The Bride of the Sun

Little Christobal, clinging to Dick’s legs, reiterated his father’s questions, while Uncle Francis’ long shanks took him wandering aimlessly round the little group. The guard blew his whistle, and Natividad pushed them all into a carriage just as the train started.

“Yes, she has been carried off by the Indians, but we know where she is. She is at Chorillos.” Dick’s attempt to reduce the force of the blow to the Marquis partly succeeded. Then he explained what he knew while Don Christobal, raging in his corner, swore to kill with his own hands every Quichua in the country. Little Christobal, understanding only that his sister was lost, sobbed bitterly.

But what had given the others the alarm? The Marquis explained that Aunt Agnes and Irene, going to church for the evening angelus, found that the Golden Sun bracelet had been stolen from the shrine of the Virgin of San Domingo. They had returned home in a panic, to find the Marquis nearly distracted with fear. Going to his club for the first time in a week, he had there found an anonymous letter warning him to watch over his daughter day and night throughout the Interaymi. This letter, a twin of the one received at Cajamarca, had been waiting some days. It particularly warned him not to allow his daughter to go to Callao on Saturday. It was then seven o’clock, and going home to find that neither Maria-Teresa nor Dick were back, he had at once rushed to Callao. Little Christobal, refusing to listen to orders, had followed his father and Uncle Francis.

Dick listened like one demented. He was silent, but his mind was in a turmoil. To think of such a thing! In a country where people used telephones and traveled by rail! It was too horrible, too incredible, yet horribly credible. There was no doubt in his mind now as to the reasons for the abduction.

Natividad, closely questioned by the Marquis, finished by telling all he knew, and left them little hope. While loth to cause pain, he could not disguise certain facts. In a sense, too, he was triumphant. A conscientious official, he had once almost ruined his administrative career by certain reports on Quichua customs, dealing notably with the ritual murder of women and children. He had been laughed at, and called a lunatic—now the Red Ponchos were at work again.

The silence of despair greeted his words. Then, anxious to reassure them, the little old gentleman insisted that the Indians could not go far with their precious burden. All the defiles of the sierra were held by Veintemilla’s troops. They would always give assistance to the police, and the Indians were bound to run into them as soon as they left the costa. The chief thing was not to lose the trail.

They had now reached the point where the railway line joined the highroad running parallel to the sea, and all eyes were fixed on the great white band stretching out there in the moonlight. At first, it was bordered by a few tumble-down cabins and bamboo cottages, but soon there was only the nakedness of a huge sandy plain before them. Dick, the Marquis and Natividad, grouped at the windows, searched the night, while Uncle Francis took little Christobal in his arms and strove to console him. But the boy insisted on being held up, that he also might see out, moaning the while: “Maria-Teresa, Maria-Teresa!… Why have they taken my big sister?… Maria-Teresa!”

Suddenly, the same cry broke from them all: “The motor!” There it was, standing before the gates of a lonely hacienda. Natividad almost tore out the emergency cord, and the train, with a grinding of brakes, slowed down and then stopped. They tumbled to the line, Natividad shouting to the guard to go on, and send back police, troops and horses as soon as they could.

Dick raced across the plain, while Natividad, panting in the rear, called out to him to be careful, and not to give the alarm. The young engineer drew a revolver as he reached the motor, ready to shoot down the first man he saw. But there was nobody there. The car was empty, and the courtyard of the hacienda showed deserted, peopled only by the blue shadows of moonlight.

The gates were wide open, and he entered cautiously. Some of the buildings round the courtyard were in ruins; all were manifestly deserted. On his right, the bodega, or store-house; on his left, the proprietor’s casa. Here again the doors were open.

Dick returned to the motor, and was there rejoined by the Marquis and Natividad just as he lit one of the headlights. There was not a sound to be heard, and they followed the young man in silence. As they entered the first room of the house, a heavy, pungent perfume greeted their nostrils. Dick, leading the way, made a few cautious steps, and then fell back with a cry of horror. The furniture of the place was scattered in all directions, and there was blood everywhere.

“Maria-Teresa!” The Marquis and Dick, both calling out at the same time, were as suddenly silent again. Both seemed to have heard a faint voice answering them.

