Suzanna (20 page)

“Dominus vobiscum,”
the Bishop droned. And then through the door at Ramon's side came his father. Behind him the boy caught a glimpse of the wedding procession. Leading it came Chiquita on the arm of Don Diego; the man proud, stately.

Chiquita, her head slightly bowed, a suspicious pinkness in her olive tinted cheeks, was almost incomparably beautiful. Her wedding gown, a wondrous garment of satin and rare lace, flared widely at the bottom, and as she walked her red slippers peeped out cautiously. Draped about her shoulders clung a mantilla of purest silver thread. A jeweled comb sparkled in her midnight hair. The mantilla hung from this ornament in her hair, and as she turned her head both comb and mantilla glistened in the sunlight.

Ramon had to admit that she was beautiful,—but hers was the beauty that kills.

A procession of children followed in the bridal train, casting flowers at the bride and her attendants, and making a veritable pathway of blossoms upon which the bride and groom were to tread as they left the chapel.

The last of the children entered, and Ramon saw his bride take her place opposite him. Turning his eyes away, that she might not read his thoughts, he stared through the open door at the flower strewn path. And as he continued to gaze into the empty patio, he saw Montesoro and Suzanna move across the garden toward a temporary altar which had been hurriedly arranged for their marriage.

Suzanna's olive tinted cheeks were pale; but she was magnificent in her wedding garments as head erect she walked beside the man whom she was about to wed. Never once did she look to the right or left, but continued with steady step toward the altar.

Montesoro was clad in fitting raiment, and although he hovered near Suzanna protectingly, he shot a hurried glance toward the chapel, dreading some last minute interference with his plans.

Ramon's blood froze in his veins as he beheld the two of them. What had happened to Guara? Had the Indian's courage failed him? Surely he had not found Pérez, or else the man would have come. Another ten minutes and no power on earth could stop Suzanna from marrying the man beside her.

A look of horror crossed the boy's face. Terror came into his eyes. And then as he watched, he saw another figure follow them, a man in dashing raiment. Something familiar about the swagger of him struck Ramon. His lips moved inarticulately as he strained his eyes for a better look at the man's face. And then, like a flash, the boy's eyes snapped.

His blood warmed again. He wanted to cry out, to shout with ecstacy, for here was help. Let Montesoro and the others do their worst, they dealt with a man now.

“Por Dios!”
he mumbled. “I knew he would not fail me. It's Pérez, himself!”

CHAPTER XXIII

G
UARA
had not found Pérez. The man had come unsummoned to the
caserio
. He had timed his arrival well, and for once he entered by the gate. Neither Pancho or Suzanna had seen him waiting for them to cross to the altar. In fact, they did not become aware of his presence until he addressed them.

Montesoro's hand went to his sword as he recognized the bandit. Pérez ignored him, and turning to Suzanna he said:

“I am late,—as usual; but not too late—and as I have come all the way from Monterey since sunrise, perhaps you will forgive my tardiness.”

Suzanna had no ready answer, so great a shock had his appearance given her. Pérez saw her confusion.

“You did not send for me, as I suggested,” he ran on, “but that prize fool, Miguel, unwittingly served as your messenger.”

The man spoke in riddles. But he was not one to risk his neck for the thrill of it.

“Miguel?”Suzanna questioned, hoping to discover what it was that Pérez was trying to say. “Have you taken him prisoner, too.”

The man bowed as he answered.

“Miguel is also a guest of mine,” he replied ironically. “Or rather I might say that I have been their guest; inasmuch as the entertainment has taken place within the walls of Señor Alvarez's own home. But no matter,—as a companion, the father has proven a distinct disappointment; his sense of humor is negligible. But allow me to say, Señorita, that I have succeeded in finding out why friend Alvarez was so exceedingly anxious to have his son wed you.”

Pancho had stood being brushed aside as long as he could bear it. With a clicking of syllables he said to Pérez:

“You choose an ill time for your gossip. You will find the wedding presents arrayed in Don Diego's study.”

“So-o-o?”Pérez inquired with rising inflection, a dreadful whine in his voice. “Think you that I am always bent on business? I have my moments, man. The time is short; allow me to finish.”

