Free The Fugitive by Max Brand Page A

who remained in the place had fled to the fastnesses of the higher ravines. But they had captured several children and women—a small booty, to be sure, except that one of the girls was none other than the daughter of de los Pazos himself.
    Don Rudolfo, rubbing his hands together, communicated these tidings to his family at the noon meal. What would be the result? Why, that grim bandit would whirl about and scour across the plains, breathing death and destruction and headed for the misguided spirits who had dared to violate his valley in the mountains. This was clear to Alvarez, and he wondered when his daughter dropped her head and frowned.
    But of the actual movements of de los Pazos, there were no tidings. He was lost in the vast sea of the plains and there was no word of him, until late that afternoon a flying rider rushed to the Casa Alvarez with the word that de los Pazos and his men had been seen—many miles away. There was word that they had paused to capture a certain black chestnut mare.
    Alvarez was in a quandary until he had had a chance to think the matter over. “It is all clear,” he said. “De los Pazos has not yet heard about his daughter. But now he knows the truth and he will turn back.”
    Constancia had ideas of her own, and Tita heard them before the day was ten minutes older. “If Don Valentin has taken Christy again, tell me, Tita, will he turn back until he has come to see me, also? Or has he made all of those desperate rides across the plains only for the sake of a horse?”
    â€œAll the saints have mercy,” whispered Tita. “Do you think that he would try to steal you out of your own house?”
    â€œSteal me? Oh, no, he would not dare to do that. How could they face all my father’s men? No, but before tomorrow morning . . . you will see if I lie . . . he will attempt to slip into the house and see me. He will come on with Christy. He will try to see me if it is only to berate me for having stolen his horse.”
    â€œChild, child, is he a madman, then?”
    But Constancia merely laughed, and all the rest of that day she was as happy as a child. In the evening, she watched from her window as a broad moon lifted its golden face above the eastern trees and covered the plains with soft shadows and unearthly light. She could not sleep; she could not read. But she sat for a long time listening to the voices from her father’s little army that was housed in the outer sheds, living happily, and waiting for the word of command that was to send them out against the bandits.
    They would never receive that command. Constancia knew her father far too well to expect that. But it gave her a pleasant sense of strength to hear those distant, murmuring sounds. They began to die out; they passed into a few faint laughs; the men of Alvarez were going to bed. And what of Valentin Guadalvo?
    When Tita came to say good night, she stood at the window, saying: “You see, you have been only dreaming, child. Even a madman would not dare to come here . . . but why do the men of your father keep up such a noise?”
    For a sudden tumult had broken out again from the sheds. Then it seemed to Constancia that she could hear a single voice, far away through the night, shrieking a distant, dim warning. After that, the clear, small ringing reports of guns half covered up by the thundering of hoofs that swept rapidly toward the house.
    Tita clutched her. “What is it, Constancia? Oh, my guardian angels, what can it be?”
    Constancia put her suddenly away and sprang to the window. The noise from the sleepers had turned into a deafening babble of sounds. Men were shouting commands, questions. She could see them pouring out, half dressed. Some carried rifles. Others went about half asleep, half bewildered with fear, their hands empty.
    From a window farther down the house, the voice of Don Rudolfo shouted orders. There were no obedient ears to hear. Half a dozen