 on his head, and his sufferings seemed intolerable, 
 that Don Q. came up the incline and stood below the 
 tree, while Fenders Coppledown categorically agreed 
 to his proposals. 
 
 Later he was told that he must be content to 
 remain in the sierra until certain friends of Don Q.*s 
 in England, " of indisputable honour, such as Sir 
 Graham Marks, with whom it may be you are 
 acquainted," should be able to send assurance that 
 the restored money had been punctiliously applied to 
 its assigned purpose. Throughout the arrangements 
 Coppledown kept a keen eye on every detail, and one 
 unasked question burned on his tongue. At last a 
 day came when he put it squarely to the brigand. 
 
 " Your men — and you — where do you come in ? 
 How do you profit? " he asked. 
 
 " My men, sefior, are satisfied with the £300 found 
 upon you at the time of your capture. For myself — 
 I am glad to reflect that these poor clients of yours 
 are once again happy. I want nothing more," said 
 Don Q., adding with a thin, sardonic smile : " You 
 cannot believe that, but nevertheless it is true." 
 
 Fenders Coppledown made no reply, but perhaps 
 not the least queer part of a very queer episode 
 was that he did believe it. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 HOW DON Q. HAD NEED OF A SURGEON 
 
 The winter had been hard. Don Q., wearied of 
 the inertia of existence, and, perhaps, even more of 
 the persistent thoughts which preyed upon him dur- 
 ing such periods of inactivity, resolved, although the 
 season was full early, to make a hunting trip after 
 ibex, the more particularly as news had been brought 
 to him of an old ram with magnificent horns which 
 had been seen kneeling on the edge of a remote 
 precipice, as if keeping watch over the country 
 below. 
 
 The brigand set out with four of his following, 
 only to be met on the higher levels by heavy snow- 
 storms, which succeeded each other in an increas- 
 ing rancour. 
 
 On the evening of the first day the exhausted 
 mules had to be left behind, while the little party 
 pushed forward on foot. Next morning they turned 
 out to face again deep drifts, slippery rocks, ice-cold 
 torrents, and it was during this period of physical 
 stress that the brigand felt the first warning of that 
 disease which was destined to levy upon his delicate 
 frame so terrible a tax of suffering. 
 
 He has recorded that his return journey to the 
 cave seemed a long dream of agony, but with almost 
 miraculous self-control he impressed his men with 
 
 87 
 
88 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 the idea that fatigue accounted entirely for his con- 
 dition. Several days' rest and the warmth of his 
 cave gave temporary relief, but as time drew on the 
 attacks of pain grew more and more frequent and 
 intense. ** To be overcome by a malady in the sierra, 
 more especially for a master of wolves such as I am, 
 is, I am well aware, little short of a sentence of 
 death. I have always known that I must die in the 
 mountains; I think the time approaches." So he 
 wrote. 
 
 Yet no individual of his band suspected the trutn 
 nor imagined that anything beyond one of his habit- 
 ual fits of depression ailed their lord. His meals 
 were brought to him as usual; he ate little, yet 
 covered the fact by dropping a portion of food into 
 the fire; but presently came a time when he would 
 afterwards lie back in the agony induced by even that 
 slight effort. 
 
 He was far from medical help, but by degrees his 
 mind turned towards the white city, which lies 
 across the bay from Gibraltar, where could be found 
 men with knowledge, who might aid him to fight 
 this new, intangible enemy. After some reluctance 
 he made up his mind to procure from one of them 
 such relief as was possible. To carry out his purpose 
 Robledo was sent down to the plains. He started in 
 a pink evening mist, the herald of summer, while 
 Don Q., panting on his couch, battled with the pain 
 that beset him. 
 
 It would be difficult to describe the sufferings of 
 
DON Q. AND A SURGEON 89 
 
 the brigand. Through every hour he felt disease 
 mining its implacable way to the core of his life. 
 He could do nothing — only wait and endure; he 
 never complained, but he was dipped into a depth of 
 despondency, and, as his strength served, wrote many 
 letters for the final arrangement of his affairs. 
 "Day by day," we read, "I grow weaker, the 
 foundations of my life tremble. I will not deny I 
 have dreamed of an end other than this. More than 
 once during this latter time I have been tempted to 
 ask my revolver to do me a last service." 
 
 Such, then, was the point of current history in the 
 Boca de Lobo when Robledo passed down from the 
 thin breath of the sierra into the warm atmosphere 
 of the plains. His errand had alarmed him, and 
 while he travelled his mind, working anxiously over 
 the past weeks, recognised the calamitous fact of 
 Don Q.'s failing health. The suspicion drove him 
 on at top speed, for from this man at least Don Q. had 
 gathered a full tribute of devotion. 
 
 The instructions of the young bandit were simple. 
 He carried a note to the leading doctor in the city. 
 It contained a courteous request for a visit in the 
 sierra on an errand of life and death. It went on 
 to assure security and safe conduct, and ended with 
 a magnificent offer as touching fees. But the re- 
 cipient of the letter at once definitely declined to run 
 the risk of the undertaking. Robledo appealed to 
 the doctor — through an intermediary, for the moun- 
 taineer does not easily trust the city dweller — declar- 
 
90 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 ing himself to be an unfailing guide with a good 
 reputation, and vowing that no harm, but much in- 
 crease of wealth would result from the little journey. 
 All to no purpose, and Robledo, heavy with despair, 
 made his way back to the outskirts of the city to 
 bid his wife farewell before he carried the news of 
 his failure upwards to the sierra. 
 
 Perhaps some who have read the former chron- 
 icles will remember that Robledo's wife, Isabellilla, 
 was a woman of resource. It is here enough to say 
 that within half-an-hour she started with him for 
 the foothills. 
 
 There were few people in England at that period 
 to whom the name of Sir William Gasterton, the 
 famous surgeon, was unfamiliar. Those who did 
 not know him personally probably imagined him to 
 be a man on the wrong side of fifty, grown grey in 
 the service of science and humanity, but in reality he 
 was scarcely thirty-five, and had been early forced 
 into prominence by the sheer force of his genius. 
 His friends described him as of an original though 
 perhaps eccentric disposition; his enemies spoke of 
 his infernal capacity for giving and taking offence. 
 At any rate, both friends and enemies agreed that 
 for his heroic pursuit of knowledge he deserved not 
 only well of his country, but of the whole human 
 race. 
 
 About the period of this story, Sir William pro- 
 posed to take a holiday in Spain. On the eve of 
 setting out, a millionaire patient offered him a fee 
 
DON Q. AND A SURGEON 91 
 
 of ten thousand guineas to cross the Atlantic to 
 perform an operation. 
 
 Whether, as is possible, something in the wording 
 of the letter annoyed him, or whether, having made 
 up his mind to go to Spain for rest and change, he 
 would be denied neither, no one can say. But he 
 absolutely refused, and May found him in Grenada, 
 where he spent more time in examining the mineral 
 springs of Lanjaron than in exploring the Alhambra. 
 Hearing of other springs in Andalucia, as yet 
 but little known, he visited that province, and by a 
 coincidence had an interview with the confrere to 
 whom Don Q. had that very day sent his appeal for 
 aid This individual told Gasterton the story of 
 the mysterious letter, adding that he would certainly 
 not accept its invitation. 
 
 " But why ? " inquired Sir William, hotly. 
 
 The other raised his eyebrows and laughed. " It 
 comes probably from the brigand, Don Q. Why 
 should I adventure my life? " 
 
 " The question to me is rather — " the English 
 doctor pulled himself up with his curious air of self- 
 repression, and turned to talk of certain mineral 
 waters, which he had been told were within a day's 
 ride of the city. 
 
 Gasterton made a start next morning, Robledo and 
 his wife followed on the same road early in the 
 afternoon. 
 
 The springs were situated close to a hamlet of 
 picturesque, tumble-down houses that clung to a 
 
92 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 precipitous slope of the lower mountain range. Not 
 the least wretched of the hovels was the inn, where 
 the Englishman left his valise, and, repelling the 
 pleasant courtesy of the patron, went off at once to 
 see the springs. He examined the small, clear pools 
 with their sparkling bubbles ever rising and breaking 
 on the surface of the water; he tasted and tested 
 and made notes, so a couple of hours passed quickly- 
 enough, and he was still engrossed in his work when 
 a soft voice startled him. 
 
 " I do not understand Spanish," he answered with 
 absent brusqueness. 
 
 But the voice went on, shaken with tears. 
 Gasterton looked round, then, in spite of himself, 
 looked again, for the speaker was a most beautiful 
 woman. She held out her hand, and he compre- 
 hended that she was imploring his help to save the 
 •life of one she loved. After a moment's hesitation, 
 he nodded, and in a second a young mountaineer, 
 handsome, worn, and sad-eyed, appeared, leading 
 a shaggy mule by a nose-halter or rope. Sir William 
 mounted the padded cloth that served for saddle, 
 and the three set their faces upwards. 
 
 A goatherd in passing exchanged a word or 
 two with the young fellow at his bridle-rein, but 
 Gasterton only remembered this later, when, night 
 having almost fallen, they came upon an encamp- 
 ment of wild-looking men seated round a blazing 
 fire fed with pine. 
 
 By this time, it must be confessed, he was be- 
 
THIY CAME UPON AN ENCAMPMENT OF WILD-LOOKING MEN SEATED 
 ROUND A BLAZING FIRE. 
 
DON Q. AND A SURGEON 93 
 
 ginning to grow uneasy as to the outcome of the 
 mission upon which he had unthinkingly embarked, 
 and, whether he looked back to the gloom of the 
 forest from which they were emerging, or forward 
 to the grey desolation of brushwood above, he 
 realised that he was in a position more than likely 
 to turn out ill. To do him justice, his spirit did 
 not quail, not even when his refusal to proceed was 
 met by a rush of the red and yellow-capped figures 
 from the fire, who overpowered him — not without 
 trouble — and who hurried him on in the teeth of a 
 biting wind. Darkness fell, but the party carried 
 torches, which, as they mounted higher, gave 
 glimpses of the bleached branches of the piornales, 
 hovering like skeletons on the edge of the passing 
 glow. 
 
 During the tedious hours of riding, Gasterton 
 may have pictured to himself the brigand chief as 
 some fierce, heavy-handed dweller in the mountains ; 
 but he found instead a fragile, cultured gentleman, 
 who spoke beautiful Castilian, and over whose face, 
 to his practised eye, the rim of the Great Shadow 
 already rested. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 HOW DON Q. HAD NEED OF A SURGEON 
 
 (continued) 
 
 By this time the hot convulsion of his anger at 
 being tricked had crystallised into strange shapes 
 of resolve. He had gathered more than an inkling 
 of Don Q.'s purpose, having knowledge of the note 
 to the Spanish doctor to guide him, and with a deep 
 resentment he set himself to see the matter through. 
 
 To his surprise the men were ordered back to 
 the valley, while he was left alone and unbound 
 in the warm and firelit cave where the brigand lay 
 on a rough couch made soft with furs. 
 
 " Sefior, you know who I am? " the brigand asked 
 in his gentle manner. 
 
 " I understand you are the man known as Don 
 Q., a brigand," was the reply. 
 
 "And I also know you by report. Although I 
 live among the mountains remote from the world, 
 some echoes of that which is great and famous reach 
 me. Your renown, sefior, has penetrated to our 
 valley." He paused and looked expectantly at his 
 companion. 
 
 But Sir William sat in silence, the strong, self- 
 imposed silence which was one of his dominant 
 characteristics. He was a man temperamentally out- 
 side the range of ordinary small courtesies ; besides, 
 
 94 
 
DON Q. AND A SURGEON 95 
 
 his position seemed to him nothing short of 
 intolerable. 
 
 " I repeat, senor, that your name is well known 
 to me, and I have largely rewarded the man and 
 woman who, on their own initiative, secured me 
 the advantage of your presence here." 
 
 " What ? You encouraged the baseness that 
 could betray me under the circumstances? " Gaster- 
 ton's eyes blazed contempt. " It is, however, not 
 astonishing ! " 
 
 " I am very well aware that it was the noble 
 instinct of the healer of men which overcame your 
 natural reluctance, which gave you courage to fol- 
 low two strangers into our wild sierra. But Rob- 
 ledo and his wife did not deceive you, they did not 
 allure you away under false pretences, for I, their 
 master, am most desperately in need of your help." 
 
 Gasterton's compressed lips uttered no reply, 
 though bitterness seemed hovering visibly about 
 them. After a distinct pause he spoke, passing 
 over without comment the last speech of Don Q. 
 
 " Let us limit ourselves to the only subject of 
 discussion possible between us. What is to be the 
 amount of my ransom? " 
 
 " I do not propose to ask any sum in ransom." 
 
 "What then?" 
 
 "A service." 
 
 Sir William knew well what was coming; his 
 ear detected the increasing weakness in the brigand's 
 voice, for this interview had almost absorbed Don 
 
96 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 Q.'s strength, but he nevertheless intended to make 
 the asking of a favour as hard a matter as he could 
 make it. His face grew increasingly repellent. 
 "Ask it." 
 
 " You see I am ill." 
 
 " You wish to consult me ? " 
 
 " Yes, as your other patients consult you — for 
 any fee you think proper. I am a rich man, and 
 there will be no need to consider economies." 
 
 Gasterton laughed suddenly, a biting laugh, 
 plainer in its meaning than words. "As far as an 
 examination is concerned, and so far only, I place 
 myself at your service," he said. Then with the 
 tender and skilful hands of his craft, he moved 
 Don Q.'s couch into a better light beside the opening 
 of the cave, and helped him to turn and shift his 
 position. Patiently and carefully he made such in- 
 vestigation as was possible, then, placing the sick 
 man once more in comfort, he sat down and re- 
 garded the peaked face with a strange, keen glance. 
 
 " Your condition is extremely serious," he began, 
 and in a few cold words he pronounced Don Q.'s 
 sentence of death. 
 
 "It is then impossible to save my life?" The 
 unaltered suavity of the brigand's weak voice sur- 
 prised the hearer. 
 
 " Certainly, unless you were to undergo an 
 operation." 
 
 "If I do not undergo this operation, how long 
 do you give me of life ? " 
 
DON Q. AND A SURGEON 97 
 
 "A week, a month, I cannot determine the period, 
 but it must be short." 
 
 " You are, I understand, a marvellous surgeon, 
 and the greatest living authority on this disease of 
 mine? " inquired Don Q. 
 
 Sir William made an impatient movement. 
 " Some people may choose to say so." 
 
 ''Then, sefior, you shall operate at once. I place 
 myself in your hands with entire confidence that 
 you will exert your skill to save my life. My good 
 fortune has sent you to me at the right moment." 
 
 Gasterton's lip twitched oddly. " Do not rely 
 on me," he said. " For one thing, I have no instru- 
 ments here — " 
 
 " That need not distress you," returned Don Q., 
 faintly. " Your baggage, which you left in the 
 city, will arrive in a few hours, and I have given 
 orders that certain drugs and appliances should be 
 obtained — I imagined an operation " — his head fell 
 back. '* Brandy — call no one." The husky whisper 
 was hardly audible. 
 
 Gasterton rose at once, and did all that could be 
 done for the brigand's comfort; but as soon as 
 Don Q. regained some amount of strength, he spoke 
 at once : 
 
 " I refuse to perform any operation upon you." 
 There was a curious suggestion of malignancy in 
 the refusal. 
 
 "You refuse?" repeated Don Q., incredulously, 
 
 "I absolutely refuse." 
 7 
 
98 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 " But you accompanied Isabellilla of your own 
 will to give your aid to a sick person." 
 
 " Yes, that is true. The woman's distress touched 
 me ; perhaps, being only a man, her beauty appealed 
 to me," Gasterton replied with a rasping candour; 
 " I believed her child was ill, not a man such as you 
 are!" 
 
 "But why? You were only compelled to come 
 after you grew suspicious and wished to turn back. 
 I do not regard you as a captive. I ofifer you free- 
 dom, and any fee you name in return for your help. 
 What more would you have ? " 
 
 " I want nothing from you. I have spent almost 
 twenty years in learning the dexterity, the skill, 
 the knowledge which you ask me to use for your 
 recovery, but I did not spend those years in order 
 to prolong the life of a man who is a robber — a 
 mur— " 
 
 Don Q. sat up panting on his couch. " To insult 
 a dying man is the feather of the coward's cap ! " 
 he exclaimed. " I would have given you freedom — 
 all I had to give. What? Would you kill me?" 
 for Gasterton had sprung to his feet half in- 
 voluntarily. 
 
 But at Don Q.'s upraised arm he stiffened. 
 " What do you suppose I am ? " he exclaimed 
 thickly. " I am not a murderer ! You arc safe from 
 me, whatever-— yes, whatever happens ! " He fin- 
 ished harshly, holding his head high. 
 
 Don Q. sat silent, and palpitating with hi$ recent 
 
DON Q. AND A SURGEON 99 
 
 movement. " Then I accept your pledge in its 
 entire meaning. Now tell me how long I have to 
 live, and as the answer will be of the extremest 
 interest to you, I beg you to make a careful 
 calculation." 
 
 " I give you ten, perhaps even twenty days — may- 
 be a little longer." 
 
 *'And I, in return give you exactly the same period 
 of life. When I die, you also shall die. Well 
 sefior, we have spoken our minds, both of us. We 
 are going on a long journey together. Till we start 
 upon it, let us, if possible, brush aside our differences 
 and live in amity." 
 
 You can imagine that it was strange company 
 which these two condemned men kept each other 
 through the days of brightening summer. In both 
 burned similar fires of obstinacy, of resentment for 
 injury done. Not much unlike either in attitude, in 
 thought, or even in those dreams which creep over 
 the mind when the finality of existence, the port 
 to which the human ship is blown by winds as 
 ancient, as inexorable as time, rises into sight over 
 the rim of life. And in spite of warring prejudices, 
 the very power, the galling insistiveness of each 
 struck some answering chord in the nature of his 
 companion. 
 
 So each day brought home to Gasterton the fact 
 that the courage of the man who lay upon the couch 
 of furs was stiffened to a quality far above the 
 
lOO DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 ordinary, for Don Q. never complained, the manner 
 of his Hfe had led him to eschew sympathy. It was a 
 strange experience to this doctor, used, as he was, to 
 the inevitable groping towards companionship, the 
 pitiful hand the dying thrust out to clasp another 
 human hand in the supreme hours, to find here a man 
 from whom neither pain nor the approaching close of 
 life could wring even a phrase of appeal or self-pity. 
 
 And, it must be owned that in the end Gasterton, 
 as he watched, watched in admiration. He, too, in 
 a like position would have shrunk from sympathy as 
 flesh from an acid ; he too, he conceived, was above 
 posing, and through the layers of hardening ex- 
 perience, of ambition, of a certain embittered con- 
 verse with his kind, which covered like an armour- 
 plate his ultimate humanity, he acknowledged Don 
 Q. as his equal in the very characteristics in which 
 he held himself to be above the bulk of mankind. 
 
 On the first night of his arrival, after the moment- 
 ous conversation that has been already narrated, 
 Don Q. had called Robledo and Isabellilla into his 
 cave, and before the famous surgeon he had told Rob- 
 ledo of his sickness, and that it was possible death 
 might come to him during Sir William Gasterton's 
 stay among the mountains. No words further, no 
 command had passed between Don Q. and the young 
 mountaineer, but Gasterton had read plainly in the 
 nervously-closed hand of Robledo, as in the stormy 
 eyes of his wife, that when their beloved lord set 
 forth upon his long journey, short shrift would be 
 
DON Q. AND A SURGEON loi 
 
 given to that other soul which was destined to keep 
 him company. 
 
 After this Don Q.*s manner changed to that of 
 a kindly host. By slow degrees an intimacy of ideas 
 and of experiences grew up between the two men. 
 Sometimes late in the night, or perchance in the 
 early hours of the morning, for to neither of them 
 was much sleep habitual, Gasterton would be led on to 
 speak of the things he had seen, of men he had met, 
 of the struggles of his career; and Don Q., in his 
 turn, would narrate (and no man could tell a story 
 better) episodes of an earlier life, through which 
 sometimes the identification of a great name would 
 witness to the position the brigand had relinquished 
 on that bitter day when he rode, a self-sentenced 
 exile, through the snowy defiles of the sierra. 
 
 Thus for six days, and on the seventh Gasterton 
 found himself preferring a request. It was late 
 on a thunderous afternoon, and a long silence had 
 fallen, which was broken by Sir William's voice. 
 
 " Now that I have come to know you better," he 
 said, ** there is a favour I would ask of you." 
 
 " Except in one particular, sefior," replied Don 
 Q., " I am, as your are aware, quite at your service." 
 
 " Will you allow me," said Gasterton, bluntly, 
 ** to draw a small — a small — amount of blood from 
 your arm ? " 
 
 Don Q.'s grey, peaked face rose from the pillow 
 in a stare at the extraordinary request. " You will 
 at least explain to me, sefior, to what end ? " 
 
102 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 " You already know that I have spent the later 
 years of my life in constant endeavour to open 
 up the history and causes of the disease from which 
 you suffer. At the present moment we have, both 
 of us, some two to five weeks more of life. I have 
 never come across a more interesting instance of this 
 ailment than yours, and it has occurred to me that if 
 you will permit me to describe in manuscript exactly 
 the course of your case, I would bequeath my notes 
 to my colleagues in England, and they may prove of 
 very great value to humanity." 
 
 Don Q. raised himself on his elbow, and for a 
 moment so strange a light burned in his sunken eyes 
 that Sir William expected an outbreak of fury. But 
 the first words of the brigand convinced him of his 
 mistake. 
 
 " Most willingly, seiior," cried Don Q., " do I 
 agree to your wish, and, let me say, it is one that 
 causes me lively emotions of gratification. It would 
 be something to me, seeing that I must die, to know 
 that the manner of my death may not be without its 
 uses to mankind. It will, at least, be a consolation 
 to one who had hoped to die in another fashion." 
 
 From that time forth a table with note-books, 
 instruments, and such other apparatus as he needed 
 was set aside for Gasterton's use. At this he sat 
 hour after hour writing, re-writing, often thinking, 
 his head buried in his hands ; he was now absorbed, 
 eager, now anxiously questioning, self and the im- 
 pending moment blotted out in ardour and the 
 
DON Q. AND A SURGEON 103 
 
 engrossment of his work. And Don Q. lay and 
 watched him, or in the intervals of pain held with him 
 brief, pregnant conversations, from which the world 
 to-day draws incalculable benefit. 
 
 It was a situation such as perhaps has never before 
 sprung into existence in the history of man. 
 
 And now it must be confessed that the constant 
 sight of Don Q. stretched upon his bed of suffering, 
 and always uncomplaining, began to raise doubts 
 in the mind of Gasterton. 
 
 Day and night the insistive question surged in 
 his brain — was he justified in refusal — was he justi- 
 fied? At the outset he had held himself entirely 
 justified in his resentment of the fact that the instinct 
 of the healer which had led him to think little of 
 danger had been made use of to betray him. 
 
 Yet, was he justified? The answer became 
 clearer every day; yet here again the character of 
 the man balked his righteous impulse. 
 
 Since his sentence was that when Don Q. died 
 he also must die, there arose in him a lively fear 
 lest if he now consented to perform the operation 
 wrong motives might be attributed to him by the 
 man whose respect he had come to feel he would 
 not lightly lose or forfeit. So, that, had the 
 initiative remained with Gasterton, it is hard to tell 
 what tragedy might have resulted that advancing 
 summer in the Boca de Lobo. The initiative, how- 
 ever, came from another, perhaps nobler, source. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 HOW DON Q. HAD NEED OF A SURGEON 
 
 (continued) 
 
 It so happened one evening that Sir William had 
 gone out for a stroll, and, after climbing up to the 
 forehead of the gorge and listening to the winds 
 among the pines, he returned over their fallen 
 needles, and finally mounted with his quiet, sick-bed 
 step to the cave. 
 
 Feeling that he could not for the moment look 
 upon the suffering within, and, assailed by many 
 influences — ^by the mood of the evening, by the long 
 trouble of his thoughts, at the end of which was 
 always a black, contorted, and gigantic note of inter- 
 rogation, set there, it seemed to the doctor's question- 
 ing mind, by a Power over and above humanity. 
 Pausing thus, there came to him a sound of Spanish 
 voices — he had begun to understand that tongue 
 fairly well — the one dry, full of effort, the second 
 charged with the note of hopeless sorrow, the third 
 a fierce contralto, easily recognisable as that of 
 Robledo's tempest-hearted wife. 
 
 Before he could follow his instinct to move away, 
 the surgeon had heard enough to hold him prisoner. 
 
 " You will see that this caballero," Don Q. was 
 saying, " passes down from the sierra in safety. It 
 is true that he cannot cure me, for a reason that you, 
 
 104 
 
DON Q. AND A SURGEON 105 
 
 my poor Robledo, could never understand. He is 
 a man who possesses the courage of his convictions 
 — but I wonder. He believes that the hour of my 
 death will be his own." 
 
 "As it will, as it will ! We have sworn it, Rob- 
 ledo and I," cried the woman's voice. 
 
 " Isabellilla, I have never yet been disobeyed." 
 Don Q.'s words were growing weak. " This 
 caballero is a very brave man, and when the hour 
 comes, he must, under your protection and that of 
 Robledo, go down to the city in safety. When you 
 part with him, tell him that it was I who gave him his 
 life." A sob and an indistinct protest broke in, but 
 Don Q. resumed, " Swear to me this shall be done." 
 
 He heard no more but turned down the path, for 
 he must think before he faced the brigand again. 
 By the time he came back to the cave he found Don 
 Q. had fallen asleep. He hesitated a moment and 
 looked at his watch — it was not yet six o'clock. He 
 remembered that Don Q. had been able to take no 
 food that day, he hurried to his table — then hesitated 
 again, the anesthetic in his hand, for the risk that lay 
 before him was sufficient to make most men pause. 
 If Don Q. died under the operation, his own fate 
 was certainly sealed, as nothing would persuade the 
 band that Gasterton had not murdered him horribly ! 
 Well, he must face that chance. 
 
 At 7.10 the operation was complete. 
 
 For days following, life and death battled together 
 for Don Q. Gasterton, watching him, saw the grey 
 
io6 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 shadow creep and flicker across his face, then sink 
 again, only to return. Perhaps never in his career 
 had the great surgeon fought so grim a bout as now. 
 In his spare frame lay immense possibilities of stay- 
 ing power. He hardly knew whether it was night or 
 day. All his fundamental obstinacy came into the 
 struggle. He slept by snatches in his chair, and, even 
 through his sleep, the scene before his waking eyes 
 hardly left him. 
 
 The black walls, the shaded lamp, Don Q. on his 
 couch incongruously like some bird of the elder 
 world. Isabellilla, installed by the patient, brooding, 
 fiercely maternal, nursing back to life the man who 
 had gained through tortuous ways, perhaps, so great 
 a hold upon her affection. Over all flickered the 
 firelight, showing by the door the crouched figure 
 of Robledo, suspicious, frowning, sombre as the sad 
 brown hills, which were all he knew or cared to 
 know of the wide world. 
 
 At last there came a change and hope, and Gaster- 
 ton beckoned to Isabellilla. His watch-weary eyes 
 met hers, and he read something of doubt, something 
 of jealousy, even. 
 
 " I desire," said he, " that you make me a 
 promise." 
 
 " I listen," said the Spanish woman. 
 
 " When he wakes," said the doctor, " when he 
 wakes to consciousness, as he soon will, you must tell 
 him nothing of all this. You must allow him to 
 think that he owes the continuance of his life to his 
 
DON Q. AND A SURGEON 107 
 
 own strong constitution, not to my skill. Promise 
 me this." 
 
 " I promise." 
 
 Don Q. stirred, and Gasterton, bending over him, 
 drew back, laid his finger on the pulse, then, turning 
 to Isabellilla in the old ungracious way, said : " The 
 man will live." 
 
 The convalescence of Don Q. was necessarily slow. 
 By him watched Isabellilla, and Gasterton, his task 
 over, came rarely to the bedside — ^but twice a day, 
 in fact, night and morning, when he carried on with 
 cold accuracy his scientific observations. For the 
 rest of the time he wandered about the gorge, not- 
 ing with an idle eye the nesting of two ravens which 
 for twenty years had carried on the cares of family 
 life among the pines at the head of the ravine. 
 How would the brigand now interpret the bargain 
 that they should die in the same hour? A word of 
 explanation, and Don Q. would doubtless have 
 given him liberty, but Gasterton was already half- 
 intolerant of his own late doings, and pride drove 
 him on to let events find their own issue. 
 
 The heats of summer found Don Q. again on his 
 terrace with Gasterton beside him. 
 
 " The disease is broken in me," began the brigand. 
 " It would seem, senor, that your knowledge has 
 for once betrayed you. And now the time has come 
 to renew that conversation in which you refused to 
 afford me the only help that seemed at the time of 
 vital necessity." 
 
io8 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 Gasterton said nothing. 
 
 "At that time, senor," continued Don Q., " I de- 
 clared that we should die in the same hour. But the 
 situation has changed, and I have decided on the 
 course of action which it seems to me just to pursue." 
 
 Gasterton still held to his gift of silence. 
 
 " Sefior, I offer you a choice." went on Don Q. ; 
 " for I shall still hold you to the bargain I made with 
 you now many weeks ago. Either you will remain 
 with me in the mountains, or else you shall give me 
 your word of honour that if I let you go to carry on 
 your work in the world, you will, on receiving the 
 well-attested news of my death, take immediate 
 measures to end your own life." 
 
 For a moment Gasterton kept his eyes on the 
 ground, then he looked up. 
 
 " To remain here," he replied, " would be to waste 
 not only my future, but the good of my past years 
 of labour. I am forced, therefore, to give the promise 
 you exact, and I will leave this place to-morrow by 
 the first light." 
 
 Travel now to London and across a month of time. 
 Sir William Gasterton is waiting in his consulting- 
 room to find words in which to pronounce the irrevo- 
 cable sentence upon one of those poor waifs, high- 
 placed and wealthy in the ordinary sense, whom 
 Destiny has flung broken-winged across his thresh- 
 old. 
 
 The few phrases conveyed with them a sympathy, 
 
DON Q. AND A SURGEON 109 
 
 the lack of which had once been the great surgeon's 
 greatest failing; their recipient was shown out into 
 the rainy street, and Sir William turned to find a 
 letter bearing the Spanish postmark lying on his 
 desk. 
 
 Was this his death-warrant? he thought, and 
 stood still with an involuntary shock of feeling. It 
 had seemed hard to live with that sword above him, 
 and now that it was about to fall, how much would 
 be lost, how much would be lost! But the next 
 moment he was opening the envelope with the care 
 and deliberation that attended many of his actions. 
 
 " Sir William Gasterton," he read, " among 
 the numerous great qualities which go to form your 
 character, and which have placed you in the front 
 rank of the noblest profession in the world, my 
 observation of you during your stay in the sierra led 
 me to conclude that one, and that a most important 
 one, was conspicuously absent. You, sefior, when 
 you travelled into the mountains in the last days of 
 April lacked sympathy. You were case-hardened, 
 it may be, or you had never yourself known anything 
 but health. For this reason, senor, I have allowed 
 you — notwithstanding your great services to me, of 
 which I was all along well aware — to live for some 
 weeks in the Shadow. I now give you back your 
 word; and if you will divest yourself of prejudice, 
 I trust that your sense of justice will tell you that 
 I have perhaps not failed to render you some small 
 
no DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 service in return. You will find in this letter a sum 
 of money, which if, as I apprehend, you will not 
 yourself accept, I beg you present to one of those 
 institutions for the sick, which your knowledge of 
 such matters tells you is most in need of it. 
 
 " So take back your promise given to me in the 
 sierra, and no longer dread to hear of the death of 
 
 Don Q." 
 
 Sir William Gasterton remained for a long time, 
 his head upon his hand. " A lack of sympathy," 
 he said at length, half aloud. " Well, it may be he 
 was not wrong." 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 HOW DON Q. FOUGHT FOR THE VALDEREJOS 
 
 It happened on the day early in the following 
 summer that Don Q. descended the further side of 
 the sierra, where among the olive groves he pur- 
 posed inquiring at first-hand into the particulars of a 
 case about which complaint had been sent to him. 
 Coming one evening at nightfall to a village, he 
 decided to pass the night in the posada, which stood 
 alone, cut off by a brawling brook from the other 
 hovels. 
 
 Over the wall of the courtyard a single palm tree 
 leaned in sad and ragged glory, for the inn had 
 embedded itself among the ruins of what had been a 
 spacious Moorish dwelling. It was a poor place, 
 with no promise of entertainment, hence the brigand, 
 riding through a gap in the broken wall, was sur- 
 prised to see a carriage standing in the litter of the 
 yard, while a group of villagers pressed staring 
 round the door of the posada. From horseback he 
 looked over the heads of the crowd. Within the 
 doorway stood a woman in deep mourning, she had 
 gathered her draperies about her, and her delicate 
 feet seemed to shrink from the dirty floor. 
 
 " Can you not clean the place a little that I may 
 pass the night under a roof? " she was saying with 
 haughty courtesy. 
 
 m 
 
112 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 The innkeeper, a stout, insolent-looking young 
 fellow, protested volubly that he possessed no velvet 
 carpet fit for the illiistrissima's feet, no couch of 
 down and gold — ^here he threw up his head like a 
 jibbing horse and halted awkwardly. 
 
 " May I offer my poor services ? " At sound of 
 Don Q.'s suave voice the lady turned with a glance 
 of dismay, almost of terror. 
 
 It was very evident that she was a woman of rank 
 and refinement, and also still a beautiful woman, 
 although her hair was streaked with grey, and 
 a settled sadness accentuated the lines of her 
 mouth. 
 
 " If the senora will condescend to sit in her car- 
 riage for a moment, this hovel shall be made as fit 
 for her occupation as it is possible to make it." 
 
 " I thank you, sefior, but I detain you, and the 
 darkness will soon fall," she replied. 
 
 " My destination is yet distant, senora, and I 
 purposed having a meal here on my way." By 
 this time the lady found herself being led with all 
 the punctiliousness of Spanish ceremony back to her 
 carriage. 
 
 " Senor," she said, " I thank you for your aid, 
 but I cannot consent to return to the posada unless 
 you remain to dine there as you intended." 
 
 Once again Don Q.'s sombrero touched the 
 ground. " Will the sefiora honour me so greatly 
 as to dine with me before I ride forward ? " 
 
 So it was arranged, and the brigand returned 
 
DON Q AND THE VALDEREJOS 113 
 
 to the inn for a word with the patron, who awaited 
 him trembHng. 
 
 " What insolence is this, Tobal ? You refuse 
 your hospitaHty to the illustrious lady ? " He cut 
 short Tobal's eager excuses of " much work, much 
 trouble," saying, " Let all be quickly prepared if 
 you would save yourself from punishment." 
 
 Dona Adonza in her carriage heard nothing of 
 this interlude, and beheld in amazement the sudden- 
 born activity of the whole community ; they hurried, 
 collided, pushed each other aside in their anxiety to 
 be busy, and she concluded the hidalgo who had 
 come to her aid must be a man of influence. Later 
 their acquaintance ran on smoothly, and before the 
 last dish was laid on the table Don Q.'s tact had 
 swept away most of those small social reserves that 
 hinder the ripening of friendly intercourse. 
 
 " I am thankful for your presence, seiior," she 
 was saying, " for I am terrified of these mountains." 
 
 "And why, senora ? " By mutual delicacy they 
 were yet ignorant of each other's names. 
 
 " Do you not know that somewhere up yonder 
 is the lair of the brigand, Don Q. ? " She dropped 
 her voice at the name. 
 
 " Why should that fact trouble you ? Surely you 
 have no fear of him ? " 
 
 " Do you not know ? He is a terrible person ! " 
 Dona Adonza shut her fan emphatically to point 
 the adjective. 
 
 The brigand shook his head. " To his enemies 
 8 
 
114 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 perhaps he is terrible, but no story has ever reached 
 my ears of harshness to your sex." 
 
 " He is merciful to women, yes ; but believe me, 
 to men he is pitiless ! '* 
 
 A stifled sneeze broke the silence. Don Q. rose 
 quietly from the table, and opened the inner door as 
 Tobal fell back from it. Don Q. seized him by the 
 ear, and forced him out of sight. " Corpse of a 
 scullion ! " he v^^hispered with venom, " what is it 
 that I find you doing? Listening? Stretching your 
 rabbit ears to hear? Back to your pans, animal! 
 Were it not for the presence of this lady I would 
 paunch you in your own kitchen ! " 
 
 Don Q. returned to his seat. " Pardon me, senora, 
 I fear you may have fancied I was angry. Alas, I 
 have gone through the world supporting the cross of 
 a perhaps hasty temper." 
 
 But Doiia Adonza protested she had heard noth- 
 ing, and the brigand resumed : 
 
 " We were discussing Don Q. Has it ever struck 
 you that he may be a person of some culture ? That 
 he also may have his regrets? Living up there 
 among the crags, surrounded by none but barbarous 
 men, do you think it possible he may sigh for 
 days now past, and long for joys now denied 
 him?" 
 
 " I believe there is a tradition which declares him 
 to be a man of breeding," she replied, ** but it cannot 
 be true." 
 
 "And why not, senora? Pray tell me." 
 
