Bandit's Trail Page 17

  Dupont retired. He had paper and an envelope with him. What wanderer goes without them? He wrote:

  Brave Colonel Ramírez,

  Today you have done a great service to your country. There is another service equally great, which may be performed. I wish to see you and to speak to you, and to you alone.

  When I say that I take my life in my hands by telling you the secret that I carry in my breast, you will understand why there may be no other person in the room when I address you.

  Of that secret, reluctantly, I commit one word to paper. It is about El Crisco.

  Señor Colonel, you have captured EI Tigre. I dare say that is a bright day in your life. How much brighter if, on the same day, you were to strike down that other fiend and murderer, El Crisco. At one stroke to liberate your country from two terrible calamities, two devils in the form of men. Colonel, that would be glory, indeed.

  Brave Colonel, I dare swear to you so much. If you will admit me to your presence, I shall give you the opportunity of seeing the terrible El Crisco face to face. Señor, if you value glory, see me and hear me. I shall show you the way to El Crisco. Need I say that I have taken my life in my hands to do so much?

  But to whom should I carry my information except to the man who has already proved his valor and his wisdom by capturing El Tigre?

  Señor, I commend my prayer to your own wisdom. Banish everyone from your room and bid the soldiers at your door admit the writer of this note.

  Guess, therefore, at the dread with which I commit myself even to your hands, señor, when I inform you that I dare not sign to this note any other signature than that of One Who Has Seen and Admired Colonel Ramírez.

  This singular epistle, written to the best of his ability in a purely Latin and romantic strain of extravagance, he sealed duly, addressed to the colonel, and placed in the hands of one of the soldiers at the door.

  “Señor,” he said to that man of war, “I commend this letter to your hands. It is for the colonel only. Should another open it, it will be a calamity to me, to the colonel, and to your country.”

  This he said with the greatest dignity and complacency, so that the sergeant, blinking a little, laid aside his gun and, clutching the envelope tightly, made his way through the door at the same time that a fat estanciero came out, grinning his pleasure at the world on account of the pleasant reception that he had found within the room.

  There followed an anxious interval. There was a possibility, a very great possibility, indeed, that the colonel would not be too interested in this strange epistle to commend it to his secretary, order the writer of the missive to be arrested and examined to discover what the tidings that he bore might be. But there had been something in the carriage and in the dress of the colonel that assured Dupont that the worthy officer had had his head turned by the taste of much glory easily acquired and that he would be greedy for more gains of the same kind.

  Eventually there was a pouring forth from the inner chamber. In a single group a dozen issued from that sanctum and came rather blankly into the great outer hall.

  After this, the soldier to whom he had given the note approached him again, and with much respect offered him a military salute that he returned to the best of his ability.

  “Señor,” the sergeant said, “it is the pleasure of the colonel to see you. Follow me, señor.”

  So, drawing a great breath, and telling himself that he was now stepping into the very jaws of death, Charles Dupont followed the brave sergeant into the inner sanctum, heard the door close behind him, and found himself alone with the colonel in person.

  The colonel sat behind a desk. Why he should have needed a desk seemed odd, but it was an oddity that would not occur to the average person entering that room. But it is an old truth that when men wish to appear dignified, they wish to get their legs out of view.

  The colonel was now leaning back in his chair, his hands resting upon its broad arms, frowning gravely at his visitor. At close view, and being seated, he was even more lean of body and face than appeared from the distance. He had one of those birdlike faces, the nose long and thin and curved sharply down at the end, his mouth very small, with no red of the lips showing, his forehead slanting sharply back and covered with deep wrinkles, his black glossy hair sleeked down with oil. Much exposure had given him a healthy tan. Otherwise his emaciation would have suggested consumption.

  “You are,” said the colonel, “the man who wrote this note?”

  The letter was spread upon the surface of the desk before him, and he tapped it with a clawlike hand, the back of which was covered with a knotting of blue veins. The hands were very white—gloves had scrupulously kept them from the sun. The hands seemed to belong to another person.

  “I am he,” Charles Dupont said, holding his hat in both hands. And he bowed his erect, strong shoulders a little, after a fashion that he had noted before in very respectful, rather frightened men. He felt the eyes of the colonel taking note of this attitude, and relishing it.

  “In this paper,” continued the man of war, “you hint, my friend, at an important revelation.”

  There was a tall screen in the corner of the room, used, perhaps, to shut out the sun when the window was left open in the late afternoon, for the windows looked upon the west. Toward this screen Dupont cautiously rolled his eyes.

  The colonel took the hint at once, and with a smile he rose from his chair and moved the screen. “You see,” he observed, returning to his chair, “that I am above artifice and …” He probably was about to add “fear,” but changed his mind and said: “You need have no scruples in opening your mind to me.”

  “Señor el coronel,” Dupont said, “I am a man who has taken his life in his hands.”

  “My good fellow,” said the colonel, smiling again in a rather smudgy, disagreeable fashion, “I have hoped to demonstrate that I am capable of giving protection to those who have a wish to serve their county … or,” he added with a strong emphasis, “to see it served by others.”

