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Ghost Breaker, The

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XII WELCOME TO SEGURO! The Princess and her party were delayed in Liverpool by the queries of the authorities just long enough to make them miss connections with the boat train at London. The trip had been carefully planned; this one provoking delay cost them another close connection at the station in Paris. "Confound it," declared the Duke of Alva; "after all this long trip it seems to take us longer still to get back to Seguro. Maledictions on that miserable American pig. He brought bad luck from start to finish." His cousin's face had not its usual color, but now a rosy tint flushed up for a moment as she answered sharply. "I will not permit you to speak so of the man who at least volunteered to risk his life for me and for my brother. He proved himself more the gentleman, Carlos, than you—with all the boasted advantage which we believe accompanies a title." The Duke was silent, morose and uncertain himself, for the remainder of the tiresome ride. Rusty was humble as ever, but there was an expectant look in his rotund face. He inquired many times as to the exact time for the arrival of the train at San Fernandez, the nearest railroad station to Seguro. From here the party would travel by motor to the old estate of the Princess and her family. It was a twenty-five-mile ride. The country through which the train was passing grew rougher with every mile. After irritating delays and interminable waits at stations—for train service in Spain is the worst in Europe—San Fernandez was reached. Here they were compelled to wait in the semi-modern hotel until an automobile could be obtained. The long ride was begun, over rough roads, no roads at all, and through mud-holes which seemed relics of the Flood. "This makes me think of de Arkansaw Traveler," muttered Rusty, but his reminiscence was unappreciated by his tired companions. A blow-out, delay with the mending of the tire, and the fall of darkness wore out what spirits were left among the four voyagers. At last the little town was reached, and the machine was compelled to stop on the outskirts of the village, by the old post-road house, where a sleepy soldier was guarding the road for some government purposes. As the lights of the car threw their garish glare upon the portico of the dilapidated structure, a man in English clothes, carrying a small satchel, stepped out and ran down toward the machine. "Hoopey!" howled Rusty Snow, with such sudden gusto as to frighten his companions. The Duke stood up, trembling: he could not believe his eyes. Even Nita drew back with a scream of horror, which turned into dumfounded happiness as the unmistakable features of Warren Jarvis appeared in the bright glow. "The Ghost Breaker!" exclaimed the Duke. The Princess merely held out her hands, with a happy warmth which Jarvis could feel through her gloves. "How did you spring out of the earth, just here?" she cried. "Well, I got to the town a bit late. The old carry-all that brought me broke down three miles back and I stumbled along, knowing this was the only road which could bring you. I stopped here for something to eat—and the place is so old that not even the townspeople come there any more.... The food was older than the town." He tossed his grip to Rusty, and turned toward the Duke. "It strikes me that I won my bet, your Excellency!" "Where did you come from? We thought you were drowned at sea." "I was nearly drowned when I slid down a rope, outside the ship and flopped into the harbor as she lay at the dock. After hiding under the cover of a lifeboat for twelve hours, I was so stiff that my quarter-mile swim was the hardest job I ever did. On shore I bought new clothes, and took the first train. Q.E.D." "How did you get here ahead of us?" asked the Princess, still misbelieving her senses. "I knew you would make it—but how so fast?" "I had a good day's start of you—even without this automobile. But let's get on up to that castle of yours, for I want to finish up my job and get back to America." The Duke had been watching the expression of the American, trying in vain to fathom the mystery. "This has been a wretched hoax—you have all been in league to trick me!" he began. But Jarvis interrupted menacingly. "Now, listen. No whining. I stood for a good deal—I knew about that wireless, and I guess tricks can be played both ways. May I ride with your chauffeur, your Highness?" She nodded, and, the obstruction in the road removed, they journeyed on, slowly but more or less surely, toward the distant castle. "We will stop at old Pedro's inn to-night, for I am frantic to hear of my brother," she said as they advanced. Carlos was too deep in thought to speak again. And up at that same inn the usual nightly round of mediæval revelry was going on. This ancient structure, indeterminate in age and style of architecture, was built upon uneven ground. To save expense and trouble, in the distant days of its inception, it had been built upon two levels, without the