“Not if it is only idle gossip which you have to retail!”

Pérez smiled to himself.

“I will leave that to your judgment, Señor,” he replied. “Suzanna,” he began again, “on the word of a lawyer, I can assure you that you have been most grievously sinned against.”

Suzanna smiled enigmatically, at a loss to understand the man.

“On unimpeachable authority, believe me, I say to you that you are the real Chiquita de Sola. The girl, who stands inside that chapel door about to wed young Gutierrez, is a peon,—the daughter of Ruiz, the peon!”

Suzanna's hand leaped to her mouth.

''Wha-t-t-t!'' she cried, her body trembling. Surely this man was mad. In fear, she stepped nearer to Pancho, and sent an appealing glance at him. But Montesoro was speechless. Was this girl to be snatched away from him at the very altar?

“I repeat myself,” Pérez went on, “you are Don Diego's daughter! I suspect that this man has known it for some time.”

“Your suspicions are in keeping with the rest of your weird tale,” Montesoro cried angrily. “Enough of your witless chatter! Ramon saved you once; I doubt if he could accomplish it were I to raise my voice now.”

Pérez made no reply until he had stared the man down.

“There is truth in your surmise,” he said at last. “But you will not cry out against me, Señor,—I am quite certain of that. And as for witless chatter,—a man does not speak witlessly when hot irons are caressing the soles of his feet. Believe me, Señor Alvarez never spoke more to the point. Ruiz went to him with his secret. Here I have the statement of friend Alvarez!”

Tersely then did Pérez acquaint Suzanna with the truth. No wonder there had always been a warm affection in her heart for Don Diego; it was the natural affinity of a daughter for her father.

Weak, dazed, Suzanna leaned against the altar for support. How would her father receive this news And Don Fernando,—and Ramon?—would he scorn her now? And then her heart almost stopped beating. The marriage! No doubt but what the Bishop was pronouncing Chiquita man and wife this very instant. Pérez had said that he was not too late; but he was! What good could come of his news now? The document he had given her burned her fingers.

The girl's brain reeled and her power to think left her. She heard a strange voice, which she barely recognized for Montesoro's, saying:

“It's a story-book tale that you tell. You will have to prove it! And you have not named
your
price, either.”

Pérez started to reply, but Suzanna stopped him. Turning to Pancho she asked:

“Does it not make you happy to know the truth?”

“More than I can say,—if it is the truth,” Montesoro muttered. “But the thought of losing you is maddening.”

“I have not said that I would not marry you,” Suzanna answered slowly.

“But
I
say that you shall not marry him!” a voice boomed behind her. “You are mine, and no man shall take you from me!”

That voice! Suzanna put out her hand unsteadily.

“Ramon!”she whispered. “My Ramon——”

“At last,”he said to her. “God bless you, Pérez,”he exclaimed as he turned to the bandit. “Have you a horse?”

“Outside the gate,—a white stallion. The crowd is coming!”

Ramon reached for Suzanna, and as he did so, Pancho's sword flashed.

“You'll not run so fast!” he cried aloud.

The boy was caught without hope of defending himself. Suzanna screamed as she saw the steel blade reach for Ramon's throat. And then through the air another blade whistled; the swish of it ending in a groan as Montesoro sank to the ground, pierced to the heart.

“Go!”Pérez commanded. “The way is open!”

CHAPTER XXIV

R
AMON
had stood at the chancel, waiting, until his hands had shaken, for some sign of action on the part of Pérez. Helplessly he had fought the excitement raging within him. The Bishop had read the
Pater Noster;
another minute or two and the mass would be over; the wedding would be consummated. Something in Ramon had snapped, then. Time and place, parents, betrothed, custom, traditions,—everything was swept away in the flood of emotion which had engulfed him. The decision he had despaired of ever reaching, had given him strength. Let the cost be what it might, Chiquita de Sola could be no bride of his! Without pausing to calculate his chances of success, he had leaped through the door and rushed to Suzanna's side.