  “It is true,” Dupont said. “The world knows what Señor el coronel has done. It is for that reason that I have found the courage to offer this information to him, and this opportunity. None but so brave a man would dare to use it.”

  The colonel bristled with satisfaction. “You speak good English, young man,” he said. “You have been schooled?”

  “Somewhat, señor.”

  In what place?”

  “In the United States, señor.”

  The colonel lifted his dense black eyebrows. “Ah,” he said. “I did not think … however, you are of the Argentine?”

  “No.”

  “However, I see by your tone that you will be. For a brave young man, there is a career in the army. And for you … you will trust me now with your name?”

  “Señor el coronel, ten thousand pardons. The time has not yet come for that, I beg you to believe.”

  “No?” grumbled the colonel, prying at the face of Dupont with his sharp little birdlike eyes. “And why not?”

  “Because, señor, it would come to you as a shock.”

  “Nonsense, my man. I am one raised to endure shocks.”

  “First, Señor el coronel, there is the promise which I made to you.”

  “Exactly. If I admitted you to my presence, you were to bring me face to face with this devilish murderer … this same El Crisco. Well, my friend, I ask for no more. Let me be brought to this man and he shall cease to trouble the republic. So much I promise you. Now, then, continue with your story. We are alone. The walls are more than a foot in thickness, and there is no possible means of communication with those outside the door than through the touching of this bell. Very well, you may speak with entire frankness. In what way are you to lead me to El Crisco?”

  “Señor,” Dupont said, drawing out the expected moment with a singular enjoyment, “I assure you that y
ou have underrated this man. He is truly dangerous, because he is truly desperate.”

  “Tush,” replied the colonel. “I have had experience with these braggart desperadoes before. And though I have encountered many of them, I have yet to meet one from whom I would shrink … do you hear me? From whom I would shrink even single-handed. I trust, my friend, in the speed of my hand and in the surety of my eye as much as any outlaw who ever rode across the Pampas.”

  So saying, the colonel leaned back in his chair and modestly lowered his eyes toward his cigar, as one who would permit another to stare in uninterrupted and unembarrassed admiration upon his heroic features.

  “Ah, señor,” said Dupont, “it is such a man that is needed to face El Crisco.”

  “You need say no more,” the colonel said with some irritation. “I have heard much about this villain. I have heard of his courage, his insolence, his deadly surety with weapons, his devilish malice. But all is nothing to me. Where I find the good of my country is to be served, there shall the hand of Ramírez ever be found.”

  He could not help losing his voice a little in the expression of so noble a sentiment. When the echoes had died away from the tall and somber walls, Dupont moved a little closer and leaned as to whisper the great secret.

  “Señor el coronel, with so brave a man I no longer have the slightest hesitation. I at once admit you to the privilege of seeing this villain, this murderer. Señor, the man you see before you is El Crisco himself.”

  And with this, the hat fell from his hand and the brave colonel found himself looking down the throat of a black-muzzled Colt of .45 caliber, gripped by a large and strong hand in which the weapon trembled no more than if he who held it had been a creature of stone.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  A pause came upon the room and upon the conversation in it—such a pause as comes upon armies when the foes are in sight and the lines are marshaled, but the first hurricane of death has not been loosed from the guns. Into that interval there came from the hallway, beyond the stout door, a faint, faint roaring, which represented all of the confused chattering that was able to penetrate from the hallway where the hundreds swarmed and clattered. And from the square, loud single voices of revelry and acclaim burst in from the windows.

  The colonel laid down his cigar and allowed it to smolder unheeded, weltering in the thick varnish that covered the surface of the room and sending forth a pungent odor through the air. Then he moistened his pale lips. “You,” he said rather faintly, “are El Crisco? I see that you are something of a practical jester, my friend.”

  “And you, señor,” Dupont said in a changed voice, “I am glad to see are just the man to appreciate my jest.”

  “El Crisco, for instance, has the pale face of a gringo.”

  “Exactly,” Dupont said, and, drawing out a handkerchief with his left hand, he rubbed it over his hot face. It came away covered with a dark-brown stain. And he saw the eyes of the brave colonel widen.

  “It is enough,” said Ramírez.

  “Your bravery, Coronel, is only surpassed by your wisdom, I assure you.”

  “In what manner, señor, can you be served by braving me in …”

  “The lion’s den?”

  “You see for yourself. It may be called a lion’s den. There are soldiers at the door. There are soldiers everywhere around the building. There are soldiers in the plaza.”

  “That rear door,” Dupont said suddenly. “Where does it lead?”

  “To the side of the building. The entrance is also guarded. Even that side entrance is guarded.”

  “Does it open upon the plaza?”

  “It does not.”

  “Señor el coronel, I begin to believe that there may be a way out of the lion’s den.”

  The colonel shrugged his shoulders in spite of the leveled gun. In spite of that gun he smiled, and there was an acid edge of malice in his smile and an evil glint in his eye. “You are confident, Señor Crisco,” he said.