excavating for foundations. Time and the weather had warped and twisted the old wooden floors and beams so that by this date it had numerous levels. Yet the remaining furniture was of substantial oak, and here and there could be seen evidence of the expenditure, in days long past, of good Spanish gold. Asleep, with his head on the square table by the fireplace, was Pedro, the old proprietor. Two villagers sat at another table in the side of the big room playing cards, with wordy arguments about their winnings and losses. A young woman of perhaps twenty-three, dark-skinned, dark-eyed and dark-tressed, crossed the floor from an adjoining room, to answer a knock at the door. From the room she had left came the sound of singing and mandolines. "Hello, Vardos—any more news?" she asked of the peasant who entered the portal bearing a basket of food. "Still no word or sign of the Prince," he said apologetically, avoiding her scornful look. "Here's yesterday's basket untouched as usual." "And you left to-day's basket at the castle gate?" she asked sharply. "Yes, this is the fifteenth night," he replied, looking back at the door. "You haven't given up hope yet?" The man shook his head sadly. "I gave up hope when he went in. I waited to-night until dark before I came away from the moat." "Once to-night I thought I saw a light in the tower, Vardos." "If you did, Señorita Dolores, it was an unblessed flame." He sank into a chair weakly. "Once when I called to-night a wail came back to me. It sounded like a sigh of the damned. It may have been only the wind through the grated window. But it chilled my heart." "You are a silly coward," retorted Dolores. "But what then, Vardos?" "When I called the second time something moved in the turret of the keep, and my soul was joyful. Then, with a harsh cry, a black ugly bird flew from the turret, straight toward where the sun had set.... On my left, mind you, the sinister side,—the left—the left!" The castanets and music in the other room grew louder. "Oh, if the good Princess were only here!" moaned the girl. "She could help. She could do something." "She's on her way," he told her hopelessly, "but what can she do—what can anyone do, with the imps of darkness all about her?" "She would go straight into that castle after her brother. Ah, she is a great lady, with a great heart. Then will the villagers have it said that they let their own Princess go in alone, as they did their Prince?" "God forbid that it should come to that!" muttered the Prince's retainer, as he handed her the basket. "Good-night, señorita." As he started for the door the girl called after him. "Will you go again to-morrow, Vardos?" "Yes, señorita. I will go forever, until I know for sure that it is useless. Good-night." His words as he passed through the old portal were drowned by the cheering and applause which followed some especial favorite who had ended a song. Dolores looked sadly at the basket, the tears streaming down her face. She lifted the napkin, showing the simple but nourishing food which had been untouched by the missing Prince. She crossed herself, with a whispered prayer for his safety, crossing the room to the ancient pantry. The dreams of Pedro were rudely interrupted. The big door suddenly opened to admit a character very different from the weaklings who made his tavern their rendezvous. He was dark-skinned as the rest of the crew, red-faced as old Pedro (from the same faithful indulgence in vintages), not younger than forty, yet aggressive, vibrating with physical power, elasticity, and an overweening insolence. His manner of approach—and he entered this tavern with the same studied grace with which he swaggered into half a hundred others—seemed to indicate that he delighted in disorganizing and terrorizing whatever he might find established and orderly—wherever he might find it! Beholding the somnolent proprietor, he advanced quietly to the middle of the big room. Then, with malicious enjoyment of the effect, he banged his riding-crop violently upon the table, close to the tavern keeper's ear. "Hey, you Pedro!" he roared. "Wake up, you blockhead—wake up, I say!" There was only a response of snores. "You, Pedro, attention! What's the matter here? Where are you? Wake up and stop your dreaming!" At this the startled landlord leaped to his feet, bowing through force of habit. "Ah, Señor Robledo! One thousand pardons!" he gasped timorously. "What can I do for you, sir?" "You're a wretch of a tavern keeper," and the newcomer advanced upon the unhappy Pedro as though about to slay him for his drowsiness. "Yes, señor! You are always right." The man humbly endeavored to collect his wits. "How may I serve your lordship?" The bully swaggered, puffed his cheeks, and feeling that his host was finally awake to the seriousness of the situation, he cried out once more: "My horse stands outside by the post. He has been hard ridden, for I have come on an important mission. Varlet, go out and wash his mouth, dry him down, and don't give him water until he has cooled off. Are you finally awake, you idiotic