DON Q. AND THE VALDEREJOS 115 
 
 ** Need I explain ? " she exclaimed. " The man- 
 ner of his life — " 
 
 " The poor bless his name," interjected Don Q. 
 
 " True. More than that, they actually seek 
 justice at his hands. Can it be that you know Don 
 Q.?" 
 
 " I think I may say as much." 
 
 "And you continue to think favourably of him? " 
 She raised her hands. 
 
 Don Q. waved the cigarette he had been permitted 
 to light. " He has his faults — like the rest of us," 
 he observed tolerantly. 
 
 "He is well bom?" 
 
 " So I should judge." 
 
 "And handsome?" 
 
 Don Q. started. " I should not call him precisely 
 — handsome," he responded, "perhaps distinguished- 
 looking would be the more accurate epithet." 
 
 " I wonder then he should lead so— strange a 
 life." 
 
 " Do you wonder, seiiora? " her companion spoke 
 in a softened tone, " for I see you also have known 
 grief — do you wonder, you who perhaps understand 
 that destiny drives some of us with an implacable 
 rein?" 
 
 Her pale face was stricken grey. " You say 
 truly, seiior, for I who speak to you was once as 
 other women are — merciful to all the world. But 
 not now! My life is broken!" using the pathetic 
 phrase so frequent on Spanish lips. 
 
Il6 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 Don Q. sat mute, his head bent, as he listened. 
 
 She went on in a low voice. " I had a son, he was 
 my life — ^he was my all in the world. He loved me 
 as I loved him. The future promised everything. 
 Juan was capable, noble, ambitious — " 
 
 A long and troubled silence fell between them. 
 This vision of a shattered life appealed peculiarly to 
 Don Q., but he was not prepared for the next words. 
 
 " I have lost him — ^lost my son ! He was assas- 
 sinated ! And what is left for me ? I weep, I weep, 
 I weep!" 
 
 The poignant repetition pierced Don Q. He 
 rose abruptly. " Seiiora, by whom was this crime 
 committed ? " 
 
 " By one who could use the cloak of the law, even 
 that of the code of honour. Count Julowski is a 
 professed duellist. It happened in Vienna. Juan, 
 only that morning arrived in the city, was mounting 
 the steps of the club; the Count, coming out in an 
 ill-humour, insulted him. They met at dawn. It 
 was over in a moment. Juan was only a lad, 
 seiior! ... I was in Paris. I flew to his side. 
 Alas! he lay there very cold and peaceful, for the 
 first time in all his life unanswering to my love. 
 Juan, Juan ! " She stood up, and moved restlessly 
 from end to end of the room. 
 
 Don Q., with fixed eyes, seemed not to §ee her. 
 Then, in a scarcely audible voice, he asked : " This 
 assassin — ^he still lives?" 
 
 The tall %ure in its sweeping robes of black 
 
DON Q. AND THE VALDEREJOS 117 
 
 halted at once. She turned her head to one side, 
 as one who hears a sound and waits for its repetition. 
 Then she moved slowly back to the table. 
 
 " Look at me ! " She stretched out her arms. " I 
 am a mother ravaged by sorrow ! That crime is yet 
 unavenged. My friends, all on whom I relied, 
 have failed me! There is not one man amongst 
 them but gives me his pity, his tears, but not one 
 who will give me his aid ! " 
 
 Don Q. uttered an exclamation. 
 
 " I have kept the sword of Juan," she went on. 
 " I will bestow it on his avenger, for it is a sword 
 of honour. Once, sefior, it belonged to a distant 
 kinsman long dead, but whose courage and chivalry 
 can never be forgotten. Had he lived my vengeance 
 would have been secure." 
 
 "Lady, may I venture to utter your name? I 
 know it now. You are the Dofia Adonza de Val- 
 derejo," said the brigand very humbly. " I have 
 a boon to beg of you. My birth is not obscure, and 
 I still can draw a sword. I lay it at your feet." 
 
 She drew back, trembling violently. " What is 
 it you mean? You are noble? " 
 
 " Of the noblest blood in Spain. Do not ask 
 my name; if I succeed on your errand you shall 
 know it. Yet be assured your revenge rests in hands 
 not altogether unworthy, and, it may be, strong 
 enough to compel justice in your cause." 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 HOW DON Q. FOUGHT FOR THE VALDEREJOS — 
 
 (continued) 
 
 After settling the dispute among the olive groves, 
 in the patriarchal fashion for which he was famed 
 throughout the countryside, imagine Don Q. setting 
 forth by the Andalucian railway upon this journey 
 of knight-errantry. 
 
 From the very beginning the adventure attracted 
 him, and this for several reasons. First, danger 
 was always his magnet ; second, to his haunted mind 
 action was the chloroform of thought. He was never 
 so apt to undertake one of his freakish escapades as 
 when he had for a period been dwelling alone with 
 his memories in the mountains, then at the moment 
 when other men would have turned to grosser 
 pleasure, Don Q. would plunge into some exploit 
 in which he flung his life upon the gaming-table of 
 the world, and played all comers for it. 
 
 These were two of his reasons. The third was as 
 strong as either, for this mission promised to lead 
 him back into a brief contact with those of his own 
 class. " To hear again the music of voices I used to 
 know, to mix once more with my equals, to pass an 
 hour amongst those who can appreciate the turn of 
 a phrase, even the bow of ceremony of a gentleman 
 of Spain — these things I am inclined to seek, it may 
 
 118 
 
DON Q. AND THE VALDEREJOS 119 
 
 be rashly, but they are among the last pleasures of 
 a very lonely man." So in his autobiography. 
 
 On the way he passed through the scenes of his 
 youth, gaining views of weather-stricken towers, 
 of cities still proud though forgotten. Not even a 
 stranger can go unmoved through that land of mem- 
 ories, that passion-flower of the centuries, which 
 now, after so many splendid and desperate yester- 
 days, lies broken at the stem by the lustier Anglo- 
 Saxon hand. 
 
 But once through the passes of the Pyrenees, such 
 thoughts dropped from Don Q., for he possessed 
 that essential quality, common to men of action, 
 of purging from his mind in an instant the clogging 
 influences of the dreamer. 
 
 In Paris he learnt that Count Julowski, who was 
 famous enough to have his movements recorded, 
 was to be found at Mont St. Michel, on the Norman 
 coast. Don Q. hurried north, and, alighting from 
 the train at Pontorson, climbed upon the roof of 
 one of the diligences which at that date conveyed 
 travellers across the viaduct to the Mount. So it 
 came about that in company with a score of Jesuits 
 on holiday Don Q. bumped and jerked along the 
 high road until the villas were left behind, the main- 
 land began to recede, and the old monkish strong- 
 hold, church, and prison rose out of the vast fore- 
 shore of quicksands and shallows, a monument of 
 history, with the white-lipped ripples of the advanc- 
 ing tide playing about its feet. 
 
I20 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 Blue sky above, and a salt wind swooping down 
 to meet them, laden with the odour of weed, from 
 the young changing sea to the staled earth. The 
 air was full of the crying of shorebirds, and he 
 felt to the utmost the influence of the hour, and 
 was quite ready for the dejeuner of golden omelet 
 that soon lay on a little table before the hotel door 
 by the side of the narrow street. 
 
 His vis-a-vis was an English tourist in a flagrant 
 cycling suit, who, having finished his meal, was mak- 
 ing play with a toothpick, and patronising the fresh 
 arrivals. 
 
 " This animal is of a most offensive type," com- 
 mented Don Q., inwardly, *' yet I may learn some- 
 thing from him." 
 
 But the cyclist did not need prompting ; he pushed 
 his elbow half across the table in an easy attitude. 
 "Making anything of a stay?" 
 
 "A day or two," replied Don Q. with a bow. 
 "Have you found the place interesting?" 
 
 " Well, personally, I don't take much account of 
 cold stone; humanity is my study." 
 
 The brigand murmured his admiration for the 
 other's tastes, and inquired if there was much scope 
 for the study at Mont St. Michel. 
 
 " Yes, there is, just now. . . . Look at him ! " 
 The tourist grasped the edge of the table, and craned 
 his neck to watch a tall man stalk across the cobbled 
 street, and take a chair under the awning on the 
 opposite side. He was a thin, well-tailored person- 
 
DON Q. AND THE VALDEREJOS 121 
 
 age, in whose yellow face only the eyes seemed 
 gleamingly alive. He stretched his long legs in 
 front of him, cocked his panama at a more rakish 
 angle, and, placing one hand upon his hip, prepared 
 to survey the company. 
 
 " Everyone appears to find interest in this person. 
 Pray who may he be? " asked Don Q., although he 
 felt already the joy of the hunter who has run his 
 quarry to earth. 
 
 " That, sir, is Count Julowski, the celebrated 
 duellist," replied the other, proud of his information. 
 " He's close on his half-hundred, they tell me." 
 
 In recording this conversation, Don Q. added this 
 remark : " I find that Julowski's reputation has 
 gone abroad in Mont St. Michel. He forms one of 
 the sensations of the place, like the ancient horrors 
 of the Abbey, or those Chinese lanterns, by the 
 romantic light of which one mounts the old stone 
 stairway up the cliff to the annexes after dark. 
 People are eager to stare at this stalking personage, 
 whose only claim to renown lies in the fact that he 
 has recently slain a fellow-creature, and may be 
 expected at no distant date to slay others. Contradic- 
 tory as it may seem, such a state of things could not 
 exist save in a civilisation such as ours, where men 
 are no longer lords of the sword, where the old- 
 world arts of war and the strong hand have decayed, 
 and in which folk live on a platform of artificial 
 safety scaffolded by the police-taxes that they pay." 
 
 Don Q. was very busy throughout the forenoon ; 
 
122 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 he went thoroughly over the ramparts, and all about 
 the rock of Mont St. Michel. He conversed with 
 fishermen, waiters, visitors; he made himself 
 acquainted with the gossip of the little town; he 
 heard much of Julowski; he threw himself several 
 times in the way of the Count, but chance on each 
 occasion caused that individual to avoid him. 
 
 Yet perhaps if Julowski, as he sat at the table 
 d'hote that evening, had been asked to pick out 
 the one of all others present least likely to desire 
 to try with him the arbitrament of the sword, he 
 might have chosen the pale, fragile, bald-headed 
 man, whose fastidiousness and gentle politeness had 
 already attracted his attention, and whose assumed 
 name and nationality were imparted to him by a 
 neighbour at table. 
 
 Next morning Julowski walked on the ramparts. 
 It was again a blue and glorious day of young 
 summer, and he stopped now and then to lean upon 
 the wall and gaze out seawards, where he could see 
 the tide on its twinkling white feet dancing in 
 across the wastes of sand. Over and about the 
 moving line of foam clouds of shorebirds flew and 
 settled, and flew again with faint shrill cries, and 
 above all rose the shrieking clamour of the gulls. 
 
 Presently, as he rounded the comer, the Count 
 became aware of the slender figure of the Spaniard, 
 also basking in the sun. 
 
 Don Q. faced about with a bow. " I have the 
 honour to present myself to Monsieur the Count." 
 
DON Q. AND THE VALDEREJOS 123 
 
 Julowski scowled. "I do not desire your 
 acquaintance." 
 
 "Alas ! that has unfortunately become a necessity, 
 since I am here at this moment for the especial 
 purpose of making yours," said Don Q. 
 
 "What do you want with me?" 
 
 " Believe me, my desire is not to meet you as a 
 friend, but as an antagonist. If you will be good 
 enough to name your second — " 
 
 " I have no such friend here." 
 
 Don Q.'s face cleared a little. " Neither have I, 
 therefore our mutual affair becomes at once of the 
 most entire simplicity. We will meet unaccompanied 
 by seconds in the small wood at the back of the 
 Mount, or upon the sands at break of day, when the 
 tide will be far out, in the position most happy for 
 our purpose." 
 
 Julowski's sinister eyes drew together. " I have 
 no quarrel with you." 
 
 "A trifling objection to be at once removed," 
 Don Q. replied, staring up at him with grimness. 
 " Monsieur, your countenance displeases me ! " 
 
 The deep yellow of Julowski^s face was charged 
 with fury, but he controlled himself. " Your 
 opinion does not disturb me. I will not fight with 
 you." He turned on his heel, but in a second Don 
 Q. was again in his path. 
 
 " In the name of Don Juan de Valderejo," he 
 cried. 
 
 The black eyes of the Count flashed upon him. 
 
124 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 "Another Spaniard! I will kill no more Span- 
 iards!" 
 
 "As to that, you have already killed one too 
 many. I also am of the blood of the Valderejos. 
 Before you can keep your resolution, it will be 
 necessary to exterminate us ! " 
 
 Julowski made no immediate reply. In the pause 
 the cries of the seabirds upon the foreshore grew 
 louder as the tide approached. Noon, fresh, bouy- 
 ant, joyous, seemed to poise himself upon the battle- 
 ments with wide golden wings. But Julowski 
 stood darkly considering the fierce face before him. 
 " It was — " he began. 
 
 A burst of voices drowned his speech, as a troop 
 of tourists broke in upon their solitude, the cyclist 
 among them. They lingered talking in lowered 
 tones, and devoured by curiosity to discover the 
 cause of dispute which had evidently arisen between 
 the duellist and the hawk-nosed Spaniard. Don Q. 
 seized the opportunity to force Julowski's hand. " I 
 repeat, monsieur, that your countenance displeases 
 me," he said loudly. 
 
 The Count shrugged his shoulders. " You insult 
 me because you aspire to enjoy a brief fame as my 
 opponent in an encounter," he said derisively; "but 
 I refuse to gratify your ambition." 
 
 " You will not shelter yourself behind an excuse 
 of such imbecility ! Can it be that you are afraid ? " 
 
 " My reputation forbids any man to believe that. 
 Pah! I will not fight you," Julowski exclaimed, 
 
IHERK WAS A KUSH AND A 
 
DON Q. AND THE VALDEREJOS 125 
 
 then with a glance at the tourists he added : " You 
 are without doubt a knight-errant, monsieur, and I 
 am desolated not to be able to oblige your desire for 
 suicide ! " 
 
 Don Q.'s reply was prompt. He stepped forward 
 and struck the Count across the mouth with his 
 sombrero. There was a rush and a hubbub among 
 the spectators, half-a-dozen hands seized Don Q. 
 and dragged him back. 
 
 " It's lucky for you I was here," remarked the 
 cyclist complacently in his ear. 
 
 Then Julowski disappeared, and the incident was 
 over. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 HOW DON Q. FOUGHT FOR THE VALDEREJOS 
 
 (continued) 
 
 In the darkness of the night Don Q. tramped his 
 small bedroom, set high on the cliff, with steps of 
 fury, as the whole episode of the morning worked 
 round and round in his brain. What lethargy had 
 chained his feet while Julowski stalked away amidst 
 the nervous grins of the tourists ? He blamed him- 
 self, refusing to admit that he had in fact been 
 stunned by the amazing discovery that Julowski could 
 turn a deaf ear to insult, and reject point blank an 
 affair of honour ! Never for an instant had such a 
 contingency occurred to him as possible. 
 
 That Julowski should refuse a public challenge, 
 and shelter himself behind his reputation, was a 
 thought beyond the bounds of reason, and for the 
 moment Don Q felt his design in check. Conceive 
 the position, and you will at once see that it favoured 
 the duellist. He was known, he occupied a 
 grotesquely high niche in the opinion of those at 
 present about him; whereas Don Q., as a stranger, 
 had no standing, his well-attested bravery was of no 
 advantage, as, for obvious reasons, he could not 
 declare himself. 
 
 Yet one thing was clear. He must force an inter- 
 view with the Count before morning. The night 
 
 126 
 
DON Q. AND THE VALDEREJOS 127 
 
 was waning, but no tinge of grey yet paled the 
 blackness of the horizon, when the brigand stepped 
 out upon the small balcony of his window that 
 hung high above a gulf of gloom. Lower on the 
 cliff's side he could just descry the roof that covered 
 the head of his enemy. 
 
 The scent of the sea marshes came up fragrant 
 with the breath of the ocean, and the questing note 
 of the curlew told that dawn was near. He lost 
 no time, but turning back into the room, he kindled 
 his lantern, and a moment later emerged on the 
 ancient stone stairway, whose moss-grown steps led 
 to the annexe where Julowski was quartered. The 
 wall felt damp under his fingers as he groped his way 
 down, and a chill quiet, sad as night itself, pene- 
 trated the thin air. Passing along a corridor, he 
 saw a faint light under the Count's door. The 
 Spaniard unclosed it cautiously, and slipped into 
 the room before the Count was aware of his identity. 
 Julowski had sprung from his bed and faced him. 
 Don Q. cast a rapid glance over the gaunt figure 
 clad in elaborate silken night attire, before he spoke. 
 
 " Although the men of my race do not turn back 
 when the knife is loose in the sheath, it is not my 
 intention to assassinate you," he said. " I again 
 challenge you to an encounter." 
 
 " You will force me to kill you ! " sneered 
 Julowski. 
 
 " It is my intention that you shall make the at- 
 tempt. But you will permit me to say beforehand 
 
128 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 that I am for you a somewhat formidable opponent, 
 for I do not value my life, nor am I disturbed by 
 your great fame as a duellist, a matter that might 
 tell heavily in your favour. We stand equal. You 
 do not know my skill, I do not fear yours." 
 
 " You shall be seized and punished." 
 
 Don Q. handled his revolver. " Does a dead 
 man value revenge? If you will not fight me, I 
 must kill you ! " 
 
 The sentences shot back and forth like an 
 exchange of blows. The black square of the case- 
 ment gave a sense of height in the dark, of remote- 
 ness, as if they two hung alone between earth and 
 sky. 
 
 " You are, then, an assassin ! " the Count cried, 
 in his strident whisper. " Hear me ! By inadvert- 
 ence I killed Don Juan de Valderejo. Had I known 
 his nationality — " 
 
 " You fear my race? " exclaimed Don Q. 
 
 " Not for their swordsmanship, nor for their 
 gallantry, be assured, monsieur," replied the Count, 
 bitterly, " but I will tell you why, since you desire 
 the chances to be even in our encounter. Long ago, 
 one who could foretell the future warned me. In 
 a vision she beheld my grave, and beside it stood 
 a Spaniard with a drawn sword. If I fight with 
 you, by some fatality this dream may come true. 
 Hence I am handicapped by fear — the balance does 
 not hang level between us." 
 
 Don Q.'s fantastic chivalry took fire. " Courage 
 
DON Q. AND THE VALDEREJOS 129 
 
 is of various kinds," he said, ** and I conceive my- 
 self to be somewhat of an epicure in courage. You 
 will not draw your sword upon me because you fear. 
 Therefore I propose that we make trial of another 
 hazard. I challenge you with the dice — the best of a 
 single throw." 
 
 ''And the penalty of the loser?" 
 
 " Will rest with the winner. Come, let us throw." 
 
 But Julowski hesitated. 
 
 " You must decide within three minutes, or I 
 will shoot you where you stand," added Don Q., 
 and Julowski could not doubt the reality of the 
 threat. 
 
 " Luck has never yet deserted me," he reflected. 
 " Besides, the dice are mine." Then, aloud : " I 
 agree — under protest." 
 
 " That is well. I see dice upon the table. I will 
 throw with one, you with the other." 
 
 Julowski nodded. *' There is also the dicebox." 
 
 But to this Don Q. objected. " We will, with 
 your permission, make shift with those tumblers 
 for that purpose." He indicated a tray set with 
 night refreshment for the Count. 
 
 " What would you imply ? Am I not a man of 
 honour?" The duellist's face looked bone-yellow 
 in the grey of dawn. 
 
 " No doubt, monsieur," replied Don Q., politely. 
 
 " Nevertheless, even a man of honour in the constant 
 
 handling of a dicebox learns a little of its curves, 
 
 its weights, its possibilities — is it not so? But 
 
 9 
 
130 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 these tumblers are equally foreign to the hands of 
 both of us." 
 
 They stood one on either side of the narrow table 
 before the open casement. Outside, except for the 
 crying of the curlews, all was still and quiet. The 
 first delicious breeze of day fanned their faces, a 
 faint rose was beginning to suffuse the dusky air, 
 and all the gladness born on a pleasant summer 
 morning wafted into that little chamber on the 
 cliff. It was difficult to think that death waited 
 there too. 
 
 "We will throw together," said Don Q., and 
 Julowski perforce consented. 
 
 A sharp rattle, and the dice fell — Don Q.'s four 
 as against the Count's three. Julowski snarled a 
 blasphemy, the blood surged to his eyeballs — ^he 
 would strangle this accursed little Spaniard with 
 his hands! But the mouth of Don Q.'s revolver 
 stared him closely between the eyes, and mingled 
 with the dull tolling of a bell throbbing far over- 
 head from the convent on the heights, he heard Don 
 Q.'s soft voice: 
 
 " You are a man of honour, Monsieur de 
 Julowski." 
 
 The sun was just rising above the horizon when 
 the two men reached the little grove of trees which 
 is all that now remains of that once vast forest of 
 Scissy that in the early centuries joined the Norman 
 coast with Jersey. A cold wind had risen, blowing 
 in from the sea, but the promise of daybreak bright- 
 
DON Q. AND THE VALDEREJOS 131 
 
 ened the immense waste of foreshore lying towards 
 the mainland. 
 
 A fisherman somewhere out of sight sang as he 
 hauled together his nets; the gulls, already on the 
 move, sounded like an echo of the pleasant routine 
 of life; all the opening promise of day struck on 
 Julowski's senses in horrible contrast to the fate that 
 awaited him among those empty miles of sand. 
 
 Suddenly he thrust his hand into his bosom and 
 pulled out a revolver. Swift as his movement was, 
 that of Don Q. was swifter. 
 
 " Hold up both hands above your head," he cried, 
 " and do it quickly, or I shall be compelled to kill 
 you." 
 
 The revolver tinkled down upon the stones as the 
 Count's hands flew up. On the moment Don Q. 
 fired two shots in rapid succession. With a scream 
 of pain Julowski's hands came down. 
 
 " Brute ! Animal ! " he screamed. " You have 
 fired twice through my right hand. Would you 
 kill me by inches? " 
 
 " On the contrary," said Don Q., picking up 
 Julowski's revolver, " I have now quite finished 
 with you. You will never hold a sword or a pistol 
 with that hand again. Henceforward you will be 
 a tiger without claws. And whenever you look at 
 your scars, you will possess a memento of the crime 
 which you committed when you met with Juan dc 
 Valderejo in Vienna. I wish you, sefior, a good- 
 morning." 
 
132 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 The rest of the story tells itself best in two 
 extracts. The first from a prominent Paris news- 
 paper. " Count Julowski has returned to Paris. 
 It is a matter of remark in all circles that the fam- 
 ous duellist now wears upon his right hand a black 
 glove. It is whispered that he has donned it in 
 memory of one whom he killed, and that he has 
 sworn never to remove it. It is, moreover, generally 
 understood that the celebrated swordsman has made 
 his last appearance upon the field of honour, and 
 some even hint that he is often a prey to great 
 remorse. The view of his past life which he now 
 takes is reported upon excellent authority to be 
 due to the influence and conversation of a certain 
 great churchman.'* 
 
 The other extract is from a letter: 
 
 " I send to you, Don Q. of the sierra, the sword 
 of Juan. Remember, it belonged, in earlier days, 
 to that noble heart whose name is engraven on the 
 hilt, and whose deeds will never be forgotten in the 
 annals of Spanish chivalry. Farewell, I will always 
 pray for you through all the days of your wild and 
 stormy life. Adonza." 
 
 Don Q. turned to the sword, and drawing it from 
 the scabbard, read the graven name. He bent his 
 head above it, wrenched by a spasm of memory. 
 For the name he read was that which he himself had 
 once borne, but which he could never bear again. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 HOW DON Q. DEALT WITH PROFESSOR JAPSLEY, 
 F.R.S., PH.D. 
 
 It was in the opinion of Don Q. a regrettable 
 fact that his return to the mountains from Mont 
 St. Michel was attended with no happening of 
 interest, but he had hardly settled down to what he 
 has termed in his autobiography, " the dreary 
 monotony of sierran routine," when a capture was 
 made by his men, which he always considered as a 
 milestone upon a road which ran broader than his 
 individual pathway. 
 
 According to a computation made by the brigand 
 himself, seven captives out of every ten gave way, 
 in the first instance, to bluster. They boasted of 
 their nationality, they alluded significantly to their 
 consuls, their navies, and the paternal care of their 
 respective governments. The man who had just 
 been personally conducted into the presence of Don 
 Q. by Caspar and Robledo was no exception, in 
 that he essayed indignant protest and threatenings. 
 
 He stood opposite to the brigand, watery-eyed, 
 irritable, his big forehead white and glistening, his 
 grey tail-coat drawn back by one twitching hand, his 
 scanty beard wagging as from his lips there poured 
 forth a volume of speech, in which such words as 
 " outrage," " unparalleled," " dastardly," stuck up 
 
 188 
 
134 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 through the main flcK>d of verbiage like rocks from a 
 torrent. 
 
 " From all of which I gather, seiior," said Don 
 Q. gently, when his prisoner began to subside, " that 
 you count yourself to have met with misfortune in 
 our mountains? But I assure you many excellent 
 men and some persons of renown have occupied a 
 similar position to yours and said considerably less 
 about it." 
 
 " I tell you I protest against the outrage of my 
 capture in the most emphatic manner ! I am travel- 
 ling on business of the highest consequence, and I 
 demand once again to be permitted to continue my 
 journey to Malaga without further delay. It is 
 imperative that I should arrive there quickly." 
 
 " That is an unfortunate circumstance." 
 
 " Do you mean me to understand that you will 
 not release me ? I am in your power for the moment 
 — ^but for the moment only. Still, so great is my 
 anxiety to proceed, that I offer you £25 to allow 
 me to pursue my way." 
 
 It was the first time such an offer had been made 
 to Don Q. 
 
 " Pardon me, sefior, but for whom do you mis- 
 take me?" inquired the brigand. 
 
 " I make no mistakes," said the prisoner, peev- 
 ishly. " You are doubtless one of those footpads, 
 who here in Spain, as in Sicily and Corsica, take to 
 the hills because they have committed some crime 
 for which the law exacts punishment." 
 
DON Q. AND PROF. JAPSLEY 135 
 
 "And so you offer me £25 to release you ? " 
 
 " I might make the sum a little larger, perhaps." 
 
 Don Q. clapped his hands, and gave some order 
 to Robledo, who presently reappeared, bearing a 
 large brass-bound book. 
 
 " You are labouring under an unfortunate delu- 
 sion," observed Don Q., as he turned over its pages. 
 " In order to correct this as thoroughly as possible, 
 I am about to read out some entries chosen at 
 random from this volume, which constitutes a record 
 of my proceedings in the mountains, where I have 
 lived, as the people of the plains will tell you, for 
 very many years. For instance: 
 
 " * May 1 5th. Count von Kurhamer. Nation- 
 ality, Prussian. Captured by Detachment 3. Ran- 
 som demanded, £10,000, to be paid before June 
 14th. Ransom received, June 3rd. Note. — It is 
 strange that this young man's friends should have 
 preferred to regain him.' 
 
 " Let us turn to another year : 
 
 " * Sept. I St. Sir Graham Marks. Nationality, 
 British. Captured by Detachment i, while admir- 
 ing the interior of the shrine of San Pedro 
 of the Sierra. Ransom demanded, £3000, to be 
 paid by October 15th. Ransom received, Oct. 13th. 
 Note, — A very noble caballero, who made a charm- 
 ing guest.' 
 
 " I may mention that Don Graham secured some 
 excellent heads of ibex during his stay among us. 
 In saying good-by, I lost a friend. 
 
136 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 *' Now, senor, at a glance we will see the other 
 side of the picture. See, I open the leaves at a 
 venture. 
 
 " 'April 28. Don Luis del Monte. Nationality, 
 Spanish. Captured by special detachment. Ran- 
 som demanded, 2000 pesetas. . . .' There is here 
 a little gap, seiior, but the entry ends : * Buried May 
 25th. Note. ''' 
 
 " Read me no more from this infernal book ! " 
 The prisoner had wound his hand in the length of 
 his thin beard. 
 
 Don Q. closed the volume and handed it back to 
 Robledo. 
 
 "1 tell you I am a British subject!" exclaimed 
 the captive again. 
 
 " As to that, no fewer than nineteen of your 
 compatriots have been here before you," replied 
 Don Q. 
 
 " But I am a man of some consequence to the 
 world." 
 
 " I do not doubt it. And now that we know 
 exactly where we stand, let me beg you to give me 
 a few particulars to be entered presently in my 
 business diary. Your name, senor." 
 
 " Shruppill Japsley, F.R.S., Ph.D. And since you 
 must enter me in your detestable diary, pray write 
 me down a cosmopolitan." 
 
 " But a moment ago you declared yourself a 
 British subject," said the brigand in surprise. 
 
 " I am one — ^when I need a nationality. But 
 
DON Q. AND PROF. JAPSLEY 137 
 
 by habit and preference I count myself a cosmo- 
 politan, for I am a scientist, and as such I belong to 
 the world and the world to me." 
 
 ** Be it so." Don Q. glanced keenly at Japsley. 
 "And the amount of your income ? " 
 
 " Enough to keep body and soul together after 
 I have paid for the upkeep of my laboratory." 
 
 " The amount necessary to keep body and soul 
 together varies so largely with the individual that 
 I must beg you to be more explicit." 
 
 " I can assure you that at this moment I have but 
 a couple of hundred pounds in the world." 
 
 " Then we assess your ransom at £500, a very 
 low sum, believe me, for one to whom the world 
 belongs." 
 
 " This is rank nonsense ! " 
 
 " On the contrary, senor, it is excellent business." 
 
 "Am I to understand that your prisoners without 
 exception pay ransom ? " 
 
 "Alas! there have been exceptions." 
 
 "And then?" 
 
 " Let us not think of alternatives, which are in- 
 variably deplorable — in the sierra at least. We will 
 not pursue this dismal subject, for no doubt if you 
 write to your consul something more agreeable will 
 be arranged. Yet in passing I may remark that 
 owing to the observations which you permitted 
 yourself to make at the beginning of our interview, 
 I have been obliged to double your ransom, other- 
 wise it would have stood at £250. I have always 
 
138 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 endeavoured to meet the needs of my captives, but 
 also I do not forget how far they have endeavoured 
 to consider mine." 
 
 " But what is the use of keeping me a prisoner 
 since I cannot pay you? " argued Japsley. 
 
 "An acquaintance with humanity has taught me, 
 senor, that persons under your circumstances can 
 command a good deal more money than they may 
 at first imagine." 
 
 Japsley opened his mouth for further protesta- 
 tion, but, catching sight of the expression upon the 
 face of his captor, he desisted, and began the impor- 
 tant letter which Don Q. promised should be carried 
 to its destination with all reasonable speed. 
 
 "And now that by the blessing of San Pedro these 
 formalities are happily concluded," said the brigand, 
 " I beg that for the next three weeks you will look 
 upon me in the light of your host whom you may 
 command in all things save one — the small matter 
 of your departure from the valley." 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 HOW DON Q. DEALT WITH PROFESSOR JAPSLEY 
 
 (continued) 
 
 Already Jaspley had spent many days in the 
 sierra, and during every day he imagined himself 
 to be collecting significant items of information con- 
 cerning his captor's character. But sight does not 
 imply insight, and, although Japsley was a man of 
 trained intelligence, his intellect, choked with an 
 accumulation of facts and theories, had become 
 dyspeptically torpid as regarded the active conduct 
 of life. Of the intuitive faculty, he had perhaps as 
 little as can possibly be born with the son of woman. 
 
 He could not, however, fail to realise two salient 
 facts about Don Q. — one that the brigand prided 
 himself on being a man of his word, the second that 
 he was quite immutable. Hence Japsley understood 
 the arrival of his ransom in full was a consummation 
 devoutly to be wished for. The alternative — which 
 Don Q. had refused to put into words — haunted the 
 brain of the scientist. He thrust away as long as 
 he could the horrible speculations which burned 
 there, but they formed the background of every wak- 
 ing moment. 
 
 The two men lived practically tete-d-tete, ate their 
 meals together, sat through long hours on the terrace 
 or by the fireside, each sensible of the antagonistic 
 
 139 
 
I40 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 mental attitude of the other. Japsley's conven- 
 tional verdict did scant justice to Don Q.'s character, 
 and of this the brigand was well aware. He could 
 read between the lines of his companion's talk. He 
 watched him pinning human units into classes and 
 types, taking little account of their individual varia- 
 tion — that incalculable factor in the complex system 
 of things. The man's lack of elemental human- 
 ity repelled Don Q. Propinquity forced the growth 
 of their mutual dislike, lack of occupation fostered 
 it until the situation became strained to the utmost, 
 long before Japsley's captivity could reasonably be 
 expected to terminate in the arrival of his ransom. 
 
 But one outstanding peculiarity about the scientist 
 lent him an adventitious interest in the eyes of the 
 brigand. Early in the course of their acquaintance 
 Don Q. became aware, partly by intuition, partly by 
 deduction from stray remarks, that Japsley either 
 was not what he had given himself out to be, or 
 else that he was something over and beyond it. 
 The man nursed a secret, nursed it with palpitations 
 of fear lest it should be discovered. It is impossible 
 for human beings to live at such close quarters 
 without the exchange of small personal experiences. 
 Thus Don Q. was enabled to piece together details 
 of his captive's history, but at a given point he 
 always came up against a blank wall, and he 
 began to realise that this flabby talker had some 
 hidden aim in life. 
 
 His history ran much as follows. From a 
 
DON Q. AND PROF. JAPSLEY 141 
 
 provincial grammar school Japsley had gone to 
 Edinburgh University, armed with an exhibition; 
 by way of Edinburgh, and carrying a reputation 
 for scholarship and ability, he had made a success- 
 ful invasion of Cambridge, and from there he drifted 
 — always laden with scholarships — to continental 
 seats of learning. Later he had returned heavily 
 charged with the wisdom of the Teuton, but refus- 
 ing a chair at no fewer than three universities, he 
 had devoted himself to " private research." So far 
 all ran clear, but here came the block. Of what 
 nature was this " private research " that had tempted 
 a poor man to reject a life provision in order to 
 snatch at a bare subsistence ? Don Q. put the ques- 
 tion. Japsley replied hurriedly in many words, none 
 of which, however, carried amongst them any atom 
 of real information. 
 
 In return he demanded of Don Q. facts about 
 his life in the sierra. To these he listened certainly, 
 yet he made it clear that he disbelieved many of 
 his host's recitals. 
 
 So time dragged with monotonous foot, 
 from chocolate in the early morning, till the 
 sun swam overhead picking out the scene of 
 the brigands' camp of weather-grey bottle- 
 shaped chozas crouched under the gaunt cliffs; 
 through the drowse of midday heat with its 
 siesta fading into the mountain afternoon, and 
 until the wild pines were crashing and gambolling 
 in the wind of evening. 
 
142 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 At length, in a lemon-coloured dawn, came the 
 answer to Japsley's appeal for a ransom. At the 
 end of a tortuous course of travel it reached the 
 sentinel on watch outside the ravine by the hand of 
 a goatherd, who had had it from a charcoal-burner 
 among the corkforests; he, in turn, had received it 
 from the saddle-flap of a smuggler, who had been 
 told to so deliver it by Don Q.'s representative *•! 
 the white city by the sea. Don Q.'s intelligence 
 department was always in faultless working order, 
 its members highly paid for success, remorselessly 
 stricken for failure. 
 
 The letter was duly brought to Japsley in the 
 cleft of a small stick. Five hundred pounds is not 
 a large sum; he hoped nervously it had been 
 gathered for him. But alas ! he read : — 
 
 " Dear Sir, — ^We have realised all moneys in our 
 hands belonging to you, and inclose the full amount 
 of £449. There is little doubt the Government would 
 make up the deficit, but, following your instructions, 
 we have not applied for their help. Assuring you 
 of our continued desire to serve," etc., etc. 
 
 Japsley sat for some minutes with the letter in 
 his fingers plunged in apprehensive thought, while 
 in his heart he cursed the parsimony of his agent. 
 If the firm had only known, in a little time — a 
 very, very little time — he could have repaid them 
 such* a loan a thousand times over. They, of course, 
 
DON Q. AND PROF. JAPSLEY 143 
 
 could not realise what manner of man this was into 
 whose power he had fallen. 
 
 Presently Don Q. appeared; the scientist took a 
 last look at him. There he stood, fragile in body, 
 in some attitudes almost grotesque, but it had for 
 some time past been borne in on Japsley that this 
 man was not as other men, and he trembled, recol- 
 lecting his secret. Oh, desperate game, to be played 
 out in the lone and houseless mountains! 
 
 " Have you any communication to make to me? " 
 the brigand asked. 
 
 Japsley's lips framed an inaudible " Yes." 
 
 " Your ransom and your fine have, I trust, 
 arrived?" 
 
 " My ransom in full and the bulk of the fine." 
 Japsley added the exact figures. " The remainder 
 I bind myself to send to you within a month of my 
 getting into touch with the world again." 
 
 But Don Q. shook his head. " What warranty 
 have I for that, senor?" 
 
 " I will give you any bond you like to demand. 
 I must return to — to civilisation quickly; immense 
 issues hang on my return. Otherwise you, amongst 
 others, will be a loser." 
 
 Japsley's fingers were fluttering in his beard. 
 