  “All desperate men are confident.”

  “But now, having bearded me in the den, so to speak …”—the colonel’s face grew devilish with shame and with fury—“what have you gained?”

  “You are a man who has always served, Coronel.”

  “It is my pride.”

  “And I trust, therefore, that I may find a way in which you will serve me.”

  “Ah?”

  “You are a man of honor, Ramírez.”

  “It has never been doubted.”

  “But you are also a man who loves life. No, you are not one of those who will throw away a great deal of life for a very little bit of honor.” Dupont spoke slowly and judicially.

  “You are wrong,” said the colonel with some heat. “I …”

  “Slowly,” cautioned Dupont. “The point is about to be tested.” With the toe of his boot he fumbled for his fallen hat, found it, and raised it to his hand. “I am about to retire behind that screen,” he said. “From that position I shall have a full view of you and you of me, but I shall not be seen by a man entering the door. Is that plain?”

  “Perfectly plain, Señor Crisco.”

  “How great is that distance?”

  “Five paces, I presume.” The colonel, if pale, was astonishingly steady of voice.

  “At ten paces, señor, I blow the heart out of an American dime. At five paces, Coronel, do you think that I would miss, say, one of those medals that hangs over your left breast … over your heart?”

  The worthy colonel started a little. “I presume not,” he said.

  “Having retired behind that screen,” Dupont explained, “I shall issue certain directions, and you will obey them … to the letter … to the exact letter. At the least deviation, señor, from my instructions, I kill you certainly and instantly.”

  The colonel, for the first time, lifted his eyes from the fascinating muzzle of the revolver and looked into the face of the tall young man who stood before him. “I believe you … implicitly,” he muttered.

  “For to me,” Dupont said, working up a mood of savagery that he knew would be reflected instantly in his countenance, “my own life is now not worth a copper coin. At what valuation, señor, will I place the life of another man … even of a brave colonel in the army of the republic?”

  “You are extremely clear,” said Ramírez. “Now … to your point.”

  Dupont stepped backward slowly, until he had gained the place he desired behind the screen.

  “Señor el coronel, it is my painful necessity to request you to summon an orderly. When he appears, command him to have your red bay mare and another horse … the best in your string … led around to the side entrance upon which this door at the rear of the room opens. Do you understand?”

  The colonel closed his eyes and swallowed hard. Then, nodding, he stretched out his hand. “Have I your permission to ring?”

  “You have. Consider, also, that when the orderly enters, with one word you can condemn me to certain death and win for yourself immortal fame … and equally immortal death. For, at the instant you speak, I press this trigger and … well, Coronel, you have seen war.” He added in the same iron voice of mockery: “My trust is that you will leave such immortal fame to … the dead, señor. Now call the orderly.”

  The button was pressed by the trembling hand of the colonel. The door opened; the heels of the orderly clicked as he gave the salute.

  “Let María and the black gelding be led to the side entrance on which the rear door of this office opens. Let them be tethered there. Then the men who bring them may return to their other duties.”

  The click of the heels with the answering salute, and the door closed softly.

  The eyes of the colonel turned again to his tyrant behind the screen.

  “Again I see,” murmured Dupont, “that you are a very wise man, Coronel. On account of t
his wisdom I prophesy for you a great career … in politics.”

  The colonel saw fit to overlook the last portion of this biting speech. “You see,” he said, “that I have added to your instructions. I presumed that you would not wish to have men waiting at the heads of the horses?”

  “Your insight,” Dupont confirmed, “is admirable. And yet, when you were giving the added instructions, your soul was one one hundredth of an inch from eternity.”

  The colonel grew paler still and hastily reached for the cigar, but, finding that it was securely stuck to the varnish by this time and that his hand shook extremely as he reached out, he changed his mind and locked his fingers tightly together, resting them upon the edge of the desk.

  “Now,” Dupont said, “we proceed to the next step. You will send for El Tigre …”

  At this the colonel’s coolness of nerve was completely shattered.

  “You will send for El Tigre,” Dupont repeated with his face set in a terrible frown.

  The colonel sank back in his chair, his eyes closed, his hand against his heart.

  “You will send for El Tigre,” Dupont continued, his voice more iron than ever. “You will order that the keys to his irons be brought with him. You will declare that you wish to examine him in private. Do you hear me?”

  The colonel opened his eyes. He was a sick man. “I have heard every word,” he said thickly.

  “You will have the ball removed from his feet. The other fetters may remain. He can walk in them. But the keys must be brought with them.”

  “It is very clear, señor.” He stretched out his hand toward the bell.

  “Wait!”

  The hand dropped as though struck down by a club. “In the name of heaven, Señor Crisco, what now?”

  “Have you anything to drink near you? Have you a flask of brandy?”

  “I have that thing.”

  “In which drawer?”

  “The upper on the right.”

  “You may open that drawer. If you take out anything other than a brandy flask …”