The crowd had murmured at his unceremonious exit. Don Fernando and Don Diego exchanged a wondering glance, but even now they had no suspicion of what went forward in the patio; and it was not until the sound of angry voices arose that Ramon's father stepped to the door. His eye took in the scene at a glance,—Montesoro lying dead at the foot of the altar; Pérez, sword in hand standing above him; Ramon running for the gate, Suzanna in his arms.

“Hold! Hold!” He cried aloud. “Stop them!”

The crowd in the chapel was thrown into a panic. Men, who had been friends but a moment before, fought each other to gain access to the garden.

Don Fernando had drawn his sword on seeing no one arise to bar the way to Ramon's escape. The portly man called again as he ran after them; but as the crowd poured into the garden, Ramon lifted Suzanna onto the horse's back and swung into the saddle in front of her.

“Stop! Stop him!” Don Fernando shouted, but the cry was in vain; Ramon and Suzanna dashed away.

The boy's father turned to his men, who surrounded him. “Pursue them!” he ordered.

Horses were needed first, before this could be done, and minutes must elapse before they could be saddled. Ramon was heading for the hills to the west. In a few minutes, he was far enough away from the
caserio
to permit those who watched to follow him with their eyes.

“He
is
pursued!” some one cried.

And true enough, a long-striding black horse had turned from the road and was leaping after the fugitives.

“That horse,” Don Fernando exclaimed,—“his gait is familiar!”

“ 'Tis Guara,” Ruiz answered. “I recognize the horse he rides.”

“He bids fair to overtake them. But to your horses, men. And look to it you are quick about it!”

Ramon and Suzanna had passed from sight by now, Guara riding close.

Another mile and the Indian caught up with them. The boy had seen that they were followed, and that their pursuer must overtake them.

Suzanna pointed to him in alarm.

“Never fear!” Ramon cried. “By my life I swear they shall not take you from me.”

That it was Guara who followed them, caused the boy to wonder; but be he friend or foe, Ramon vowed that the Indian should not turn him back. Sword in hand, he swung to the ground and faced the man.

The Indian shook his head at sight of the boy's drawn sword.

“Do you mean that you come as a friend?” Ramon questioned. “Didn't my father order you to bring us back?”

“I have not seen your father. I was returning to the
Caserio
when I saw you gallop off. Pérez—he came, I see,” Guara smiled, pointing to the outlaw's horse. “He was in Monterey; I ride one horse to death trying to find him.”

“Your reward shall not be forgotten, Guara.”

“This black mare is for her,” the man grinned, nodding toward Suzanna. “She is fresh. Hurry! Many men come soon.”

Ramon's only plan so far had been to get away from the
caserio
. He knew the hill trails to the west. One of them led to Monterey. If they were fortunate enough to reach there, they could find a haven of refuge; but the way was overly long for Suzanna.

The Indian seemed to sense the boy's indecision as he wheeled his horse ahead of Suzanna's mare. With cunning quite equal to a white man's, Guara said pointedly: “The lower trail leads to San Carmelo.”

Ramon smiled. Here was the plan he had lacked! With a wave of his hand to the Indian, the boy gave his horse its head and he and Suzanna drew rapidly away.

It was forty miles to San Carmelo. The pace began to tell on the girl. “Whither do we go?” she cried as they swept down into a rocky cañon.

“To the Mission San Carlos de Carmelo,” Ramon flung back at her without ever slacking the speed at which they rode.

San Carlos de Carmelo,—the Mission! Suzanna smiled bravely to herself. What mattered this torturing saddle now?

She thought of Pérez as she rode, and of the sacrifice the man had made for her, for surely he had been captured that they might ride free. The man had proven himself a true friend; and in spite of all his failings, Suzanna found him worthy of her respect.

The bandit had been captured as she surmised. Indeed, he had made no attempt to escape; nor did he resist when Don Diego ordered him bound.

Ramon's act was a cruel blow to Señor de Sola. He is to be pardoned for venting his wrath on Pérez. The bandit was the only one of the guilty ones to hand, and Don Diego had also the matter of his silver against the man.

Chiquita had been carried away in a faint from Montesoro's side. It was to the dead man that Don Diego pointed as he addressed the bound bandit.