 '* I pardon the suggestion, which is entirely out- 
 side the province of practical politics up here in the 
 sierra. Believe me, senor, if I were to permit you, 
 a captive fallen short in your ransom, to leave me, 
 my credit in the plains would suffer irremediably. 
 
144 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 Any future prisoner might imagine himself per- 
 mitted to take similar liberties. No man has ever 
 existed more averse from cruelty than myself, but as 
 ruthlessness in prosecuting war is the truest mercy 
 in the end to the world, so in this case, I shall be 
 forced to make an example of you as " 
 
 " Do not be blind to your own interests," urged 
 Japsley, with shaking lips. " I pledge you my word 
 of honour, no one will ever hear that I failed to 
 collect my full ransom." 
 
 "Alas, senor, Her British Majesty's consul knows 
 it — to mention one individual only." 
 
 " I will pay the outstanding amount twenty times 
 over ! " The moisture gathered coldly on Japsley's 
 expanse of brow. " Send another messenger — I 
 will write again — " 
 
 Don Q. shook his head. " You told me your 
 whole fortune consisted of £200, how then can you 
 be certain of raising more than £449 — which is 
 already double that sum ? " 
 
 " You will dare to take all this and yet kill me? " 
 Japsley cried. 
 
 "By no means ! I shall return this amount to 
 your representatives, and upon you I shall enforce 
 the penalty." 
 
 Japsley no longer looked at Don Q.; he could 
 not meet those inexorable eyes. " The penalty — 
 what is it ? " he asked, the drops of moisture now 
 running down his blanched face. 
 
 Don Q. glanced at his watch. "It is already five 
 
DON Q. AND PROF. JAPSLEY 145 
 
 o'clock; by eight to-night you will be informed of 
 my decision." 
 
 " You cannot mean that you will murder me?" 
 
 " Murder is an ugly word, but it is quite certam 
 that, if I believe it to be expedient, by to-morrow 
 you will have ceased to live.'* 
 
 Japsley gazed round the glen of the Boca de Lobo 
 with the seeking eyes of a hunted creature. The 
 moment was upon him when he must make his last 
 bid for life, when he must part with the secret he 
 had hidden with so much of jealous care for years, 
 that, looking back upon them, seemed countless and 
 all alike barren. 
 
 It was within an hour of sundown, and the blur 
 of smoke from many fires rose, half concealing the 
 groups in the bottom of the ravine. From his place 
 on the terrace of rock before the cave he watched the 
 preparing of the men's evening meal — how often 
 the sight had palled upon him during the past weeks ! 
 But now, seen for the last time through the narrow- 
 ing gap of life, it acquired a strained and vivid in- 
 terest. The wealth, the actual concrete gold, he had 
 hungered to possess might never be his ! Through- 
 out his career he had been far out of reach of poetical 
 feeling, but now there came tinkling back to him 
 across the years Rossetti's lines : 
 
 " Look in my face ; my name is Might-have-been, 
 Though some call me No-more, Too-late, Farewell." 
 
 The words worked upon his mood. " Might-have 
 been — Too-late." Was this to be the epitome of his 
 10 
 
146 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 own career? How soon his brain, that now held a 
 jewel of knowledge, would be but dead matter dis- 
 solving to decay! All the long years of research, 
 poverty, incessant striving, lost ! Yet in the dusk he 
 hugged his secret closer — closer. To it and to its 
 development he had sacrificed everything, absolutely 
 everything ! It had been a drain, and had strained all 
 the humanity out of the man, it had absorbed the 
 vigour out of his manhood, and the whole world only 
 held one thing as dear — the life, existence, continu- 
 ance, of the vitalised matter known as Shruppill 
 Japsley! He looked across at Don Q. He had 
 long hated the brigand, but never with such inex- 
 tinguishable a hatred as when he felt that he must 
 presently share his secret with this ruthless crea- 
 ture or die. 
 
 " Seiior," Japsley said at last, " I offer you £1000 
 for my life." 
 
 Don Q. looked up with a frown. " You gave me 
 to understand from the outset that you were poor, 
 very poor." 
 
 " It is true, I am poor, but I am also a man of 
 science, thirty-eight years old, and since I touched 
 my twentieth year I have been expending my very 
 life in — in research." 
 
 Don Q. listened, his eyebrows rising unseen under 
 the shade of his sombrero. 
 
 " Now we approach the point," he thought, but 
 he held silence. 
 
 Japsley wetted his dry lips. It was like the pang 
 
DON Q. AND PROF. JAPSLEY 147 
 
 of death to tear forth this treasure of his heart and 
 put it into words. 
 
 " Ten years ago I calculated that I was passing the 
 foremost of my co-workers and venturing on un- 
 known ground. In the course of this research I 
 came upon a discovery of extraordinary value." 
 
 He stopped, absolutely without power to proceed. 
 In all his forecast he had never dreamed of parting 
 with his knowledge in such a fashion as this ! 
 
 Don Q. waited. Then at last : 
 
 " Of what character is this discovery ? " 
 
 It seemed to Japsley as if with physical agony he 
 wrenched the answer from his heart. 
 
 " It is an agent of destruction," said he. 
 
 "Of what nature?" 
 
 Japsley spoke fast and eagerly. 
 
 " If I were to tell you," he said, " the formula of 
 its composition, I doubt if you possess the requisite 
 knowledge to render it intelligible to your mind. I 
 need only say that ten men — five men — armed with 
 my secret could destroy a host." 
 
 "And you will sell this secret to the English 
 Government? " 
 
 "Why should I?" 
 
 " I understood you to say that you were an Eng- 
 lishman." 
 
 Japsley laughed with some relief. He felt that 
 Don Q. was impressed. 
 
 " I am one — when I need a nationality. But I 
 have long outgrown such parochial distinctions. I 
 
148 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 have emerged from the narrow kennel of patriotism. 
 I am become a cosmopolitan, therefore I shall sell 
 my discovery to the highest bidder." 
 
 Don Q. looked at Japsley very intently. "And 
 with what motive have you told me this secret ? " 
 
 " If you will spare my life I will give you ten per 
 cent, of the amount I receive for it — in gold — gold 
 if you will ! " 
 
 " Ten per cent. ? " repeated Don Q. in a slow 
 voice. 
 
 " It will be an immense sum," urged Japsley, with 
 wild eagerness. " See," he continued, ** I will bide 
 my time, I will wait till an European crisis arises, 
 then I shall make terms — ^hard terms." 
 
 " Two more questions," said Don Q. *' First, does 
 this agent of destruction demand a brave man to 
 handle it?" 
 
 '' No, no," cried Japsley. "A coward need not 
 fear to use it." 
 
 "Ah ! And where do you carry your secret ? " 
 
 Japsley raised his hand and tapped the dome of 
 his forehead. 
 
 " Here," said he. 
 
 Don Q. rose. " The evening grows chilly," he 
 remarked, " permit me to suggest a return to the 
 cave." 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 HOW DON Q. DEALT WITH PROFESSOR JAPSLEY 
 
 {continued) 
 
 Japsley followed him without a word. The 
 brigand threw a log upon the fire, and sitting down 
 beside it, stared at the little leaping flames. The 
 cave grew dark, only that half-shadowed motionless 
 figure like some huge brooding bird remained visible, 
 and in Japsley's mind, as he gazed upon it, rose a 
 terrible doubt as to the sanity of this man. Could it 
 be possible — could it be conceivable that he would 
 refuse such an offer? 
 
 At length Japsley with his shaking heart could 
 endure the stillness of suspense no longer. The hour 
 had passed, and yet Don Q. sat on motionless by the 
 dying fire. The scientist rose up noiselessly and 
 walked out into the night. A heavy shower had fol- 
 lowed upon sunset, and still through the evening 
 calm he could hear the sad drip of rain-laden pine- 
 trees. He began to wander aimlessly up and down 
 the terrace, and, probably due to the excitement of 
 the past few hours, his mind rose upon a rare and 
 short-winged flight of imagination. A picture of the 
 future painted itself before him there on the gloomy 
 diffside. He saw himself the courted of kings and 
 ministers, arbiter of life and death to nations. 
 Wealth was within his grip; all his life he had toiled 
 
 149 
 
I50 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 towards that goal with singleness of purpose and a 
 heart hardened against the appeals of humanity. 
 Now — now he was about to grasp his reward ! High 
 rose his heart in that flight of fancy, the more intoxi- 
 cating because so rare with him. And upon these 
 followed other visions ; cravings arose in him which 
 had long lain dormant, ground under the heel of 
 necessity, sacrificed to the one great passion of his 
 life. Lurid were the dreams that came to him on the 
 terrace, inarticulate, monstrous. 
 
 He was startled by the voice of Don Q., for a note 
 rang in it that cut his fancy to ribbons, and left him 
 once more face to face with fear. 
 
 " Some hour or so ago you were good enough 
 to make me an offer," began Don Q. " I have taken 
 time to consider it, sefior." 
 
 "And you accept, of course ? " Japsley was going 
 on, but the brigand cut him short. 
 
 " No, I cannot." 
 
 The scientist put his hand to his head. 
 
 "What!" he screamed. 
 
 " I refuse your offer." 
 
 " But what do you want? How much? You are 
 mad ! I offered you ten per cent. Think of it ! For 
 they will pay me thousands and thousands of 
 pounds." 
 
 " I think it likely you would realise a quite enor- 
 mous sum," returned Don Q., coldly. 
 
 " If you believe that, why do you refuse ? " cried 
 Japsley. " Come, I see it. I see it ! I have not 
 
DON Q. AND PROF. JAPSLEY 151 
 
 offered you enough? Name your price, then! 
 Speak!" 
 
 Don Q. regarded his captive with a baleful eye. 
 
 " You will do well to restrain yourself," said he, 
 " and not provoke me further with your sordid pro- 
 posals. Should you persist, I shall be forced to deal 
 with you at once." 
 
 But Japsley was at a point of desperation. " I 
 must speak," he gasped, " and you must listen ! Hear 
 me. Lives have already been paid for this knowl- 
 edge. I watched my two old sisters starve because I 
 could not give them help without cutting off supplies 
 from the laboratory, and so much — so much was 
 needed to test and perfect my discovery. Did any 
 man ever make such sacrifices ? And now — now at 
 the moment when I could live again — when existence 
 offers me something to enjoy — you — " 
 
 Japsley met Don Q.'s eye and fell abruptly silent. 
 Then the brigand spoke slowly with the air of one 
 who habitually weighs his words. 
 
 *' You have," he said, " according to your own 
 showing, spent all the best years of your manhood — 
 you have broken the ties of blood — in perfecting a 
 weapon which you intend to level against the human 
 race. Had you done this with any high and lofty 
 purpose, such as the cause of freedom and to aid the 
 oppressed, or had you been impelled by patriotism, 
 your action might appear pardonable in some eyes, 
 perhaps even praiseworthy. As it is, I fear I can 
 find no palliation of your conduct." 
 
152 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 " What ? Do you count for nothing the long and 
 unremitting devotion of my life to the interests 
 of science? " 
 
 " Pardon me, the interests of science have had but 
 little to do with the incentive to your labour. You 
 have toiled for yourself! For money, power, or 
 pleasure — I know not, but always for yourself. And 
 you have told me that this infernal invention of yours 
 will make a coward the equal of a brave man. It 
 is individuals like you who kill out the manliness of 
 the world. But Destiny orders all things, and, senor, 
 I think Destiny has sent you to me." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " I cannot believe that Nature herself will permit 
 you to buy a career of ease at the cost of thousands 
 of lives." 
 
 Don Q. clapped his hands, and, before the scientist 
 could speak again, Robledo stood at the entrance to 
 the cave. " You will guard this captive, Robledo, 
 with unceasing care, and lead him when the dawn 
 breaks to the Sabio Blanco. It is there, senor," he 
 added, turning to Japsley, " that I will conclude with 
 you this matter." 
 
 For a long day and night, and for the greater part 
 of the day following, the party of three, Robledo, 
 Caspar, and their prisoner, wended their way up- 
 wards. At first Japsley travelled on mule-back, later 
 on foot, but always a dead silence. He endeavoured 
 to press his escort with anxious questions, then with 
 promises, but he spoke to deaf ears. Two words 
 
DON Q. AND PROF. JAPSLEY 153 
 
 only fell from the grim lips of Caspar, as with a nod 
 he indicated a mountain ahead. 
 
 '* Sabio Blanco," he said, and fell back into dumb- 
 ness. 
 
 Gradually with every stage of the journey the 
 marvellous white peaks rose higher and higher into 
 the sky. The second evening found them on the 
 high slopes below this towering summit. They 
 had come by a thousand turnings, they had leaped 
 rifts which caused the heart of Japsley to sicken 
 even in the retrospect, breakneck gorges lay behind 
 them, but at length, as the sun wheeled slowly to the 
 west, Japsley descried, not far away on the bare 
 shoulder of the mountain, a black figure which he 
 recognised. The men quickened their pace, and 
 shortly left their prisoner at the side of Don Q. 
 
 The air was very still. Japsley, looking down, 
 saw the forests through which he had mounted 
 showing as a mere blue smear far below his feet; 
 above him hung the beetling white brows of Sabio 
 Blanco ; and all at once the pitiless sense of distance, 
 of remoteness, seemed to suffocate him. He turned 
 to Don Q. with a sudden, dreadful shriek. 
 
 " You have brought me here to kill me ! Yon are 
 going to kill me alone in this terrible place ! ** he 
 sobbed. 
 
 " No, seiior, I shall not kill you," — the brigand 
 paused, — " though I do not deny the temptation to 
 do so has been very strong. But I have overcome 
 it," Don Q. ended with a sigh. 
 
154 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 " You are going to release me ? " 
 
 " I cannot reconcile it with my conscience to do 
 that either. If I permit you to depart, you carry 
 your secret with you, and — " 
 
 " Then what — what — what — ? " Japsley's voice 
 rose thin and vibrant. 
 
 Don Q. raised his hand. " I have said that Des- 
 tiny brought you to me, for a purpose, no doubt. 
 Here is your £449. I want none of it. This stu- 
 pendous secret of yours raises you above my juris- 
 diction. It is an issue too large for me. Therefore 
 I have brought you here, and here I will leave you 
 in the hands of the old Sabio Blanco," — ^he lifted his 
 hand higher and pointed at the huge snow-clad sum- 
 mit far above, — " the Wise White One, who has 
 watched generations of pigmies like you and me 
 pass through their day on earth." 
 
 " Go on. What are you about to do with me? " 
 
 " Only to leave you. See below, where a bridle- 
 path runs; it is the way to the plains. To-morrow 
 you will be free to reach them — if you can. To- 
 morrow — but not before. I shall leave a rifleman 
 to assure me that you do not move sooner." 
 
 " But I have no guide." 
 
 " Exactly. So the affair passes out of my hands 
 into those of Destiny. Con Dios, seiior." 
 
 Japsley watched the little line of three men, mov- 
 ing away. At intervals he caught sight of them 
 here and there in the windings of the mountains, 
 till night fell; then he rolled himself in his blanket 
 
DON Q. AND PROF. JAPSLEY 155 
 
 and laughed with a new-born contempt, for he felt 
 sure that with sunrise to-morrow he could find his 
 way to safety. The weather was clear, and had he 
 not some mild experience of climbing in Switzer- 
 land? 
 
 Early the next morning Don Q. stood at the door 
 of his little tent in a neighbouring valley, and looked 
 upwards. The weather had changed, and the great 
 white head of Sabio Blanco was shrouded about 
 with mist. Somewhere in the heart of that mist he 
 knew Japsley must be struggling with a Higher 
 Power than his own. 
 
 As to the outcome of that struggle some say 
 Japsley won to the plains in safety, and in his peril 
 made a vow that if he were saved alive, he in his 
 turn would have mercy on the children of men. A 
 second rumor has it that somewhere in a chasm of 
 the snows Japsley and his unrighteous secret keep 
 each other cold and eternal company. Not Don Q. 
 nor any other man knows with which tale lies 
 truth. 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 HOW DON Q. KEPT CHRISTMAS 
 
 The fact that Professor Japsley fell into the 
 hands of Don Q. did not transpire beyond the 
 countryside and never reached the outer world, but 
 that affair was followed by one which for many 
 reasons gained a vast amount of notoriety. 
 
 There are, although the matter is not widely 
 known, a number of excellent shootings to be rented 
 in Spain, more especially about the foothills of the 
 Cordillera. At the period of this history an English- 
 man had become for the third time tenant of one of 
 the largest of these, called Lucharno. 
 
 Richard Warriswold was a wealthy squire of 
 some renown. A great many countries had echoed 
 the crack of his rifle, and he was well known as one 
 of the finest shots who had ever wandered out from 
 the Islands of the Northern Seas. He was the type of 
 man always designated by his full name, an insistive, 
 masterful personality for whom " Dick " would have 
 been an obvious misnomer, but who answered well 
 enough to solid Richard. A good friend and an 
 ill enemy, he marched through life giving much 
 offence by his silent airs of superiority — with him 
 a congenital attitude and entirely free from any 
 suspicion of posing. This was the individual who 
 with his daughter and a friend arrived early in 
 
 156 
 
HOW DON Q. KEPT CHRISTMAS 157 
 
 December at the Andalucian shooting-lcKige under 
 the mountains. 
 
 " To-day, Ned," said Warriswold, a day or two 
 later, " I fired a shot at bigger game than any I 
 have hitherto pursued." 
 
 The speaker, a tall man with a close black beard, 
 flung himself down upon a couch beside the blazing 
 logs on the hearth. Into the face of his companion 
 flashed a look of concern. 
 
 " What can you mean ? " asked Ned Folwarth. 
 " Larger game than you have shot in Asia and 
 Africa?" 
 
 Warriswold glanced quickly at his friend. " Man 
 is the biggest game on earth," said he. 
 
 "You have shot a man?" cried Folwarth, who 
 knew enough of his companion's skill to realise 
 that with this man to fire a shot was almost 
 synonymous with to kill. 
 
 " No, unluckily I missed him. He got away." 
 
 " But why, in Heaven's name, did you fire at 
 him?" 
 
 " I found him in my preserves. It was one of 
 Don Q.'s scoundrels." 
 
 Folwarth whistled. "Ah, Don Q.'s? Richard, 
 was it wise? " 
 
 More than a week after their arrival Warris- 
 wold came home from the day's hunting with a 
 spark smouldering in his eye. He said nothing 
 until dinner was over and Violet had gone out to 
 stroll up and down the patio in the moonlight. 
 
IS8 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 Then Folwarth inquired of the sport. He was 
 several years the junior of his host, but the older 
 man had been his Hfe-long friend, and it was the 
 fauh of neither that a stronger tie did not bind 
 them together. But Violet Warriswold held con- 
 sistently aloof. She was a singularly charming 
 girl, devoted to her father, but she had discerned 
 few of Folwarth's good qualities, and was very 
 sure, in her own mind, that he was far indeed below 
 the heroic standard she had conjured up as fitting 
 for the man she might love in the future. 
 
 " Wise ? Why not ? " returned Warriswold, 
 obstinately. 
 
 " They say Don Q. has a long memory, and 
 mostly repays in kind." 
 
 " What of that ? Would you not have done the 
 same in my place ? " 
 
 " No ; I should let sleeping dogs lie," replied Fol- 
 warth, with decision. '* Don Q. has not bothered 
 you, although you have been at Lucharno for two 
 seasons already." 
 
 " Don't look so upset, Ned. To tell you the 
 truth " — a short laugh came from Warriswold — 
 " I believe that it was chiefly because of Don Q. 
 that I took this place again. The very thought 
 of catching him stimulates me ! " 
 
 " Why not leave the Spaniards to catch their own 
 criminals ? " 
 
 " Because," said Warriswold in an altered voice, 
 " I have learned that certain duties go with certain 
 
HOW DON Q. KEPT CHRISTMAS 159 
 
 positions ; one cannot shirk them. If people of our 
 standing do not aid Government, we do wrong." 
 
 " That sounds very well," replied Folwarth in 
 his quiet way, " but Don Q. is the last man one 
 can expect to offend with impunity. You have 
 harried his men at every possible occasion this year. 
 And now, take my word for it, your bullet will 
 come back to you one of these fine nights." 
 
 " So I expect." 
 
 "And Violet," said Folwarth— " what about 
 her? " 
 
 " My dear fellow, why don't you marry her and 
 take her away into safety? Here you have plenty 
 of time to pay your court, yet you seem to make 
 no running." 
 
 " No, I make no progress," said Folwarth, with 
 the slight wistful smile that occasionally touched 
 his lips. " I have, indeed, only been waiting for an 
 opportunity to tell you that I give it up. I see very 
 plainly that a studious, middle-aged fellow like 
 
 myself, who neither shoots nor in fact, I fall 
 
 short all round of the outdoor, upstanding lover 
 who will one day be so fortunate as to become 
 Violet's husband." 
 
 Warriswold turned on him. 
 
 "Middle-aged? Nonsense — at thirty-five! Be- 
 sides, I'd like to know who is this upstanding 
 lover?" 
 
 " Only the ideal lover of a young girl's fancy ; 
 when he materialises, he will, alas! materialise into 
 
i6o DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 a very different individual from Ned Folwarth, I 
 am afraid ! " 
 
 " Why, you have Hked her since she was in short 
 frocks! And now you are going to desert us? " 
 
 *' Not desert you/' said Folwarth, smiling again. 
 " But Violet knows my hopes, and my presence 
 only — only worries her. Richard, I cannot stay ! " 
 he burst out, with unwonted self-betrayal. 
 
 Warriswold knocked the ashes from his pipe. 
 " Well, you can't go either until this business of 
 Don Q.'s is over. You must be here to look after 
 Violet, in case of anything happening." 
 
 "At any rate, take precautions. Get the Govern- 
 ment to send you a company of carbineers. You 
 will need them, believe me." 
 
 " I'll see to it. Come, let us join Violet. But, 
 of course, not a word to her of this. Not, mind 
 you, that she would be nervous for herself," he 
 added, with a deep pride in his daughter, "but it 
 might alarm her if I were late coming in any 
 evening." 
 
 Violet crossed the patio to meet them. She 
 looked very lovely in the moonlight, her face framed 
 in the soft lace she had thrown about her head. 
 She slipped her hand in her father's arm. " Coming 
 for a turn? " she said. 
 
 " No, xny dear. I leave that to you energetic 
 young people. Here's Folwarth ready to walk with 
 you till the moon drops out of the sky." 
 
 Violet laughed. " How amiable of him ! But 
 
HOW DON Q. KEPT CHRISTMAS i6i 
 
 I won't try him so far ! This crisp cold air makes 
 me sleepy. Good-night ! " 
 
 Warriswold stood with his hands thrust down 
 deep in his pockets looking after her, and shook 
 his head dismally. " Looks infernally bad that — for 
 you, Ned," he admitted. '1 can only say — " 
 
 " She deserves a better man, Richard. Let's 
 turn in, too." 
 
 11 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 HOW DON Q. KEPT CHRISTMAS — (continued) 
 
 About the same hour away in the sierra a young 
 mountaineer was urging his mule through the 
 gorges by the light of the moon. His face was 
 very colourless, and a bandage round his left arm 
 told that Warriswold's bullet had not gone so far 
 astray as he who sent it upon its way imagined. 
 The wound although not dangerous was undoubt- 
 edly painful, and it is safe to say that had any but 
 Don Q. held rule in the sierra, the man who was 
 nicknamed Grulla (the crane) would have carried 
 on the battle, which Warriswold's shot had opened, 
 to a definite result. But it was ever the great brig- 
 and's custom to inforce upon his followers, by 
 methods peculiar to himself, the necessity of com- 
 mitting no overt act of this kind without his sanc- 
 tion or direct command. Of the tenant of Luchamo 
 he had once said: 
 
 " These Englishmen bring good gold to the coun- 
 try. Let the Sefior Warriswold enjoy himself. If 
 later I should need him, I will send for him." 
 
 So it came that Grulla made his way painfully 
 into the higher gorges until he reached the Boca 
 de Lobo, where at the fires Garpar bound up his 
 wound before hurrying him to the cave of 
 DonQ. 
 
HOW DON Q. KEPT CHRISTMAS 163 
 
 He went eagerly, confident of the revenge his 
 lord would exact from El Ingles. He found Don Q. 
 huddled in his cloak as usual, and apparently en- 
 grossed in examining a painting recently looted by 
 the band. It was the work of a Spanish artist, and 
 its subject a brigand of the sierra; but Don Q. 
 found reason to take serious exception to many 
 details in the picture, more particularly to the 
 expression on the brigand's face, which he consid- 
 ered vulgar. So that it was in a very dark silence 
 indeed that he received his adherent. 
 
 For a protracted half hour no word was spoken, 
 while Grulla waited rigid and erect, but bursting 
 with his news. Suddenly his lord raised a sinister 
 eyelid upon him. 
 
 " Why is it that your face is of the colour of tal- 
 low ? " he asked gently. 
 
 " I have been wounded, lord." 
 
 Don Q. turned to look at the bandaged shoulder. 
 
 "Who fired the shot?" 
 
 " El Ingles," answered Grulla, for so was War- 
 riswold called in the foothills. 
 
 The frown gathered more menacingly about Don 
 Q.'s eyes, though his voice remained as soft as ever. 
 " You will relate to me," he said, " exactly what 
 occurred." 
 
 So Grulla broke fiercely away upon his narrative. 
 " Yesterday, lord, it was my turn to watch in the 
 woods of El Ingles, according to the order of my 
 lord. As I walked through the pines I was over- 
 
i64 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 taken by a great hunger, for it was ten hours since 
 I had drunk my chocolate with Bartolo before day- 
 break in the upper ravine. Thus it came that I hid 
 in the heart of a thicket to eat the black bread and 
 the garlic which I took with me. Thereafter, lord, 
 I rested a while till I was roused by the noise and 
 cry of beaters behind me, and in front of me a shot 
 was fired in the heart of the valley. Then, lord, 
 I crept out of the thicket and was already running 
 along the path that leads over the Ridge of Little 
 Pines, when El Ingles leaped up from behind a 
 boulder where he had been waiting for the animals 
 which the beaters should rouse, and he pointed his 
 rifle at me. But the woodguard that was with him 
 cried out that he must not shoot for I was of my 
 lord's following. Yet no sooner did El Ingles hear 
 these words than he spoke against my lord, cursing 
 him in a loud voice, and fired thrice at me as I ran 
 over the hills; the second of these shots passed 
 through the flesh of my shoulder, injuring no bone, 
 for which I give thanks to San — " 
 
 Don Q. threw up his hand for silence. Resting 
 his chin between thumb and forefinger he surveyed 
 Grulla coldly. 
 
 " Imbecile ! How long have you been in the 
 mountains? " 
 
 Gulla*s breath caught in his throat. " Five 
 years, lord." 
 
 "And you permit an Englishman to discover 
 you asleep in the woods ? " 
 
HOW DON Q. KEPT CHRISTMAS 165 
 
 " The Englishman is a very great hunter, lord," 
 whined Grulla, apologetically. 
 
 The black look bent on him deepened. " You 
 are ill-named, Grulla, for the crane is a wary bird," 
 said Don Q. with slow scorn, " rather a bustard, 
 for though the bustard be also wary, he is, as you 
 are, slow and heavy to rise in flight! Your 
 ineptitude is unthinkable! Go! Your punishment 
 awaits you." 
 
 The man had turned away when Don Q. called 
 him back. 
 
 "I am waiting for you to repeat to me with great 
 care and exactness the words El Ingles cried out 
 before he fired at you." 
 
 Twice Grulla essayed to speak, but such was his 
 fear of his pale cloaked master that his voice failed 
 him. 
 
 " You will delay no longer or I shall forget my 
 patience and deal with you as you deserve. What 
 said El Ingles and the woodguard who was with 
 him?" 
 
 At this threat Grulla found speech: 
 
 **As I ran over the ridge the woodguard shouted : 
 ' Do not shoot for the sake of all the saints ! This 
 man is one who serves the great lord of the sierra.' 
 But El Ingles fired, crying out, * I would it were 
 Don Q., the vulture himself! but this, and this, for 
 his youngling ! ' and he fired thrice at me, as I have 
 told my lord. Whereat Teo, the woodguard, was 
 greatly troubled, and sent a message praying for- 
 
 L 
 
i66 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 giveness of my lord since the fault was none of 
 his." 
 
 It has been explained that against the Guardias 
 Civiles Don Q. harboured no great amount of 
 rancour. Their efforts to capture him lay in the 
 line of duty, and their plans were, he conceived, 
 even sometimes creditable to their intelligence. But 
 against the man who, apart from duty, hunted him 
 or the members of his band in the spirit of sport 
 or of adventure, it would have been impossible 
 and unnatural that the brigand should not have 
 accumulated a monstrous resentment. 
 
 As he sat far into the night brooding over his 
 fire, Don Q. laid plans to rid himself of his foe, 
 who had now added unforgivable personal insult 
 to the gratuitous and harassing enmity of the past 
 two years. 
 
 It must be understood that Christmas was close 
 at hand, when Warriswold applied for and was 
 granted a guard of some five-and-twenty carbineers, 
 whose protection he did not for a moment permit 
 himself to believe he or his household needed. And 
 in this it seemed that Warriswold was right, for the 
 days passed uneventfully, the Noche Buena, Christ- 
 mas Eve, had been a gay and busy time in the 
 servants' quarters — new handkerchiefs for the 
 women, tambourines and zambombas for the chil- 
 dren, and quantities of turron, the popular Spanish 
 sweetmeats, for everybody, had been provided by 
 Violet, and so Pasqua dawned bright and sunny 
 
HOW DON Q. KEPT CHRISTMAS 167 
 
 with no cloud to obscure the sky. During the after- 
 noon the two Englishmen went for a stroll outside 
 the pine woods, returning before dusk to make 
 ready for the Christmas dinner, at which the young 
 lieutenant of the carbineers had been invited to join 
 them. 
 
 There was, it must be owned, nearly always some 
 element of the fantastic in the projects of Don Q., 
 and seldom was that quality more clearly shown 
 than upon the occasion about to be narrated. The 
 dreadful simplicity of the thing did not strike War- 
 riswold till later. Dinner was already well on its 
 way, the next item of the menu happened to be the 
 Spanish dish of the season, pavo trafada, truffled 
 turkey, when a servant whispered a word in the 
 lieutenant's ear. 
 
 Uttering a word of excuse, he rose and left the 
 room, and nobody noticed the dish with a huge 
 cover which was placed before the host. Warris- 
 wold, still carrying on his talk, moved his hands to 
 take up carving-knife and fork, and at that moment 
 the cover was lifted. 
 
 The contents of the dish drew all eyes. A little 
 cry from Violet, a gasp from Folwarth, a dark 
 look and a throwing forward of his heavy chin 
 from the more formidable Warriswold. For there, 
 surrounded by dainty dressing and sprigs of scented 
 bush gathered from the campo, lay not the turkey, 
 stuffed, succulent, and dripping with gravy, but a 
 large feathered vulture of the family of the 
 
i68 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 Quebranta htiesos, from which no less a person than 
 Don Q. had taken his cognomen. 
 
 Warriswold thrust back his chair. 
 
 " What does this mean ? " he cried. 
 
 " It means," said a soft voice, " that you two 
 caballeros will lock your hands above your heads. 
 As to you, senora, I pray you to pardon me for the 
 alarm I have been obliged to occasion you. No, 
 senores ! " Don Q. added sharply, " not a movement, 
 not a sound, or I shall be forced to do violence 
 both, I assure you, to my own feelings and I fear to 
 the bodies of you gentlemen." 
 
 Warriswold stared round the room; the place of 
 his servants had been taken by a villainous-looking 
 half-dozen of Don Q.'s followers. 
 
 " Your intelligence has, I see, fathomed my little 
 ruse," said Don Q. with his deadly courtesy. 
 " Three of your servants, and the Senor Teniente, 
 are lying bound in your cellar. The remainder are 
 very convivial in your kitchen. The carbineers are 
 also enjoying themselves as men should upon 
 Christmas Day. It is true their quarters are within 
 a hundred yards of the house, but I do not see how 
 they can help you, for the bushes which lie between 
 them and your door hold as many of my own men, 
 each with a rifle in his hand." 
 
 " We have been betrayed ! " Warriswold shouted 
 with intent, at the pitch of his voice. 
 
 " I pray you to speak more softly," urged Don 
 Q. " If you raise your voice in this manner, and 
 
HOW DON Q. KEPT CHRISTMAS 169 
 
 any come to your assistance, then for you and others 
 this pretty little comedy will become a tragedy." 
 
 Warriswold stifled the answer on his lips as his 
 glance fell on Violet. 
 
 " Your diabolical cunning has placed you in a 
 position to make terms," he said briefly. " What 
 are they ? " 
 
 " Terms is neither an apt word nor in this case the 
 correct one. My orders are that you, Sefior Warris- 
 wold, with your friend, will travel with me into the 
 mountains, where I foresee we shall find ample leisure 
 to discuss the ethics of certain acts you have seen 
 fit to commit." 
 
 Violet rose impulsively. " Father, you must not 
 go! 
 
 " Hush, my dear ; your part will be to stay here 
 ready to carry out any instructions I may send 
 you," interrupted Warriswold. " Do not be in the 
 least alarmed about me. And now, sefior, I am at 
 your service." 
 
 Five minutes later, the brigands with their two 
 prisoners riding in the centre had gained the shelter 
 of the woods, and far on the wind was borne to 
 them the sounds of laughter from the quarters of 
 the carbineers, the thrum of a guitar, and the song 
 of one of their number accompanied by the beating 
 of knife-hilts on the table which acclaimed the efforts 
 of the singer at their revel. 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 HOW DON Q. KEPT CHRISTMAS — (continued) 
 
 The two Englishmen were borne into the moun- 
 tains. The cold of the gorges struck at them with 
 palpable blows, for both still wore only the evening 
 dress in which they had been captured. Never per- 
 haps had those forests and ravines beheld a more 
 incongruous procession than that headed by these 
 two men with smudged shirt fronts and dishevelled 
 hair; their legs were tied round the barrel of their 
 horses, while the animals were urged onwards by 
 fierce mountaineers, who nursed in their hearts a 
 savage ill-will against the captives. Last of all 
 rode Don Q., his head sunk upon his chest, and a 
 rankling bitterness against Warriswold filling all 
 the courses of his thoughts. 
 
 All night they rode, and far into the day beyond 
 it, towards the darker defiles of the sierra. At first 
 they passed beneath cork-oaks and ilex; then the 
 cork forest gave place to scattering pines, and pines 
 to stunted brushwood, and finally the long line of 
 men wound through bare and boulder-strewn 
 ravines, until as the sun set, they entered once more 
 a grove of pines, where the prisoners were thrust 
 into a shelter of branches to sleep. 
 
 To follow the conversation which took place in 
 the interior of their hut would not forward the 
 
 170 
 
HOW DON Q. KEPT CHRISTMAS 171 
 
 reader along the line of this history. But Warris- 
 wold at length understood that in the pale and 
 fragile brigand he was about to encounter a terrible 
 antagonist. Next morning, as the sun climbed out 
 above the shoulders of the ridge, Warriswold and 
 Folwarth, still in bonds, were dragged out to 
 judgment. 
 
 The camp of Don Q. had been pitched upon a floor 
 of pine-needles, and he himself, still wearing the 
 same immutable expression, was seated on a fallen 
 tree. He opened the proceedings. 
 
 " Ten days ago," began the brigand, without 
 preamble, " you, Senor Warriswold, fired three 
 shots at this man — stand forth, Grulla — who is one 
 of my people. Is that so? " 
 
 " I deny your right to ask these questions," re- 
 plied Warriswold. 
 
 Don Q. slightly shrugged his shoulders. "As 
 you will. If you prefer it I will omit the trial and 
 pass on to the sentence." 
 
 Warriswold was master of himself, and meant, 
 if it were possible, to be master of the situation 
 also. Yet it was one that required handling. 
 
 " I bow to your superior force," he said. " Yes, 
 I shot at that man." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 Warriswold hesitated. 
 
 " Had he done you any harm ? " 
 
 " No, but he was found in my preserves. I, 
 however, see no reason," Warriswold added 
 
172 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 haughtily, " to hide the truth that I fired upon him, 
 because I was told he was a brigand, and one of 
 your following." 
 
 Don Q.'s slender hand clutched at the folds of 
 his cloak. 
 
 " Seiior, for two years you have lived within my 
 reach. Have I molested you? You have been 
 absolutely in my power; you owe to me more than 
 you think. Few poachers have been upon the 
 Luchamo estate since your coming, because I for- 
 bade them to go there. Yet that is nothing. You 
 have consistently taken part against me, and aided 
 those whose duty it is, perhaps, to harass me. That 
 also is nothing. But what excuse can you give for 
 your last insult ? You have made it known publicly 
 that you desired to hunt me — that you desired to 
 kill me ! Why have you done this ? " 
 
 " Because I conceived it to be my duty." 
 
 " I am listening. Go on, say anything that may 
 cause me to regard your action in a less unworthy 
 light." 
 
 " You are outside the law," said Warriswold in 
 his most insistive manner. " Now I, through all 
 my wanderings in wild places, have striven to be 
 upon the side of the law." 
 
