Carmen Ariza Part 191

"And--"

"He will be shot to-morrow, senor."

Hitt thought with desperate rapidity. Then he looked up. "Why do you say he is an ex-priest?" he asked.

"He has just been excommunicated," replied the man. "Cursed, they say, by bell, book, and candle."

"Good heavens! That he might be shot? Ah, I see it all! Ames's message! Of course Don Wenceslas would not dare to execute a priest in good standing. And so he had him excommunicated, eh?"

Don Jorge shrugged his shoulders. "_Quien sabe?_" he muttered.

Hitt sat for a while in a deep study. Time was precious. And yet it was flying like the winds. Then he roused up.

"You knew a little girl--in Simiti--in whom this Rincon was interested?"

"Ah, yes, senor. But--why do you ask? She went to the great States from which you come. And I think little was heard from her after that."

"Eh? Yes, true. She lived with--"

"Don Rosendo Ariza."

"Yes. And he?"

"Dead--he and his good wife, Dona Maria."

Hitt's head sank. How could he break this to Carmen? Then he sprang to his feet. "Come," he said, "we will stroll down by the walls. I would like a look at San Fernando."

"Ha! Senor, you--you--"

Hitt threw him a look of caution, and shook his head. Then, motioning him to follow, he led him out and down through the winding, tortuous thoroughfares. On the summit of the walls were sentinels, posted at frequent intervals; and no civilian might walk upon the great enclosure until peace had been formally declared.

Hailing a pa.s.sing carriage, Hitt urged the wondering Don Jorge into it, and bade the driver convey them to the old ruin of San Felipe, and leave them. There they climbed the broken incline into the battered fortress, and seated themselves in the shadow of a crumbling parapet.

They were alone on the enormous, gra.s.s-grown pile. From their position they commanded a wonderful view across the town and harbor, and far out over the green waters of the Caribbean. The _Cossack_ lay asleep in the quiet harbor. Don Jorge saw it, and wondered whence it came.

"Listen, _amigo_," began Hitt, pointing to the yacht. "In that boat is a girl, whose dearest earthly treasure is the condemned prisoner out there in San Fernando. That girl is the little Carmen, foster-daughter of old Rosendo."

"_Hombre!_" cried Don Jorge, staring at Hitt as if he suspected his sanity.

"It is true, friend, for I myself came with her in that boat."

"_Caramba!_"

"And," continued Hitt, glancing again about the ruined fortress and lowering his voice, "we have come for Jose de Rincon."

"_Santa Virgen!_ Are you _loco_?"

Hitt smiled. "And now," he went on eagerly, "how are we to get him?"

"But, _amigo_! San Fernando is closely guarded! And he--_por supuesto_, he will be in the dungeons!"

"No doubt," returned Hitt dryly, "if your excellent friend Wenceslas has had anything to do with it. But dungeons have windows, eh?"

"_Caramba_, yes; and San Fernando's are just above the water's edge.

And when the waves are high the sea pours into them!"

"And--could we learn which window is his, do you think?"

"Senor, I know," replied the man.

"Ha! And--"

"I learned from one of the soldiers, Fernando, who once lived in Simiti. I had thought, senor, that--that perhaps I--"

"That perhaps you might make the attempt yourself, eh?" put in Hitt eagerly.

Don Jorge nodded. Hitt sprang to his feet and looked out toward the silent fortress.

"Don Jorge, it is dark out over the harbor at night, eh? No searchlights?"

"None, senor."

Hitt began to pace back and forth. Suddenly he stopped, and stood looking down through a hole in the broken pavement. Then he knelt and peered long and eagerly into it.

"Look here, friend," he called. "How does one get into that place?"

Don Jorge came and looked into the aperture. "It is one of the rooms of the fortress," he said. "But--_caramba_! I know not how it may be reached."

"The pa.s.sageways?"

"Caved--all of them."

"But--you are a mighty husky fellow; and I am not weak. Suppose we try lifting one of these flags."

"_Na_, _senor_, as well try the tunnels! But, why?"

Hitt did not answer. But, bidding Don Jorge follow, he sought the fallen entrance to the old fortress, and plunged into the dark pa.s.sage that led off from it into the thick gloom. Groping his way down a long, damp corridor, he came to a point where three narrower, brick-lined tunnels branched off, one of them dipping into the earth at a sharp angle. He struck a match, and then started down this, followed by the wondering Don Jorge.

A thousand bats, hideous denizens of these black tunnels, flouted their faces and disputed their progress. Don Jorge slapped wildly at them, and cursed low. Hitt took up a long club and struck savagely about him. On they stumbled, until the match flickered out, and they were left in Stygian blackness, with the imps of darkness whirring madly about them. Hitt struck another match, and plunged ahead.

At length they found the way blocked by a ma.s.s of rubbish which had fallen from the roof. Hitt studied it for a moment, then climbed upon it and, by the aid of the feeble light from his matches, peered into the foul blackness beyond.

"Come," he said, preparing to proceed.

"_Na, amigo!_ Not I!" exclaimed Don Jorge. His Latin soul had revolted.

"Then wait for me here," said Hitt, pus.h.i.+ng himself through the narrow aperture at the top of the rubbish, and fighting the horde of terrified bats.

A few minutes later he returned, covered with slime, and scratched and bleeding. "All right," he muttered. "Now let's get out of this miserable hole!"