ROBERTO did not appear at the elapse of an hour, as he had threatened to do. Henderson believed the delay was due to this ridiculous general over a scant company of soldiers having to wait until enough of them returned from their various details to make the attempt with confdence. It was evident that Roberto had come unattended to the parley, or at best accompanied by only a few men. He must have returned directly to the pueblo to gather his forces, and in that way missed the artilleryman who had such important information for his ear. If Roberto had known the cannon was out of service, he might have attempted their capture and succeeded, very likely, with a squad.
Opposed to whatever advantage there was in this delay was a thing that far outweighed it. Few of the idle men had responded to Felipe's summons to come and work on the trenches. They had yielded their guns and ammunition readily enough to Henderson, no labor and no risk attending that; but they had hung back on going farther. It was noticeable, also, that a spirit of disaffection was growing among the few who had taken up arms with them that morning. These men were laboring at the earthworks under Felipe's direction now, but languidly, without heart.
Henderson suspected they must have learned that the cannon, around which their confidence and admiration centered, was of no more service now than a log. He did not blame them for cooling in what appeared, in his own reason and conviction, a hopeless situation. Their disaffection did not matter much, nor alter the gravity of the case greatly. He had collected the guns with the thought that he and Felipe might make a desperate defense alone, inflicting such loss on the soldiers that Roberto would retire, giving them an opportunity to slip away in the night. He believed he saw something beneath the demeanor of the men that shook even this desperate hope.
Felipe also was of the opinion that the men's cooling was the result of someone who had a knowledge of such things having seen the spike in the touch-hole of the cannon before he had covered it.
"There is nothing to them, Gabriel; they are carrion," he said sadly. "When I said their lives were worth little, I spoke the sad truth. A man's life is valuable only according to the nobility of his heart. It would have been no treason to them if we had gone our way an hour ago."
The ten or twelve men who worked with Simon throwing up the defenses turned their eyes on their leaders as they stood apart talking, a watchfulness in their faces that appeared to Henderson at once suspicious and threatening. The guns which they had walked about with in such proud defiance but a short time ago lay against the warehouse wall, together with those which Henderson had collected from the houses.
Old Pablo was sitting in the growing strip of shade near the guns. He had volunteered both to fight and to dig, but Felipe would not permit him, out of respect for his age and dignity, to stoop to a menial task. The old man was sitting with his back against the wall, knees drawn up, hands clasped around them, as serene as if he waited by the roadside under his own sycamore.
Helena had kept to her quarters in Felipe's office, content to lean on the wisdom and protection of those who had torn her from Roberto's hands. Henderson had told her of Roberto's threat to return and attack them; she knew the preparations under way were evidence of a desperate intention to stand against him. But she did not know that the cannon stood useless in its brave show.
Henderson drew Felipe a little farther from the men, nearer the heap of miscellaneous guns.
"You know them better than I do, Felipe," he said. "I am afraid they are unworthy and treacherous in the grain. I see treason in their faces; they're plotting among themselves right now to lay hold of us and set their patron free to save themselves from Roberto's punishment."
"It's Simon's work. I was a fool to permit him among them."
"That's another blunder in this day of mistakes to be charged to me, Felipe. But we have gained one thing—the road to Monterey will be clear if Roberto has told the truth about that dispatch from the north. He'll have called all his men in to take us."
"You mean, Gabriel, that we are to depart?"
"That is the one sensible course open to us. We can't depend on the men; our cannon is crippled. My great scheme for using Don Abrahan as a hostage has turned out a miserable mockery. Itis the hope that we will hang Don Abrahan that is bringing Roberto against us. It isn't duty, but hope of coming into his inheritance in short order."
"That is true. But what of these men—how are we to dispose of them?"
"Take Simon, lock him up, and bring Don Abrahan to me. I will attend to the men."
While Felipe was about this business, Gabriel explained to Pablo in few words how matters stood with them. He told of the cannon, spoke of the spirit of sedition among the men, of his determination to make a hasty retreat. Pablo did not show any concern over the revelation.
"I have been watching them; I have seen rascality in their faces," he said. "They are waiting now for you to turn your back, then—the guns! Simon is the little head behind it all."
"You're right, Pablo. I had a right to hang the thief when you brought him here."
"I am watching them," said Pablo quietly, shifting neither hand nor eye. "When one starts, I'll kill him."
"The guns—I'll remove them; I'll put them in the office. Helena must be told to get ready. If they make a rush while my back is turned, can you stop them, Pablo?"
"Go, Don Gabriel, and see to the lady and your horses. There are men among them who know how I shoot."
Henderson gathered all the guns and carried them to the office, where he told Helena how his great plans and abounding hopes of the morning had shriveled and come to nothing. He told her frankly that flight was imperative, the chances of the road as perilous to them as before. He requested her to change with all speed her pretty dress for the costume she had worn that morning.
"I will be ready in a few minutes, Gabriel," she said, calm, undisturbed. Her trust in him filled her life so completely that fear, it seemed, had no footing there.
Henderson turned back to the men in the trenches, who had left off work to gather in a close bunch like flies on a piece of sugar. They were listening gravely to one of the oldest among them, who was speaking in a lowand earnest voice. Their ears were for this old man, their eyes for Henderson as he approached them, pistol at his side.