 " Pardon me, sefior," said Don Q., " you do not 
 give your chief reason for this affair. You talk 
 glibly of the law, but you omit the passion for sport 
 which runs so thirstily in your blood. I very much 
 fear you tried to hunt me and my people in the same 
 
HOW DON Q. KEPT CHRISTMAS 173 
 
 spirit in which, as a big-game hunter, you have 
 hunted down your quarry. You would have been 
 proud to kill me, you would have boasted and told 
 the story how you killed the famous Spanish 
 brigand ! Yes, you would have told that story over 
 the wine and the walnuts. Well, senor, I will not 
 rob the English of that story altogether, but it shall 
 have another ending, one in which your friends will 
 take a melancholy interest." 
 
 Warriswold stood silent, impressed against his 
 will. And then the brigand spoke again. " You, 
 Seiior Folwarth, I regard as an ordinary captive. 
 You are a wealthy man, and I assess your ransom at 
 £10,000." 
 
 "And mine? " Warriswold asked. 
 
 " For you I will accept no ransom, but the foot- 
 hills and the plains shall hear how I deal with those 
 who follow men as wolves upon the mountains." 
 
 " I will pay double, ten times as much for his 
 life ! " cried Folwarth. 
 
 " Your friend is no doubt gratified by your offer," 
 said Don Q., very softly, " but all the gold of Spain 
 would not buy his life! " He turned his fierce gaze 
 upon Warriswold. " In the contest between us 
 which you chose to inaugurate you have been out- 
 witted. Now your punishment shall match with 
 your career. I am told that you are a great hunter 
 — you are about to learn some of the sensations of 
 the hunted. Look well at the valley below us." 
 
 The Englishman turned. They stood at the 
 
174 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 head of a narrow, deeply- jungled ravine, perhaps 
 four miles long; its abrupt, unscalable cliffs shut 
 in a strip of undergrowth, lentisco, ragged shrubs, 
 and thorn interlaced with briars. Here and there a 
 little brawling river gleamed as it caught the sun, 
 tall grass waved in patches, and scanty groups of 
 trees stood above the level of the brushwood. The 
 place was so wild that it held a quality of fierceness, 
 of menace, as if it would strike its own blow at a 
 human life. Folwarth covered his face with his 
 hands. 
 
 " The moment when Senor Folwarth's ransom 
 arrives, you," — Don Q. signified Warriswold with a 
 faint motion of his finger, — " you shall be turned 
 loose at this spot. You will receive a quarter of an 
 hour's law, and then my children with their rifles 
 shall hunt you down through the length of the val- 
 ley as they would hunt a noxious beast. There is 
 plenty of cover there, and paths which your wood- 
 craft will teach you how to find and follow. At the 
 other end of the valley opens a narrow pass, twenty 
 yards of bare slope leads up to it; if you can elude 
 your pursuers and escape through that pass, you 
 will be free. Have you anything to say?" 
 
 " Nothing," said Warriswold. 
 
 Ten days later, Folwarth's ransom arrived duly, 
 and he set out on his journey back to Lucharno. 
 Three hours after his departure, the afternoon sun, 
 slanting a little to the west, lit up a fierce picture. 
 The hunters, a group of leather-clad brigands with 
 
HOW DON Q. KEPT CHRISTMAS 175 
 
 scarlet sashes and gaudy headgear, stood rifles in 
 hand, two among them holding each a straining dog 
 in leash. More prominent still was the black- 
 bearded, muscular figure of the man who was to be 
 hunted, but the dominant note lay in the brooding 
 figure of Don Q. 
 
 War ris wold turned to him : " Sefior, these 
 dog^" 
 
 " Will take part in the chase, but in leash. 
 There," he waved his hand toward the valley, " are 
 rocks, brushwood, and heavy undergrowth — cover 
 such as animals haunt. You are free to seek their 
 shelter." 
 
 " Without a weapon ? " exclaimed Warriswold. 
 
 " You already possess the full equipment of the 
 hunted — strength, agility, the secrets of woodcraft, 
 and a love of life." 
 
 " How long do you give me before my pursuers 
 start?" 
 
 "A quarter of an hour. Cut El Ingles loose ! " 
 
 The big Englishman's jaw came forward at its 
 aggressive tilt He walked out of the camp to the 
 spot where a thin track dropped sheer into the 
 depth of the ravine. There he stood a moment 
 studying intensely the three or four miles of low- 
 lying cover through which he must force his way. 
 Then he let himself down over the edge, and to those 
 who remained came the noise of his heavy footsteps 
 crashing downwards through the stones and thickets. 
 
 But as soon as Warriswold believed himself to be 
 
176 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 beyond hearing of the camp he broke into a run, 
 moving noiselessly, lightly, dodging branches, stoop- 
 ing, hurrying. He worked down to the stream, and, 
 wading as far as possible along its bed broke his 
 trail. Then out again under shelter of a little grove, 
 pressing forward yet husbanding his strength to 
 take advantage of his second wind. But in the back 
 of his mind all the time flared the picture of the 
 savage company who would soon be racing on his 
 track. 
 
 He was a man not easily daunted, but when sud- 
 denly there arose behind him the unison of dogs 
 yelping and many voices raised in a cry, a spasm 
 of feeling such as he had never known checked him 
 for an instant. The chase was afoot! 
 
 Of all the sensations to which the human race 
 is heir that of being hunted is the most nearly allied 
 to panic. But to few men is it given in these 
 latter days to realise its agonies. As Warriswold 
 paused he looked up. High above him the sun fore- 
 told almost two hours further of daylight. The 
 weather was cruelly still in the warm hollow, and 
 about him as he ran flies added their irritant to the 
 total of his sufferings. 
 
 He raised himself into the branches of a tree, 
 and, looking back down the ravine through which 
 he had come, he saw the long line of his pursuers 
 spreading across the level ground, on each side of 
 which rose great walls of harsh and naked rock, 
 cutting off all hope of retreat to the right h^nd or 
 
ON AND ON HK RAN. 
 
HOW DON Q. KEPT CHRISTMAS 177 
 
 the left. Then Warriswold turned for one glimpse 
 at the goal he was making for, where far ahead the 
 rocky walls swung together, and he saw, like a slit 
 between them, the narrow pass which meant escape 
 and safety if he could win through it before the 
 hunters overtook and shot him down. 
 
 On and on he ran, his heart battering against his 
 ribs, his mouth dry, his eyes aching. Tom by 
 thorns, tripped and scratched and blinded, for every 
 twig seemed to take part against him in those strain- 
 ing minutes, he scrambled on, on, on. The one word 
 rang like a bell in his ear. 
 
 Yet ever present with him was his master passion, 
 and — it may be written to his credit — this was far 
 removed from fear. Nor was it the joy of battle 
 either, but went back behind and beyond that to a 
 yet more primal instinct. Life he desired, and life 
 must be won by his skill and his endurance, even 
 as man had won it in the days when man and beast 
 warred together for supremacy. 
 
 He knew by the sounds that he had gained some- 
 thing on his pursuers, but the insolent sun still 
 looked down upon his tragedy, filling the world with 
 radiance and aiding the death which stalked him in 
 the daylight. 
 
 The clamour of the chase was growing ominously 
 louder as he plunged into the last mile of his race 
 for life. It would be all a matter of a minute or 
 two at the end, he knew. 
 
 His eyelids burned with the effort, the world 
 12 
 
178 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 swayed about him as in a nightmare, snags 
 tripped him, where the thicket grew denser he 
 floundered through it Hke a bull at charge; his 
 labouring breath seemed to tear its way out of his 
 throat. Now he was through the river, but close 
 behind him swelled and rose the chorus of his pur- 
 suers. On and on and on he ran, upheld now by 
 mere power of will. In the earlier part of his flight 
 he had fixed his mind on the hazy pass far away in 
 front of him, but at the latter end of the chase, dis- 
 tressed and panting, he began to divide the distance 
 into shorter and shorter stretches. Now it was a 
 moss-hag that he made his goal, now a thicket or a 
 tree, and ever as he passed each he stumbled on to 
 fix his gaze on some nearer point, towards which 
 he strained with bursting lungs. 
 
 The sun slipped behind the over-shadowing cliffs 
 and a rush of dusk filled the hollow. By this time 
 the leading dogs were not ten yards behind, or so 
 Warriswold thought, when suddenly on the right 
 of him rose an object, vague and dark, which began 
 to rush aimlessly back towards the advancing line 
 of brigands. 
 
 Warriswold caught at the chance, it gave him a 
 new strength. This thing might check them. He 
 heard shouts and shots, he neither knew nor cared at 
 what, for now his feet were upon the hard incline, 
 at the brow of which, assuming a hundred shapes, 
 each more grotesque than the last, he saw the profile 
 of the pass cut against the evening sky beyond. 
 
HOW DON Q. KEPT CHRISTMAS 179 
 
 A bullet bleated past his ear as he flung himself 
 through its narrow opening, dashed on and fell, fell 
 down and down through tree-tops and bushes — but 
 what did it matter, since he need run no longer! 
 The will in him gave way, and before his body 
 reached the green couch far below amongst the 
 lentisco shrubs, Warriswold was deaf and blind, un- 
 conscious of the world. 
 
 Before the first glimmer of dawn Warriswold 
 moved. His first sensation came with the stirring 
 of his body, which let loose the aromatic scents of 
 the leaves and shrubs crushed and imprisoned be- 
 neath him. 
 
 He opened his eyes in the heart of a fragrant 
 darkness, and then slowly his memory crept back 
 to union with his consciousness. Dim hillsides rose 
 about him, clustered with pines, and above the pines 
 an army of stars swung dizzily. Warriswold got 
 painfully to his feet, aching in every limb, and like 
 a man suddenly grown old. Then, gathering his 
 strength, he staggered away down the mountain- 
 side. Sometimes he fell, and dozed where he fell, 
 and on waking walked forward. So, until the sun 
 banished the stars from the sky, and Warriswold 
 sank down beside a streamlet in which he buried his 
 face and drank deeply. 
 
 Thus instinctively he made his way back to 
 Lucharno, a mere phantom of a man, and once there, 
 
i8o DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 without words, he flung himself down and slept like 
 the dead. 
 
 He woke to find Violet bending over him. 
 
 "Where's Ned? "he asked. 
 
 " Why, he was with you ! He is not here ! " 
 
 Warriswold pushed up on his elbow. 
 
 " What ! not come back yet ? And you tell me 
 I have slept for twenty-four hours ! Why he started 
 before — in fact, before I did. Something has hap- 
 pened to him." 
 
 " Here is a letter, brought by a wild-looking boy 
 on mule-back this morning. Perhaps — " 
 
 ** Of course. Let me see," and Warriswold read 
 aloud : — 
 
 " Dear Richard, — I send you this by the court- 
 esy of Don Q. I have met with a little accident, 
 entirely my own fault, and am here — being a ran- 
 somed prisoner — as the g^est of Don Q. He is a 
 charming host, and I assure you I am perfectly safe. 
 But let me intreat you not to delay your return to 
 England for me. 
 
 " Ever yours, Ned." 
 
 Warriswold folded up the letter thoughtfully^ 
 "Do you know what that means?" — he cast a 
 significant eye at Violet. " No? Well, I will tell 
 you." Briefly he described the ordeal set for him 
 by Don Q., and added, "And now cannot you see 
 what that confounded ass of a Ned did? Why, 
 instead of coming back here, he went in at the 
 
HOW DON Q. KEPT CHRISTMAS i8i 
 
 lower end of the gorge and lay concealed until he 
 heard the beaters coming, and then showed him- 
 self, to give me a chance to make my escape while 
 they were busy with him — killing him as he ex- 
 pected. It is only by the merest chance he is alive. 
 I say it again — Ned is an infernal fool ! " 
 
 " How dare you, father? " 
 
 Violet's eyes were flaming. 
 
 " Eh, what ? I say, the fellow's an ass ! " 
 
 " He's the noblest man on earth ! How can we 
 save him ? " 
 
 " He's safe enough ; but — I thought you didn't 
 care?" 
 
 " Of course I care ! " said Violet. 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 HOW DON Q. WAS ASKED IN MARRIAGE 
 
 Weary months had passed away, little marked 
 by events of interest, when, as the year was again 
 closing in, a series of unlooked-for incidents led 
 up to one of the most curious adventures that ever 
 befell Don Q. 
 
 Don Manuelo Moruno was smoking his eigh- 
 teenth cigarette as he sat fiercely expectant under 
 the broken shelter hidden away in one corner of the 
 olive-grove. Now and then he would rise, and from 
 behind a gnarled trunk survey with a long gaze the 
 four miles of road, which could be seen winding 
 down from the upper slopes and about the hillsides 
 through the dark grey-green of olive-orchards. 
 
 His gaunt muscular frame, taken together with 
 his brooding eyes and obdurate chin, showed him a 
 man to be feared. He was dressed in the curious 
 half-and-half fashion which his race often adopts 
 when upon a journey. His swarthy throat with his 
 well-marked Adam's apple rose from the collar of 
 a black coat, heavy top-boots received trousers of 
 the same colour, and a large sombrero tossed aside 
 left bare his lined forehead and hair shaven so 
 close as to expose the lighter skin beneath. 
 
 Presently at the sound of a soft scuffling noise 
 he leaped to his feet, and, peering through the 
 
 182 
 
DON Q. ASKED IN MARRIAGE 183 
 
 greenery, he saw a small donkey ambling towards 
 his place of concealment through the dust of the 
 wayside. In a moment or two it stopped beside 
 him, and from its back slipped a figure entirely in 
 keeping with the wild and desolate landscape. 
 
 The woman, for it was a woman, made a slight, 
 almost, it seemed, a sarcastic obeisance. She was 
 tall, and through the rags that covered her could 
 be caught glimpses of brown flesh; her eyes were 
 coal-black, and her hair hung in long tangles upon 
 her shoulders. She stooped a little as she walked, 
 giving a strange suggestion of the pouncing attitude 
 and attribute. But the face she raised to Don Man- 
 uelo's gloomy stare was elfishly beautiful. 
 
 " You are late. Have you done as I ordered ? " 
 he asked in a harsh undertone. 
 
 The woman pushed back her coarse hair. 
 
 " Yes. But where is the money ? Then, it may 
 be, the gitana will speak." 
 
 Don Manuelo shook his head. " I will give no 
 more until this matter be well forward." 
 
 The woman laughed. " Is it not known to me 
 that Don Manuelo, the major-domo of the illus- 
 trious Dona Engracia, he who formerly rode 
 through the passes under the hat of a Civil Guard, 
 has but small cause to love the lord of the sierra, 
 Don Q. ? But one cannot buy with an empty hand." 
 
 The Spaniard's face flushed blackly. " You arc 
 insolent because you have failed altogether." 
 
 " No, no; not altogether." 
 
i84 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 " You were paid to go into the sierra, and you 
 boasted that when you returned again you would 
 teach me when and where to strike at this brigand." 
 
 " Have I not done so? " 
 
 " Caramba ! You have not told me where to 
 strike him ? " 
 
 " Even a Spaniard must know that he has a 
 heart — as other men ! Strike there ! " she mocked, 
 then shrank back, half -frightened. " Come, give 
 me the remainder of my reward, and let me go. 
 My tongue is locked." 
 
 Don Manuelo sat debating deeply with himself 
 for a moment. 
 
 " Unlock your tongue," he said, and drew out a 
 roll of paper notes. Slowly, with his eyes upon her 
 face, he counted four, one after another, into her 
 hand, and, crushing up the remainder, he thrust 
 them back into his waistband. *' Speak." 
 
 The woman moved away a few paces, sulkily 
 pulling her donkey behind her, then hesitated and 
 faced round. " For this money I have in my 
 bosom, and for — another reason," her voice 
 dropped, " I will tell the Gentile when to strike, 
 where to strike, aye, I will even put into his hand 
 the weapon he must strike with." 
 
 " Bueno ! But if you deceive me, there is no 
 brushwood in the campo thick enough to cover you 
 and your tribe from punishment ! " 
 
 " I have no tribe, for I am not a gipsy of Spain ; 
 my people are those Bohemios who travel down to 
 
DON Q. ASKED IN MARRIAGE 185 
 
 the warm south when the winter winds begin to 
 blow. As to deceiving you — why should I do 
 that? Perchance poor Yesha has her own hatreds. 
 Where is her man ? He sleeps these two years past 
 by the fires of Don Q., not at the side of his wife." 
 
 " What? Your man belongs to the band of Don 
 Q. ? Surely there is a hand to pluck at the brigand's 
 life! " exclaimed Don Manuelo. 
 
 But Yesha snapped an impatient finger and thumb 
 at the suggestion. 
 
 " Would you tell me that your man loves his 
 lord?" 
 
 " In the mountains, sefior, love and fear are one. 
 I sought my man in the mountains; he chased me 
 away with blows ; but when you have carried away 
 his master, perchance my man will come back to 
 me " — she pressed her face against the donkey's 
 ragged coat — " perchance my man will come back 
 to me!" 
 
 Don Manuelo had gained some slight knowledge 
 of the ways of womenkind in his old policing days, 
 therefore he waited silently for more. 
 
 " Listen, I would not follow my people when they 
 travelled back to the north, nor dared I seek the 
 barrio of the Zingali who dwell near to the city, for 
 they would have cast me out. So with our little 
 tent and the old waggon I have camped alone upon 
 the waste land hard by the road from the sierra. 
 Thus have I learned that year by year Don Q. 
 journeys down at this season to Cadiz. I have lain 
 
i86 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 in the thickets and watched him pass. Aye, and 
 even now, as we speak, the great lord of the heaths 
 and the ravines starts upon his long ride thither- 
 ward." 
 
 Manuelo was up and moving at the word. " I 
 comprehend. We must intercept him." 
 
 But the gipsy sprang at him and seized his arm. 
 " Do you know my lord of the mountains and not 
 remember that he is at all times well guarded? 
 There is but one small hour when he moves alone. 
 At the end of the week is the festival of Tosants 
 (All Saints' Day), and" — she lowered her eyelids 
 with a look of cunning — " but that is my secret. I 
 will beg this year in the streets, and I will speak 
 with him and lead him to my tent. I can do no 
 more." 
 
 Manuelo shook off her grasp. " Fool ! he will not 
 follow you." 
 
 " Yes — ^because of a woman." 
 
 But Manuelo pushed her aside with a savage oath. 
 " Go ! You know nothing ! I cannot trust you. 
 This man loves no woman ! " 
 
 Yesha crouched like a wild thing under his rough 
 hand. " Hear me, nevertheless ! For it is in my 
 mind that when last the lord of the sierra rode into 
 Cadiz, he carried with him such ornaments as 
 Gentile women wear." 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 HOW DON Q. WAS ASKED IN MARRIAGE 
 
 (continued) 
 
 It now becomes our part to draw across the page 
 for an instant a new figure. The beautiful Maria 
 Dolores del Lutoleale y de Vardelos had a face 
 for which men in earlier days would have fought 
 and died. As it was it drew many a caballero to 
 walk in the nightly paseo, when between the hours 
 of nine and ten the fairest daughters of Cadiz moved 
 through the wonderful streets of the city of the 
 purple dome. But more glances might have been 
 shot at Dona Dolores had it been known that she 
 was a maid perilous, that the road to her favour 
 was guarded by some of the sharpest swords in 
 Spain. This knowledge would not have detracted 
 from, nay, such is human nature, must surely have 
 added to her charms. Here was a rose beset with 
 thorns, a southern passion-flower growing in an 
 old-world garden into which the bravest might not 
 venture. But none of these things appeared on 
 the surface, nor did the noble youths who pressed 
 round her imagine that each one's name and lineage 
 were scanned by eyes of which they did not dream, 
 but which they yet might come to fear. 
 
 Occasionally, on the pages of history, women of 
 her family had risen far above the commonplace, 
 
 187 
 
i88 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 that grave which engulfs all save the fortunate and 
 the most unfortunate. The story is still told in 
 Spain of that Lutoleale maiden at the shrine of 
 whose honour a grandee of the King's blood died in 
 the forest by the hands of Camilio and Adan, the 
 two pale brothers, who flash across the page of 
 history and vanish from it sword in hand ere thirty 
 years had passed over the heads of either. Thus 
 there grew up in Cadiz this Dofia Dolores, a dark 
 flower nurtured in the shade of a convent for six- 
 teen years, a vision at barred windows, but now come 
 forth smiling into the sun and the moonlight, to 
 meet in the white city a promise of the future. 
 
 It is not hard to believe that in the recesses of his 
 heart Don Q. cherished old memories and regrets. 
 The series of events which now carried the current 
 of his life once more into the same channel with 
 that of Manuelo Moruno had their source in a 
 moment of contact with the past. 
 
 About the same hour that Manuelo, his heart 
 filled with frenzied anticipation, turned his face 
 towards Cadiz, Don Q. also set forth in the like 
 direction. It would have been impossible for Man- 
 uelo to have chosen in all wide Spain a more efficient 
 ally than the gipsy Yesha. Like a hundred other 
 gitanas, with their high-sounding names and their 
 rags, both a heritage of the black Zingali blood, 
 she had hovered like a bird of prey, fierce but not 
 uncomely, around the houses of the Cadiz rich, 
 telling fortunes, pilfering as occasion offered, and 
 
DON Q. ASKED IN MARRIAGE 189 
 
 in all cases relying for sustenance upon her dealings 
 with them. 
 
 Few finer detectives than this can be imagined. 
 Chance had filled her with a fire of resentment 
 against the brigand, and it was chance again that 
 placed in her grasp the single thread which yet 
 bound Don Q. to the old days. She had not suc- 
 ceeded in finding out the destination of the jewels 
 he had in the previous year carried with him to the 
 plains, although her hand was one of the three or 
 four through which they passed on their way. But 
 it has already been explained that each of Don 
 Q.'s agents knew no more than his or her share of 
 any business that happened to be forward; the 
 matter in its entirety dwelt only in the knowledge of 
 their master. 
 
 It was early morning on All Saints* Day. The last 
 echo of the sonorous Latin blessing had died away 
 in the great purple-domed cathedral of Cadiz. The 
 lights about the altar gleamed softly, many women 
 were kneeling before it, and groups of cloaked men 
 stood in the shadows cast by holy candles. Over 
 the whole building was sunk that air of mystery 
 and prayer, which even in mid-day causes the 
 wanderer through those great aisles to move with 
 a reverence not untouched by the spirit of awe. 
 
 Dolores, yielding to the pervading emotionalism 
 of the moment, trembled a little as she knelt with 
 her old nurse beside her. I fear it must be owned 
 that her presence had allured some of the cloaked 
 
190 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 caballeros thither; one in particular, with a muffled 
 face, who stood in the gloom of a pillar, had, beyond 
 all question, come with the single purpose of look- 
 ing upon her. Had the name of this man been 
 shouted aloud, every head would have turned to 
 behold him, for this was Don Q., he whose wild life 
 and deeds had laid the foundations of a thousand 
 legends, tales of the snow and the crags in the lonely 
 sierra. Least of all was Dolores herself aware of 
 the scrutiny of this man of her blood, who ordered 
 her life from afar, and who, that he might behold 
 her fair face which awoke in him memories of his 
 youth, risked his life year by year as he would have 
 risked ten lives had he possessed them. 
 
 The service over, the congregation filtered slowly 
 out into the street, and amongst them went Dona 
 Dolores; but as she approached the niche contain- 
 ing holy water, a heavily cloaked caballero stood 
 at her side. She met his keen gaze with her wide 
 clear eyes. 
 
 " God go with you," he said softly. 
 
 "And with you," she replied, and passed on. 
 
 Don Q. lingered a moment under the doorway. 
 He had never spoken to the girl before, and the 
 answering spirit in her dark eyes raised a tempest 
 of remembrance in his heart. So had those other 
 eyes looked long, long ago. 
 
 A timid touch roused him. A gitana, with a 
 gaudy handkerchief tied about her head, held out 
 her hand for alms, and as he gave to her she whis- 
 
DON Q. ASKED IN MARRIAGE 191 
 
 pered : " She whom you love is in danger. Meet 
 me at nightfall without the barrio of the Zingali." 
 
 Sunset was dying in a bar of sullen crimson low 
 over the sea, and night had already trailed her 
 cloak through the narrow streets when Don Q. rode 
 towards the spot the gipsy had named. A heavy 
 storm was blowing up from the Mediterranean, 
 drooping clouds darkened overhead as he left behind 
 him the phalanxed city, then the smaller and more 
 detached houses, and, lastly, the quarter of the 
 gipsies. Just beyond he came upon the woman 
 mounted on her donkey, waiting in the middle of the 
 road. 
 
 Without a word she turned and pushed ahead. 
 An encampment of gipsies lay to the right, but to 
 the brigand's surprise she avoided the by-path which 
 led to it and held to her course along the highway. 
 The two had gone but a short distance when the 
 storm burst in wind and rain, swooping and batter- 
 ing across the levels. Once or twice they met with 
 wayfarers making for the city, but as Cadiz fell 
 further and further behind, they had the road to 
 themselves. At length the gipsy diverged into a 
 wild track which led over a heath, and suddenly in 
 a dip of the ground there loomed up a dark, rain- 
 sodden tent; this, and a waggon, to the shaft of 
 which a horse stood tethered, formed the sole objects 
 that broke the desolation of the waste. The torn 
 flap of the tent beat about in the gusts of the gale, 
 
192 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 and Don Q. could see that a light burned within it, 
 and that it stood empty. 
 
 The gipsy, slipping from her mount, signed to 
 him to do likewise, and both animals were tied 
 up. " We will go into the shelter," she said, " where 
 we can talk together." 
 
 She held back the flap of the tent while Don Q., 
 full of disquietude and occupied with anxious fears 
 for Dolores, passed into it. He had hardly entered 
 when the tent collapsed upon him and he found 
 himself struggling in its wet enmeshing folds. He 
 fired twice through the canvas before a great weight 
 pinned his arm to the ground, nearly breaking it, 
 the revolver was torn from his grasp, and strong, 
 nimble fingers felt over his body for his knife and 
 other weapons. 
 
 Don Q.'s sensations were those of suffocation as 
 the folds of the tent were pressed closer and wrapped 
 about his head and body; next a rope, wound 
 pitilessly tight, made all fast and sure. 
 
 As soon as he recognized its uselessness he ceased 
 to struggle. To his astonishment, no single word 
 was spoken; the wind raved, and the rain poured 
 down, while he was left to wonder who might be his 
 captor. It is needless to say that he was bitterly 
 incensed at his betrayal, yet he could not blame him- 
 self for the incidents which led up to it. The gipsies 
 had always been his friends ; some of his immediate 
 followers were drawn from their tribes, and they 
 entered largely into the composition of that intelli- 
 
DON Q. ASKED IN MARRIAGE 193 
 
 gence department the excellence of which he made 
 his especial care and pride. His first idea was that 
 some wandering tribe had captured him by mistake. 
 Such things were not unknown, and many a rich 
 hidalgo had been tempted by these dark women into 
 wild places of the campo, from which all of them had 
 not returned. The method of capture, too, pointed 
 to such a conclusion. 
 
 After a few moments he heard footsteps and the 
 trampling of a horse, then two strong arms raised 
 him and tossed him into the cart, which at once 
 began to jolt away over the uneven surface of the 
 heath. In time the easier motion told Don Q. that 
 they had now emerged upon the high road; but 
 whither he was being taken or by whom he was 
 accompanied he could gain not the smallest hint ; but 
 as hour joined hour he began to conclude that Cadiz 
 was not the objective of his journey. 
 
 13 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 HOW DON Q. WAS ASKED IN MARRIAGE — 
 
 (continued) 
 
 Slowly the night wore through, and with morn- 
 ing the brigand heard the creak and groan of 
 passing vehicles, or the soft padding of mules; but 
 even the " Go with God " with which the passers-by 
 saluted the unknown in whose hands his fate lay, 
 failed to elicit any response. 
 
 Presently he knew the sun had risen high in 
 heaven, for its rays struck through the black tent in 
 which he was wrapped, and there penetrated to him 
 the smell of heated dust, mingling with the thousand 
 odours that sleep amid the roadside trees and orch- 
 ards of Spain. But still the cart rumbled on and on, 
 and its driver maintained the same complete and 
 menacing silence, while Don Q., unable to read the 
 riddle of his capture, and worn out with cramping 
 pains, dozed, now and again losing for a few 
 moments the consciousness of his sufferings. 
 
 But by-and-by he was shaken back into wake- 
 fulness, for the jolting, creaking, and groaning were 
 redoubled, and it was obvious to anyone with a 
 knowledge of the country that the waggon had left 
 the road, such as it was, and was blundering among 
 hills. 
 
 The heat of the day waned, and evening had come, 
 
 194 
 
MB MADE OUT THAT HE WAS LYING BESIPE A FIRE ON THE 
 STONE FLOOR. 
 
DON Q. ASKED IN MARRIAGE 195 
 
 when at length the wheels ceased their complainings, 
 the cart halted, and various sounds told Don Q. 
 that the horse was being unharnessed. Soon he 
 was lifted by the same strong arms, strong beyond 
 the common — for the weight of a man combined 
 with that of a heavy tent, could not have been 
 handled with such slow ease except by the possessor 
 of unusual physical power. He was carried for 
 some distance, thrown roughly on the ground, 
 fingers groped about the region of his neck, a knife 
 was used, and a rapid slit released his head from 
 the stifling folds of cloth. 
 
 For a moment he was aware of nothing but an 
 acrid smell of wood-smoke; then, his eyes becom- 
 ing accustomed to the light, he made out that he was 
 lying beside a fire on the stone floor of a huge bare 
 hall, while over against him stood a gaunt man, who 
 stared at him with sombre eyes. 
 
 No hint of fatigue or suffering mixed with the 
 brigand's urbane greeting as he recognised his com- 
 panion. "So it is indeed you, my Manuelo? I 
 have in truth often dreamed that we should meet 
 again." 
 
 Manuelo Moruno was that most formidable speci- 
 men of humanity, a good man morosely embittered, 
 one who had fallen foul of life and became obsessed 
 with a single idea that had driven him into the 
 goblin domain of mania. His one aim was to 
 compass the destruction of Don Q. Years ago he 
 had made his first attempt and failed; after that, 
 
196 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 broken and disheartened, he had given up his post in 
 the Civil Guard, but never for one moment did his 
 thoughts stray from that single goal, and now — 
 now at last Fate and Yesha had delivered his enemy 
 into his hands. 
 
 " Yes, we meet again," he replied. 
 
 " I have by no means forgotten your oath, be- 
 cause, indeed, it gave me some interesting moments. 
 If I remember rightly, you swore to kill me." 
 
 "And I shall kill you!" 
 
 " Manuelo, Manuelo, have you succeeded ? Have 
 you brought him here?" croaked a sudden voice 
 from somewhere in the gloom. "Ah, he is here? 
 Pray prepare him to receive me. But, Manuelo, 
 Manuelo," with a rising cadence, " leave his hands 
 and feet secured." 
 
 " We part but only for a moment," muttered 
 Manuelo as he cut away the tent and outer rope that 
 bound Don Q. and assisted him to a bench. 
 
 But the brigand, cramped and half paralysed by 
 the long compression of his bonds, sank back al- 
 most fainting against the wall behind him. Man- 
 uelo, meantime, with a prosaic match lit a dozen 
 or more mariposas — wicks swimming in olive oil — 
 huddled together on the rickety table, and these lent 
 a weak smear of radiance to the obscurity of that 
 hall of adventure. 
 
 Don Q. had already had time to recover himself, 
 when, with a rush and flurry of footsteps and a 
 clang of metal, a tall figure advanced from the 
 
DON Q. ASKED IN MARRIAGE 197 
 
 wings of darkness into the amber light of the mari- 
 posas. At sight of it, the brigand with an effort 
 assumed a more erect posture. 
 
 His visitor was a woman of great height, carry- 
 ing herself majestically. A robe of tarnished cloth 
 of gold swept behind her, an ancient corselet of 
 steel gleamed upon her breast, her big, straggling 
 features grimaced from the open visor of a helmet, 
 and in her hand she held a boar spear, evidently 
 taken from among the trophies which hung upon the 
 wall. The only chair the cavernous hall contained 
 stood directly opposite to the bench where Don Q. 
 lay. On this chair the lady disposed herself and her 
 draperies with an eye to effect, and immediately 
 broke into fit after fit of giggling laughter. 
 
 The brigand watched her, and the idea shot across 
 his brain that there was but one lady in Spain 
 who could answer to the description of her who sat 
 before him, the senorita Dona Engracia de Terente. 
 If so, this was the castle of Terente, a remote and 
 ruinous stronghold in the centre of vast estates from 
 which most of the tenants had fled terror-stricken. 
 
 " You have come at last, illustrious one," the 
 lady said graciously. "At last you behold me ! " 
 
 Don Q. never omitted the full tribute of courtesy 
 to a lady. " I am highly honoured," he murmured. 
 
 " Be content, noble sefior," she reassured him ; 
 " this is but a beginning." 
 
 " But why am I here in bonds, lady? " 
 
 " I will cut them with my own hand — after a 
 
198 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 word or two with you. You have guessed — you 
 must assuredly have guessed — why I sent for you." 
 " You sent for me ? Indeed, I imagined that 
 Manuelo — " 
 
 "Manuelo?" she repeated angrily; "he is but 
 my major-domo. I intrusted him with this supreme 
 errand." She rose, clattered the butt of the spear on 
 the stones, and, holding it upright at arm's length, 
 resumed her stately manner. " You are about to 
 marry me." 
 
 Don Q.'s life had been one of surprises, but it is 
 unlikely that any former surprise quite rivalled 
 this. 
 
 " Words fail me," he began. " I had not thought 
 my personal charm — " 
 
 " These details are beside the question," she cried. 
 " You are King of the Mountains, therefore I have 
 chosen you to be my consort. Royal marriages are 
 made every year without affection on either side; 
 with us " — she softened to an instant's coyness — 
 " that may not be true. But on the higher ground of 
 state-craft, the alliance I propose to you will benefit 
 both of us — and Spain will rejoice, for we shall be 
 a new Ferdinand and Isabella." 
 
 " I am at a disadvantage," said Don Q. gently, 
 ** while discussing this matter in bonds." 
 
 " You can free yourself by speaking one word." 
 
 "And that word?" 
 
 " Is your promise to wed me." 
 
 For a moment temptation assailed Don Q. He 
 
DON Q. ASKED IN MARRIAGE 199 
 
 saw he was dealing with a woman of unhinged 
 mind, yet some chivalrous instinct would not permit 
 him to lie to her. " In that case, sefiorita, I fear 
 I must remain as I am," he said. 
 
 "But why?" she cried. "I am not without a 
 fitting dowry. Hundreds of peasants till my lands, 
 and my family is, as you must know, one of the 
 most noble and wealthy in Andalucia, or even in 
 Spain." 
 
 " Believe me, I recognise the honour you do me, 
 but I am no longer a young man ; also I am broken 
 with many sorrows." 
 
 ** I will comfort you," put in Dofia Engracia 
 alertly. "You accept?" 
 
 " Alas ! I must deny myself with felicity." 
 
 " You surely cannot refuse," she cried. 
 
 " With a thousand apologies," said Don Q. 
 
 Dona Engracia sprang towards him, and for a 
 moment Don Q. thought she meant to end the 
 matter then and there with the spear she carried. 
 But suddenly into her mad brain swept some new 
 colour of purpose, for she seized Don Q. with both 
 hands and began to drag him across the floor of the 
 hall. 
 
 " Do not inconvenience yourself, I beg of you," 
 said Don Q. " I am willing to follow wherever 
 you desire to take me." 
 
 " That is well," replied Dofia Engracia, and she 
 loosened the cords on his ankles; then, holding a 
 mariposa in one hand, she drove him before her 
 
200 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 from the hall into a dark passage. They had ad- 
 vanced some way along this when she stooped and 
 whispered in his ear : " Run forward ; save yourself ! 
 For here is Manuelo, who would slay you. Fly, that 
 is the way of escape ! " 
 
 Don Q. began a sentence of thanks as he ran for- 
 ward, but it was never ended, for the ground seemed 
 suddenly cut off from under his feet, and this sen- 
 sation was followed by a horror of falling through 
 darkness. He landed on a mass of decaying straw, 
 and above him he fancied he heard the woman's 
 cackle of maniac laughter. 
 
 Don Q., dazed by his fall of twenty feet or more, 
 did not know how long a time had passed when he 
 came sufficiently to himself to take stock of his 
 surroundings. These appeared to consist chiefly of 
 thick gloom, the foul straw which had more or less 
 broken his fall, and the slimy wall with which he 
 came into violent contact as soon as he began to 
 move. His first feeling on bumping against it was, 
 however, far from being one of chagrin, for the 
 surface of the stone was so uneven that he at once 
 commenced to fray away the knots which bound 
 his hands. 
 
 This was not done in a hurry, but at length they 
 were free, and he hastened to rid himself of the 
 cords that still hung about his ankles. 
 
 He was waiting to allow the blood to circulate in 
 his limbs before starting on a systematic examina- 
 tion of his dungeon, which perhaps was destined to 
 
DON Q. ASKED IN MARRIAGE 201 
 
 be the stone sheath in which the blade of his life must 
 rust and perish, when a slight rustle as of a rat 
 running over the straw arrested him. He stood 
 listening, and could just detect the breathing of the 
 creature which shared his prison. There followed a 
 moment of silence, and then an irrepressible groan 
 broke on the air. 
 
 " Who is there? " said Don Q. 
 
