Beadle's New York Dime Library No. 1061 — page 19: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

detta? How did Don Castro escape these devils sent to kill him? Holy Mary protect you! A fearful fate is in store for the daugh- ter of Don Jose Castro. | “ But Panchito will save you or die! stiletto will find the black heart which lured | her from home and virtue.” Holding the glittering steel above her head | she whispered an oath, kissed the blade, and stood before Lena a perfect picture of faithful | ; _ goodly store. friendship and heroism. suddenly become sisters in affection and dan- ger, gazed lovingly into each other’s eyes, and then they were folded in each other’s arms, the lily-white cheek of the Castilian nestling against the creamy skin of the daughter of the Mdntezumas; the red lips, through which ‘coursed the proud blood of old Spain, pressing those rich in the fire and fortitude of Indian kings. The heavy, iron-studded door burst suddenly ‘open, and the bandit chief, with tangled hair, disordered clothing and bloodshot eyes blaz- ing with fury, stood before them. *‘Santissima Maria!” broke in a hoarse whis- per from Panchito. Then she hastily whispered to Lena to eoun- terfeit sickness and leave the brute to her. ““Caramba! what means this billing and cooing of female doves? Panchito, what do you here? Your sbert acquaintance calls not for such extravagant affection. What means this, I demand? Are you a traitor to your ehief? Explain, or I’]l cut your heart out and throw your carcass over the wall for coyotes to feast on!” Although the situation called for great self command and tact, Lena comprehended her position, and that of her friend, immediately. Knowing a!l depended upon her actions, she languidly drooped again back upon the shoul- ders of Panchito, who answered with an unwa- vering voice the demand of the bandit cbief. ‘*This lady is very ill, Don Brogado. Her } has been too much for her. She could not eat, so I have taken my breakfast ', here, as she has been in such a condition that I feared to leave her alone. I think she had better retire again, if you will be so kind as to leave ws. She may require a doctor from Monterey if she does not improve through the day.” e bandit chief leaned against the door and leered with suspicion at the two females, as Panchito, to carry out the plot, assisted Lena to a chair, and bathed her head with perfumed spirits. Lena was so filled with fear at the sight of the monster she hated with such intensity, that sbe became more and more ghastly, until even Don Brogado, still. partially stupefird with drink, was convinced that she was dan- gerously ill. Not wishing to have a doctor or priest enter his haunt, he staggered out, think- ing his presence calculated to increase Lena’s sickness, and closed the door, rejoining his fol- lowers, who were tremblingly quaffing their morning drams, No sooner had the door closed than Lena sprung to her feet, exclaiming: “Panchito, this warns us that we must be more prudent! Why did you not lock the door? Thank God! the monster has gone! I thought I should die with horror. Do not leave me in his power. I felt a deathly terror come over me at the sight of his bloated face. I should not have the strength to brave or defy him, or even attempt to protect myself in his presence. I fear I should lose my senses did ys be enter this room when I was alone. By ail ay the bopes you have of heaven, I adjure you, do "not leave me, my gear, my only friend, and for the love of mercy, think of some plan to bring me face to face with her I believe is my | mother. Great God, give me strength a little longer!” Panchito pressed a glass of vino dulce to the lips of Lena, who drank the invigorating cor- dial and became more calm. Meanwhile thoughts and plans for the wel- fare of her friend ran like wild-fire through the brain of the faithful Mexican girl. “When my lady feels better, Panchito will take her to the room of the mad-woman, even at the risk of her life. Thank the saints, Don Brogado drank deep last night, and in conse- . quence must also drink more this morning, or A suffer greatly. I know a way to the room af 4 her I am positive is your mother, which he lit- Te tle dreams I am aware of. Come, we must i go now, while he is with his ruffian crew.” ne Taking the oan of Lena the Mexican girl Her | stairs, the last, | One instant these two, so strangely met, so | Buckskin Sam. -_—_—_ --— _ —E — ee eee led the former out, locking the door and secur- ing the key at her girdle. With stealthy steps various passages were traversed and they descended two flights of with spider-webs. They were in the cellars of the hacienda. It was pot very dark, as a narrow, grated window allowed a dim light to show the casks and bottles, of which the bandid chief had a Traversing the cellar to the further ahd north side, Panchito climbed up upon some casks and reaching above her head she pushed up upon a ring, opening a trap door to the ground floor of the casa above. Then assisting Lena upon the casks she, with the help of the latter, succeeded in making her way through the trap. A low murmur of incoherent sounds broke upon the ear of Lena as she stood in the semi- darkness upon the wine casks; then the hands of her friend reached down through the trap. Grasping them and giving a spring she landed in the room above. CHAPTER XVIL A FRIEND AT THE GRATING. Wuen Lena Castro stood by the side of Panchito, after springing through the trap door from the wine-cellar, a sight met her eye which made her grasp the arm of her friend for support, while a wild cry leaped from her half parted lips, in which cry was blended joy, sorrow, and the long pent up love of years. Seated in a huge old arm-chair, swiftly slipping some gold beads back and forth on a string, dressed in gay colors of rich goods, but of old-fashioned make, was the form of her she had so often dreamed of, so often prayed for, so often longed yet dreaded to see. The oil painting of her mother, which hung at her home in San Antonio, draped in black crape, had been, from infancy, familiar to Lena Castro’s eyes, and the face before her was its counterpart, except that lines of care and suffering were on the brow, the cheeks were ghastly, and the look in the eyes had changed from the loving tenderness depicted in the picture to a vacant, meaningless stare, or a glance of dread, or one of fierce defiance and hatred. One