“It’s up there!” shouted the young man, dashing toward a staircase leading to the first floor. All could now distinctly hear a low, prolonged moan. Dick, slipping on the stairs in his hurry, rose again with a white face. His hands were red with blood!

III

The first two rooms were empty, but bore unmistakable signs of a desperate flight and struggle. Then a landing, a door and a dark cupboard, from which a loud cry for help now resounded throughout the deserted hacienda. Dick, signing to the Marquis to turn the light into the corner, bent down, and dragged a body from the cupboard. It was Libertad!

Covered with knife-wounds, the negro boy was on the point of’ death, struggling for air. They took him into the next room, and threw open the windows, while Dick questioned him brutally. “Where is your mistress?” A feeble hand pointed toward the sierra, and Dick stood away from the dying man. That was all he wanted to know. The Red Ponchos were already on the road to the mountains with his fiancée.

He dashed down into the road to find Uncle Francis with little Christobal. The boy, climbing into the motor had discovered his sister’s cloak there, and was crying over it. He threw himself into Dick’s arms, but was roughly pushed aside while the young engineer raged impotently.

What could he do? Anything for a horse, a mule, something to carry on the pursuit! The irony of it! That motor there, which had served for the crime, was useless now on the narrow rocky mountain pathway which they must follow.

Then little Christobal, listening with wide-open eyes, started. He had heard a noise at the far end of the court. Could there be horses in that deserted bodega. It sounded just like hoofs stamping on a plank flooring. Then the child heard a faint neigh.

Dick had vanished, and Christobal, running toward the farm buildings, slipped through a half-open door. Yes, there was something there… llamas… three llamas,.. but thin, miserable creatures, worn out by the heavy loads of years, and incapable of carrying even a child. But llamas do not neigh. The boy slipped round the corner of the building, and stopped short in the shadow. Sitting motionless a few yards away was a horseman, watching the house. At his stirrup, attentively immobile as the horseman, was a llama—one of those light, fine-limbed, long-necked beasts which carry a man’s belongings and follow him like a dog.

As Christobal caught sight of them, the horse shied. The rider reined it in, and swore, but his oath was cut short by a shot. A shadow had risen in the night, only a few feet away, and had fired; the rider rolled from his saddle, while the shadow, seizing the horse’s bridle, swung itself into his place. Little Christobal ran toward it.

“Tell your father I’ve bagged one of them,” shouted Dick, turning his mount and riding for the sierra.

The child, without answering, ran after the llama, which in its turn was following the horse. His little fingers caught in its wool, he checked it with the words one uses to llamas, scrambled up and dashed after Dick. Uncle Francis, on the roadway, was passed by two black streaks, and left alone there, speechless.

Meanwhile, in the room on the first floor, Libertad was making his confession. Natavitad had realized, and had made the Marquis realize, the great value to them which this might have. Nor, to tell the truth, did he forget the value of the Marquis as a witness to this confession, which he regarded in the light of a valuable piece of fresh evidence in his case against the Indians generally. For this twofold reason, Natividad was merciless, and forced the negro to speak till his last breath.

This confession, made in gasps and groans, built up by question and answer, and cut short by death, showed clearly that the abduction had been long planned, and that the daughter of the Marquis de la Torre had been chosen as the victim of the Interaymi at least two months before the festival. That was as clear as the wonderful tropical night without.

Two months before, Libertad had first been sounded, and he had not long resisted the temptation of the money offered him. All he was asked to do was to drive the motor to a certain spot on a certain day, without looking to see what was happening behind him. For this, he was to receive two hundred silver soles, of which fifty were paid to him in advance.

“And who did you make the bargain with?” demanded Natividad.

“With a clerk from the Franco-Belgian bank who sometimes came to see the señorita. His name was Oviedo.”

Don Christobal started. Oviedo Huayna Runtu, the intruder of the Cajamarca trip! If he had planned to kidnap Maria-Teresa at Callao, that voyage must have been particularly disagreeable to him. That would explain his close watch over them, and perhaps also the hint to the police at Cajamarca, which resulted in their hasty return to Lima.

“When did you first know the date chosen?” questioned Natividad, holding up the negro, who was choking.

“This morning. Oviedo came to see me. He told me that a man would say to me, ‘Dios anki tiourata’ (‘good-day,’ in Aimara), and that I was to obey that man. I was to take the wheel, not turn my head, and drive where I was told to go.”