 " You? " the answering voice rose in a hoarse cry 
 of exultation. " I do not resent death any longer 
 since I shall die in the cage where the Quebranta 
 huesos must die also ! " 
 
 " How came you here, Manuelo? '' questioned the 
 brigand. 
 
 " It matters nothing now if you know the whole 
 story," replied Manuelo. ** I believed she hated you 
 when she gave me money to bribe the gipsy. I 
 thought she would help me to slay you — ^to pluck out 
 your life—" 
 
 " You will be good enough to speak with civility," 
 interposed Don Q., "or I shall force you to do so." 
 
 Manuelo groaned again. "An hour ago I could 
 have crushed you, but now — " 
 
 " What has happened? " 
 
 " I spoke to the sefiorita of your capture, and 
 described how we should put an end to your life 
 after she had had speech with you. Then I learned 
 I had mistaken her desires. Far from slaying you, 
 she meant to marry you. Thus, when I spoke of 
 killing you, in her wrath she thrust violently at me 
 
202 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 with her spear, wounding me so that I fell back- 
 wards into this dungeon, for secretly she had opened 
 the trap-door to betray me. She is, in truth, of a 
 great cunning. Ah ! I suffer ! This madwoman has 
 broken my back. I cannot move, I hardly breathe." 
 
 " Perhaps a change of position would ease you." 
 
 " No ; do not touch me. Let me die. But oh, 
 how can I die in this darkness ? Give me light ! " 
 
 " I have some dry matches ; I will light one," 
 said Don Q., his heart relenting at the sound of 
 the broken voice. 
 
 " Senor, you can do more than that. Feel along 
 the wall, and you will come upon some barrels, on 
 one of which you will find a lantern. Kindle it, I 
 beseech you, that I may see the light." 
 
 Guiding himself by the wall, Don Q. reached the 
 barrels of which Manuelo spoke. 
 
 " Quick ! Have you found them ? " murmured 
 the faint voice. " Hasten, for the love of the saints ! 
 or I shall die in the darkness." 
 
 Don Q.'s groping hand overset the lantern, but 
 he picked it up and laid a match to the wick, which 
 was upheld by a mere film of candle. It could burn 
 only two or three minutes at the most, but he hoped 
 it might comfort the dying man. First the flame 
 glowed red and bulbous, then it flared slowly up to 
 a yellow core, melting the denseness of the gloom, 
 and showing Don Q. something of his prison. 
 
 The place was almost circular, and much larger 
 than he expected, being some fifteen feet in diameter. 
 
DON Q. ASKED IN MARRIAGE 203 
 
 The roof curved inwards, but the lantern's light was 
 too feeble to show the position of the trap-door far 
 above. Four or five small casks were grouped at 
 one side, and half sunk in the filthy straw where he 
 had rolled after his fall, lay Manuelo, his face 
 ghastly pale, a blood clot gathered on his forehead, 
 but his wild eyes burning like stars. 
 
 Don Q. would have advanced towards him, but 
 he groaned out : " Stay where you are, I have a 
 few words to say to you. . . . For many years 
 I have tried to capture you, and it has always been 
 my prayer that I might buy your life with my own. 
 That has been granted to me. I begged for light, 
 and you gave it with your own hand." He strained 
 up his head. " I wanted a light by which to aim at 
 the barrels, for they are full of powder ! " He 
 plucked a revolver from the straw and took aim. 
 
 The brigand flung himself face down behind an 
 angle as the shot rang out. Instantly the place was 
 filled with the thunder and the shock of two almost 
 simultaneous explosions. Manuelo's last cry died in 
 their roar. Don Q. lay stunned; but although the 
 solid masonry was torn, owing to that strange 
 arbitrariness of action so often exhibited by ex- 
 plosives, he was left otherwise uninjured. 
 
 A screeching that shook the echoes roused him 
 into palpitating consciousness. " Manuelo, Man- 
 uelo! what have you done? How dare you con- 
 tinue to be silent? Have you slain the great lord 
 whom I love? Let me but find his body, and I will 
 
204 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 build for it a mausoleum on the summit of the 
 highest peak and mourn for him all my life! But as 
 for you, vile spawn of Murcia ! you I shall torture ! " 
 
 Dona Engracia's curses fell unheeded upon the 
 dead ears of her major-domo; but Don Q. at the 
 sound, raised himself, and with still bewildered 
 senses gazed about him. And then he saw something 
 that made him stagger to his feet. For where the 
 powder casks had rested against the wall there now 
 showed a soft luminance of sky, and through the 
 broken stonework four stars looked in upon him 
 with calm and friendly eyes. 
 
 Moving with the greatest caution, he made his 
 way through the debris of masonry to the aperture 
 in the wall, over which hung a huge stone that the 
 slightest touch must dislodge. To pass under it 
 was to risk his life. 
 
 " Better be crushed to death by her castle than 
 live to be embraced by the chatelaine ! " he told 
 himself grimly, as he slipped through the opening 
 and dropped upon the tangled vegetation of the 
 slope below. 
 
 He paused for a moment and looked up. Above 
 him towered the dark curtain-wall to the battle- 
 ments, and in the dimness it was hard to tell where 
 the stone ended and the sky began. A single light 
 shone out through a high window, the only one 
 which redeemed the vast and solitary pile from 
 absolute gloom. 
 
 As he gazed, the casement opened, but Don Q. 
 
DON Q. ASKED IN MARRIAGE 205 
 
 did not wait to see who it was that looked out into 
 the night. He turned, and, with a prayer of grati- 
 tude to San Pedro of the Sierra, he ran swiftly 
 beyond reach of pursuit through a wood of young 
 trees. 
 
'^^ 
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 HOW DON Q. BECAME A SQUIRE OF DAMES 
 
 Much that is set down in the autobiography of 
 Don Q. can never be given to the public, for indeed 
 the full history of the years he spent in the seclusion 
 of the sierra would make a strange volume. It is 
 only possible to choose those incidents which by 
 some freak of chance throw light upon one or other 
 of the singularly dissimilar facets of his character. 
 
 It was early morning, and Ingham, the British 
 and acting American consul, was sitting in his 
 office, that overlooked the white town which was 
 the scene of his activities, and the dark blue Spanish 
 sea beyond it. Three times he had essayed the 
 report that lay before him, and on each occasion 
 had laid down his pen and wandered away into 
 anxious thinking upon the matter in hand. 
 
 Ingham was a slight grey man, with outstanding 
 ears and a frowning habit of listening. He was 
 credited with possessing a more categorical knowl- 
 edge of Don Q.'s methods than any other man of 
 official standing in the Peninsula. Nor was this 
 to be wondered at, seeing that it had seldom been 
 his fate to send a single report to headquarters from 
 which the name of the brigand was entirely absent. 
 Nor did the present one form an exception. He was 
 retelling the now-familiar story of capture, but never 
 
 206 
 
DON Q. AS A SQUIRE OF DAMES 207 
 
 before had any case included the pecuHarity which 
 added poignancy to this affair, and which had given 
 the consul so many unhappy days and nights since 
 the demand for ransom had reached him. A week 
 earlier a letter had been thrown through his window, 
 informing him that a large sum must be sent 
 immediately to the mountains as a ransom for the 
 persons of two American ladies, the senora Lintner 
 and her daughter, who had been captured by Don Q. 
 
 During his many years of acquaintance with the 
 procedure of Don Q. the consul had never known 
 the brigand to seize or to demand ransom for any 
 save members of the sterner sex. So that while the 
 press of two continents buzzed with details, Ingham 
 found himself continually lost in speculation as to 
 the meaning of this new departure. He was by 
 nature a conservative man, and all changes troubled 
 him. 
 
 Thus he sat in his office, the walls of which had 
 so often heard the narratives of the various released 
 captives of Don Q., and wrote with minute care; 
 occasionally his eyes wandered to the sea dotted 
 with the sails of fishing-boats aglow in the rising 
 sun; occasionally he drew inspiration from a large 
 map of the sierras Morena and Nevada, which hung 
 beside his stove, as, true to the traditions of his 
 service, he tried to clothe a romantic incident in the 
 dryest and baldest of language. He had just em- 
 barked upon a prosy sentence, when there came a 
 knock at the door, that was opened at oncc from 
 
2o8 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 outside, and without waiting for an invitation to 
 enter, a Spanish priest in blue spectacles stood bow- 
 ing at the opening. 
 
 Ingham raised his head sharply. " I gave orders 
 that I was engaged, and did not wish to be disturbed. 
 I am sorry, father, that I must ask you to postpone 
 your visit.'* 
 
 But the priest shut the door behind him with a 
 firm hand, and advanced into the room, his som- 
 brero pressed against the breast of his cassock, and 
 his tonsured head bowed low above it in courteous 
 deprecation. 
 
 " I infinitely regret, sefior, but my business is of 
 a nature that will not brook an instant's delay," and 
 he stood waiting. 
 
 Ingham's habitual frown deepened; he had a 
 great idea of the dignity attaching to the repre- 
 sentative of Great Britain, but even he could not 
 avoid being impressed by this priest's air of breed- 
 ing and command. 
 
 He waved his hand to a seat. " May I ask your 
 name, father ? " 
 
 " My business is for the moment more important. 
 It is connected with the affair of the senora Lintner 
 and her daughter." 
 
 " Who have been captured by Don Q. ? " added 
 Ingham. 
 
 " Pardon me. Who are said to have been 
 captured by Don Q.," amended the other, positively 
 but courteously. 
 
DON Q. AS A SQUIRE OF DAMES 209 
 
 " You are a Spaniard, father; but have you lived 
 much in this country ? " 
 
 The padre opened and shut his hand with a slight 
 inclusive gesture. 
 
 "All my life," he said. 
 
 " If that be so, may I ask you if you can recall 
 any instance of holding to ransom which was not 
 one of Don Q/s achievements ? " 
 
 " But very few, I confess. Yet pray allow me in 
 my turn to ask you a question. You have held 
 this office for many years, and not ten consecutive 
 months of any of those years can have passed with- 
 out your having had business dealings with Don 
 Q. Have you ever known him take a woman 
 prisoner ? " 
 
 Ingham leant back in his chair, with his thought- 
 ful frown. " No ; the capture of Mrs. Lintner and 
 her daughter is the only occasion of which I have 
 official knowledge." 
 
 " Or unofficial," said the priest, with some 
 warmth. " Then pray, seiior, how can you recon- 
 cile his present action with such a past ? " 
 
 The British consul frowned at the paper before 
 him. ** Don Q.'s singular courtesy to women has 
 always been the most paradoxical trait in his 
 character. ... I suppose that he is now growing 
 old, and that his needs press more heavily upon 
 him," he said hesitatingly. " He may, like the man- 
 eating tiger, have fallen in his growing feebleness to 
 make a prey of easier victims." 
 14 
 
2IO DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 " Seiior, can it be possible that you hold that 
 opinion? " 
 
 " Certainly I do," replied Ingham; " it is the only 
 supposition which covers the fact." 
 
 " Then you think he is no longer capable of those 
 great exploits for which he was famed? For in- 
 stance, have you never feared that he might come 
 and seize you here in your own office? " 
 
 Ingham permitted himself to look amused. " No," 
 he said, *' for that would be quite impossible ! " 
 
 " Sefior, will you be good enough to strike upon 
 your bell for your clerk," said his visitor. 
 
 Ingham was surprised ; he read annoyance in this 
 abrupt farewell. He touched the bell sharply, then 
 rose and bowing stiffly to the stranger resumed his 
 seat and his work. When the door opened, he spoke, 
 without raising his eyes, " Esteban, show this gentle- 
 man the way to the street." Having said this, he 
 went on writing, but as no sound of movement fol- 
 lowed his order, he glanced up again with some im- 
 patience. The sight which challenged him caused 
 him to start back. A huge, gnarled fellow, whom 
 he had never seen before, stood scowling upon the 
 threshold. 
 
 " What is the meaning of this ? " he cried. " Who 
 are you ? " 
 
 The man made no reply, but evidently waited 
 upon the stranger's bidding. 
 
 " You can go, Caspar," said that personage, in 
 a gentle voice ; and when the door closed he added : 
 
DON Q. AS A SQUIRE OF DAMES 211 
 
 "An unprepossessing fellow, sefior. I apologise for 
 his startling you. Had I known it would be nec- 
 essary to call him in, I should have been careful to 
 have provided the most presentable of the half-dozen 
 of my men who are at this moment admiring the 
 shrubs in your patio/' 
 
 " Then you are Don Q. ! ** exclaimed Ingham, 
 springing from his chair, and making a rush for 
 the window looking into the street. 
 
 But in a twinkling Don Q. was before him, with 
 raised hand. " Pray return to your seat, senor, or 
 I may be forced to deal with you in a manner which, 
 I am sure, we should later mutually regret." 
 
 Ingham stared at the hawk nose, the fiery eyes, 
 from which the smoked glasses had been removed, 
 the delicate, somewhat grotesque form, with its 
 amazing swiftness of movement. These things, 
 joined to the courteous manners of his visitor, all 
 pointed to one conclusion. The brigand, as if read- 
 ing his thoughts, made a slight inclination of his 
 head. " Senor, allow me the honour of presenting 
 myself to you under my nom-de- guerre (shall we 
 say?) of Don Q. Let us now resume our discus- 
 sion as good friends." 
 
 Ingham sank back into his place by the table. 
 "Are you aware," he said, "of the risk you are 
 running? " 
 
 " Perfectly," replied the brigand, with some sad- 
 ness. " There is a price upon my head, and the first 
 carbineer or civile who chanced to recognise me 
 
212 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 would no doubt attempt to shoot me on sight. I 
 venture now to hope, sefior, that you no longer do 
 me the injustice to believe that I have relinquished 
 the high standard of my whole career, or that I 
 have had anything to do with the capture of these 
 American ladies? " 
 
 Ingham hesitated judicially. " Can you prove 
 it?" 
 
 *' But easily. Since I am here at the risk of my 
 life to offer you my aid in the matter ! " 
 
 "One moment," said the consul, and, taking a 
 piece of paper from under a weight on his desk, 
 he passed it to Don Q. " How do you explain 
 that?" he said. 
 
 The brigand read it aloud: 
 
 "To THE Senor Don Ricardo Ingham — 
 
 " We, the bandoleros of the sierra, have captured 
 two ladies, the Sefiora Lintner and her daughter. 
 We demand a ransom of £3000 for each of the 
 women. A man on a black horse will be on the 
 bridle-path that leads to the shrine of San Juan on 
 this day of next week. If any attempt is made to 
 seize our messenger, or if the ransom does not 
 arrive in good time, both prisoners will immediately 
 be put to death. Don Q." 
 
 "A very clear communication," commented 
 Ingham. 
 
 Don Q. leaped to his feet. " Did you actually 
 
DON Q. AS A SQUIRE OF DAMES 213 
 
 believe, senor, that it was I — I who wrote this ? " 
 He tapped the paper with his cane. 
 
 " If it be a forgery, who did write it ? *' 
 
 " I do not know yet." 
 
 "But you will find out?" 
 
 " Be quite sure that I will," replied Don Q. A 
 savage energy vitalised the slender figure. " On 
 what day will the ransom fall due? " 
 
 The old careworn expression flashed back over 
 the consul's face. " To-day," he said, " and there 
 you have the horror of it, for I have, so far, only 
 received four thousand of the amount " — he touched 
 unconsciously a sealed packet that lay close beside 
 him — " and I have now no time left to collect more." 
 
 " That will be sufficient," said Don Q. as with a 
 rapid action he took up the envelope from the table. 
 
 Ingham jumped to his feet, and found himself 
 face to face with the muzzle of Don Q.*s revolver. 
 
 " What does this mean ? " he cried. 
 
 " It means, senor," said Don Q., " that I will now 
 take over the conduct of this affair, and since I am 
 to help you, you must permit me to act as your 
 messenger." 
 
 " This course is most unorthodox," protested 
 Ingham. 
 
 " But I trust it will on that account," replied the 
 brigand, " be none the less efficacious." 
 
CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 HOW DON Q. BECAME A SQUIRE OF DAMES 
 
 (contmued) 
 
 Don Q. had been riding fast for several hours, but 
 he was light and wiry, and fatigue seemed to have 
 no power over the iron sinews of his small frame. 
 Already he was far upon the tree-darkened bridle- 
 path that would take him within easy distance of his 
 destination. All day his mind had worked back and 
 forth upon the problem of his mission. All day 
 he had been filled with an extraordinary resentment 
 against those who had committed what he considered 
 to be a most monstrous crime. That they should 
 have captured women was enough, but that they 
 should have done this atrocious act under cover of 
 his own name was an injury to his high reputation 
 which it was not in the nature of the brigand to 
 forgive. He was perforce acquainted with many of 
 the shady characters of Spain, yet sift out the list 
 as he might, no name more likely than another 
 presented itself to his intelligence. 
 
 The fierce and reckless courage which was so 
 prominent a trait in his character had rarely showed 
 in stronger relief than it did on this occasion, against 
 the dangers and possibilities which formed the back- 
 ground of this lonely journey. He changed his 
 mount twice upon the road, and so it came that 
 
 214 
 
DON Q. AS A SQUIRE OF DAMES 215 
 
 evening was beginning to close in when the slender 
 padre, riding upon a mule, found himself in a land 
 of wild heath that sloped gently upwards, with 
 here and there shallow upland pools, from amongst 
 the reeds of which rose the constant plash and cry 
 of wildfowl. 
 
 During the afternoon he had seen far off a few 
 solitary huts of shepherds, and later, now and then, 
 the ruddy glow of a charcoal-burner's fire. But all 
 the time his mind ran in the same jarring groove of 
 surmises, and he was shaken by little gusts of passion 
 that individuals could be found of so hardy a type 
 that they should dare to drag him into the network 
 of their schemes. 
 
 The game, which for the sake of the captured 
 women he must play lone-handed, was one of enor- 
 mous risk, if only because of the fact that he carried 
 a bare two-thirds of the ransom demanded. More- 
 over, he could make no guess at the number or the 
 identity of his opponents. 
 
 But now the end of his ride was near, and the 
 pale, clean-shaven face of the padre bore an expres- 
 sion almost approaching docility. As the dark 
 woods by the side of the road closed in about him, 
 and his mule ambled from one black patch of shadow 
 into another, his thin tenor was raised in the notes of 
 Latin canticles. 
 
 Such was the personage that met the astonished 
 gaze of a masked man on a black horse, who stood 
 waiting in the shadow of an ilex-grove. As the 
 
2i6 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 priest approached he spurred his horse out across the 
 road. 
 
 The padre drew up his mule, and raised his eyes 
 meekly, but without timidity. 
 
 " I think, my son, that you are expecting me. 
 No?" 
 
 The man on the horse stared the harder. ** I 
 am expecting someone," he said, " but not — " 
 
 The padre shook his head sadly. "Ah, you men 
 of blood ! " he sighed. " Nevertheless, I am the 
 messenger of sefior Don Ricardo Ingham." 
 
 "And you have the money ? " 
 
 " It is true that I carry some money — for your 
 master." 
 
 " He can't call himself that ! " said the young 
 man roughly, " though he could trust none of them 
 but me," he grumbled to himself. " Turn your 
 mule, padre; the captain orders you to pay the 
 ransom into his own hand, and the women will be 
 given up to you." 
 
 " I am ready, my son, lead the way," replied the 
 priest. 
 
 The horseman looked again at the slight figure 
 upon the mule, then, as if reassured by his inspection, 
 without more words he rode slowly down the road. 
 The padre upon his mule ambled behind, and as he 
 rode he chanted in a low voice the music of his 
 Church. 
 
 At the end of an hour they had passed through 
 a chain of low hills, and emerged upon a district 
 
DON Q. AS A SQUIRE OF DAMES 217 
 
 which the brigand had rarely visited, and through 
 which he had never before ridden in the dark. The 
 night had now fallen duskily, with a hollow moon 
 and many stars in a ckar sky. Once or twice the 
 guide paused as if uncertain of his direction, and 
 then, with a glance at the Great Bear, by which he 
 was evidently steering his way, he pressed forward 
 again. Heath and forest, swamp and mountain- 
 spur slipped past half seen in the gloom of the deep- 
 ening hours. Not for a moment had the padre re- 
 laxed his attitude of vigilant alertness, noting to the 
 best of his power the landmarks of the way. 
 
 At length they dropped between two converging 
 lines of trees like a tunnel, at the end of which a 
 dark bluish circle of sky showed faintly; against 
 this the triangle of the guide's head and shoulders 
 jogged monotonously for a long time, until at 
 length he swung abruptly to the right, and the padre 
 found himself in the gloom of a thick wood. They 
 moved through this slowly, but before long came 
 upon a low, widespread house, that Don Q. guessed 
 to be the remains of some ancient Moorish dwelling- 
 place. 
 
 The guide dismounted, and bade the padre tie up 
 his mule; then, giving a curious knock upon the 
 door, he pushed the priest whom he was escorting 
 across the end of the vast darkroom, and so through 
 a door, with a gruff word that he could keep the 
 women company until the captain's orders were 
 known. 
 
2i8 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 The priest stood still for a moment. A rushlight 
 upon the floor gave a faint illumination to the 
 small chamber with its rough stone walls, in the 
 far comer of which he saw a woman sitting with 
 her back to him. At her feet a young girl knelt, 
 whose bright, long hair seemed the only spot of 
 radiance in the gloomy place. 
 
 The padre crossed the room, but the woman 
 remained with her head averted. He gently laid 
 his hand upon her shoulder. 
 
 She looked up with a suppressed cry. 
 
 " Have no fear, my daughter, I have come to 
 your aid," he said softly. " I am the messenger 
 of the Consul." 
 
 Mrs. Lintner touched his arm as if to assure her- 
 self that this was not a dream, then she broke down 
 into sobbing. 
 
 "You have been ill-used, I fear?" 
 
 " Oh, father, we have endured much, we have 
 endured much! This Don Q. is a cruel, oh, a 
 horrible man ! " 
 
 The padre started violently. 
 
 "You are only just in time!" she whispered, 
 glancing at the door. " If you had arrived half- 
 an-hour later, I don't know what would have be- 
 come of Flora and of me. He threatened us in a 
 dreadful manner ! " 
 
 The priest brooded for a moment wrath fully. 
 " Well, well, I shall see the colour of his blood 
 before the morning ! " he said reassuringly ; then, 
 
DON Q. AS A SQUIRE OF DAMES 219 
 
 seeing the scared look coming back to Mrs. Lint- 
 ner's face, he added : " Our time is short, my 
 daughter, I must know some particulars about this 
 person in order that I may be able to deal with him 
 the more effectually. What is he like? I have 
 heard that Don Q. is a man of certain presence, 
 and carries himself with something of the noble 
 manner." 
 
 *' Oh, no, no! People say that in the plains, but 
 it is not true. I don't know what he may once have 
 been, but now he is a violent, brutal boor, without, 
 I believe, a human feeling left." 
 
 The priest's hands worked in uncontrollable 
 excitement. " Don Q. a violent boor ! " he ex- 
 claimed. " But this is indeed abominable ! What is 
 the aspect of this creature ? " 
 
 " He is tall and very strong, with a red beard 
 and threatening eyes. But you will see him. I pray 
 he may not kill you," said poor Mrs. Lintner. 
 
 " Courage, courage, dear lady," the padre said 
 kindly, and the young girl, looking up suddenly at 
 the slight, cassock-clad figure, seemed to find con- 
 fidence in his face, for she seized his hand and 
 covered it with kisses. " He will save us, mother, 
 I know that he will save us. Oh, padre, take us 
 away from this place or I shall die ! " 
 
 " Be very brave, my child. I will do what I can. 
 Hark ! they are calling me." He moved away from 
 them and passed quickly round the walls. Finding 
 a hole in the ancient stonework, he plunged his 
 
220 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 hand deeply into it, and then stcx>d ready to accom- 
 pany his guide, who threw open the door and called 
 to him in a surly voice : 
 " The captain wants you." 
 
CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 HOW DON Q. BECAME A SQUIRE OF DAMES 
 
 (continued) 
 
 Don Q., resuming his air of gentle amiability, 
 walked back into the great room through which 
 he had come. It was now lit at the further end 
 by a hrazero of glowing charcoal, about which four 
 men were sitting, their faces painted against the 
 dark in red light and black shadow. Don Q. saw 
 now what manner of foes he had to face. These 
 were not lawless or outlawed peasants, such as 
 was the man they had sent to meet him ; in fact, he 
 judged them to be not Spaniards at all, but those 
 cosmopolitan scoundrels, often broken men whose 
 intelligence makes them the more dangerous, who 
 drift from city to city, living by their wits and 
 primed to the most desperate enterprises. 
 
 Don Q.'s eyes hardly swept over the others, but 
 they fixed themselves upon the man whose cloak and 
 sombrero left little of him visible except his heavy 
 frame and short red beard. 
 
 ** Here, you, Dwyer," ordered this personage in 
 bad Spanish, " throw a bit of bark on the brazier, 
 and let us see this fellow." 
 
 One of the men obeyed, and while the bark flared 
 up, it showed not only the unshaven faces of the 
 men dirty and bloodshot, but a great circle of 
 empty space behind them ; yet, so huge was the room, 
 
 221 
 
222 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 that darkness still found an abiding-place in all 
 its corners. It did not take Don Q. a second to 
 realise that he was in one of those old Moorish 
 dwellings from which Tarik may have ridden forth 
 to battle, and over which a thousand years has small 
 power. While thinking this, he took off his hat and 
 bowed gravely and ceremoniously to the group be- 
 fore him. 
 
 The redbeard stood up and, with a burlesque 
 flourish, took off his hat in reply. The face thus 
 shown was remarkable; it shone with that exag- 
 gerated pallor which sometimes accompanies dark 
 red hair; the man's beard did not cover his big 
 thrust-out underlip, which added a savage emphasis 
 to his jeering eyes. 
 
 "I am el capitan," he said; "let us hear your 
 name." 
 
 " I, sefior capitan, am but a poor servant of the 
 Church, and sent by the Consul Ingham to represent 
 him." 
 
 " That is enough. You have brought the ransom. 
 Hand it over that I may count it, for if it be a peseta 
 short—" 
 
 The priest spread out his hands. " But the ladies 
 have not yet been set at liberty," he remonstrated 
 urbanely. 
 
 " Certainly not. The preliminaries must first be 
 gone through. When I have the money, they shall 
 be set free. Hand it over. Do you hear? " 
 
 " But perfectly, senor. Yet I fear I cannot hand 
 
DON Q. AS A SQUIRE OF DAMES 223 
 
 over the ransom unless my instructions be first com- 
 plied with." 
 
 " Let us hear your instructions." 
 
 " That the ladies be .permitted to set out for Mal- 
 aga under proper escort, and that, having given 
 them two hours' start, I then place the ransom in 
 the hands of Don Q., and receive an acquittance 
 from him." 
 
 The captain held his hat on his hip with one hand 
 while he snapped the fingers of the other. " That 
 for your instructions ! " he said. 
 
 " Sefior capitan, I am solemnly pledged to carry 
 through this arrangement," expostulated the padre. 
 
 " We cannot linger here all night," roared the 
 captain. " Hand over the money without delay." 
 
 " I fear it is impossible," returned the priest with 
 a gentle obstinacy that accorded with his cloth. 
 
 " Perhaps you will not think it impossible when 
 you realise your position more exactly. It seems to 
 me that we can take the ransom from your dead 
 body with precisely the same ease as from your 
 living hand. You crow too loudly, my little cock 
 of Spain ! " 
 
 An extraordinary change swept over the face of 
 the priest. 
 
 " Corpse of a scullion ! " he cried. " You are one 
 of those men whom it is good theology to kill ! " 
 
 So appalling was the rancour and energy of the 
 attenuated figure, that the other men leaped up to 
 intervene. But the priest recovered himself quickly. 
 
224 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 " There, there, sefior capitan, forgive my hast- 
 iness. My hot temper makes my life a prolonged 
 penance. I trust I did not alarm you." He included 
 the jvhole party in his apology. 
 
 " Curse your obstinacy ! You won't give up the 
 money? Is that your last word? " 
 
 "It is my last word, save that even should you 
 succeed in killing me, you would not obtain the 
 ransom." 
 
 " Then you have not brought it? " exclaimed the 
 captain, handling the knife in his belt. 
 
 " You mistake. I merely took the precaution of 
 hiding it. How else could a poor churchman inforce 
 these demands upon you?" 
 
 " What if we kill you and the women too? " 
 
 "As to that, we men of the cassock live to die. 
 The ladies, alas! — ^but I will not for a moment 
 believe that you gentlemen of much business ability 
 will lose so large a stake for the want of a little 
 acquiescence with the British consul's demands." 
 
 The big man reflected. " Dwyer," he said sud- 
 denly, " question Carmelito as to the place where 
 this fellow hid the money. He must have noticed 
 something." 
 
 But Carmelito, coming in from doing sentry out- 
 side, pleaded that the night was dark, and that the 
 padre had ridden all the way behind hinx 
 
 " Lose no more time, sefior capitan, I implore 
 you," said the priest. " Without my aid you will 
 in truth never find the ransom. Bring forth the 
 
DON Q. AS A SQUIRE OF DAMES 225 
 
 ladies and send them as far as the high road to 
 Malaga in charge of this excellent Carmelito, and 
 two hours after their departure, by my watch, it 
 will give me great pleasure to produce the ransom 
 and to settle up all outstanding details in a manner 
 that will, I trust, be satisfactory to at least one of 
 us." 
 
 " What guarantee have we that you will carry out 
 your part of the bargain ? " 
 
 " The honour of a gentleman of Spain. And 
 reflect that in case I do not satisfy you, shall I not 
 still be in your power? 
 
 The captain and his companions consulted for 
 some minutes in low tones. It amused Don Q. to 
 see the glances cast at him. After some discussion, 
 the big man gave his orders, Carmelito brought 
 horses to the door, Mrs. Lintner and her daughter 
 were mounted without being allowed to speak to the 
 padre, though the girl looked back at him and 
 kissed her hand, and soon Don Q. heard the hoof- 
 beats of the little cavalcade dying away in the 
 distance. 
 
 The four remaining men stood about the door, 
 and for an instant a temptation assailed the brigand. 
 He would have been more than human had it not 
 done so. His enemies were four to one, but here 
 was a chance for freedom, yet he must redeem his 
 word. On his personal danger he wasted no 
 thought, for with every year the belief in him 
 strengthened that he would not die until certain 
 15 
 
226 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 matters which he had at heart were brought to 
 their appointed conclusion. 
 
 None of the men went out to keep watch in place 
 of Carmelito ; the whole four clustered back together 
 to sit sullenly by the brazero. The position was 
 too strained for silence, and soon such talk began to 
 circulate that the priest begged leave to sit apart on 
 the plea that he wished to pursue certain pious 
 meditations. After some wrangling this was per- 
 mitted, and whenever the scowling syndicate by the 
 brazero looked round they could see the mild padre 
 with his breviary in his hand and his lips moving. 
 Only once as the time dragged on was he directly 
 addressed. Then the captain cried out to know 
 what he was doing, and the answer came back from 
 the padre that he was engaged in praying for the 
 repose of their souls. 
 
 Slowly the minutes filtered by. A storm was 
 beginning to rise, and the trees creaked and sobbed 
 under the gale. The charcoal falling low in the 
 brazier was constantly renewed, and still the un- 
 seemly talk and brutal laughter occupied the group 
 about it. 
 
 So it happened that Don Q. was the first to hear 
 a shout in the wood and the sound of horses gallop- 
 ing furiously. A second later they all sprang to 
 their feet, for a man struck upon the door with a 
 wild cry. 
 
 "The Guardias Civiles! The Civilcs are upon 
 us!*' 
 
DON Q. AS A SQUIRE OF DAMES 227 
 
 The men made a dash for the open, and the 
 captain, with a curse, fired as he ran at the corner 
 where the padre had withdrawn for his devotions. 
 
 But with the earHest alarm Don Q. had darted 
 into the inner room. In a second he reappeared and 
 stood listening to the fight outside. He heard the 
 trampling of horses and the quick fusillade of a 
 running encounter, then a groan or two, and the 
 voice of the officer in command giving sharp orders. 
 There was a lull and then again the noise of the 
 battle boiled up into the night. 
 
 Don Q., with a revolver in his hand, stood beside 
 the open door. The wind roared in the trees over- 
 head, when suddenly the big red-bearded man 
 rushed back into the house. 
 
 " Curse you ! You betrayed us," he cried. 
 
 But Don Q. knocked up his hand. " You fool ! 
 I did not betray you ! " he said, " and I will hide you 
 now. Quick, into the place where the women were ! 
 The civiles are coming. Quick, it is your only 
 chance." 
 
 The big man listened to the running footsteps and 
 voices growing louder. 
 
 " I must trust you," he snarled, and vanished 
 into the inner room. Don Q. pushed to the outer 
 door, and when the first man in pursuit thrust 
 it open he found the fragile-looking padre sitting 
 by the brazero with his hands clasped tightly 
 over his ears. He strode up and touched him on 
 the arm. 
 
228 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 " Did you see him ? One of the villains broke 
 back/' 
 
 " Broke back into this room ? " repeated the padre 
 in astonishment. " Had he come here, I must 
 assuredly have seen him. You are the lieutenant ? " 
 
 " Yes, of the Carbineers. I am glad we were in 
 time, father. The sefiora Lintner told us of your 
 danger." 
 
 The priest raised his hands. "Ah, the ladies, are 
 they safe?" 
 
 " Yes, we met them by chance as I was marching 
 with some of my own men and a couple of civiles. 
 The fellow who was with her bolted at once to 
 give the alarm here I suppose. We galloped after 
 him. You are a brave man padre, although you 
 stopped your ears," said the young lieutenant with 
 a smile. 
 
 '' The sounds of violence are terrifying, my son. 
 Have you seized these unhappy men ? " 
 
 " One is killed, and we have taken two, both 
 wounded. But the red-haired fellow ran back." 
 
 The padre got stiffly upon his feet. " He is skulk- 
 ing among the trees, perhaps," and he accompanied 
 the lieutenant to the door. 
 
 " I will come back for you, padre." 
 
 " No, no my son, do not let me detain you. I 
 will sit here and regain my composure, and later 
 I will take my mule and ride back into Castellano." 
 As he spoke his eyes took on a concentrated stare 
 as he pointed out into the windy dark. ** There, 
 
DON Q. AS A SQUIRE OF DAMES 229 
 
 there, do you not seen him ? There ! he is running, 
 the big red-beard." 
 
 The lieutenant waited for no more; he raced out 
 among the trees, call answered call in the gloom, 
 the Carbineers were systematically searching the 
 wood, but after a time as they drew blank, they 
 carried away their prisoners, and the padre sat 
 down alone by the glow of the brazier. Outside the 
 wind still rocked in the trees and showers of rain 
 beat upon the old Moorish walls. But through the 
 confusion of outer sounds the padre heard a slight 
 stir within. He lifted his head. 
 
 " Why do you not come out, seiior capitan? " he 
 said. " The civiles are gone, and I am quite alone." 
 
 The big man slunk cautiously into the circle of 
 glowing light. " Why did you not give me up to 
 the Carbineers ? " he asked. 
 
 The padre rose to his feet. " Because the settle- 
 ment between us had yet to be accomplished." 
 
 " Some cursed notion of your honour, I sup- 
 pose ? " jeered the other. 
 
 " Exactly, some cursed notion of my honour. 
 Now let us finish our business. First, I must 
 tell you that one of your companions is dead, the 
 others have been wounded and taken away as 
 prisoners." 
 
 The big man laughed indifferently. " Which is 
 none the worse luck for me," he said. " In a syn- 
 dicate the survivor is heir." 
 
 The priest drew a paper from his pocket. " This 
 
230 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 is, I understand, the demand for the ransom sent in 
 by Don Q. And who are you, sefior capitan? " 
 
 " I represent Don Q. Come, if you keep me 
 waiting — " he plucked a knife from his belt. 
 
 " Will you look at this ? " said the padre, offering 
 the paper he held to his companion. 
 
 The big man leant towards the bfazero to read it. 
 It was the original demand, and written across the 
 bottom in a neat angular hand were the words: 
 " Received £6000, 
 
 (signed) *' Don Q." 
 
 " What fooling is this ? " he asked, with a violent 
 movement. "Is this your good faith?" 
 
 The padre sprang back beyond the reach of the 
 blow and then el capitan saw that he held a 
 revolver. 
 
 " You dared to make use of my name for your 
 vile purposes," he said, his voice was low as before, 
 but the tone was changed, " and now you would 
 further dare to question my right of signature? " 
 
 The great red-bearded man drew in his breath 
 through his teeth. " Well," he answered, with a 
 fierce laugh, " you are a master-hand, Don Q. — ^yet 
 I deserve something." 
 
 " True, you deserve something." 
 
 The big man broke into fulsome speech, but all 
 the while he was watching his opponent narrowly. 
 Suddenly he kicked over the brazero: at the same 
 instant a shot rang out. 
 
 Five minutes later the padre upon his mule met 
 
DON Q. AS A SQUIRE OF DAMES 231 
 
 with a pair of civiles in the wood, and exchanged 
 a word or two with them before he rode on, a dark 
 figure against the lemon-coloured dawn which had 
 burned up behind the ilex trees. 
 
