Frank Merriwell's Triumph Part 18

"Indeed they are," seriously agreed Merry. "It makes them blush when a rich American girl is led to the altar by some broken-down old _roue_ with a t.i.tle, who has spent his manhood and wrecked his const.i.tution in dissipation and licentiousness. Almost every week we read in the papers of some t.i.tled foreigner who is coming to America in search of a rich wife. We don't hear of the scores and scores of American girls with wealthy parents who go abroad in search of t.i.tles. But we have forgotten the Costolas. Can you tell me anything more of them?"

"You seem strangely interested in them," said Dulzura, again glancing back. "It almost seems as if you had heard of them before."

"And it almost seems so to me," confessed Frank. "I think I must have heard of them before. Sometime I shall remember when it was and what I have heard."

But, although they continued to talk, the Spaniard told Merry nothing more of interest in that line. Finally they relapsed into silence and rode on thus.

Frank's thoughts were busy when his tongue became silent. He remembered well that the most malignant and persistent enemy of little Felicia's father was a man who called himself Felipe Costola. This man had made repeated efforts to get possession of Felicia, but had been baffled by Delores and had finally lost his life in Fardale. Beyond question, Felipe Costola was dead, and what had become of Juan Delores no man seemed to know.

Putting two and two together, Frank began to wonder if Delores might not be a Costola who had a.s.sumed the name of his mother's family while living in Spain, thus arousing the everlasting enmity of all the Costolas, and who had finally been compelled to flee to America. In many respects the history of this man agreed with that told by Juan Delores himself. He had once told Frank the name and t.i.tle by which he was known in Spain, but never had he explained the fierce enmity of Felipe Costola. Now Merry was speculating over the possibility that Delores must have once been a Costola.

If this was true, then little Felicia was, by the statement of Dulzura, the rightful heir to the estate in Spain. Meditating on this possibility, Frank fancied he obtained a peep behind the curtain which hid the mystery of Felicia's disappearance. With the child out of the way, a false heir might be subst.i.tuted, and the schemers behind the plot would reap their reward.

The shadows of evening were thickening in the mountain when Merry and his companion pa.s.sed from the valley and reached the abrupt foothills.

Here the trail was more clearly defined, and soon they were startled to see standing beside it an aged Indian, who regarded them with the stony gaze of the Sphinx. Dulzura drew up and asked the Indian in Spanish if the San Monica Mission was near. The reply was that it was less than half a mile in advance.

They came to it, sitting on a little plateau, silent and sad in the purple twilight. It was worn and battered by the storms of years. On its ancient tower the cross stood tremblingly. A great crack showed in its wall, running from base to apex. In the dark opening of the tower a huge bell hung, silent and soundless.

Merry drew up and sat regarding the ancient pile in almost speechless awe and reverence. It was a monument of other days in that sunny land.

Here, long before the coming of the gold seekers, the Spanish priest had taught the Indian to bow his knee to the one true G.o.d. Here they had lived their calm and peaceful lives, which were devoted to the holy cause.

"Come," urged Dulzura, "let's get a peep within ere it becomes quite dark. There must be an Indian village somewhere near, and there, after looking into the mission, we may find accommodations."

Frank did not say that he was doubtful if such accommodations as they might find in an Indian village could satisfy him; but he followed his companion to the stone gate of the old mission, where Dulzura hastily dismounted. Even as Frank sprang from his horse he saw a dark figure slowly and sedately approaching the gate. It proved to be a bare-headed old monk in brown robes, who supported his trembling limbs with a short, stout staff.

Dulzura saluted the aged guardian of the mission in a manner of mingled wors.h.i.+p and respect.

"What do ye here, my son?" asked the father, in a voice no less unsteady than his aged limbs.

"We have come, father, to see the mission," answered the Spaniard. "We have journeyed for that purpose."

"It's now too late, my son, to see it to-night. On the morrow I will take you through it."

"You live here alone, father?"

"All alone since the pa.s.sing of Father Junipero," was the sad answer, as the aged monk made the sign of the cross.

Frank was deeply touched by the melancholy in the old man's voice and in the lonely life he led there in the ruined mission.

"What is the mission's income?" questioned Merry.

"Our lands are gone. We have very little," was the reply. "Still Father Perez has promised to join me, and I have been looking for him. When I heard your horse approaching I thought it might be he. It was but another disappointment. Still, it matters not."

"Let us take a peep inside," urged Dulzura. "Just one peep to-night, father."

"You can see nothing but shadows, my son; but you shall look, if you wish."

He turned and moved slowly along the path, aided by the staff. They followed him through the gate and into the long stone corridor, where even then the twilight was thick with shadows. In the yard the foliage grew luxuriantly, but in sad neglect and much need of tr.i.m.m.i.n.g and attention.