"That is very well done, men," Henderson said in hearty words, nodding to the work they had done. "You have done good work, and now you may go; we'll have no further need of you. I'm sorry that I can't pay you right now for your labor here today, but when my countrymen, who are on the way with an army, arrive here, you shall be well paid."
This open and cheerful dismissal struck the men between amazement and shame. Henderson knew very well that they had been talking of winning their own safety from Roberto's wrath by making prisoners of him artd Felipe; their faces betrayed it, for dissimulation is not an art with the simple. It was as if he had snatched their pardon away from them just as they felt it safely in their reach.
"You will give us back our guns, then, Don Gabriel?" the old man asked.
"I'll take care of your guns," Henderson returned, in quite a different tone. There was a commanding harshness in it that made their servile spirits cower.
"We were told that Don Felipe had deceived us—that the Americans were not coming," the spokesman said.
"Well, if you will listen to a a liar," Henderson returned, with contempt.
Henderson knew they were trembling in the fear of Roberto's vengeance as Simon had pictured it to them. A bold front before them was necessary; they must be given to understand their services were no longer needed on account of the Americans being close at hand. They would not throw away this one price of Roberto's favor that lay in their power to pay. If they got wind of the planned retreat, they would try to stop it at any cost.
"The cannon is broken," the old man said. "That man who ran off put something in the little hole. There is no use trying to deceive us, Don Gabriel."
"There are twenty cannons coming through the pass," said Henderson, in emphasis despising merely one. "Go to your houses, every man of you, and go at once!"
Felipe was approaching with Don Abrahan; Henderson did not want one curious ear in that vacillating crowd to hear what must pass between him and the patron. The men put down their tools with slow hands, sullen faces, and came out of the trenches in defiant sulkiness. They went off hanging together in twos and threes, talking shoulder to shoulder, looking back at Henderson with scowling eyes.
Don Abrahan was pale and worried. Doubt of what waited him looked out of his face. Henderson stood at the cannon, waiting him.
"Don Abrahan, I had a design in restraining you this morning that subsequent developments have caused me to revise," Henderson said. "Briefly, I intended to make a bargain with your son, our safety against your life. Roberto sets a low and contemptuous value on my security. Don Abrahan, he discounts it to nothing; your life is valueless in his eyes."
"My son refused to treat with you on those terms?" Don Abrahan inquired, lifting his worried face quickly.
"He refused, Don Abrahan."
"Thank God that he valued duty above my life!" Don Abrahan said.
The magistrate's voice was vibrant with the fervor of his thankfulness; his eyes were bright with the fire of his pride. He drew himself up proudly, his head high, breathing deeply as if he tasted new life in the savor of the wind.
"There is another matter that I have held against you, Don Abrahan," Henderson continued solemnly. "You deserve to die for the murder of John Toberman."
"I am not a suppliant, Don Gabriel, even for my life," Don Abrahan replied, meeting the young man firmly, eye to eye.
"And I am not cowardly enough to strike down a defenseless man who is hopelessly in my power, as you struck John Toberman down. Don Abrahan, I leave you to the judgment of my countrymen when they come. You are free. Felipe, the horses!"
Felipe sprang at the word, running toward the stable. At the corner of the warehouse, where the road to the pueblo could be seen through the trees, Felipe stopped, turning back, throwing out his hands in a gesture of defeat.
"We are too late, Gabriel," he said calmly. "The soldiers are here."
Don Abrahan quickened at the news. He turned to Henderson, laid a hand on his shoulder, looked him in the eyes.
"I owe you for your generosity to me, Don Gabriel," he said. "You have restrained your passions and your hands where a smaller man would have struck. Go—make haste! I will meet the soldiers and hold them back as long as possible. I cannot promise you more—go!"
Gabriel started for the stable with Felipe, stopping at Helena's door to summon her. She was waiting, her long cloak around her shoulders. As she came out to join Henderson, Roberto rode to the gate, waving a white cloth in his hand.
A look of understanding passed between Henderson and Felipe. It was too late, indeed. Don Abrahan's good offices could not help them now.
"I'll go and meet him," Henderson said.
He gave his pistol to Felipe, and went on to meet Roberto unarmed. As he passed Don Abrahan he turned to him.
"Don Abrahan, for the sake of whatever you owe to my generosity, protect that persecuted girl," he said.
"As my own life, Don Gabriel," the magistrate promised.
Don Abrahan hastened to Helena as Henderson went on to meet Roberto in his truce. Doña Carlota loomed large behind Helena in the door, her eyes gaping to gather the understanding of this sudden flurry.
"Helena, my house is open to you. Come!" Don Abrahan held out his hand; Doña Carlota's face glowed as if she stood in the light of a wedding night.
"No," said Helena in cold repulsion. "I prefer death with Don Gabriel to the treacherous friendship of your house."
"Oh, my little dove!" Doña Carlota pleaded.
Helena appeared neither to see nor hear. She was looking after Henderson as he went on to meet Roberto, who had leaped to the ground, flung the gate wide, mounted, and came galloping forward, the white token of his pacific intention in his hand.