 Upon the following day Ingham found upon his 
 office table a packet which he recognised. It bore 
 an inscription: 
 
 " With the compliments of the padre to whom 
 Don Ricardo did the honour of intrusting a delicate 
 and an illustrious mission." 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 HOW DON Q. ATTENDED A BULL-FIGHT 
 
 The return of the milder seasons was always 
 welcome to Don Q., partly because his frail health 
 strengthened in the warmth, but rather perhaps 
 because his solitude was more apt to be broken by 
 events, by comings and goings to and from the 
 world he had so long forsaken. 
 
 With the spring he journeyed to the lower levels, 
 camping in lonely spots but yet within touch of the 
 varied life of the plains. It was on one of these 
 excursions that he received a visitor, long known to 
 him but whose fear was very evident as she trod 
 lightly over the carpet of pine-needles. 
 
 The young girl stood full in the patch of sun- 
 shine, trembling. Suddenly she stretched out an 
 eloquent, sunburnt hand. 
 
 " I have come,** she said, " to seek help from my 
 lord of the mountains.** 
 
 Don Q., withdrawn under the shadow of the pine- 
 trees beside a smouldering fire, glanced at her. 
 
 " Why should I help you ? ** he asked. 
 
 Her tear-filled eyes brimmed over, and her lovely 
 face grew whiter. 
 
 " My lord, I am Valentina ! ** she exclaimed. 
 
 " I know it. You are she to whom the gracious 
 duquesa d'Orava gave the prize as being the most 
 beautiful girl in the province.*' 
 282 
 
DON Q. AT A BULL FIGHT 233 
 
 " Yes, lord," sobbed the girl, as if admitting a 
 crime. 
 
 " You are, moreover, that blue-eyed, black-haired 
 Valentina, for whose sake many fingers have 
 touched the guitar?" 
 
 " Yes, lord," she confessed as piteously as before. 
 Then she broke out with passion. " But I loved 
 only Sebastian ! " 
 
 Don Q. lit a cigarette. "And this Sebastian? " 
 
 " He is gone, lord ! Three days ago he disap- 
 peared, and we were to have been married on Sun- 
 day, the day of the corrida at Zurcanez. If my lord 
 will condescend to hear me. . . . My life is 
 broken!" 
 
 " I do not forget those persons who have per- 
 formed services for me, and you are one of them, 
 Valentina," said Don Q. " Speak, then ; afterwards 
 you can weep, if it be still necessary." 
 
 The girl clasped her hands on her heaving bosom, 
 and plunged into the story of her wrongs. 
 
 " Sebastian was a herder of bulls on the estate of 
 his excellency the Count of Zurcanez. But he had a 
 great ambition." 
 
 ** In what direction did this ambition lie? " 
 
 " Lord, he desired to become a matador, an 
 espada; he was so strong and so brave! " 
 
 Don Q. waved his hand impatiently. " Con- 
 tinue." 
 
 " Sebastian and his father, and also, as far back 
 as the oldest can remember, his people have lived on 
 
 I 
 
234 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 the hither side of the plain of Zurcanez, near to the 
 Marisma de los Antiguos. Always they have served 
 the Counts of Zurcanez, guarding and driving the 
 great herds of bulls. For, as my lord knows, the 
 fame of the black fighting bulls of Zurcanez has 
 spread over the entire world. Never is there a 
 corrida of mark in the plasa de toros, whether 
 it be in Granada, or Seville, or Madrid, but a black 
 bull of Zurcanez tosses his spears in the sunlight 
 of the arena." 
 
 " You wander from your story," interrupted Don 
 Q., gently; "but I will pardon you, although as 
 concerning the bulls of Zurcanez I have forgotten 
 more than you can ever learn. They are truly of 
 a noble breed. But I wait." 
 
 "As I have told my lord, Sebastian and his fore- 
 fathers have been ever in the service of the black 
 bulls. It is they who have watched them on the 
 marches ; it is they who have driven them, led by the 
 bells of the trained oxen, to the bull-rings. More 
 than a hundred men are ganaderos upon the estate, 
 and all of them love their work. Alas! only four 
 days ago life was happy for Sebastian ! " 
 
 " You lose time." 
 
 " Forgive me, lord, but you must know all," said 
 the girl, pleadingly. " During the winter that is 
 past his excellency died. Has my lord not heard 
 how, when he lay sick at the estancia of Zurcanez, 
 he commanded them to throw open the window, 
 and those that were with him supported him to the 
 
DON Q. AT A BULL FIGHT 235 
 
 embrasure, in order that he might once more see 
 the sun shine on the bright black sides of the tried 
 bulls, which at that moment, by chance or by order, 
 passed slowly across the vega before his eyes. 
 Thereafter, in a little while his excellency died, and 
 we upon the estate, for my father is also of Zur- 
 canez, lost a good master and gained a bad one." 
 
 Don Q. frowned. " But I have heard good things 
 of the young Count Ferdinand." 
 
 "All that you heard is true, lord, but he loves 
 to voyage far across the sea. And in his place the 
 seiior Don Jaime del Monte rules at Zurcanez, 
 Lately, at the due season for the trials of the young 
 bulls, Don Jaime came from Madrid. I saw him 
 when the herds were gathered." 
 
 "Ah ! and Don Jaime saw you, Valentina. I have 
 heard that every pretty woman interests him." 
 
 " It was thus Sebastian spoke of him, lord," 
 faltered Valentina, " for he has the jealous eyes of 
 a lover. But I dwell far from the casa on the edge 
 of the Marisma, in a place which it is not good to 
 approach unless one knows the path. But it hap- 
 pened on a day that Don Jaime came shooting teal 
 and duck upon the marshes, and the birds flying to 
 the laguna led him astray, and I heard his cries for 
 help. None other was with me in the house, and I 
 made him a tortilla, and gave him of our country 
 wine, and he lingered a very long time. . . . Thus, 
 when Sebastian heard of it, his heart was hot against 
 Don Jaime." 
 
236 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 "After that Don Jaime came often and spoke to 
 you of the joys of Madrid?" said Don Q. with a 
 sardonic smile. 
 
 The girl looked at him startled. " My lord has 
 already heard of these things ? '' 
 
 " Yes, Valentina, for it is an ancient tale which 
 has been told throughout the centuries to foolish 
 women." 
 
 " But I did not wish to listen to him, lord ! . . . 
 And also Sebastian was ordered to attend to the 
 business of the estate in distant places." 
 
 " And he has always obeyed ? " 
 
 " Not always, lord. And once when Don Jaime 
 spoke to me of Madrid, he heard. I answered that 
 I should never see the gay and splendid things of 
 which the senor spoke. But Don Jaime laughed 
 with words that seemed kind . . . but Sebastian 
 loosened his knife in its sheath, where he lay hidden, 
 for he liked not the colour of that laugh. . . . 
 Nevertheless, Don Jaime has shown favour to 
 Sebastian, and praised him much, and promised to 
 aid him. My lord knows that yearly there is a 
 corrida (bull-fight) held at the season of the car- 
 nival. It is a custom upon the estate. His excel- 
 lency always gave the spectacle to his people. Se- 
 bastian was to be one of the espadas. For months he 
 has talked much of it, for he is a man of a great 
 heart ; and if he did well he would go down to Seville 
 and become famous ! " 
 
 "And you wish this also ? " inquired Don Q. 
 
DON Q. AT A BULL FIGHT 237 
 
 " Do you not know that the great espadas are much 
 adored by women, and have many to love them, 
 even some who bear names hundred of years old? " 
 
 " I have heard it, lord," answered Valentina with 
 a quick sigh. " But it was Sebastian's desire, and 
 I love him. We spoke together of it on Monday, 
 and none have seen him since he left me at my 
 father's house." 
 
 " Perhaps he has gone upon a journey? '* 
 
 She shook her head. " He would have told me, 
 to whom he tells everything." 
 
 " Perhaps he is fickle ? " suggested Don Q. again. 
 
 Valentina laughed suddenly and clearly, her lovely 
 face lighting up. " Oh, no, lord," she said simply. 
 
 Don Q. sat silent for a moment. 
 
 " And why have you not applied to Don Jaime 
 for help ? " he said at last. 
 
 " My father went to the estancia, and there has 
 been much talk, and Don Jaime spoke shameful 
 things — that Sebastian had run away because of 
 fear. . . . None can find Sebastian, lord, and if 
 he does not appear at the corrida many ears will 
 hear Don Jaime's words, and many topgues will 
 ruin his reputation for ever! How, then, can he 
 hope to win a great name in the bull-rings ? '* 
 
 " I will consider the matter, Valentina. You 
 have done well to come to me. Return now to your 
 home and shed no more tears. Go, my child; no 
 protestations, they weary me." 
 
 Don Q. watched the girl descending the hillside. 
 
238 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 She moved with the inimitable grace of an Andalu- 
 cian, and with her went a couple of Don Q/s men to 
 act as guides until she left the region of the sierra. 
 For some time after they disappeared he remained 
 deep in thought. 
 
 Now, it is a fact that had Valentina been a 
 stranger to him, he would in all probability have 
 taken no further interest in her affair, and this for 
 a reason clear enough to his own mind. Sebastian 
 had no claim upon him, and though it pleased the 
 brigand very frequently to be the protector of the 
 poor about the foothills, it was not his rule to 
 espouse individual causes except on behalf of mem- 
 bers of his own following, or of his intelligence 
 department. To these he was ever a staunch 
 friend, and there was not one of them but knew 
 that in Don Q. he or she possessed a mysterious and 
 powerful champion. 
 
 Yet, although they were aware of this fact, ap- 
 peals for help were seldom made, for the man 
 who came into the mountains to ask for justice or 
 the punishment of his enemy without good cause 
 was apt to fall in for punishment himself, and, 
 moreover, to receive it in a form which brought 
 home to him the full enormity of his offence. And 
 it is certain that these qualities of unswerving 
 justice and of equally unswerving callousness had a 
 far-reaching influence upon Don Q.'s career. 
 
 Of the service which Valentina had once rendered 
 to the brigand there is no need to speak at length, 
 
DON Q. AT A BULL FIGHT 239 
 
 for the story has been told elsewhere. It was a 
 sufficiently slight one, but that mattered nothing, for, 
 in the judgment of Don Q., a service done ranked 
 as an obligation, and he would have gone to any 
 personal risk to repay it. 
 
 Towards the middle of the afternoon he called 
 to him one of his band, named Caspar, a sinewy 
 fellow, with a fierce, lowering face. 
 
 " You have a knowledge of the estate of his 
 excellency the Count of Zurcanez? " asked Don Q. 
 
 " I have tended the bulls upon it for many 
 months, lord." 
 
 " That is well. The estate at the moment is 
 managed by a gentleman from Madrid, Don Jaime 
 del Monte. It is now three o'clock, by eight to- 
 morrow evening I shall be within touch of the ilex 
 wood that lies two leagues from the village of 
 Zurcanez. You must also be there to meet me, 
 bringing with you Don Jaime, with whom I desire 
 to hold a conversation." 
 
 " I am at the command of my lord." 
 
 " It is possible you will find Don Jaime riding 
 alone to the house of Jose Carcia, who lives near to 
 the Marisma de los Antiguos, . . . That is your 
 affair. If Don Jaime be not at the ilex wood to 
 meet me I shall hold you responsible. Also Estaban 
 and Grulla, who will accompany you. Con Dios, 
 my child." 
 
 With this softly-spoken benediction Don Q. dis- 
 missed Caspar, and settled down for the evening. 
 
CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 HOW DON Q. ATTENDED A BULL-FIGHT 
 
 (continued) 
 
 It must be admitted that the brigand was 
 devoured of ennui in his mountain fastnesses, and 
 as he sat soHtary his mind went back to the days 
 when old Spain sent forth knights, and after them 
 adventurers on splendid errands of chivalry and 
 conquest. He touched his guitar with absent 
 fingers, and sang in his high, sweet tenor of heroes 
 long dead, who had fought against the Moors and 
 finally rolled back that black wave of invasion 
 from Europe. The truth, indeed, was apparent that 
 the brigand had not been born in the century proper 
 for the calling out of his great gifts. He had a 
 deep feeling for the romance of history. Had he 
 lived some centuries earlier he might, nay, would, 
 have earned true glory and a place among the high 
 names of history and of song, instead of that which 
 fell to his lot in other annals of a more modem 
 and more disjointed world. 
 
 The moon had risen when Don Q. mounted his 
 mule and began his journey towards the ilex woods 
 of Zurcanez. Valentina, making straight for the 
 plains, had probably almost reached her home, but> 
 for the brigand it was imperative to follow a longer 
 route, which wound among the bridle-paths and 
 
 240 
 
DON Q. AT A BULL-FIGHT 241 
 
 lonely defiles of the mountains. The little cavalcade 
 rode all night, at first pursued by wind-voices 
 through the heights, then between the murmuring 
 forests of the foothills, until at length they emerged 
 upon the gentle slopes and marshes where the bull- 
 frogs held their nightly choruses. Thus by day- 
 light they were deep among the blossoming plains. 
 
 But enough of the journey, which, like most of 
 those undertaken by Don Q., did not lack incident 
 of a certain kind. Twice he and his men avoided the 
 guardias civiles, who, in their dark cloaks and three- 
 cornered hats, rode on unsuspectingly; in an even 
 more remote spot they hid themselves until a band 
 of smugglers passed upon their way, who, as they 
 urged their pack-mules along the narrow path, in- 
 voked the name of Don Q. as that of a patron 
 saint, though they might have used it less freely 
 had they guessed to whose ears their idle talk was 
 drifted. 
 
 At about the same hour that Don Q. and his men 
 settled into their concealed camp in the woods, Don 
 Jaime rode out through the early sunshine from the 
 estancia. All the winds of spring were blowing in 
 the lush meadows, and he smiled in unconscious 
 response to their influence. 
 
 In this part of the estate woods ran up into the 
 low hills of the boundaries, and here it was that 
 Grulla acted poacher, and drew Don Jaime on and 
 on into the fringe of trees, where among the gfreen 
 shadows Caspar and Estaban did their part. It 
 16 
 
242 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 suffices to say that six compelling hands, with the 
 aid of a raw-hide rope, performed without hitch a 
 business to which they were well accustomed and 
 by noon the three bandits, with their reluctant 
 charge arrived on the outskirts of that ilex wood 
 indicated by Don Q. 
 
 Presently a little hut showed among the trees, and 
 Don Jaime, finding himself near a dwelling, raised 
 an outcry for help. 
 
 " Psst ! " snarled Caspar, " would you wake the 
 King of the Sierra from his siesta?" 
 
 " What ? " exclaimed Don Jaime, " it cannot be 
 that Don Q. — Such a thing has never yet been 
 heard of at Zurcanez! Speak, at whose orders 
 have you brought me here ? " 
 
 But Caspar's swarthy face had resumed its 
 wooden stare, and he only pushed his captive down 
 the game-track into the recesses of the wood. 
 
 The position of affairs between Don Q. and the 
 owner of the black bulls of Zurcanez needs, perhaps, 
 some elucidation. For many years the brigand had 
 held actual sway over the mountainous districts at 
 no great distance from the estate, and during all 
 those years a mutual tolerance had existed. 
 
 Now, this sentiment of reciprocity, of " live and 
 let live," was not really so strange as might appear 
 at first sight. The old Count had beeen known to 
 nod and smile over those mysterious exploits, which, 
 even in the estancia, were told in hushed tones. For 
 Don Q. had never raided the Zurcanez farms, al- 
 
DON Q. AT A BULL FIGHT 243 
 
 though it would have been easy for him to do so; 
 and, in return, the old Count had held himself neutral 
 when expeditions to harass the brigand had been 
 sent up into the sierra. Many of Don Q.'s best 
 men were drawn from the ranks of the ganaderos 
 (herdsmen) of Zurcanez, but they came back and 
 forth to the village still, and crossed the estate when 
 it suited their plans without question from the 
 Count's people. 
 
 Thus the angry surprise of Don Jaime can be 
 imagined when he found himself face to face with 
 the figure that had become traditional in the plains. 
 But the Count's manager was no fool, and resolved 
 to treat the position as one of friendship. He bowed 
 low, and remained uncovered. 
 
 '' Pray replace your hat, senor," said Don Q. 
 with suavity. 
 
 Don Jaime felt more at his ease, for a welcome 
 guest is often bidden to retain his hat. " I am 
 honoured in being permitted to enter your presence, 
 caballero," he answered politely. 
 
 Don Q. replied to the compliment in form, then 
 looking out over the green plains, which could be 
 seen through a break in the forest, he added, " I 
 think, senor, that this Spain of ours is the saddest 
 country in the wide world. Look upon that land- 
 scape, hallowed by a thousand historical associa- 
 tions. Fernando wandered there, Azara may have 
 looked upon it." 
 
 *' I perceive, senor, that you are something of a 
 
244 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 poet," remarked Don Jaime with a flattering 
 warmth. 
 
 But for some reason his pallid, smiling face dis- 
 pleased Don Q. " I am grateful for your apprecia- 
 tion," he said in a cold voice, " but the charms of 
 this conversation must not permit me to lose sight 
 of the purpose for which you are here. I thank you 
 for so quickly responding to my summons." 
 
 " It came in a form, sefior, impossible to refuse." 
 " My apologies." Don Q. bowed with ceremony, 
 
 then added : " I have sought this interview, Don 
 Jaime, because you threaten me with disappoint- 
 ment." 
 
 " May I venture to hope that it is one which it 
 lies in my power to avert ? " said the other, still 
 smiling. 
 
 Don Q. shrugged his shoulders. " Who knows ? 
 But allow me to explain. I need hardly tell you 
 that I am something of a recluse, and the plaza de 
 toros of Madrid or of Seville is out of my reach. 
 Therefore the yearly corrida on the estate of Zur- 
 canez excites in me an undue interest. You under- 
 stand?" 
 
 " But perfectly, sefior." 
 
 " I was told that this year you had given per- 
 mission to a certain Sebastian of Zurcanez to appear 
 as an espada. Rumour declared the young man 
 to be a promising and courageous young fellow? " 
 Don Q. paused as if for an answer. 
 
 " He has certainly created something of a reputa- 
 
DON Q. AT A BULL FIGHT 245 
 
 tion," returned Don Jaime, with a derisive emphasis 
 on the verb. 
 
 "Ah ! Further, in virtue of your suggestion and 
 the Count's noble generosity, he is to be matched 
 with the gallant and dangerous young bull, Fla- 
 menco. It should prove a remarkable experiment." 
 
 " Do you by any chance honour us by being a 
 spectator ? " inquired Don Jaime. 
 
 " Alas, no ! But news of the result is very quickly 
 transmitted to my poor house in the sierra. . . . 
 Figure to yourself, therefore, my dismay when I 
 heard that the excellent Sebastian had vanished." 
 
 Don Q. waved his cigarette in a manner sug- 
 gestive of complete loss, as though Sebastian might 
 have fallen over the edge of the world into space. 
 
 An odd sideways gleam shot through the eyes 
 of Don Jaime. The brigand marked it and waited 
 to see what it might mean. 
 
 "Vanished?" repeated Don Jaime after a 
 scarcely preceptible pause, then he burst into a fit 
 of laughter. " You have been absurdly misled, 
 caballero! . . . And yet I have heard that your 
 intelligence department is the best-organised com- 
 bination of its kind in Europe ! " 
 
 A frown furrowed the brigand's forehead under 
 his sombrero. " May I inquire the cause of your 
 mirth ? " he asked. 
 
 " I saw Sebastian not two hours before leaving 
 the estancia; he is fulfilling his ordinary duties. 
 I fear, senor, you must buy spectacles for your 
 
246 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 spies!" Don Jaime's temper was a good deal 
 ruffled, and he could not suppress the taunt. " I 
 can assure you that Sebastian is going about his 
 work as usual at Zurcanez, and will undoubtedly 
 appear at the corrida unless his courage evaporates 
 in the meantime." 
 
 "If that be so, sefior, I must ask your forgiveness 
 for taking up an hour or two of your morning. . . . 
 Nevertheless, believe me, I shall hold you responsible 
 for Sebastian's appearance on Sunday," concluded 
 Don Q. with an impressive geniality that somehow 
 brought no sense of comfort to Don Jaime. 
 
 " In the devil's name you cannot be serious ! " 
 he exclaimed. "Why should I be responsible? It 
 is none of my business." 
 
 Don Q. held up his hand. " On the contrary, 
 let me advise you to make it very much your busi- 
 ness," he answered softly. "And now we will 
 drink a cup of wine to the future glory of the black 
 bulls of Zurcanez." 
 
 And here became manifest that touch of com- 
 munity which makes all Spain akin. These two 
 men were enemies and they knew it. Yet heartily 
 they drank together in that delicate vintage wherein 
 Don Q. always pledged his guests; they drank to 
 the fortune of the bullring, to the blazing sunshine 
 and the hot sand, to the gallant and well-armed 
 bull, and to the espada who dealt the death-blow in 
 the most intrepid fashion. 
 
DON Q. AT A BULL FIGHT 247 
 
 Afterwards Don Jaime made his most ceremon- 
 ious farewells. 
 
 Don Q. understood that the little encounter which 
 had just taken place represented no more than the 
 preliminary crossing of swords between two strong 
 antagonists. Don Jaime had yielded with a ready 
 falsehood to the pressure of the circumstances 
 brought to bear upon him ; moreover, he would cer- 
 tainly set Sebastian at liberty; but Don Q. had read 
 the sly gleam in the eyes of his opponent, who while 
 seeming to give way to one attack, was secretly 
 maturing another, and, probably, more formidable 
 one. Reports from Zurcanez proved that Valen- 
 tina's beauty had completely captured the fancy of 
 Don Jaime, and Don Q. judged him to be a man 
 who would not hesitate to compel events to his own 
 ends. 
 
CHAPTER XXX 
 
 HOW DON Q. ATTENDED A BULL-FIGHT 
 
 (continued) 
 
 The matador rises from the tawny earth of Spain. 
 He plays a great part in his own world, for it is 
 necessary to realise the fact that the imaginative 
 Andalucian is accompanied through all his daily 
 tasks by one strong delight of anticipation — ^to see 
 bull and man stand against each other in the breath- 
 less, torrid sunshine of the following Sunday after- 
 noon. Hence the love of the bull-ring can never be 
 quenched, and old men ache through twenty years 
 of exile for the scent of the arena, the trampled 
 dust, the outrageous sunshine, and the wild, fierce 
 game in which the stakes are life. 
 
 Thus it can be understood that his ambition lay 
 deep at Sebastian's heart. For although this was 
 not a fiesta de toros in some historic city, but merely 
 one of those irregular corridas — in which nameless 
 men kill nameless bulls, or are killed by them — he 
 had to-day the great chance of his lifetime, for he 
 was to be pitted against Flamenco. And was not 
 this the reason why so great a throng had gathered 
 even in that lonely place? 
 
 The first part of the entertainment was over, and 
 the people, gesticulating and excited, stood or sat 
 about the rough inclosure of the bull-ring and 
 
DON Q. AT A BULL FIGHT 249 
 
 bought water and sweetmeats and nuts from the 
 shouting vendors who moved about amongst them. 
 It was a bronzed, happy crowd, clad in gay colours, 
 and in spite of its many rags, magnificently appre- 
 ciative of its chance of pleasure. 
 
 So thought a man in a soutana and broad black 
 hat who stood in the dark vestry of the little church 
 and gazed pensively out through the slit of barred 
 window which gave a view of the arena. For it 
 is a law of the bull-ring that a doctor and a priest 
 shall be in attendance. At Zurcanez a barber repre- 
 sented the first, and luckily, as the good priest of the 
 village had been called away, another of his cloth, 
 journeying to Cadiz, had opportunely offered his 
 services. It was he who stood with his hands behind 
 him, looking out, now at the various faces in the 
 tumultuous throng, now at the raised chair of the 
 president, where Don Jaime sat, pallid and listless, 
 acting his part as if it bored him. 
 
 In him centered the whole management of the 
 occasion ; it was by his order the trumpet blew which 
 marked the different phases of the fights. 
 
 Already one bull had been killed, a somewhat 
 tame performance, for the animal had been young 
 and unwilling to face his tormentors. But now the 
 people were again beginning to gather about the 
 barriers, shouting and calling for the great event 
 of the day. 
 
 The door of the vestry opened softly, and Valen- 
 tina stood white as ashes amongst the cool shadows, 
 
250 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 where in past years many a young aspirant to bull- 
 ring fame had sobbed out his life. 
 - "Lord, I fear!" she said. 
 
 Don Q. turned back to look at the beautiful, 
 troubled face. 
 
 "Sebastian is a man of courage?" he asked 
 coldly. 
 
 " Sebastian is as brave as a lion, lord ! But 
 Flamenco — lord, Sebastian is here — " 
 
 "He would speak with me? Enter, Sebastian. 
 Go you, pray to the saints, my child," he added to 
 Valentina as the young bull-fighter entered. 
 
 Sebastian bowed low before Don Q. " Will my 
 lord forgive me, but it may be that to-day I shall 
 receive the horns of Flamenco," he paused. 
 
 Don Q. met the steady dark eyes, and the words 
 he was about to speak were not spoken. 
 
 " No, lord," resumed the young man, smiling 
 sadly, " I have no fear ; but it may be if I die that 
 Don Jaime will carry away Valentina." 
 
 " Be w^ell assured, Sebastian, that shall never be." 
 
 Sebastian laughed a little. " I thank my lord. 
 Now I go to give or take the death-blow." 
 
 Outside a shout arose. " Flamenco ! " the people 
 cried, " Flamenco ! " and then " Viva Don Jaime ! 
 Viva! Viva!" 
 
 The crowd were praising Don Jaime, because he 
 had given them a great bull, a named bull. Fla- 
 menco! The bull that had killed Solito, a bull 
 almost without a peer in the herd, worth, so men 
 
DON Q. AT A BULL FIGHT 251 
 
 said, four hundred dollars in Seville or in Granada. 
 
 *'Toro!" they screamed "Bravo, toro!" as 
 Flamenco swung out into the centre of the ring. 
 
 The spectators were good judges of bulls, and 
 in Flamenco they could find no fault. He was 
 standing sullenly with his head held low, but moving 
 his feet a little, and as the muscles rippled undef 
 the skin, he showed a lighter shade than the jet- 
 black hides of the Zurcanez breed usually exhibited. 
 The men appraised him point by point, the small 
 strong hoofs, the straight, sharp " spears," a head 
 and muzzle fine and well bred, a mighty neck — 
 oh, a great bull, without blemish, perfect! 
 
 Inside that humble ring such a bull had never 
 stood before! Even the children cried his name; 
 but Valentina looked at Flamenco and her heart 
 died in her bosom, for he had a reputation, this 
 Flamenco, he was a carnicero, a slaughtering bull — 
 it was said that he disregarded lures and attacked the 
 man behind them. 
 
 What followed is best taken from the autobiog- 
 raphy of Don Q. 
 
 "At Zurcanez, they have, alas ! no picadores ; but 
 the men on foot in the arena began the attack in 
 a manner that I applauded from the vestry, for it 
 was bold and prettily done, although they were 
 persons of small experience. A single banderilla 
 had been successfully planted in the neck of Fla- 
 menco, and, in truth, the first assaults upon the 
 bull were just developing themselves, when the signal 
 
252 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 was given for the espada, the final trumpet was 
 blown ! 
 
 " There were cries of protest raised by the crowd, 
 who desired to see Flamenco played for the usual 
 period, until, as is our custom, the animal tires 
 somewhat. ... I heard Valentina shriek, for she 
 also realised at that moment that the life of an 
 espada lies in the hands of the president. Never in 
 all my years of connection with the bull-ring, never 
 have I seen the like! That an espada should be 
 called upon to face a strong and cunning bull so 
 long before the appointed moment was a matter of 
 shame. But Don Jaime sat immobile. 
 
 " I chanced to look round for Sebastian, and what 
 I saw pleased me. Without hesitation he strode 
 towards the bull, upon his face came no shadow of 
 fear. He knew how great was his peril, and also 
 how great was the honour to be gained by death in 
 such a manner. Forgetting certain things which 
 at another moment I might have remembered, I 
 hastened out to take my place at the barrier." 
 
 So far Don Q. 
 
 Sebastian moved out towards the bull. He was 
 a tallish fellow, slight, with a wiry strength that 
 was apparent in every graceful, balanced movement. 
 His handsome face showed a pale glow as of 
 triumph. Those who came from afar questioned 
 who was the Sebastian that he should be honoured 
 in facing this superb bull? A bull worthy of the 
 foremost diestros, of Espartero, of Lamartijo ! 
 
DON Q. AT A BULL FIGHT 253 
 
 " Demonio ! " said another, " he will pay for his 
 honour, for this Flamenco should have given us 
 much sport before the trumpet sounded. See, he 
 is unspent and in the full tide of his strength. He 
 is, moreover, a murderous one, and of a cunning 
 brain. I who speak, know, for am I not the 
 ganadero who has tended him these two years 
 past?" 
 
 Flamenco stood waiting in the middle of the 
 arena, with characteristically lowered head, and 
 from his long horns fluttered rags torn from the 
 cloaks of the chulos. A hush stole down through 
 the simshine over the heated, frenzied crowd, as the 
 young espada looked up at Don Jaime in the presi- 
 dent's seat, and, lifting his hand, spoke the approved 
 formula, then flung his hat upon the ground, and 
 advanced, covering his straight matador's sword 
 with the red flag rolled on a stick that is called 
 the muleta. 
 
 Flamenco stood still watching him, then made a 
 sudden charge, which Sebastian avoided. The 
 espada came forward once more. He spoke a little 
 to the bull as he approached — ^matadors often do- 
 but the soft words did not penetrate to the barriers. 
 The red flag fluttered out into the brilliant sun- 
 shine towards the bull, as he came thundering down. 
 Sebastian, scarcely moving his feet, swayed to one 
 side, but Flamenco, as he hurtled past swerved also, 
 and his long, left horn tore open the flesh of the 
 espada' s thigh. 
 
254 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 There seemed to be no one near Sebastian at 
 the moment, and in that moment Flamenco turned 
 short to charge him again as he lay half stunned 
 and struggling to rise from the ground. But be- 
 fore any of the toreros could reach him, the slight 
 shape of the priest sprang forth from the barrier 
 and flitted out across the sand. With a pass of his 
 cloak he drew the deadly rush upon himself. The 
 sight of the incongruous black figure seemed to 
 strike the people breathless. 
 
 ''Ay di me! the good father," sobbed out a woman 
 suddenly, " this demon of a bull will of a surety 
 kill him!" 
 
 And this seemed not unlikely, for Flamenco 
 charged furiously, head down, grunting, as he came. 
 But in the same instant the fear of the spectators 
 changed to a delirium of acclamation, for the priest 
 with a little skimming movement of nimble feet 
 eluded the attack, and then the chulos came into 
 play. 
 
 " Suerte de la capa! " yelled the crowd in ecstacy. 
 
 The priest extended his hand, and Sebastian 
 scrambled to his feet, but, badly wounded as he was, 
 he would not leave the ring. He stood uncertainly, 
 then found his feet and waited for the bull. 
 
 As soon as his bloodshot gaze found Sebastian, 
 Flamenco charged again. The young espada met 
 him in full career and thrust, following with his 
 body the lunge of the long blade. 
 
 Valentina covered her eyes, but the silence which 
 
SKBArriAN FELL FULL LENGTH BESinE THE DYING BULL. 
 
DON Q. AT A BULL FIGHT 255 
 
 hung over the vital moment broke up into a roar. 
 " Buen estoquc! Good thrust!" 
 
 And she looked again. The great bull was upon 
 his knees, blood gulping from his mouth, while 
 between his shoulders protruded the hilt of Sebas- 
 tian's sword, which he had no longer strength to 
 withdraw. He glanced round, as if he would have 
 thanked the people for their applause, then fell full 
 length beside the dying bull. 
 
 It was twenty-six hours later. In the little lonely 
 chapel far among the mountains a light burned. 
 Don Jaime had ridden many hours and by many 
 rough paths to this remote place. From time to 
 time he had threatened the half-dozen wild moun- 
 taineers, who forced his mule to its best pace, with all 
 the penalties of the Spanish law. None heeded 
 him, and none answered. Finally gagged, and 
 with his hands bound, he was hustled in upon the 
 outskirts of the congregation to witness the pic- 
 turesque marriage ceremony going on within. Don 
 Jaime looked round. Never had the walls of any 
 church inclosed such a gathering. On all sides wind- 
 reddened, swarthy men met his gaze. Away under 
 the lights of the altar he could see the blue-eyed, 
 black-haired bride, and Sebastian's worn, handsome 
 face, bloodless, against the dusk. 
 
 Then it was over, the priest and his acolyte with- 
 drew, and presently only three people beside him- 
 self remained, the young bride and bridegroom and 
 
256 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 a cloaked figure whose name Don Jaime did not 
 need to ask. 
 
 " Receive my blessing, my children/' said Don Q., 
 " as well as that which the good father has bestowed 
 upon you. Here is part of my wedding-gift. This 
 will enable you to live until your wound is healed, 
 Sebastian, and you have won another step or two 
 towards your ambition." 
 
 The young couple would have kissed his hands, 
 praying blessings upon him. " None in all Spain 
 is so great as my lord, so good to the poor ones ! " 
 they said. 
 
 " I trust so. I trust so, my children ! " inter- 
 rupted Don Q. " But, see, the remainder of my 
 wedding gifts stands yonder." 
 
 Sebastian turned his eyes in the direction indi- 
 cated. He expected to see a mule, or perhaps a 
 horse, but he met instead the angry stare of Don 
 Jaime. The gag had been taken from his mouth, 
 and he broke into a flood of words. 
 
 ** From all of which," said Don Q., as he paused, 
 " I gather that you misapprehend the situation. 
 Over your fate I claim no power. It rests entirely 
 with Sebastian. As president of the corrida, you 
 attempted by foul play to cause his death; and, 
 further, you brought much discredit upon the whole 
 practice of bull-fighting, a terrible crime in one who 
 holds an official connection with the ring. There- 
 fore, nothing now remains but for Sebastian to 
 pronounce your sentence, and for Caspar and Rob- 
 
DON Q. AT A BULL FIGHT 257 
 
 ledo, who wait at the door, to carry it out. . . . 
 What should you desire to be done with this person, 
 Sebastian ? " 
 
 Valentina pulled her husband's sleeve, and the two 
 whispered together for a moment, before Sebastian 
 spoke. 
 
 " We would intreat my lord to advise us." 
 
 " That is very well said, Sebastian. Come, let us 
 hold our little council together." 
 
 The three stood in the shadows out of earshot, 
 whilst Don Jaime cursed bitterly to himself. In a 
 short time Don Q. clapped his hands, and two of 
 his men entered. 
 
 " Don Jaime," said the brigand, " you will be 
 given the night in which to consider your sins before 
 the shrine, but as soon as it is light enough for 
 them to see the sights of their rifles my men will 
 lead you out and clear Sebastian's account with 
 you." 
 
 Don Jaime heard the sentence as in a dream, as 
 in a dream he saw the beautiful face of Valentina, 
 inexorably cold, and Sebastian's expressionless 
 acquiescence. He would have spoken if he could, 
 but while he collected his thoughts they were gone. 
 
 He was unbound and left to wear the long night 
 through in the chapel. For hours he walked up and 
 down the narrow floor; again and again he drew 
 himself up to the barred window and looked out at 
 the almost motionless forms of his two guards, 
 17 
 
258 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 backed by the gaunt, moonlit sierra. During the 
 early night an imprisoned bird fluttered and beat 
 against the higher windows. 
 
 Purple dark had given place to moonlight, and 
 the moonlight was waning when, utterly wearied 
 out, he fell into a doze, from which he started awake 
 with the dull knowledge of impending catastrophe. 
 Already the bird was moving in the dusk of the roof, 
 and a pale luminance in the air heralded the day. 
 Soon it would be possible for the guards to see to 
 shoot! With a catch at his breath, he stumbled to 
 the window, but his eyes fell on vacancy — they were 
 perhaps already in the porch ! He crept to the door 
 and tried it softly. It was locked. Outside the sun 
 changfed the dawnlights from green to orange. It 
 was full day! . . . Oh, why did they not come 
 and put an end to this dreadful expectancy? 
 
 As his eyes passed round the interior, they fell 
 upon something which shone white against the dark 
 wood of the door. A written paper and a key ! 
 
 Don Jaime held it up to the light now streaming 
 in. 
 
 " It is unlucky to marry and to kill within the 
 same twenty- four hours. Therefore you are free; 
 but, should you offend again, there will be no 
 pardon.*' 
 
 Don Jaime thrust the key into the door, opened 
 it, and with the free wind on his face fell forward 
 in a dead faint. The bird which had been his fellow 
 prisoner flew out over his unconscious body into 
 the sunlight of the morning. 
 
CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 HOW DON Q. PLAYED SUBSTITUTE 
 
 The years wore away, and as they passed the 
 aspect of life changed under the eyes of Don Q. Old 
 memories could never change; yet old duties, old 
 interests which had held him with strong hands it 
 seemed but yesterday, were weakening, fading, and 
 leaving him free to a freedom lonelier than the bond- 
 age of the past. 
 