At the mission door they paused.

"Let's go in," urged Dulzura.

"To-morrow will be time enough," answered Frank, a sudden sensation of uneasiness and apprehension upon him.

At this refusal Dulzura uttered a sudden low exclamation and took a swift step as if to pa.s.s Merry. Frank instantly turned in such a manner that he placed his back against the wall, with the door on his left and the old monk close at hand at his right.

Suddenly, from beyond the shadows of the foliage in the yard, dark forms sprang up and came bounding into the corridor. Out from the door rushed another figure. Dulzura uttered a cry in Spanish and pointed at Frank.

They leaped toward him.

Merry's hand dropped toward the holster on his hip, but with a gasp he discovered that it was empty. Instead of grasping the b.u.t.t of his pistol, he found no weapon there with which to defend himself.

For all of the shadows he saw the glint of steel in the hands of those men as they leaped toward him, and he knew his life was in frightful peril.

How his pistol had escaped from the holster, whether it had slipped out by accident, or had in some inexplicable manner been removed by human hands, Frank could not say. It was gone, however, and he seemed defenseless against his murderous a.s.sailants.

In times of danger Frank's brain moved swiftly, and on this occasion it did not fail him. With one sudden side-step, he s.n.a.t.c.hed from the old monk's hand the heavy staff. With a swift blow from this he was barely in time to send the nearest a.s.sailant reeling backward. The others did not pause, and during the next few moments Frank was given the liveliest battle of his career.

"Cut him down! Cut him down!" cried Dulzura, in Spanish.

They responded by making every effort to sink their knives in Frank.

They were wiry, catlike little men, and in the gloom their eyes seemed to gleam fiercely, while their lips curled back from their white teeth.

Merriwell's skill as a swordsman stood him in good stead now. He took care not to be driven against the wall. He whirled, and cut, and struck in every direction, seeking ample room for evolutions. He knew full well that to be pressed close against the wall would put him at a disadvantage, for then he would not have room for his leaps, and swings, and thrusts, and jabs.

The fighting American bewildered and astounded them. He seemed to have eyes in the back of his head. When one leaped at him from behind to sink a knife between his shoulders Frank suddenly whirled like lightning and smote the fellow across the wrist, sending the steel flying from his fingers to clang upon the stones. The old monk lifted his trembling hands in prayer and tottered away. What had happened seemed to him most astounding and appalling.

"Come on, you dogs!" rang Frank's clear voice. "Come on yourself, Felipe Dulzura, you treacherous cur! Why do you keep out of reach and urge your little beasts on?"

The Spaniard uttered an oath in his own language.

"Close in! Close in!" he directed. "Press him from all sides! Don't let one man beat you off like that!"

"You seem to be taking good care of your own precious hide," half laughed Frank. Then, as the opportunity presented, he made a sudden rush and reached Dulzura with a crack of the staff that caused the fellow to howl and stagger.

It did not seem, however, that, armed only with that stick, Merry could long contend against such odds. Soon something must happen. Soon one of those little wretches would find the opportunity to come in and strike swift and sure with a glittering knife.

The racket and uproar of the conflict startled the echoes of the mission building, and in that peaceful, dreamy spot such sounds seemed most appalling. Frank knew the end must come. Had he possessed a pistol he might have triumphed over them all in spite of the odds.

Suddenly in the distance, from far down the trail toward the valley, came the sound of singing. As it reached Merry's ears he started in the utmost amazement, for he knew that tune. Many a time had he joined in singing it in the old days. Although the words were not distinguishable at first, he could follow them by the sound of the tune. This is the stanza the unseen singers voiced:

"Deep in our hearts we hold the love Of one dear spot by vale and hill; We'll not forget while life may last Where first we learned the soldier's skill; The green, the field, the barracks grim, The years that come shall not avail To blot from us the mem'ry dear Of Fardale--fair Fardale."

"Fair Fardale!"--that was the song. How often Frank had joined in singing it when a boy at Fardale Military Academy. No wonder Frank knew it well! By the time the stanza was finished the singers were much nearer, and their words could be plainly distinguished. Dulzura and his tools were astounded, but the man urged them still more fiercely to accomplish their task before the singers could arrive.

The singing of that song, however, seemed to redouble Merry's wonderful strength and skill. He was now like a flas.h.i.+ng phantom as he leaped, and dodged, and swung, and thrust with the heavy staff. His heart was beating high, and he felt that he could not be defeated then.

Finally the baffled and wondering a.s.sailants seemed to pause and draw back. Frank retreated toward the wall and stood waiting, his stick poised. The musical voices of the unseen singers broke into the chorus, and involuntarily Frank joined them, his own clear voice floating through the evening air: