The Flag of Distress Part 36

The profane suggestion is hailed with a burst of ribald laughter; after which they set about preparing the _mascaras_, and other disguises, to be used in their nefarious enterprise.

CHAPTER FORTY FOUR.

"AMBRE LA PUERTA!"

Another sun has shone upon San Francis...o...b..y, and again gone down in red gleam over the far-spreading Pacific, leaving the sky of a leaden colour, moonless and starless.

As the hour of midnight approaches it a.s.sumes the hue predicted by Rocas, and desired by Diaz. For the ocean fog has again rolled sh.o.r.eward across the peninsula, and shrouds San Francisco as with a pall. The adjacent country is covered with its funereal curtain, embracing within its folds the house of Don Gregorio Montijo.

The inmates seem all asleep, as at this hour they should. No light is seen through the windows, nor any sound heard within the walls. Not even the baying of a watch-dog, the bellow of a stalled ox, or the stamping of a horse in the stables. Inside, as without, all is silence.

The profound silence seems strange, though favourable, to four men not far from the place, and gradually, but with slow steps, drawing nearer to it. For they are approaching by stealth, as can be told by their att.i.tudes and gestures. They advance crouchingly, now and then stopping to take a survey of the _terrain_ in front, as they do so exchanging whispered words with one another.

Through the hazy atmosphere their figures show weird-like--all the more from their grotesque gesticulations. Even if scrutinised closely, and in clearest light, they would present this appearance; for although in human shape, and wearing the garb of men, their faces more resemble those of demons. They are human countenances, nevertheless, but _en-mascaradas_.

Nothing more is needed to tell who, and what they are, with their purpose in thus approaching Don Gregorio's house. They are burglars, designing to break into it.

It needs not the removal of their masks to identify them as the four conspirators left plotting in the rancho of Rafael Rocas.

They are now _en route_ for putting their scheme into execution.

It would look as if Don Gregorio were never to get his gold to Panama-- much less have it transported to Spain.

And his daughter! What of her, with Francisco de Lara drawing nigh as one of the nocturnal ravagers? His grand-daughter, too, Faustino Calderon being another?

One cognisant of the existing relations, and spectator of what is pa.s.sing now--seeing the c.r.a.ped robbers as they steal on towards the house--would suppose it in danger of being doubly despoiled, and that its owner is to suffer desolation, not only in fortune, but in that far dearer to him--his family.

The burglars are approaching from the front, up the avenue, though not on it. They keep along its edge among the manzanita bushes. These, with the fog, afford sufficient screen to prevent their being observed from the house--even though sentinels were set upon its azotea. But there appears to be none; no eye to see, no voice to give warning, not even the bark of a watch, dog to wake those unconsciously slumbering within.

As already said, there is something strange in this. On a large grazing estate it is rare for the Molossian to be silent. More usually his sonorous voice is heard throughout the night, or at brief intervals.

Though anything but desirous to hear the barking of dogs, the burglars are themselves puzzled at the universal silence, so long continued. For before entering the enclosure they have been lying concealed in a thicket outside, their horses tied to trees, where they have now left them, and during all the time not a sound had reached their ears; no voice either of man or animal! They are now within sight of the house, its ma.s.sive front looming large and dark through the mist--still no stir outside, and within the stillness of death itself!

Along with astonishment, a sense of awe is felt by one of the four criminals--Calderon, who has still some lingering reluctance as to the deed about to be done--or it may be but fear. The other three are too strong in courage, and too hardened in crime, for scruples of any kind.

Arriving at the end of the avenue, and within a short distance of the dwelling, they stop for a final consultation, still under cover of the manzanitas.

All silent as ever; no one stirring; no light from any window; the shutters closed behind the _rejas_--the great _puerta_ as well!

"Now, about getting inside," says De Lara; "what will be our best way?"

"In my opinion," answers Diaz, "we'll do best by climbing up to the _azotea_, and over it into the _patio_."

"Where's your ladder?" asks Rocas, in his gruff, blunt way.

"We must find one, or something that'll serve instead. There should be loose timber lying about the _corrals_--enough to provide us with a climbing-pole."

"And while searching for it, wake up some of the _vaqueros_. That won't do."

"Then what do you propose, Rafael?" interrogates the chief conspirator.

The seal-hunter, from a presumed acquaintance with housebreaking, is listened to with attention.

"Walk straight up to the door," he answers; "knock, and ask to be admitted."

"Ay; and have a blunderbuss fired at us, with a shower of bullets big as billiard b.a.l.l.s. _Carrai_!"

It is Calderon who speaks thus apprehensively.

"Not the least danger of that," rejoins Rocas. "Take my word, we'll be let in."

"Why do you think so?"

"Why? Because we have a claim on the hospitality of the house."

"I don't understand you, Rocas," says De Lara.

"Haven't we a good story to tell--simple, and to the purpose?"

"Still I don't understand. Explain yourself, Rafael."

"Don't we come as messengers from the man-o'-war--from those officers you've been telling me about?"

"Ah! now I perceive your drift."

"One can so announce himself, while the others keep out of sight. He can say he's been sent by the young gentlemen on an errand to Don Gregorio, or the senoritas, if you like. Something of importance affecting their departure. True, by this they'll know the s.h.i.+p's weighed anchor. No matter; the story of a message will stand good all the same."

"Rafael Rocas!" exclaims De Lara, "you're a born genius. Instead of being forced to do a little smuggling now and then, you ought to be made _administrator-general of customs_. We shall act as you advise. No doubt the door will be opened. When it is, one can take charge of the janitor. He's a s.e.xagenarian, and won't be hard to hold. If he struggle, let him be silenced. The rest of us can go ransacking. You, Calderon, are acquainted with the interior, and, as you say, know the room where Don Gregorio is most likely to keep his chest. You must lead us straight for that."

"But, Francisco," whispers Calderon in the ear of his confederate, after drawing him a little apart from the other two; "about the _ninas_? You don't intend anything with them?"

"Certainly not--not to-night; nor in this fas.h.i.+on. I hope being able to approach _them_ in gentler guise, and more becoming time. When they're without a _peso_ in the world, they'll be less proud; and may be contented to stay a little longer in California. To-night we've enough on our hands without thinking of women. One thing at a time--their money first--themselves afterwards."

"But suppose they should recognise us?"

"They can't. Disguised as we are, I defy a man's mother to know him.

If they did, then--"

"Then what?"

"No use reflecting what. Don't be so scared, man! If I'd antic.i.p.ated any chance of its coming to extremes of the kind you're pondering upon, I wouldn't be here prepared for only half measures. Perhaps we sha'n't even wake the ladies up; and if we do, there's not the slightest danger of our being known. So make your mind easy, and let's get through with it. See! Diaz and Rocas are getting impatient! We must rejoin them, and proceed to business at once."

The four housebreakers again set their heads together; and after a few whispered words, to settle all particulars about their plan of proceeding, advance towards the door.

Once up to it, they stand close in, concealed by its o'ershadowing arch.

With the b.u.t.t of his pistol, De Lara knocks.