 For many weeks strange happenings had been 
 taking place in the Boca del Lobo, events such as 
 were unique in the history of the sequestradores. 
 Day by day men were sent for to the cave of Don Q., 
 and they came forth from it with set look and closed 
 mouths, then within the hour they departed, wearing 
 the faces of men with a mission, down the moun- 
 tains. One by one they went their way, until at last 
 scarce a score of bandits were left by the fires ; these 
 talked much among themselves, but their conversa- 
 tions, carried on at every expedient interval, left them 
 none the wiser. Of all the band, one only knew the 
 purpose of Don Q., that one was Robledo, who on 
 a certain windy evening heard it with a growing 
 wonder. 
 
 " Robledo, my child," said Don Q., " have you 
 ever been told of a country called Mexico? " 
 
 259 
 
26o DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 " Is it not the place, lord, where all men ride upon 
 horses? " 
 
 " That is the place. I am going there." 
 
 "And my lord will return," said Robledo, with the 
 air of a man stating an incontrovertible fact. 
 
 " It may be, Robledo ; again it may be that I shall 
 not return." 
 
 " I am ready, even at this instant, to accompany' 
 my lord," exclaimed the young mountaineer. 
 
 " That cannot be." 
 
 Robledo clenched his hands with a wild gesture. 
 " I am again to be separated from my lord ? " 
 
 " You will remain in Spain, Robledo." 
 
 The young, worn, handsome face blanched. " I 
 cannot ! " 
 
 " Not if I command ? " inquired Don Q. 
 
 " If my lord commands, I will remain in Spain 
 until he has gone." 
 
 "And then, Robledo?" 
 
 " I will leap from the Salto del Lobo. Who 
 am I that I should live when my lord has de- 
 parted?" 
 
 "And what of Isabellilla, your wife?" 
 
 " She would be the first, lord, to point out the 
 track to the Salto del Lobo ! " 
 
 Don Q. paused for a moment. Anyone watching 
 his frown would have thought he was about to 
 repel Robledo, but as the silence lengthened, and as 
 he looked upon the stricken face of the young man. 
 his own grew softer than any in the sierra had ever 
 
DON Q. PLAYS SUBSTITUTE 261 
 
 seen it, the lines about the mouth passed away, and a 
 fire almost of geniality burned in his eyes. 
 
 " I think we shall have to go together, after all, 
 Robledo; we three, who have been linked together 
 for so long." 
 
 Perhaps this is the single record of Don Q/s 
 unbending to one of his followers. At this, Robledo, 
 carried out of himself, raised the shrill halloo of the 
 Andalucian cazador. At once the frown settled back 
 on Don Q.'s brows. 
 
 " You forget yourself strangely," said he. 
 " Should such a thing occur again, I shall be com- 
 pelled to beg you to take the path to the Wolf's Leap 
 without delay." 
 
 It is hard to say when the idea of leaving the 
 Spanish sierra first found footing in the mind of 
 Don Q., but once there, during the long and lonely 
 days and yet longer nights — for the brigand had 
 suffered for years from insomnia — it grew stronger 
 and more definite. 
 
 " I have long since reached the apex of my 
 career," he wrote in his autobiography. " One by 
 one those of my blood have ceased to need my sur- 
 veillance. Many of my old enemies are dead. Yet 
 I linger here surrounded by savage and illiterate 
 men, and from time to time it comes to me that I 
 can no longer support the desolation of my existence. 
 From the endless battle which has raged between 
 me and the authorities I can now retire with all the 
 honours of war — at least from the arena of crag 
 
262 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 and peak, though not perhaps from the struggle of 
 life. Over there, far away in the New World, it is 
 possible that a career awaits me, if I bid farewell for 
 ever to the sierra." So Don Q. 
 
 The days which followed found him in the vortex 
 of orderly preparation that heralded his departure. 
 Among many matters which claimed his attention, 
 not the least was the collection by trusty hands for 
 shipping out of Spain of the accumulation of 
 treasures which during many years he had secreted 
 in various parts of the sierra. There were also a 
 hundred cases of reward and payment, punishment 
 and discharge to occupy each waking hour. So it 
 may be readily imagined that the last few weeks 
 spent in the Boca del Lobo were among the busiest 
 and most harassing of his whole career. But at 
 length all was done, only a short dozen of men re- 
 mained by the fires below the terrace, Caspar, Grulla 
 the Crane, Esteban, Drumio, and a few others. 
 Robledo was already away upon his master's busi- 
 ness, and then at last there came a morning when 
 these men received each a warning and a reward 
 before they filed out of their lord's sight, as he 
 believed, for the last time. They marched to a 
 camp that he had, as a measure of precaution, 
 ordered them to keep up for one month at some 
 miles' distance, and five hundred feet nearer heaven. 
 
 With noon a strange quiet brooded over the valley, 
 in the sunlit hours which followed, a scattering of 
 jays, emboldened by the unusual silence, flew out 
 
DON Q. PLAYS SUBSTITUTE 263 
 
 from among the pines to strut, and pry, and peck 
 among the ashes of the dead fires; then came eve- 
 ning, with its chill wind whistling through the empty 
 chozas. The lonely figure sat at the cave-mouth 
 and looked down, for the brigand, in his relation to 
 inanimate nature, was strangely enough something 
 of a sentimentalist. So as the hours went by he for- 
 got the solitude he had endured, his mind dwelt more 
 upon the hours of success, the exploits and achieve- 
 ments of decades of a guerilla warfare, and upon 
 the pleasures of companionship which he had enjoyed 
 there. But whether it was with sorrow or with joy 
 that he took his leave of the sierra no one will ever 
 know. It is characteristic that upon this point his 
 autobiography is silent. 
 
CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 HOW DON Q. PLAYED SUBSTITUTE — {continued) 
 
 Three days later Don Q., all these thoughts 
 shaken off, emerged among the vineyards, which here 
 abut upon the foothills. In front of him stretched 
 out all the possibilities of a new life, a life to be 
 lived far away, a life in which he must exchange the 
 pine for the palm. But he did not forget that un- 
 counted chances of danger and of death lay between 
 him and that future. Yet it was with a lightening 
 heart that the brigand on his horse ambled slowly 
 down the winding road. A shower had fallen, 
 and awakened from the earth a hundred scents of 
 sweetness and of growth. Far away across the 
 grey olive-groves and the vivid vine-tendrils, a new 
 day was rising out of Africa. 
 
 It was his habit to travel by night and to lie up 
 by day; but at this point of his journey he turned 
 away from the vine-clad country to a desplodados 
 of sandhills and undulating land, which had for the 
 most part fallen out of tillage. But there were 
 neglected woods still crouching in the hollows, and 
 olives, old, gnarled, and forbidding, within broken 
 hedges of cactus and prickly pear. Don Q. urged his 
 horse to a gallop, for day was breaking into sunlight 
 and although the district seemed deserted he knew 
 
 264 
 
DON Q. PLAYS SUBSTITUTE 265 
 
 that he had now left the wide sphere of his influence, 
 where hundreds of chosas, vent as, and posadas 
 sheltered each the head of an adherent. 
 
 Every mile as it dropped behind added now to the 
 peril of his position. His destination was an old 
 casa de vinos, sl lodge about which once clustered 
 a vineyard of repute, but that had long lain deserted. 
 The building had been turned to his own uses by one 
 Ramon, who kept an obscure inn, which, as a matter 
 of fact, was little frequented save by smugglers, and 
 by those who sought safety in seclusion. This 
 Ramon was well known by Don Q., to whose intel- 
 ligence department he had for years past supplied 
 aid and information. 
 
 It has been often said that Don Q. had the senses 
 of a hunter. His long existence in the mountains, 
 far from the dulling influences of civilised life, had 
 sharpened his faculty of observation. Thus, as he 
 cantered forward in the broadening day, he saw 
 on the trampled sand of the roadside a tiny dark 
 spot. He drew up his horse upon its haunches and 
 dismounted swiftly, then, stooping, he found it to 
 be a drop of blood still wet and crimson. He walked 
 fifty yards before he found a second, and another 
 thirty before an almost continuous trail drew him on 
 and through a break in the cactus hedge, where 
 under the dusty olive-trees, nearly hidden behind 
 a thicket of thorns, he was aware of something, a 
 patch of brown amidst the withered green of the 
 thicket. Nothing moved as he pushed nearer, and a 
 
266 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 moment later he was standing beside the body of a 
 man. 
 
 The man lay with his face buried in the crook 
 of his arm, his legs outstretched in an ungainly 
 sprawl. As he fell so he must have died, for his 
 body was still warm. Don Q. turned him over. 
 Wayside tragedies are not uncommon in a land 
 where the passions rise to fever heat in a moment; 
 but this Don Q. saw at a glance was no ordinary 
 case of a quarrel and a murder. 
 
 Although he was dressed in the costume of a 
 peasant, this fellow, with his heavy-featured face 
 and reddish moustache, was no son of Spain. More- 
 over, the man had been shot in the back. What 
 could it mean? From the faja, which he wore 
 Spanish fashion about his waist, peeped a glint of 
 white ; it proved to be the edge of a letter addressed 
 to the sefiora Garcia, a name far from uncommon 
 in Spain. 
 
 The dead man had evidently been a messenger, 
 and it looked as if he had escaped from his assailants 
 only to die in a thicket with his charge still safe in 
 his possession. That he would be followed was 
 certain, and Don Q., who had once before been to 
 Ramon's, and thus knew something of the ground, 
 determined to approach the posada from the back. 
 He led his horse over a rocky ridge dipping into 
 a wooded valley and a couple of hours later dis- 
 mounted again to reconnoitre the house. From the 
 angle at which he came upon it, it presented a white 
 
DON Q. PLAYS SUBSTITUTE 2.67 
 
 wall to the eye, blank save for a narrow-slatted 
 window in a low tower which squatted on the roof. 
 How closely connected with his own fate that 
 window was yet to be he did not guess. 
 
 Leading his horse, he advanced quietly until he 
 could tie the animal to the branch of a tree. Then 
 with noiseless footstep he emerged from the wood 
 and walked round to the front of the building. 
 
 A man, with an air of a town-dweller rather than 
 that of a peasant, was shading his eyes from the 
 sun as he stared down the track which led past the 
 door. 
 
 " Ramon," said Don Q., softly at his side. 
 
 The man started violently, and turned pale under 
 the unwashed brown of his skin. There could be no 
 question about the fact that Ramon was in a desper- 
 ate fright. 
 
 " Vuesencia, excellency, you must fly ! " his shifty 
 eyes dropped before Don Q.'s. 
 
 The mystery was growing no clearer. " I will 
 at the least drink some water from the jarro" said 
 Don Q. 
 
 Ramon unhooked the porous four-mouthed jar 
 from the wall, and the brigand, holding it high, 
 poured a stream of cool water down his throat. 
 
 " Vuesencia, do not delay ! There is great 
 danger ! " urged Ramon again. 
 
 ** But the contrabandista I was to travel with, 
 where is he? You expected me at this hour! " 
 
 " Even so, Vuesencia, therefore I looked for you 
 
268 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 on the road. Tolome will not pass by to-day, for 
 the Carbineers may arrive — and if it came about 
 that my lord was captured in my poor house (which 
 is his and all that is in it) I should never survive 
 the memory." 
 
 " That, indeed, is more than probable," agreed 
 Don Q., grimly. It was quite possible, he thought, 
 that the fellow had betrayed him, although he lacked 
 courage to confront the moment when his treachery 
 should be revealed. 
 
 " I will go with you into the house, for you must 
 g^ve me a handful of olives and some bread," said 
 the brigand. 
 
 " No, no, Vuesencia, no ; if you love your life ! " 
 
 " Who have you within? " asked Don Q., harshly. 
 
 Ramon wrung his hands together. " None, lord." 
 
 Even as he spoke, Ramon stretched out an elo- 
 quent hand. 
 
 " They come, excellency ! They come ! " he cried, 
 as he broke into a loud lamentation. " If you are 
 captured in my poor house, Robledo and Caspar 
 will undoubtedly sharpen their knives for my 
 body—" 
 
 But Don Q. took no heed of Ramon. His eyes 
 were bent upon the road, along which a number of 
 horsemen were galloping. He looked round. The 
 inn stood upon bare, open ground, with no cover 
 within three hundred yards of it. His horse was 
 weary with a ride of thirty miles, he could not 
 escape by riding. In a moment his plans were made. 
 
DON Q. PLAYS SUBSTITUTE 269 
 
 He did not know who these horsemen could be nor 
 their object in coming there, and no time remained 
 in which to ask questions. Don Q. ran into the inn, 
 stood for a moment glancing at his surroundings, 
 then, perceiving a ladder which evidently communi- 
 cated with a loft in the tower, he at once commenced 
 to climb it. Beneath him Ramon said something 
 which he could not catch. Don Q. snarled back a 
 threat, flung open the trap-door, and sprang into 
 the loft, letting the flap of the door fall to behind 
 him. 
 
 He had expected to find the loft almost dark with 
 perhaps a feeble glimmer of evening light coming 
 through the fixed slats of the window. But, to his 
 surprise, a lantern burned dimly in a far corner. He 
 stopped and looked round trying to pierce the gloom. 
 The place seemed empty, save for a broken chair 
 and a heap of dried grass at one side. A slight move- 
 ment behind the lantern startled him. 
 
 " Who is there? " he asked sharply. 
 
 The answer came at once. *' I should rather ask 
 who are you that intrude upon me in this manner ? " 
 said a woman in good Spanish. 
 
 A woman! The voice was clear, well bred, and 
 haughty, but Don Q. stood silent for a second, for 
 two facts met in his mind. The question had been 
 put in good Spanish, but with the accent of a 
 foreigner — the man he had left dead among the dry 
 cactus leaves half-an-hour ago wore a Spanish 
 dress, though he also was a foreigner. 
 
270 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 ** Ten thousand pardons, seiiora, I was told the 
 loft was empty." 
 
 " Then the fellow down below has betrayed me." 
 
 ** No, for I took the law in my own hands and 
 come up here to escape from a party of people who 
 are riding hard this way." 
 
 He could hear her catch a sharp breath in the 
 darkness, but she spoke in a steady voice. 
 
 "Are they hunting you? " 
 
 " No ; yet I prefer not to be seen. An idea strikes 
 me, you are the sefiora Garcia ? " 
 
 " Why should you think so? " 
 
 " Because a letter addressed to you has just come 
 into my possession. Read it quickly, for it has 
 escaped the hands of your enemies, and we may be 
 able to help each other, you and I, since we seem to 
 be companions in misfortune." 
 
 Don Q. picked up the lantern and held it while 
 she read. He saw a delicate young profile, shaded 
 by heavy, fair hair, but the eyes she raised to his, 
 when she finished the letter were dark, and, though 
 she seemed little over twenty, they wore a look of 
 settled sadness. 
 
 " Where is de Vassen ? It was he who should 
 have brought this to me." 
 
 " I fear you will not see him again. He was a 
 brave man." 
 
 The noise of hoof-beats and loud voices outside 
 interrupted him. 
 
 " Listen, senora ; do you know who speaks ? " he 
 
DON Q. PLAYS SUBSTITUTE 271 
 
 pointed downwards to the room below, where they 
 could hear men moving with clanking spurs. 
 
 ** She is here ! We know she is here ! Come, tell 
 us without delay where she is hidden ! " the tone 
 was thick, with a hectoring accent. 
 
 " I do not understand, excellency," Ramon's reply 
 sounded shaky enough. 
 
 Don Q.'s companion laid her hand on his arm. 
 " That thick voice is Baron Yusiloff's. What shall 
 I do?" 
 
 " Will you allow me to advise you ? See, I will 
 lie down behind the grass, and you must place the 
 lantern near the trap-door, and when they come you 
 will rush forward as if you expected de Vassen. 
 They will need food and the horses rest before they 
 take you away, and will probably let you stay up 
 here alone; I may then be able to aid you. It is 
 the only possible plan by which I can hope to escape 
 notice." 
 
 " I swear to you, excellency, there is nobody 
 here," Ramon was repeating drearily downstairs. 
 
 **Pah! the fool lies! She must be here, and 
 de Vassen with her ! " Yusiloff exclaimed. " Here, 
 you Alsin, search that room, I myself will attend to 
 the loft." 
 
 The sefiora Garcia took the lantern. " Go, I will 
 do what I can," she whispered. 
 
 Don Q. had hardly thrown himself down behind 
 the hay when the trap-door was pushed up, and the 
 head and shoulders of a big fat-faced man were 
 
272 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 thrust through in company with a huge hand hold- 
 ing a revolver. 
 
 The sefiora Garcia sprang forward. " Oh, it is 
 you at last, de Vassen? Why did you not come 
 sooner? " she cried. 
 
 Yusiloff laughed unpleasantly. " I am sorry to 
 disappoint your highness, and to present to you only 
 poor Franz Yusiloff, instead of the traitor, de 
 Vassen, who, I have the happiness of informing 
 your highness, is probably by this time dead ! " 
 
 The lady stood silent while he shouted the news to 
 his friends below. 
 
 " So we have found you,'' he added, as he raised 
 himself through the door in the flooring. " So, so! 
 I knew the innkeeper lied." 
 
 " To overtake a woman who has lost all her 
 friends is a triumph to boast of, Yusiloff," she said, 
 and Don Q. noticed that she spoke as a woman 
 accustomed to the privileges of rank. 
 
 "At least my master will think it so," Yusiloff 
 retorted. 
 
 "And now that you have discovered me? " 
 
 " We shall take you back again with us to the 
 paradise from which you escaped, madame," sneered 
 Yusiloff, as he moved about the loft, tapping the 
 beams that formed the shell of the tower, and almost 
 treading upon Don Q. where he lay under the heap 
 of grass. 
 
 " Do we start at once ? " inquired the lady, coldly. 
 
 " No, madame, not even to suit your convenience. 
 
lu uwKi/iKr. A VKiMAN WHO HAS LOST ALL HER FRIENDS IS A 
 TRIUMPH TO BOA&T OF." 
 
DON Q. PLAYS SUBSTITUTE 273 
 
 We must rest and eat. For the moment your place 
 of refuge must become your prison." 
 
 He began to climb back clumsily through the 
 trap-door and onto the ladder, but his head had 
 hardly disappeared before he thrust it up once more. 
 
 " You are surprised that I should trust you alone, 
 you who are so clever in escaping? " he said scoff- 
 ingly. " Let me tell you why. There is not one 
 man of your retinue left alive in Spain to aid you ! " 
 
 The trap-door banged above his head, as the lady 
 sank upon her knees beside the heap of grass. 
 
 " Do not move yet," she whispered, " for Yusil- 
 off is very crafty. Wait until they begin to eat. He 
 always overeats, and will be drowsy. Ah, sefior, 
 I knew it must come to this ! I knew that I could 
 never escape! My husband will be waiting for me 
 at Gibraltar; and what will he do when he hears 
 that they have taken me back again? Oh, it is too 
 hard to bear ! " 
 
 " Where would they take you, madame, these 
 men?" 
 
 " To the prison from which I escaped. They 
 call it the Convent of the Sacred Cross. It is not 
 a convent, it is an asylum, where the inmates are 
 not mad ; their one offence is that they stand either 
 by birth or marriage within the inner ring of 
 royalty. The tragedy of my life is known to the 
 world because I attempted to escape two years ago. 
 It was Yusiloff then who captured me! Without 
 him the others are nothing." 
 18 
 
274 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 Don Q. made no answer. He knew now who 
 she was, this girl of a noble family whom a prince 
 of the proudest royal house in Europe had married. 
 He seemed to be forgiven, his wife was received at 
 Court. It was soon suggested that he should go on 
 a voyage half round the world. The invitation was 
 no less than a command. Long months passed over 
 but he would not return, for false news had been 
 sent to him that his wife had become mad. How 
 she had attempted to escape and failed was a story 
 told by every newspaper in the world. 
 
 Don Q. moved quietly. "You must not fail 
 again, senora," he said. 
 
 Although it had been clear day when Don Q. 
 reached the casa de vinas, the evening had now fallen 
 and was rapidly deepening into night. In the tower- 
 loft the lantern still faintly lit the warm dusk, and 
 soon the air was penetrated with the odours of cook- 
 ing and of wet dust, as the party below prepared 
 for their meal, while one or two of the servants 
 watered the horses outside. 
 
 "Ah, sefior, I have no hope. My enemies are too 
 strong for me. Yusiloff will carry me back, and I 
 shall be shut up for all my life in the Convent of the 
 Sacred Cross — those four dreary walls beside a 
 dreary Belgian river. My husband gave up every- 
 thing to marry me; we only wanted to be happy 
 together, Ferdinand and I." 
 
 " Do not lose hope, madame," said Don Q., very 
 gently. 
 
DON Q. PLAYS SUBSTITUTE 275 
 
 " Can I help it ? They have killed poor de 
 Vassen ; you heard Yusiloff say it. And there is no 
 one else." 
 
 "All the world sympathises with you." 
 
 She laughed bitterly. " Yes, the newspapers took 
 up my case ; they all meant well, they were all sorry, 
 and they did me the greatest dis-service — no enemy 
 could have done more against me ! " 
 
 "Ah, I understand. Your portraits, madame! 
 Even I myself — " 
 
 " You knew me at once, senor, that is what you 
 would say? Alas, yes, my photograph was pub- 
 lished over half the world. There lies my worse 
 peril — that is why I find it so hard to escape ; every- 
 one can recognise me." 
 
 " Nevertheless, do not give up hope." 
 
 " Oh," she cried, " I would rather fall into the 
 hands of Don Q., the brigand of the mountains,, 
 than into Yusiloff's. He would treat me better." 
 
 " I am very certain that he would do so," said 
 Don Q. 
 
 " My one hope is that we may all of us be cap- 
 tured by his outposts." 
 
 Don Q. shook his head sadly. " I fear that can- 
 not be," he said. 
 
 "Why not? "she cried. 
 
 " Because his outposts are no longer in their 
 places." 
 
 " You take from me my last hope." 
 
 " Not quite the last," said Don Q. " For, although 
 
276 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 his outposts are withdrawn, pray accept the man 
 himself as your champion." He bowed to the 
 ground, and sefior Garcia, who had heard, as, 
 indeed, who in Spain had not, of the exploits of the 
 lord of the mountains, stared at him in wonder and 
 not a little fear. 
 
 " You Don Q. ? " she cried. " You that terrible 
 man ? Oh, it is impossible ! " 
 
 "And why, madame, is it impossible?" 
 
 " Seiior, she faltered, " your sympathy. ..." 
 
 "Ah, madame, it has been my fate to draw my 
 sword in many a good cause. Never, however, in 
 a better than that in which it is now bare." 
 
 The enemies of Don Q. may find many a fault in 
 the woof of his character; nor is that wonderful, 
 since it had been woven in such wild scenes as few 
 have lived through. But the fact cannot be denied 
 that he possessed a quality of sympathy and under- 
 standing such as is shared by few. His companion 
 laid her hand upon his arm. 
 
 " It is whispered in the plains that you are about 
 to leave the mountains and your old mode of life. 
 Have you repented of your determination ? " 
 
 " Madame," said Don Q., "I never repent. I 
 am even now on my way to the coast." 
 
 "And you would stay and risk all your future for 
 a woman of whom two hours ago you knew noth- 
 ing? You must not do it! I cannot allow it. I 
 will not drag others with me, and certainly not you, 
 sefior, out of the sunlight of life ! " 
 
DON Q. PLAYS SUBSTITUTE 277 
 
 " Do not fear for me, madame. I have known 
 little sunlight for many years, and " — ^his tone 
 altered — " I have sent enemies more brave and more 
 dangerous than yours into the darkness." 
 
 His companion was about to speak again, but he 
 motioned her to be silent. 
 
 " If my presence displeases you," he said, " I 
 will go down the ladder at once, and see if I cannot 
 for my own convenience reduce the number of your 
 enemies. I will do this because I understand clearly 
 that you do not look upon me as a worthy 
 champion." 
 
 " You are wrong ! You are wrong ! I have met 
 many men who pride themselves on chivalry, but I 
 could not wish for any in distress a worthier champ- 
 ion than yourself." 
 
 "And I could pray for no other epitaph," returned 
 Don Q. " Come, madame, let us take counsel to- 
 gether, and I foresee that your charity will soon be 
 enlisted in paying for masses for the soul of the chief 
 of your enemies." 
 
 It must be remembered that these words sounded 
 not in the ears of the ordinary woman of to-day, 
 but in those of a girl, who had seen many sad things 
 in her short life, for the clock of the seventeenth 
 century has not yet ceased to strike in Central 
 Europe. Therefore it was with a sigh of relief, 
 which in itself showed how great the tension had 
 been, that she, who called herself senora Garcia, now 
 finally capitulated, and rested her future actions 
 
278 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 upon Don Q. He, on his part, assumed at once that 
 air of cheerfulness which always came to him in 
 moments of action. Gone was the little dark mis- 
 anthrope, who had wended his way through the 
 bleak bridlepaths of the mountains ; it almost seemed 
 as if another man had taken his place. 
 
 He signed to her to follow him to the window, 
 and with the lantern began to examine the slats 
 which filled up the opening. Each one was fixed, 
 and it looked as if it would take a good hour's work 
 to remove them. But immediately he set to the 
 task, while his companion held the light as he sawed 
 at the wood with his knife. They had to move and 
 work with caution for the old timbers under their 
 feet acted as a sounding-board, so that some time 
 elapsed before the cool breeze of the night blew in 
 upon them. No word passed between them, though 
 scraps of talk from the room below floated up to 
 them through the cracks of flooring. 
 
 " I say, Baron, had we not better send a man out 
 to keep watch on the horses ? " 
 
 " Mind your own business, Alsin ! There is no 
 one left to run away with her highness now that de 
 Vassen is dead," came Yusiloff's reply. " Let the 
 fellows rest, when we start we must ride fast." 
 
 Meanwhile, as each slat was loosened, it was 
 placed softly on the floor, until at length Don Q. 
 peered out and pointed across the broad open space, 
 all misty with starlight, which lay between the house 
 and the bluish-black background of a wood. 
 
DON Q. PLAYS SUBSTITUTE 279 
 
 " Do you see that light far away? " he said. " It 
 is in a farmhouse on the lower shoulder of the great 
 mountain, Sabio Blanco. . . . That light must be 
 your guide. ... I shall endeavour to let you down 
 from this window without attracting the attention of 
 these rascals down below. It is risky, but I see no 
 other way." 
 
 " Let us go at once," replied the girl, steadily. 
 
 " But listen, sefiora. You will find my horse in 
 the wood ; mount him and ride down hill out of the 
 wood, then make straight towards the light and 
 you will come upon a broad road that approaches the 
 farmhouse. Half-way along this road it is joined 
 by a track that leads away to the right; follow it 
 until you reach a choza of reeds in the heart of a 
 coppice. At this time of year it is deserted. Rest 
 there and wait for me." 
 
 " Why will you not come now? " she said. 
 
 " Because your escape would at once be dis- 
 covered. They have been reassured by hearing us 
 moving. It is necessary that I stay while you gain a 
 good start." 
 
 " I cannot go and leave you here." 
 
 " I fear that you have no choice," said Don Q., 
 *' for otherwise we shall be taken together. When 
 you are safe from harm I shall make my escape. If 
 you will not think of yourself, I beg you to consider 
 me. 
 
 She took him by the hand. 
 
 " You are generous," she said. " Well, I go, and 
 
28o DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 if I escape and reach the place of which you have 
 told me I will wait for you there." 
 
 Without further delay Don Q. twisted his cloak 
 into a rope, and, by the aid of a loop made of his 
 coat, he lowered his companion to the ground. 
 Then he watched her as she stole away through the 
 starshine and faded into the shadows of the wood. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 HOW DON Q. PLAYED SUBSTITUTE — (continued) 
 
 Don Q. with a light step crossed the floor, and 
 looked down through a crack in the boards upon the 
 scene beneath. 
 
 The meal was long since finished, and beside the 
 broken pieces which remained half the company 
 were sleeping in their chairs. Evidently they had 
 ridden both far and fast. 
 
 At one end of the table, however, Yusiloff and 
 another man were carrying on a conversation, 
 and almost the first words which Don Q. was 
 destined to hear proved to him the necessity and 
 wisdom of the step he had taken in remaining 
 behind. 
 
 " I do not hear her moving," said Yusiloff. 
 
 " Bah, she is tired and sleeps. She cannot 
 escape." 
 
 " Still, I take no risks. It would go ill with us 
 if we failed." 
 
 At the words Don Q. rose and began to pace up 
 and down, down and up, in imitation of the step of 
 the sefiora Garcia. The manoeuvre had its effect, 
 for the sullen murmuring of voices showed that 
 Yusiloff, his suspicions lulled into security, had re- 
 newed his conversation. 
 
 Meantime the night wore on, the moon rose and 
 
 281 
 
282 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 shone above the trees, the eagle-owl alone of living 
 things sent forth his raucous voice over the sleeping 
 world. Two hours and more passed, and already 
 Don Q. had begun to think that the time had come 
 to follow, when a noise of trampling sounded below, 
 and then Yusiloff's voice, " Go on with the men, 
 Alsin; I will follow with madame." Don Q. knelt 
 down to take a final look into the room beneath. 
 What he saw caused him to start back in surprise. 
 
 Yusiloff was alone. Cautiously and silently, 
 he was collecting all the furniture into one great 
 heap, having first removed the ladder which com- 
 municated with the loft. His intention was plain: 
 he intended to burn the posada, and in it the woman 
 he believed to be imprisoned in the room above. 
 
 Don Q. did not wait for an instant. He stepped 
 out upon the roof, and, fixing his fingers in the eaves, 
 dropped to the ground. The drop was a long one, 
 and he fell somewhat heavily, but struggled quickly 
 to his feet. Looming large in the moon-mist, and 
 tied to a hook in the wall, were the two horses 
 intended for Yusiloff and his prisoner. He cut one 
 clear, and led it away. A hundred yards from the 
 inn he mounted and rode round to the front, and for 
 several minutes sat in the saddle awaiting the devel- 
 opment of the situation. Everything was silent, 
 save that in the distant wood the eagle-owl still gave 
 forth his wild cry. 
 
 At length against the background of starry sky, a 
 plume of smoke crept upwards, followed by a 
 
DON Q. PLAYS SUBSTITUTE 283 
 
 stronger one, and then by a burst of flame. The 
 door of the posada was flung open, and Yusiloflf 
 dashed forth. Don Q. fully realised the dastardly 
 nature of the man's stratagem and stood ready to 
 pluck the vengeance which was ready to his hand. 
 He came out from the darkness like some Spirit of 
 Destruction, and met the big man as he rushed from 
 the shell of the burning inn. He carried a revolver 
 in his hand, and as he ran he exchanged shots with 
 Don Q. Both men hit their mark, but whereas 
 Yusiloff's bullet passed through the top of Don Q.'s 
 shoulder, the one which he received in return 
 brought him to a stand. He spun half round on his 
 heels and fell tearing at the ground with his fingers. 
 Don Q. turned, and without troubling to look at his 
 antagonist rode away in the direction of Sabio 
 Blanco. 
 
 It was morning before Don Q. arrived at the path 
 which led to the deserted chosa. The wound in his 
 shoulder had begun to bum and ache so severely 
 that he was hard put to it to ride the last leagues of 
 his way. With a sigh of relief he recognised the 
 figure of sefiora Garcia in the low door-way. 
 
 "Oh," she cried, "so you have escaped them? 
 What is the use of words ? I shall never forget the 
 service you have done me." 
 
 " I beg you will not speak of it. In an hour a 
 certain Tolome, a contrabandist a, will be here. He 
 will conduct you across the mountains to Gibraltar 
 and to freedom." 
 
284 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 "And you, what of you? " 
 
 " As to me," said Don Q., " with your permission, 
 I will continue the journey into the course of which 
 your Serene Highness brought so pleasant an in- 
 terruption." 
 
CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 HOW THE END CAME 
 
 For many days Don Q. had lain sick in the shelter 
 of the woods which clothe the eastern slope of Sabio 
 Blanco. He had been wounded at the posada of 
 Ramon; the bullet had splintered the bone of his 
 left shoulder, and he had barely been able to gain 
 the shelter of the wood. There could be no doubt 
 he was very ill by the time that his trusted servant, 
 Robledo, travelling to meet him, had seen far away a 
 wisp of smoke steal up against the lemon-coloured 
 dawn, followed by a second smoke, and had made 
 speed to obey the signal. Thirty hours later he 
 found his master. 
 
 It was fortunate for Don Q. that it was Robledo 
 who thus found him, for the shock of the wound, 
 the heat of the sun, and the hours of exposure had 
 done their work, and the brigand was far gone in 
 delirium. When Robledo chanced upon him he was 
 sitting beside a fire of leaves and twigs in the grip 
 of his temporary madness. A pine-marten from his 
 hole in a decaying tree looked down upon the man 
 who had invaded his solitude with wondering eyes, 
 and already a vulture had signalled to his fellows 
 across the ether that matters which might be of 
 ultimate interest to his kind were developing in the 
 warm darkness of the woods below. 
 
286 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 Now, Robledo el cazador had slain many an ibex 
 upon the great mountain of Sabio Blanco, so that 
 neither its woods nor its rocks held any secrets from 
 him. He lifted his master's light weight in his 
 sinewy arms, and, having stamped out the fire, 
 passed higher up the mountain with his burden. 
 Upon the very rim of the timber-line he built a 
 shelter of branches, thatched it with moss, performed 
 such rough surgery as he was capable of, and there 
 and then commenced his wrestle with Nature for 
 Don Q.'s life. 
 
 To describe in detail the succeeding days would 
 be tedious. Twice Robledo went down the moun- 
 tain, and each time the farmers of the foothills were 
 forced to lament his coming in loss of stock. Kids 
 and fowls he raided, and a water-skin full of milk. It 
 proved the resource of the man that at his second 
 visit he caught and carried oflF a milch goat, which 
 he conveyed, protesting, across the saddle of his 
 mule to his camp under the very brow of Sabio 
 Blanco. 
 
 At first all Robledo's nursing had but a disappoint- 
 ing result. Day by day Don Q. grew weaker and 
 weaker, took little nourishment and was alternately 
 assailed with paroxysms of dry heat and fits of 
 devastating ague. The meat diet on which he was 
 forced to subsist inflamed his wound, and the reac- 
 tion lowered his vitality. Indeed, the arrival of the 
 milch goat was the event from which may be dated 
 the improvement in his condition. Once he had 
 
HOW THE END CAME 287 
 
 turned the corner, however, his progress was both 
 swift and satisfactory. 
 
 But with his improvement a new factor came into 
 the scheme of his Hfe. The farmers began to notice 
 the depredations of Robledo, depredations which at 
 first they had been satisfied to place to the account of 
 accident, or to the agency of the two or three families 
 of lynxes which eked out their existence among the 
 crags and thickets of the mountain. But, at length, 
 when it became necessary for Robledo to " borrow " 
 a couple of warm capas, a saucepan of iron, and 
 sundry bags of flour, the farmers began to suspect 
 that the creatures of prey had been reinforced from 
 the ranks of humanity. 
 
 Fortunately for the two outlaws, the mind of the 
 Spanish farmer of the despoplados works slowly. 
 Manana — to-morrow, is still the most hard worked 
 word in their vocabulary, and beyond the fact that 
 they reloaded the old muzzle-loading guns which 
 hung upon their walls, they took for the moment no 
 other definite step, and this omission of theirs had 
 doubtless an important bearing upon the course of 
 events. 
 
 No sooner had the fever left his frame than Don 
 Q. began to mend rapidly, so that the time soon 
 came when he was so far restored to health as to be 
 able to talk to Robledo, and to discuss, plans for the 
 future. 
 
 " Had it not been for this wound of mine, both 
 you and I would in all probability be upon the ocean 
 
288 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 and already nearing the coasts of Mexico. Should 
 you be glad, Robledo ? " 
 
 " I desire to be where my lord is," answered the 
 young mountaineer. 
 
 " In truth I believe you do, Robledo. But when 
 one has lived such a life as yours has been, one is 
 apt to find an existence lived under the shadow of 
 the law a trifle insipid. At least, so I should 
 imagine,'* continued Don Q., speaking more to him- 
 self than to his companion, " though, indeed, I do 
 not speak from experience. But my words are, I 
 fear, a little above your intelligence, my child; yet 
 I think you will understand me if I sum up the 
 matter in a proverb : * No meat is as sweet as 
 that which one poaches from the land of an enemy.* 
 Is not that your opinion?" 
 
 " Yes, lord," said Robledo with fervour. Before 
 he became a brigand, or, indeed, afterwards, the 
 cazador had rarely missed an opportunity of poach- 
 ing a deer or a bustard from the neighbouring 
 estates. A passion for illegitimate sport burned 
 unappeasably in his blood. 
 
 Don Q. sighed. Then in his characteristic 
 manner he brushed away speculation and began io 
 address himself to the problem of the moment. 
 
 " In a very few days I shall be strong enough 
 to travel. To-morrow you will go to Castelleno 
 and arrange with Tolome, the contrahandista, that 
 we meet him in the defile of the Black Pine Trees." 
 
 " Yes, lord." 
 
HOW THE END CAME 289 
 
 " Tolome will conduct us across the further 
 passes. We will take boat in one of those small 
 bays which lie at the foot of the cliffs and arrive 
 by night in the harbour of Gibraltar. Once there 
 we can embark for England, and from England 
 to Mexico is merely an affair of days. You will 
 arrange, Robledo, that we meet Tolome on the 
 night of Friday. It cannot be sooner, for my 
 strength is not yet whole, and it must not be later, 
 because of the waning moon. We shall need her 
 light to show us the path over the passes. And now 
 make up the fire, fill the jars with water, and when 
 I wake to-morrow be six leagues upon your way." 
 
