Tomasos Fortune and Other Stories | Page 6

alike to pray and to call his brethren
to witness the scene. It was like looking at a play from a very high
gallery. The miniature diligencia on the toy road far below swayed
from the bank of the highway to the verge--the four mules stretched out
at a gallop, as in a picture. The shouts dimly heard at the monastery had
the effect they were intended to create, for the monk could see the
carters and muleteers draw aside to let the living avalanche go past.
There were but two men on the box-seat of the diligencia--the driver
and a passenger seated by his side. The monk recollected that this
passenger had passed two days at Montserrat, inscribing himself in the
visitors' book as Matthew S. Whittaker.
"I am ready to take the reins when your arms are cramped," this
passenger was saying at that precise moment, "but I do not know the
road, and I cannot drive so well as you."
He finished with a curt laugh, and, holding on with both hands, he
turned and looked at his companion. He was not afraid, and death
assuredly stared him in the face at that moment.
"Thanks for that, at all events," returned the driver, handling his reins
with a steady skill. Then he fell to cursing the mules. As he rounded
each corner of the winding road, he gave a derisive shout of triumph; as
he safely passed a cart, he gave voice to a yell of defiance. He went to
his death--if death awaited him--with a fine spirit, with a light in his
eyes and the blood in his tanned cheeks.
The man at his side could perhaps have saved himself by a leap which
might, with good fortune, have resulted in nothing more serious than a
broken limb. As he had been invited by the driver to take this leap and
had curtly declined, it is worth while to pause and give particulars of
this passenger on the runaway diligencia. He was a slightly built man,
dressed in the ordinary dark clothes and soft black felt hat of the middle
class Spaniard. His face was brown and sun-dried, with deep lines
drawn downwards from the nose to the lips in such a manner that
cynicism and a mildly protesting tolerance were contending for mastery

in an otherwise studiously inexpressive countenance.
"The Excellency does not blame me for this?" the driver jerked out, as
he hauled round a corner with a sort of pride.
"No, my friend," replied the American; and he broke off suddenly to
curve his two hands around his lips and give forth a warning shout in a
clear tenor that rang down the valley like a trumpet.
A muleteer leading a heavily laden animal drew his beast into the ditch,
and leapt into the middle of the road. He stepped nimbly aside and
sprang at the leading mule, but was rolled into the ditch like an old hat.
"That is an old torero," shouted the driver. "Bravo, bravo!"
As they flew on, Whittaker turned in his seat and caught a glimpse of
the man standing in the middle of the road, with arms spread out in an
attitude of apology and deprecation.
"Ah!" cried the driver, "we shall not pass these. Now leap!"
"No," answered the other, and gave his warning shout.
Below them on the spiral road two heavy carts were slowly mounting.
These were the long country carts used for the carriage of wine- casks,
heavily laden with barrels for the monastery. The drivers, looking up,
saw in a moment what to expect, and ran to the head of their long teams
of eight mules, but all concerned knew in a flash of thought that they
could not pull aside in time.
"Leap, in the name of a saint!" cried the driver, clenching his teeth.
Whittaker made no answer. But he cleared his feet and sat forward, his
keen face and narrow eyes alert to seize any chance of life. The
maddened mules rushed on, seeking to free themselves from the
swaying destroyer on their heels. The leaders swung round the corner,
but refused to obey the reins when they caught sight of the cart in front.
The brakes had long ceased to act; the wooden blocks were charred as
by fire. The two heavier mules at the pole made a terrified but
intelligent attempt to check the pace, and the weighty vehicle skidded
sideways across the road, shuddering and rattling as it went. It poised
for a moment on the edge of the slope, while the mules threw
themselves into their collars--their intelligence seeming to rise at this
moment to a human height. Then the great vehicle turned slowly over,
and at the same moment Whittaker and the driver leapt into