Libertad’s story, told in jerky sentences, showed that he did not really know until the evening what had been plotted. Though he did not move or look, the sound of the struggle at the open window told him what was happening. It was then too late to draw back, and, when the order came, he drove the car to the calle San Lorenzo, where they stopped for a minute before a low door. Huascar came out, exchanged a few words with the occupants of the machine, and ordered him to take the Chorillos road, and not to stop until he had reached Ondegarda’s hacienda. There was not a sound behind him throughout the journey.

At the hacienda, when his passengers got out, he had instinctively glanced sideways, and had seen the señorita, unconscious, being lifted out by three dwarfs with horribly-shaped heads. They took her into the casa, while he, more dead than alive, waited where he was, anxious only to be paid and to get away.

Then they were overtaken by a troop of mounted Indians, all wearing red ponchos, and led by Oviedo. Huascar was also with them, and ordered Libertad to come into the house. To his surprise, he found there half a dozen women, veiled in black, and guarding the door to another room.

“The mammaconas,” gasped Natividad. “We can have no doubts now.... Speak, Libertad.... Speak, and God may forgive you.”

“Yes, the mammaconas,” said the negro lad, feverishly.... “But I did not know.... God will forgive me.... The señorita, too, will forgive me.... You must save her.... She was so good to me.... And I betrayed her… betrayed her for two hundred silver soles.... They did not know I understood Aimara… they said that Atahualpa would have a beautiful bride.... And they fell on their faces before her when she passed.”

“You saw her, then?” demanded the Marquis, bending low over the prostrate figure at his feet to catch the faint words.

“Yes, I saw her.... She was so good.... And I sold her for two hundred silver soles.”

“Tell us how it happened,” interrupted Natividad. “Was she no longer unconscious?”

“She came out of the room, held up by women in black veils… the three dwarfs were dancing around her.... She seemed to be in a dream… they have terrible poisons and perfumes.... My sweet señorita… wrapped in a gold veil… her face was hidden… only her eyes, staring sightlessly before her.... The mammaconas were all round her… and the dwarfs were dancing. I saw it all, because they had left me alone, and I looked out of the window… they put her on a mule… in front of one of the mammaconas… and the others followed.... Yes, señor, it is true… all these stories you hear in the ranchos.... Quite true… the dwarfs followed, señor.... Oviedo was there… they had prepared everything in this hacienda.... I believe they murdered the owner and all his people....

“Yes, I saw it all.... I did not care then that I had not been paid.... I watched.... And the Red Ponchos carried off my mistress… they are taking her to the Temple of the Sun.... It is the Interaymi.... But you will find them first… You must.... And God will forgive me.”

Libertad closed his eyes and fell back, but seemed to recover his forces with the last flicker of life, and opened them again.

“What happened to you?” asked Natividad. “Was it in trying to save your mistress?…”

Libertad smiled bitterly, and tried to cross himself, but his arm fell nerveless by his side.

“Huascar,” he said. “He came into the room, and when I asked him to pay me, pointed to the two hundred silver soles… they were on the table there.... Not one over.... It was not much for betraying my mistress.... I did not know that was what they wanted.... When I told him so, he asked me what I would have done if I had known.... I answered I would have asked double the amount....”

“What then?”

“Then he drew a knife and came at me.... I ran, but he followed.... He stabbed me once, and I escaped, but he followed.... I ran upstairs.... He stabbed me again and again.... When I fell, he thought I was dead… and I am… I am… dying… oh!… Have mercy!”

Libertad’s last moment had come. The Marquis and Natividad, bending over him, were startled by the shot outside, and rushed downstairs. They found Uncle Francis by the motor, staring down the road. When they asked him where Dick and little Christobal were, he gazed back as if not understanding, and vaguely answered that he was looking for them.

Don Christobal and Natividad, turning to look in the direction the old scientist was staring, suddenly saw two shadows dash across a moonlit stretch of road and vanish in the darkness of a ravine leading into the mountains, and spanned above by the railway bridge. Dick on his horse, little Christobal on his llama, did not even check for an instant at their hail.

Hardly had the hoof-beats died out in the depths of the ravine than the sound of galloping horses came from the right, on the Chorillos road. A moment later, a knot of riders appeared.