 19 
 
CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 HOW THE END CAME {cOfltiflUed) 
 
 In the town of Castelleno, upon the outskirts of 
 the poor quarter, is a Uttle desolate street that 
 possesses a very evil reputation. The dwellers in 
 this street seem never to sleep, or if they do so they 
 choose unusual hours. Often when the rest of the 
 town is overlaid with a mantle of silence, the brown 
 dust of the Calle San Jose is disturbed by the hoofs 
 of mules, and its echoes softly wakened by the 
 contrabandista^s password. 
 
 About one o'clock in the small hours of Wednes- 
 day morning Robledo, afoot and leading his mule, 
 crossed the wooden bridge which gives upon this 
 street. He passed on the left-hand side of the open 
 drain, which flows down the centre of the road. 
 The choir of bull-frogs in the valley behind him 
 sent up their " koax, koax," to the stars. Robledo 
 knocked a couple of times in a peculiar manner upon 
 the door of one of the houses. A man opened it. 
 A few words passed, and Robledo found himself 
 in a large, low apartment considerably below the 
 level of the street. 
 
 A hrasero in one corner sent forth a glow against 
 the ruddy background, of which one or two figures 
 were discernible. A few kegs with some square 
 
HOW THE END CAME 291 
 
 cases, which, to the initiated eye, could contain 
 nothing but tobacco, littered the floor. 
 
 Tolome hesitated, then spoke. 
 
 " We have here," he said, " the makings of much 
 trouble were we discovered. If you were to walk 
 in the Calle and make up your mind concerning the 
 weather — " 
 
 Robledo bowed, and took the hint. He con- 
 sidered it had been coarsely conveyed. Tolome, 
 of course, wanted to secrete his spoils in some hid- 
 ing-place, and equally he did not wish Robledo to 
 learn where that hiding-place was. Both were men 
 who lived in defiance of the Spanish law, and, as 
 such, were both subject to a certain unwritten code 
 of honour. 
 
 " Does the hill-thief think that I would betray 
 his house and salt," muttered Robledo, " that he 
 turns me thus into the street? If I were here upon 
 my own business I should give him a lesson." 
 
 The particular form which Robledo's lesson 
 would have taken can be guessed. In the Calle San 
 Jose such are given only with the knife. But Rob- 
 ledo remembered in time that he was the mes- 
 senger of Don Q., and he had served the brigand too 
 long to dream of turning aside from his commands 
 to dally with a merely personal affair. So when at 
 length Tolome sought him in the moonlight, with 
 profuse apologies, Robledo waved his hand, re- 
 marked : " It is less than nothing," and entered the 
 house, where at once the two fell to business. 
 
292 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 Of all that they said it is necessary to set forth 
 but little. Suffice it that one spoke few words and 
 the other yet fewer, that they conversed in a 
 language hard to understand owing to the strange 
 slang which makes up three-fourths of the contra- 
 bandista's daily vocabulary, and that half-an-hour 
 had not gone over their heads before Robledo's 
 errand was complete, and Tolome had arranged to 
 be at the rendezvous appointed by Don Q. early 
 on the night of Friday. 
 
 Now fate so ordered that while Robledo was 
 talking with Tolome in the San Jose, Sub-Lieu- 
 tenant Gregorio Merou, of the Carbineers, was 
 stationing his score of men in the shadows out- 
 side it. 
 
 This Merou was a hard, short man, chiefly re- 
 markable for a mouth which seemed to suck all his 
 words inwards. He wore, also, large round 
 spectacles, which hid a pair of dismal, unfriendly 
 eyes. Such was the outward appearance of Greg- 
 orio Merou, yet it is but fair to say that his record 
 belied it He had risen from the ranks, and had 
 been concerned in the capture of the famous gipsy 
 Salto in the Pyrenees ; later he had been transferred 
 to Andalucia, where he at once had set himself, 
 with all the cold and passionless, yet immutable de- 
 termination inherent in his character, to break up the 
 many bands of smugglers and petty footpads which 
 infested the district. 
 
 It was some time — though Tolome was unaware 
 
HOW THE END CAME 293 
 
 of the fact — since the pale eyes behind the spectacles 
 had first dwelt upon his doings. But from the 
 moment they did so the goings out and comings in 
 of the smuggler had become a source of continual 
 interest to Merou. 
 
 " There rides the man who shall bring me my 
 full lieutenancy," the Carbineer reflected, and he 
 began to watch for an opportunity to take Tolome 
 red-handed. That opportunity had at length come. 
 All day and all through the early night Merou and 
 his men had ridden hard on the track of the contra- 
 bandistas, and now they were but awaiting a 
 signal to crown the affair with a capture. Merou, 
 indeed, had already pressed the official whistle to 
 his teeth when Robledo, having said his farewell, 
 stepped out into the night. 
 
 The events of the next few moments included a 
 struggle, in the course of which the hrazero was 
 overturned, and knives and bludgeons did their work 
 in the dark. But the odds of twenty to two made 
 the result a foregone conclusion, so that when a 
 candle of fat was lighted, its radiance shone over 
 the complete victory of the law. Thereupon fol- 
 lowed the searching of the house. Contraband 
 goods were hauled from their shy retirement, and 
 set forth in a damning array upon the earthen floor. 
 Merou took an inventory of them in his methodical 
 fashion, while the wife of Tolome, a dark, 
 dishevelled Toledan girl, wept noisily and fiercely 
 from the stool by the hrazero. 
 
294 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 At length Merou, having finished his task, crossed 
 the room and stood looking down at his captives. 
 
 " Here, one of you," he ordered, turning to his 
 men, " bring the Hght so that we may see what 
 birds we have caught in my net. Ah, you, Tolome ! 
 But who is this? I don't know this fellow's face." 
 He touched Robledo with his foot. " Your name ? " 
 he demanded. 
 
 Robledo made no reply. He knew from experi- 
 ence that the less a man says when he speaks with 
 the law the better it is for himself. 
 
 There followed a silence, during which Merou's 
 attention was attracted by the dry sobbing of the 
 woman beside the hrasero. Suddenly she rose to 
 her feet, and came slowly forward. 
 
 " What are you going to do with my husband? " 
 she demanded in a dazed voice. 
 
 Merou pointed to a corner of the room where 
 one of his men was nursing a wounded shoulder. 
 
 " That was your husband's work," he said grimly. 
 
 " If the man dies but that is unlikely. And 
 
 so, I think, it will be Ceuta — ten or perhaps fifteen 
 years of Ceuta, the convict-prison in Africa." 
 
 The officer paused. In spite of his own habitual 
 silence he always encouraged his prisoners to speak. 
 He was well aware that in the horror of the early 
 moments of arrest tongues are apt to be loosened, 
 and not once but many times he had profited by the 
 fact. 
 
 " We have only been married three weeks," cried 
 
HOW THE END CAME 295 
 
 the Toledan. " You will take him to Ceuta, and 
 I shall never see him again. Ai ! Ai ! Will noth- 
 ing soften your heart? " 
 
 Merou smiled icily. " Nothing will make me 
 for^o my duty." 
 
 " Nothing? " said Tolome, suddenly. 
 
 " Nothing that you can offer." 
 
 " Do not be too sure of that." 
 
 A tone in his prisoner's voice arrested the atten- 
 tion of Merou. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " he asked. 
 
 " Suppose," said Tolome, " I were to offer you 
 a prisoner in exchange for myself, a man beside 
 whom I am nothing. A man whose capture would 
 bring you a captaincy ! " 
 
 " There is only one man in Spain, if, indeed he 
 be still in Spain, whose capture would bring me 
 that," said Merou, quietly. 
 
 "And if I show you how to take that man ? " 
 
 " Tolome," cried Robledo suddenly, " you are 
 mad ! What is your life that you should — " 
 
 " Silence! " snarled Merou. " But, pah ! I waste 
 time. How should you be able to do what you 
 boast of? Beside it is reported that Don Q. has 
 escaped out of Spain. What have you to say to 
 that?" 
 
 " He is escaping. He has not yet escaped." 
 
 "How do you know?" 
 
 " Because this evening there came one with a 
 message to me from Don Q. The message com- 
 
296 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 manded me to meet him punctually at — at a cer- 
 tain place from which I was to conduct him across 
 the mountains. 
 
 "Who brought the message?" 
 
 " Robledo," answered Tolome, flinging the last 
 shreds of compunction to the winds. " Robledo ! 
 His servant. Now do you believe me? Now will 
 you let me go free? Ah! Keep him off! Keep 
 him off!" 
 
 At the words, in spite of his bonds, Robledo had 
 hurled himself upon the traitor, striking and kicking 
 him as the two rolled together in the dust. 
 
 In an instant the troopers had dragged them 
 apart. As they did so Robledo spat full in Tolome's 
 face. 
 
 " I spit in the face of a traitor I Early may it 
 decay in death ! " said the young brigand, bitterly. 
 
 It was thirty-six hours later, and each one of the 
 hours seemed to Robledo an intrinsic part of a 
 long and evil dream. After he attacked 
 Tolome in the house in the Calle San Jose, he was 
 taken outside while the smuggler spent the better 
 portion of an hour in talk with Merou. What 
 passed between them Robledo did not know, but 
 presently Merou came out from the inner room, 
 his usually expressionless face lit with excitement. 
 As he walked he muttered, " What a hand to play ! 
 Oh, what a hand ! " 
 
 A dozen minutes were occupied in an ague fit of 
 preparation, and then at a word of command a 
 
HOW THE END CAME 297 
 
 couple of troopers bound Robledo upon a mule, 
 and the whole party, including Tolome, mounted 
 and passed away out of the sleeping town. Dawn, 
 which surprised the cavalcade upon a lonely road in 
 the despoplados, also discovered to Robledo the main 
 details of the trap which was to be laid for Don Q. 
 The dozen Carbineers, who formed the Sub-Lieu- 
 tenant's command, had divested themselves of their 
 uniforms and assumed instead the gaudy dress of 
 sierran contrabandistas. Evidently the scheme was 
 both simple and adequate. Don Q., suspecting noth- 
 ing, would be at the rendezvous in the defile of the 
 Black Pines, and he would walk unsuspecting into 
 the hands of his enemies. Robledo groaned when 
 he thought of it, passed the time sullenly in killing 
 Tolome in imagination by various and dreadful 
 deaths, and filled in the intervals of these dreams 
 with strange fierce little prayers to such saints as he 
 thought were best fitted to help him in his need. He 
 was a man of the hills, knowing little of the great 
 world. 
 
 So the time went by, and hour by hour, as the 
 party wound deeper and deeper into the sierra, Rob- 
 ledo began to wonder more and more what part in 
 the forthcoming drama he himself had been cast 
 for. Why had they brought him? But as to this 
 he remained ignorant until the final hours of the 
 Thursday night. 
 
 That evening the Carbineers camped in a wood 
 some five miles distant from the defile of the Black 
 
298 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 Pines. Through the trees Robledo could see the 
 white head of the mountain Sabio Blanco. He had 
 been fastened to a log, and as he lay counting the 
 stars between the tree-tops, the young mountaineer 
 broke suddenly into song. The words which he 
 sang had long been popular upon the country-side 
 where years before a belief had become current that 
 the man, if ever there came to be such an individual, 
 who killed or captured Don Q., would have to 
 deal with those powers of darkness to whom the 
 brigand was supposed to owe and pay a sinister 
 allegiance. This is a rough translation of the words 
 of the legend which Robledo sang : 
 
 " And he shall never know again 
 The joys of sunlight or of rain. 
 He nevermore shall see his wife. 
 The darkness closes, and his life 
 Is forfeit to the ghost and ghoul. . . . ** 
 
 So far had Robledo gone when Merou leaped up 
 from his place by the bivouac, strode across to the 
 singer, commanding silence. Robledo perforce broke 
 off while Merou scowled down at him. 
 
 *' I have heard those words before," he said, 
 " why do you sing them now ? " 
 
 " It may be that you will hear them again. As 
 to why I sing them I do not know. They came to 
 me, as it were, out of the darkness." 
 
 The Carbineers had clustered round. One or two 
 crossed themselves. 
 
 " Other things come to me also," said Robledo. 
 
HOW THE END CAME 299 
 
 "It seems to me that I hear voices singing for 
 the souls of the dead, and I see seven black 
 crosses ..." 
 
 *' Two will be enough," said Merou in his cold 
 voice. " One for the old panther and one for you." 
 
CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 HOW THE END CAME — (contiflUed) 
 
 Whether it was due to the words of Robledo 
 or to other causes, such as the excitement of the 
 preceding hours, one thing is certain, the party 
 that two hours later passed into the defile of Black 
 Pines was strung to a nerve-breaking tension. In 
 front rode Tolome, and as he neared the mouth 
 of the gorge he gave the musical and peculiar call 
 which is the shibboleth of outlawry. They paused 
 for an answer. On all sides under the moon rose 
 the grim, black crags which could have hidden an 
 army. 
 
 The night had fallen quite still, so still that far 
 away upon Sabio Blanco the strange cry of a 
 questing lynx sounded like a whispered incitement 
 to the deeds of the hour. Beyond that there was 
 no answer. Once again Tolome lifted up his voice 
 and sent his call and signal climbing the crags, and 
 once again the party in the gut of the defile held 
 their breath and waited. 
 
 In those slow seconds Robledo, gagged and 
 bound, hoped against hope. But, alas! this time 
 the signal was answered, and a figure rose from its 
 lair in the rocks above them. Robledo recognised 
 and watched it with agony of solicitude. 
 
 " Tolome ! " cried the voice of Don Q. 
 
 aoo 
 
HOW THE END CAME 301 
 
 " I am here, lord," answered the traitor. 
 
 *' Good," said the voice from the cliff. " But 
 where is Robledo?" 
 
 " By , the villain is suspicious. There's but 
 
 one way." Merou tore the gag from Robledo's 
 mouth and thrust a pistol-barrel into his back. 
 '* Shout that all's well. Shout! Wave your hat! 
 Send your voice to him! Do it, and you shall go 
 free, like Tolome! Refuse, and I blow you in 
 pieces ! " 
 
 Robledo worked his dry and shrunken tongue 
 round his mouth. For ten full seconds an intense 
 and monstrous silence gloated above the drama. 
 
 Then Robledo found his voice, and sent it ring- 
 ing in harsh and whistling cadence up the cliffs. 
 The words he used are not known nor ever will 
 be. Each teller of the tale gives them a different 
 rendering. But one thing is certain. 
 
 As the message which Robledo shouted came to 
 the ears of Don Q., a reply rang back : " Bravely, 
 my child, bravely ! " and a sudden smile gleamed 
 out upon the worn face of the young moun- 
 taineer as his shattered body fell forward upon 
 his mule. 
 
 For a little space the Carbineers did not move. 
 The involuntary pause was their unintentional 
 tribute to the manner of Robledo's death. Merou 
 was the first to recover himself. He shouted out 
 orders. At the same instant from the strip of 
 brushwood upon the rugged hillside a bullet was 
 
302 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 sent upon its way. Then another. Tolome pitched 
 forward from his saddle and lay drumming his heels 
 upon the hard road. 
 
 *' Open order ! " roared Merou. " Open out! Up 
 the hill! Up the hill! There he goes. Shoot! 
 Shoot!" 
 
 The figure of Don Q. had shown for an instant, 
 to be saluted by a volley. He seemed to stagger. 
 
 " He's down ! He's hit ! " shouted the Carbineers, 
 as their blue, jagged shadows disappeared in the 
 dusk of the woods. 
 
 But, though it was quite true that a stray ball 
 from Merou's revolver had given Don Q. a flesh- 
 wound in the thigh, the brigand did not slacken 
 speed. 
 
 An anger such as he had not known since first 
 he came into the mountains burned and scalded him. 
 As he ran, the scene and circumstance of Robledo's 
 death shone before his eyes. He climbed upwards 
 and upwards. Below and behind him echoed the 
 noises of the pursuit, the crack of sticks and the 
 duller voices of stones as they crashed and leaped 
 down the mountain. 
 
 Don Q. was still weak from his long illness, but 
 his was a frame which drew its pith rather from 
 the spirit than the flesh. There was one spot which 
 he desired to win. Escape by running was impossi- 
 ble. The wound in his thigh threw out upon the 
 leaves and roots a scarlet advertisement of his 
 path. 
 
HOW THE END CAME 303 
 
 To stop was to court certain death, and, although 
 death had never possessed great terrors for the 
 grim old brigand, upon the manner of it he was 
 ever an epicure. All his life he had a strange 
 horror of the idea of his body falling into the hands 
 of his foes. He had also a distinctly classical pref- 
 erence for passing to the underworld with a goodly 
 company of his enemies. So he ran onward and up- 
 ward, until he entered a patch of blasted pines, 
 making always for the caves upon the eastern side 
 of the mountain, where were many such in a great 
 sandstone cliff. 
 
 One there was in particular, a cavern known as 
 the Wolfs Hole, so called because of some legend 
 of old Moorish days. Could he but gain this place. 
 Ah ! then he might turn upon his pursuers. Then, 
 with the solid rock to guard his back, he might 
 fight a fight that would remain in the minds of men ! 
 
 So he ran on and ever on, but even in his flight 
 the scarred old wolf snapped disastrously back over 
 his shoulder. Once and again he paused, and, rest- 
 ing his rifle against a tree fired at the leaders of 
 the chase. At the third shot a cry told him that 
 the number of his enemies had grown less. Then on 
 again. 
 
 Presently Don Q. ran out of the shelter of the 
 final wood and began to cross a boulder-strewn and 
 arid upland. His strength was failing, and he no 
 longer dared wait to fire on his pursuers. They, too 
 had learned caution. No longer did the chase tail 
 
304 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 out with pride of place belonging to the swiftest, 
 now they advanced evenly and steadily in open order, 
 seven men, covering a hundred yards of the hillside. 
 Every half kilometre, at a word of command, they 
 sank upon their knees and fired a volley. 
 
 Now the great sandstone cliff was but half a mile 
 away, the caves dark as wounds upon its shining 
 face ; now it was a matter of but a hundred yards ; 
 now the stumbling figure of Don Q. showed clearly 
 against it, to the echoes of a final volley. How the 
 component parts of that volley failed in their work 
 must remain a mystery. The range was short, the 
 mark clear. Perhaps each trooper hoped that his 
 comrade's bullet would do the deed, and that upon 
 his comrade's head would fall the curse " of ghost 
 and ghoul." 
 
 However that may have been, a moment later 
 Don Q.'s shadow, grotesquely monstrous, black as 
 spilled ink, towered upon the cliff with outstretched 
 arms like a welcoming demon ere the brigand's foot- 
 steps echoed across the threshold of the cave. Lying 
 there panting, he gulped wine from his flask, and 
 proceeded to take stock of his surroundings. 
 
 The hole through which he had crawled, for it 
 was little more, made a circular tunnel in the rock. 
 Behind him stretched the vast aisles of the cave, 
 unexplored by man, at least in this generation. 
 
 Outside he could hear his enemies talking. 
 
 " He has gone to ground," said a voice. 
 
 " He ran like an ibex," said another. 
 
HOW THE END CAME 305 
 
 " We ought to have killed him with our last 
 volley." 
 
 Then came the cold tones of Merou, still a little 
 distressed by running. 
 
 " Here, Cifuentes, you know the mountain. 
 What of this cave?" 
 
 *' It is called the Wolfs Hole," said Cifuentes. 
 
 " Yes," remarked a voice from inside, the voice 
 of Don Q., " it is called the Wolf's Hole, and the 
 wolf is waiting." 
 
 "Ah," cried Merou. "And we are coming to 
 kill the wolf." 
 
 "Gk)od!" said Don Q. 
 
 There followed a consultation outside, and the 
 noise of men running. 
 
 Then a shuffling in the tunnel. Don Q. struck a 
 match and held it in his left hand above his head. 
 In his right he grasped his rifle by the barrel. 
 
 " It's no bigger than a burrow," said a voice. 
 The shuffling ceased. 
 
 Evidently the explorer had repented of his hardi- 
 hood. The match in Don Q.'s fingers went out. 
 
 At last, after several minutes of silence, the noise 
 within the tunnel was resumed, and presently a 
 head was thrust from beneath the penthouse of rock. 
 Don Q.'s iron-shod rifle-butt fell on it with a crash. 
 " For Robledo," he cried in a great voice. 
 
 Immediately a second trooper leaped from the 
 tunnel firing as he came. His bullet crashed into 
 the rock. Don Q. had no time to put his rifle to 
 20 
 
3o6 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 his shoulder. He pressed it against his mark and 
 drew the trigger. The smell of singed cloth rose 
 heavy on the air. 
 
 The ominous sounds which had followed their 
 companion's entry into the cave were not without 
 their effect upon those outside. 
 
 Merou's voice said. 
 
 " You next, Cifuentes." 
 
 " It's death, but here goes ! " 
 
 " Stop ! Here is the wind. We have him now,'* 
 cried Merou in exultation. And he rapidly whis- 
 pered some orders. 
 
 Half-an-hour passed, during which the silence 
 was broken only by footsteps, and the occasional 
 casting of heavy weights to the ground. Don Q. 
 peered forth. He could see nothing. Evidently the 
 hole had been closed. He lit another match and 
 looked round. Behind him the cave stretched back 
 into the bowels of the mountain. There was no 
 escape for him in that direction. 
 
 Even as he turned his nostrils were assailed by 
 the first whiffs of smoke. He understood now. The 
 wind must have risen in the east, and his foes were 
 collecting wood to make a smoke under cover of 
 which they might enter the cave. As the fire gained 
 hold the wind drove the smoke down the tunnel as 
 through a narrow chimney, and with the smoke 
 came the Carbineers. 
 
 Wrapped as they were in that armoury of vapour, 
 Don Q. could not see them, and the first that he 
 
HOW THE END CAME 307 
 
 knew of their presence was the face of one of them 
 within ten inches of his own. Then began a battle 
 in the smoke — a battle in which no man could see 
 his foeman's face, and in which Don Q. shone 
 pre-eminent. All were his enemies. He, at least, 
 could make no mistake. Whenever a form loomed 
 up in front of him he attacked it. As he fought, 
 too, he cried out the names of his followers, living 
 and dead, Esteban and Grulla, Durmio and Caspar, 
 and he answered himself in their voices. Confusion 
 seized the Carbineers. They fought with their com- 
 panions, coughing and shouting in the smoke. The 
 smell of powder added its sour reek to the rawness 
 of burning wood. Then by degrees, each by each, 
 the medley of voices sank away until but a single one 
 was left. 
 
 " Bernardo ! Martinez ! " it cried and other names 
 of its comrades. It was the voice of Cifuentes, the 
 trooper who had seen Don Q. in the smoke, and 
 whose knee had been broken in the fight. At last 
 it also was silent, for the man grew afraid. 
 
 The following is taken from the sworn statement 
 of this same Cifuentes, which he made before the 
 court-martial that inquired into the affair. 
 
 " I ceased shouting," said Cifuentes in his state- 
 ment, " because none answered, and I feared that 
 the brigands would slay me. It was about the hour 
 of dawn that the smoke began to clear away, and 
 presently the sun shone through the tunnel by which 
 we had come. It shone yellow and very bright like 
 
308 DON Q. IN THE SIERRA 
 
 a gigantic lamp. The smoke had cleared now, all 
 save a little which clung about the ground. In this, 
 like islands in a lake, lay the bodies of those who had 
 fallen. I could count six such. I dragged myself 
 to where they lay. First there was Rodriguez and 
 near him Bernardo. I think they must have shot 
 each other in error in the smoke. Then I came to 
 Martinez. He lay alone. He had met his death by 
 the knife. By the body of Martinez I paused awhile, 
 wondering that the brigands did not return, but 
 presently I crawled on farther, and there was my 
 officer Gregorio Merou. He lay upon his face and 
 his hands were soiled with dust. He was dead also. 
 When I looked closer I started back in horror, for 
 the wound through which his life had passed was 
 in the root of the back, such a wound as he him- 
 self had given to the brigand Robledo in the valley. 
 I was astonished that I did not find any of the 
 brigands, and then I understood that there could 
 have been but one brigand, Don Q., and that he 
 had called upon the names of his comrades, deceiving 
 us to our deaths. At length I turned round to 
 find his body also, but it was not there ; only I came 
 upon a trail of blood leading through the tunnel. 
 So I crawled, following it out into the morning. 
 
 " The sun was already a hand's breath above the 
 peaks, and a light wind blew that revived me. The 
 trail was easy to follow, clear and well-marked. It 
 led over a hummock, and upon the other side of the 
 hummock was an upland pool of very deep water. 
 
HOW THE END CAME 309 
 
 The trail led me to the high rocky bank of this 
 pool and there was an end of it." 
 
 And there, too, is an end of the statement of 
 Cifuentes. 
 
 Whether or no that mountain tarn holds the 
 mortal remains of Don Q. must remain for ever 
 a mystery. It may be so. One thing only is certain. 
 Never again did any see him in Spain. So many 
 think him dead. But others say that far away in 
 Mexico a grim old monk is making atonement for 
 the sins of his life, and that he rules his savage 
 Indian converts with bitter rods. They tell, also, 
 how night by night the white-washed shrine of 
 San Pedro of Ometepec rings with the chanting of 
 masses for the soul of one Robledo el casador, who 
 lies asleep in the little graveyard of that other chapel 
 of San Pedro, far away among the cloudy Spanish 
 hills. 
 
 THE END 
 
THE DASHING NOVEL 
 
 THE 
 
 COLONEL 
 OF THE 
 RED HUZZARS 
 
 By 
 JOHN REED SCOTT 
 
 Stirring adventures, courtly intrigue, and fencing both 
 of sword and wit, fill the pages of this story. The plot is 
 built upon a wager between Major Dalberg, U. S. A., and 
 a friend that within a certain time both would be dining 
 with the king and dancing with the princess royal of Va- 
 leria. Strangely enough, Dalberg proves to be of the blood 
 royal of Valeria, is reinstated into his ancestral rights, and 
 when matters are about to reach a climax, the pretender 
 steps in, and there ensues an encounter between American 
 pluck and unscrupulous cleverness. 
 
 " There's not a dull page in it."— 7*^ Index, Pittsburg. 
 
 " A slap-dashing vacation-day romance." — Evening Sun, New York. 
 
 " So naively fresh in its handling, so plausible through its naturalness* 
 that it conies like a mountain breeze across the far-spreading desert of 
 similar rovaz.ncts.''^— Gazette- Times, Pittsburg. 
 
 lUustntion* in Colon by CLARENCE F. UNDERWOOD 
 I2nio. D«corftted cloth. II.50 
 
 J. B. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia 
 
BREAKERS 
 AHEAD 
 
 -A NEW AMERICAN NOVEL- 
 
 of love and plot, full of excitement and incident, by 
 
 A. MAYNARD BARBOUR 
 
 Author of 
 "That Mainwaring Affair" (12 editions) 
 
 ♦•At the Time Appointed ** (10 editions) 
 
 "Mac" Denning is a man of great force of 
 character, resourceful, clever, and attractive, but 
 very selfish. He accumulates a large fortune in 
 mines and banking, but still he is not happy, for 
 he can not throw off the memory of the wife he 
 had deserted because of her inferior social posi- 
 tion. The latter part of the story is full of 
 dramatic incidents, when an attractive widow 
 with a lovable little daughter, and his son, whom 
 he has never seen, appear on the scene. 
 
 " A novel to stir the pulse of the most blas6 reader of fiction."— ^oj/on 
 Herald. 
 
 "Full of action and with a remarkably effective ending.''— Record- 
 Herald, Chicago. 
 
 " Constantly grows in interest as it progresses and in its concluding 
 chapters becomes so tense that it leaves the reader no option but to finish 
 it before putting it do^tn.''— Evening Telegraph, Philadelphia. 
 
 Frontispiece in colors, by James L. Wood 
 12nio. Decorated cloth, $1.50 
 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY 
 
 PHILADELPHIA 
 
"A remarkable book." — Chicago Tribune 
 
 me ~ 
 
 An^el of Pain 
 
 BY E. F. BENSON 
 
 Author of "The Chailoners." "The Image in 
 the Sand," " Dodo." etc., etc. 
 
 THIS genuine love story takes the reader among 
 beautiful country scenes in England, and tells 
 of a great sacrifice for love. It involves the 
 happiness of two men who were great friends, but in 
 love with the same woman. The disappointment of 
 one causes their estrangement, though they finally 
 are united as brothers for a time by the "Angel of 
 Pain.'* The character of Tom Merivale brings into 
 the book a touch of the supernatural. A hermit by 
 choice, he lived in a forest and possessed a strange 
 power over birds and beasts, with whom he talked 
 familiarly. 
 
 "One of the best of the present-day novels." — Pittsburg Dispatch. 
 
 •'Marie Corelli herself could not have invented a more wonderful char- 
 acter than Tom Merivale." — Baltimore News. 
 
 '* A distinct achievement; it ^r exceeds anything its talented author has 
 previously produced." — Newark Evening Nevus. 
 
 12 mo. Cloth. |I. SO 
 
 J. B. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia 
 
V A N I T Y 
 
 square: 
 
 A novel o»^ 
 
 FiftH Avenue Life 
 
 By 
 
 Kdi^ar Saltus 
 
 AtatHor otf 
 
 "A TrmnsactioA ix%. Hearts,** *« THe Ferfame 
 
 o/ Eros**' etc. 
 
 GERALD UXHILL had everything thit a man is sup- 
 posed to need to make him perfectly happy — wealth, 
 social position, a beautifUl home, a charming wife, and 
 a dear little daughter — yet a longing for something, he knew 
 not what, possessed him. The story tells of a strange experi- 
 ence that comes to him and almost miraculously reveals the 
 true value of his greatest possession — the love and devotion of 
 his wife — and brings contentment. 
 
 **A smart and intcresring story." — Saturday Timei, New Tork. 
 
 "A striking story, full of dramatic passages and with more than one 
 thrill to it." — Philadelphia Press. 
 
 "A remarkable story in more senses than one. If you are in quest of 
 something entirely original; something that will fiimisli food for thought, 
 by all means read • Vanity Square.' " — Index ^ Pittsburg. 
 
 12 mo. Decorated Cloth, |I.2S 
 J. B. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia 
 
THE WIFE OF 
 THE SECRETARY OF STATE 
 
 By ELLA MIDDLETON TYBOUT 
 Author of " PoKETOWN People." 
 
 Elustrated. 12 mo. Cloth, $1.30. 
 
 " The story holds one's interest to the end." 
 
 — Chicago Evening Post 
 
 *' Will gratify the admirers of literary sensation.** 
 
 — Pittsburgh Times. 
 
 ' ' A strong and entertaining novel of Washington 
 society, of a devoted wife with an unhappy past, of 
 plotting for state papers, of the unexpected final 
 chivalry of a Russian count, of other love interests. 
 A book to be read at a sitting, tender and true to life. ' ' 
 
 — Chicago Record' HeraJd. 
 
 * ' The author of * Poketown People * has bettered 
 her best. Her novel contains in abundance every 
 quality that mades for excellent reading. Get it quick 
 and read it slowly." — Washington Mirror, 
 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, PHILADELPHIA 
 
THE CHALLONERS 
 
 By E. F. BENSON 
 
 l2fno. Cloth, $1.^0. 
 
 The theme is a father's concern lest his children 
 become contaminated by what he considers an un- 
 wholesome social atmosphere. The book is filled with 
 Mr. Benson's clever observations on the English smart 
 set, and the love-story shows him at his best. 
 
 MORGANATIC 
 
 By max NORDAU 
 
 l2mo. Decorated cloth, $1.^0, 
 
 This new book by the author of '* Degeneration," 
 has many of the qualities which gave its predecessor 
 such a phenomenal sale. It is a study of morgan- 
 atic m?»Tiage, and fiill of strong situations. 
 
 T. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, PHILADELPHIA 
 
THE RAVANELS 
 
 By HARRIS DICKSON 
 With four illustrations by 
 
 SEYMOUR M. STONE 
 
 i2mo. Cloth, $1.50 
 
 A novel of cleverness, with a capital plot, sur- 
 prising climaxes, and a love-story of unusual 
 sweetness. 
 
 * • The developments of the story are 
 unexpected and very dramatic, the 
 characters are drawn with much clever- 
 ness, and there is a love-story of unusual 
 beauty. ' ' — Nashville American. 
 
 * ' The tragedy of the story is admir- 
 ably mellowed with its pathos. The 
 characters are skillfully drawn and a gen- 
 uine depth of interest is aroused which 
 never flags until the book ends, amid all 
 its sorrows, with happiness and cheer." 
 — New York Times. 
 
 ' * No son or daughter of the South 
 who loves her traditions and ideals can 
 read ' The Ravanels ' inappreciatively. . 
 . . Its thrilling climaxes and extra- 
 ordinary situations hold the interest and 
 stamp the work a success. * * 
 
 — Advertiser ^ Newark, N J. 
 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, PHILADELPHIA 
 
THE IMAGE IN THE SAND 
 
 A Lovc-Story Dealing with the Occult. 
 By E. F. BENSON 
 
 i2mo. Cloth, $i.so 
 
 " The Image in the Sand " is a book that will en- 
 tertain every novel-reader and provoke discussion. It 
 speaks emphatically for the development of Mr. 
 Benson's powers as a writer, though it also emphasizes 
 that lightness of touch and happy faculty for sketching 
 character in outline which have marked his several 
 former books. 
 
 "Spiritualism, hypnotism, demoniac 
 possession, white and black magic, 
 Oriental theosophy — all are found among 
 the component parts of this tale. The 
 denouement is decidedly original and 
 highly imaginative. Decidedly, 'The 
 Image in the Sand * will not fail to make 
 a strong appeal to every one who has any 
 love for the marvellous and the unknown 
 — or who appreciates a very well-written 
 story." — Brooklyn Eagle. 
 
 ' * The author of ' Dodo ' has written a 
 * thriller. ' It is a spiritualistic story. Mr. 
 Benson sets part of his story in the East, 
 and part in London, and tells it in a 
 manner to keep the reader wide awake 
 and interested to the end. * ' 
 
 —Globe, N. Y. 
 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, PHILADELPHIA 
 
THE VORTEX 
 
 By THOMAS McKEAN 
 
 l2mo. Decorated Cloth, $1.^0 
 
 The love-story is laid in Italy, and has to do with 
 the battle of two personalities. The leading characters 
 are drawn with a firmness and skill that will interest 
 every reader. 
 
 ' * Mr. McKean gets enviably far away 
 from the smart novel that has the divorce 
 court as its finale and the trite conclusion. 
 A powerful moral novel, . . . that has 
 little to do with the frivolities. ' * 
 
 — Washington Club Fellow. 
 
 THE CHALLONERS 
 
 By E. F. BENSON. 
 
 i2ino. Cloth, $i.So 
 
 *'When we remembered that E. F. 
 Benson was the author of *Dodo,* a 
 book about which every one was talking 
 a few years ago, we expected to find that 
 he had given us something pretty good 
 in * The Challoners. ' We read it, breath- 
 lessly and absorbedly, and then we were 
 of the opinion that he had given us a 
 novel that is better than the book which 
 made him famous." 
 
 — Newark Adertiser. 
 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, PHILADELPHIA 
 
THAT MAINWARING AFFAIR 
 
 By A. MAYNARD BARBOUR. 
 Illustrated by E. Plaisted Abbott, xamo. Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 ** Possibly in a detective story the main object is to thrill. If so, 
 *That Mainwaring Affair' is all right. The thrill is there, full 
 measure, pressed down and running over." — Life, New York. 
 
 **The book that reminds one of Anna Katherine Green in her 
 palmiest days. . . . Keeps the reader on the alert, defies the efforts 
 of those who read backwards, deserves the applause of all who like 
 mystery." — Town Topics y New York. 
 
 ** The tale is well told, and the intricacies of the plot so adroitly 
 managed that it is imf>ossible to foresee the correct solution of the 
 mysterious case until the final act of the tragedy. . . . Although 
 vividly told, the literary style is excellent and the story by no means 
 sensational, a fact that raises it above the level of the old-time detec- 
 tive story." — Brooklyn Daily Eagle. 
 
 "The book will hold the reader's attention from beginning to 
 end. ' ' —Press, Philadelphia. 
 
 ** A novel with a most intricate and carefully unraveled plot. . . . 
 The treatment is pleasantly original, and the book can be safely 
 recommended to the reader who likes his fiction to baffle him until 
 the author is willing to make it clear." — North America^, Phila- 
 delphia. 
 
 *'It is a thrilling story of crime and intrigue, entirely free from 
 brutality of thought or coarseness of expression. The author has 
 fine command of language and the faculty of leaving just enough 
 unsaid to keep interest at the highest pitch." — Chicago Tribune. 
 
 "The reader will be a good guesser, indeed, if he solves this mys- 
 tery story before the author does it for him. A pleasant love interest 
 nms through the pages." — Rocky Mountain News, Denver. 
 
 ** Stories of this kind are far from novel, but few of them have 
 been wrought with so much literary skill as 'That Mainwaring 
 Affair.' " — Evening Wisconsin, Milwaukee. 
 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, PHILADELPHIA 
 
YB 31844