appealing loving look Lena cast upon the form of her she now knew was her long- lost mother; then she sprung from the trap- door and kneeling, clasped the hands of the in- sane woman, and covered them with kisses. To the astonishment of Panchito, who had quickly followed to protect her friend from any outbreak of the mad-woman, the latter, in place of exhibiting anger or violence, softly stroked the hair of her daughter, and bending down lovingly, kissed her pure, white brow. Lena, with tears of joy, flung her arms about her mother’s neck, and for the first time within remembrance, kissed her lips, and mur- mured: ‘*gnadre mio /” There was something about the manner of the poor, unfortunate long-sufferer that for- bade Lena venturing too far in her fondling, something so sacred about her presence that it made her own voice seem a sacrilege. — It’s hoarse unnaturalness, as she first, face to face, spoke the loving word, ‘‘ mother,” sounded through the room like the last groan of a soul, relieved from earth’s bondage. Why was it that her heart stood still? why was it that the vacant look seemed to pierce her, and send a cold thrill of horror through her frame? She asked herself these questions, and her heart answered. She had always had a hope of seeing her she had been taught to love and revere, because her father had never given up the thought of again pressing his wife to his heart, pure and stainless. Why he felt that this would be so he could never explain to,her, and she had been taught to think her mother would sometime bless her, and repay for the long and forced absence in a love and affection known on earth to but few. She had as the years rolled on hoped and prayed that it might be so: but she never dreamed of meeting her with the stare of insanity in her eye, and an ab- sence of motherly affection in her actions. The embrace just received had been as devoid of feeling as if given to a doll, Consequently the poor girl was bewildered, her joy was tinctured with a nameless sorrow, which made her faint and listless as a child, and she allowed herself to be led away to the trap by Pan- chito, who was now filled with forebedings of . , ' . Li» P a . . 4 is A% cay r? rm ’* b “ed damp, moldy and covered | 19 — ——$___—— = eS sy misfortune, and wondered how Lena had pre- vailed upon ber to make such a dangerous ex- periment as to bring ber to the mad-woman’s room. With her last glances bent upon her mother, who had again commenced fingering her beads, and muttering prayers, Lena was assisted down into the cellar, the trap-door closed, and the two girls stood and listened, with fear and trembling, at the drunken di-cord, which had broken out afresh in the dining-hall, and sounded plainly in the cellar, Clinging to the hand of Lena, Panchito ap- proached the stairs, but before reiching the steps they were forced to pass through a bar of light, shining through the small grated open- ing. As they reached this spot the blood- curdling warning of a rattlesnake sounded from the window above them, which caused the girls to utter a low cry of horror, and gaze toward the point of alarm. That which they saw at first made their cheeks more ghastly, their breath to come in shorter gasps; for it was the bideously-painted visage of an Indian warrior. : A warning hiss proceeded from bis lips, a fresh plucked magnolia blossom, white as the untrampled snow, fell—a sign of truce or faith —at the feet of Lena, and words came to her ears that brought the blood back to her pale cheeks, and doubled the hope in her heart. ‘Pale Lily watch—Pale Lily no be afraid— Buckskin on trail—take Lily back to White- hair—Warlula watch—Greaser burt Pale Lily, lose scalp—Warlula is a bird—he will sing in tree—sing when night come—maybeso fly— wah!”’ Whether the last guttural expression was given in farewell or not, the girls could not tell, but they thought it meant a signal of danger, and as, at the instant of its sounding through the cellar, the head of the Indian dis- appeared, they supposed the danger had pointed toward himself. Both realizing the danger they were in from discovery, they quickly mounted the stairs, traversed the various passages safely, and entered the room of Lena, Panchito locking the door as the former threw herself upon her knees by the bedside in thankful prayer, pant- ing with fear, hope, and nervousness. Soon Panchito knelt by her side, and with arms clasped about each other the two wept together, their tears those of thankfulness at the promises and hopes of the future. “Warlula is a bird—he sing when moon comes!” These words sounded in their ears, almost an echo to‘those they had heard a moment before, in the cellar. Their eyes met in wonder, then strove in vain to pierce the dense foliage of the cypress; for they knew tbe words came from its shadows, and were intended for their ears alone. Their star of hope was gaining in brilliancy, and its light was reflected in their eyes, as Panchito hastily gathered up the breakfast service, and exclaimed: ““My lady must not grieve more. She has two friends now; one outside and one inside of this accursed hacienda. When ared warrior of the plains says he is a friend you need not fear. I must go, but will watch the drunken ruffians below. You have faith in this Buckskin the Indian speaks about, have you, my lady?” “Yes, my dear friend, he is as sure to come as the moon to rise, if he can find the way. One of my worst troubles has been the thought that he was dead—that he lost his life in my service, A great load is lifted from my heart by the words of the Indian, God grant they may be true, and that my lips may thank him for his more than brotherly services.’ A bright, hopeful smile, a warm kiss, and Panchito passed quickly out of the room, the door closed, the key grated, and the beautiful Castilian girl was alone. No! she was not alone! a friend as true as the temper of a Damascus blade, with eyes everywhere glittering like those of a snake, and ears as sharp as those of the wild mustang lay along a branch, hidden in the screen of leaves near her window; the noiseless, deadly bow and arrow in his grasp, the long cite? knife in his belt. CHAPTER XVIII. THE COUNCIL IN THE CHAPARRAL. THE bandits who abducted Lena Castro from San Antonio had made long, rapid marches until over the Rio Grande, when feeling safe _ from pursuit they had fadalgeg in drink, ont’. comic 6 ’ > ‘4 P Vs - 2» . c Me S 4 ° v.