Pedro?" The tavern keeper gulped fearsomely, and bowed his most fetching bow, without result. "My horse is almost dead on his legs. Be kind to him. I've had a hard ride over these miserable province roads. As for me—I want a flask of ... well ... of something decent. I know that's not in your line. Step lively now; and mind you, draw it from your private cask. My temper is no better than it should be, to-night." The old man bowed and started to leave the big room. The blustering guest howled at him once more, punctuating his remarks with the butt of the whip. "Where's your daughter?" The old man trembled and bowed once more. "I'll call her," Pedro said apologetically. "She'll be right here, sir." He went to the door at the right, and shouted quaveringly: "Dolores! Dolores! Dolores!... There, señor, she will come at once." "And, Pedro—if that rat-infested larder of yours is empty, get it filled before the Duke arrives," added Robledo. "Yes ... the Duke. He is coming to-night. Don't stand and stare, but hurry up and see to my horse." "Yes, señor!... Yes, yes!" And he tottered away on his errands. Dolores had entered in response to the call. At first she did not observe the newcomer, whose back was toward her. "Yes, father," she began. "Why do you wish me?" "Dolores," Robledo turned toward her impatiently. "Did you not know I had come?" "Oh, it's you?" and there was a scornful sniff from the girl. "Well, well, can't you say you're glad to see me?" The jade was hard to impress, where others showed abjection before the terrorist. "I can, but I won't. Where's my father?" "Never mind your father—I want to talk to you." "Is it so, Señor Robledo? Well, you won't in that tone." He intercepted her in the center of the room, catching her wrist and turning her about to face him. "What do you want to say to me?" "You little devil!... Come here, don't try to get away." The girl was tugging to release herself. "What's come over you these days? You are about as fond and sweet-tempered as a tigress. Anyone would think that you didn't care for me at all. What have I done, Dolores?" "It is what you have not done. For fifteen days your Prince has been in need of you, and you have not had the courage to go to him. Let go my wrist." Don Robledo laughed, yet with a quaver in his voice, for there was a depth of passion here, intensified by the spirited resistance of the girl. "Who's the little spitfire trying to tear to pieces now?" "You!" she snapped back. "Don Robledo—sword-fighter—toreador—fire-eater—hero of a hundred duels!... You—Don Robledo—coward!" He clumsily chuckled her under the chin. "I asked you to-day," she continued, as she threw his hand away from her face, "I begged you to go into the castle and rescue your Prince. I ask you now to answer the signal that I just saw in the tower window, where he can see our lights. Perhaps he has burned something, a scrap of paper, in the hope that some of you, his retainers, would notice it and come to his assistance. But—he doesn't know what a pack of cowards you all are, or he would have saved his matches. So, it's Don Robledo—coward!" The big man snarled. "Coward—never a coward in a fair fight in the open, and I'll meet the best man that walks the earth." Here he faced the inquisitive and thoroughly awed villagers. "Any two or three!" He banged the table with his riding-crop to punctuate the emphasis. "I don't ask you to kill one or two or three of these poor whimpering sheep of Seguro. I ask you to dare something, at risk to yourself. To go to the aid of your Prince.... There isn't a man among you—who dares! Dios! How I could love such a man!" They had not heard the thrum of the motors on the roadway outside. The door opened, and the first of the party to enter was the Duke. He walked quietly into the room, overhearing the words of Dolores. "A pretty little speech!" he observed sarcastically. "Your Excellency!" cried Robledo, taking off his hat. "Welcome back to Seguro." "Yes, I am well come to Seguro." The natives doffed their hats, and like Pedro bowed and howled in the time-honored peasant way. "The Duke! The Duke!" "Pedro, go out and help the Princess and her servants with the luggage. I want to speak to you alone, Robledo. Hurry, while the others are delayed with that execrable car. I walked a hundred yards to get here first." He turned toward Dolores with a scowl. "Those are charming sentiments for your fellow-townsmen, whose healthy common sense prevents them from rushing to a fool's death. Still, all fools are not dead yet. One of them will be here to-night. And you, señorita, will doubtless be pleased to look over him, as he has come all the way from America for the privilege of entering the castle and playing your hero." Dolores looked at Robledo, as she parried: "And did her Highness have to go all the way to America to find him?" "Yes, indeed. He's from America, where all the fools come from!" And the villagers joined in a merry chorus of intelligent laughter! <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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