“Don Juan! Ah, Don Juan! Something dreadful! Felicita!” cried Chico as he burst into my room breathless near midnight.

“What is it?” I demanded, “quick, I say,” but he could only gasp “Felicita!”

I hurried to the stable and saddled my horse, Chico following. We rode with all haste to the home of Don Julian. Everything was in uproar. The Indian servants moaned and cried, and pointed in the direction of the road leading to the cemetery. Thither I rode, fast as my horse could run. It was a lonely road, with few houses by the wayside and those were mostly Indian huts. It was nearly one o’clock in the morning, no one to be seen––on and on I went. I could see a dark outline of what I thought must be a vehicle of some kind. As carriages are seldom used in Arequipa, 107 I concluded that this must be bearing Felicita away. I drove the spurs harder and leaned forward, peering into the darkness. I was gaining rapidly. I was certain now that it was Felicita, for they were driving at full speed. I never thought how I was to rescue her, my whole purpose being to catch up with that villain. Just then the moon shone bright from behind a cloud and lighted up the scene. The occupants of the carriage now knew they were being pursued, and they stopped. I could plainly see two men unhitch two horses from behind the carriage. They took Felicita from the carriage and were forcing her to mount when, suddenly, her horse became unmanageable, and she fell to the ground. By this time I was close upon them, and called to Felicita to be brave, but the poor girl never heard me, for she was unconscious. Don Rodrigo stopped, as if determined to resist me. Would to God he had! But he put spurs to his horse and fled. I shot at him, but as the distance was great, and the light uncertain, the bullet went wide of the 108 mark. I soon forgot him on reaching Felicita, as she lay with an ugly cut on her head caused by striking the carriage step when she fell. There lay my child-friend, unconscious. She was dressed for retiring, her other clothes being in the carriage. My first impulse was to pursue the accursed scoundrel and avenge the insult to Felicita, but I could not leave her there. I took her in my arms and carried her to a near-by Indian hut where, after some parley with the poor, superstitious Indians, the door was opened, and I laid my burden on some sheepskins on the floor. Her hands were cold and she appeared to be dead.

By this time, Chico arrived and brought her clothes from the carriage. I staunched the flow of blood with my handkerchief, while Chico prepared some hot native liquor, which I put to her lips. After a time, she opened her eyes, but did not know me. I called and called her name, but it was long before consciousness returned. When she did recognize me, a look of love and happiness passed over her face. I would 109 not let her speak, but told her that when she was taken home, she could tell me all. The carriage driver had long since made his escape, so I had sent to Arequipa and had a closed carriage brought, in which I took her home.

Time dragged wearily until the return of her father. I remained by her side and with the assistance of the Indian servants, made her as comfortable as possible. I had been without sleep so long that I had gone into the parlor and laid down. I had just awakened from a sleep when Don Julian entered. Poor old man, he was overcome with grief. He knew all, Felicita had told him. From him I learned how the abduction had taken place. About 11 o’clock at night, Don Rodrigo had entered the bedroom and before she realized what was being done, Felicita had been carried to the carriage in waiting. Leaving her in charge of the driver, Don Rodrigo returned for her clothes. No sooner was his back turned than she screamed. This attracted the attention of Chico, who had been enjoying a 110 visit with Don Julian’s Indian servants in the kitchen. He had run at full speed to inform me.

It was the opinion of Don Julian that Don Rodrigo had intended taking the child to some remote Indian habitation in the mountains, and demanding a ransom for her.

This was a plausible theory, for besides getting revenge for Felicita refusing his hand in marriage, he would be able to extort money from Don Julian, and also avenge his fancied wrongs at my hands.

The following day Felicita was still weak and nervous. The doctor advised that she be taken to the sea coast for a time. She protested, saying she was getting stronger, but I knew she was only saying it to cheer her father and myself. I could plainly see her condition was precarious. After a long consultation with the doctors, Don Julian decided he would take her to Truxillo, their former home. After considerable pleading, she consented to go. I was to follow when she recovered.

I accompanied them and their Indian servants aboard the steamer and remained aboard the little ferry boat, waving my handkerchief until they faded into the distance. I returned ashore, and although I had not been in Mollendo for some time, I had no desire to see my friends. I wanted to be alone.

Weeks of dreary waiting followed. I was not myself. Anxiously I looked for a letter and with trembling hands I broke the seal. The letter was dated Lima, and read: “Don Juan, I am crazy. Felicita is dead. Will write you all, when I am composed. Julian.”

Never was human being more distracted than I. Absenting myself from everybody night after night in deep ravines and valleys, among the lofty mountains that surrounded Arequipa, I wandered. Many an Indian no doubt looked upon me with superstitious awe, walking without caring whither I went, like one demented. A second letter came stating that the death of Felicita was caused by a terrible cold she 112 had contracted and the nervous shock suffered on the night of the abduction. Like his first, Don Julian’s letter was brief. He said: “I will let you know where she is buried in my next, and I think I will not be long after her.”

I concluded to go to Lima, but another letter, dated Truxillo, stated that he had left Lima and would bury Felicita in Truxillo. I received no more missives. To go to Lima was useless, to go to Truxillo and perhaps not find him there, would not accomplish anything so I decided to wait until I heard further news. I scarcely know how I passed my time. Night after night I would go up town, play billiards and visit the drinking places, always with the hope that I would meet Don Rodrigo.

I intended, when I heard from Don Julian to make a trip to Truxillo, visit the last resting place of Felicita, and perhaps remain in Lima, away from scenes that reminded me of the only happy time in my existence, and its tragic ending. But circumstances 113 over which I had no control changed my plans.

One night, as I was sitting alone in my room, a boy handed me a telegram. It was from the general manager of the railroad, saying to report at his office at once and bring all the engine runners with me, and to enjoin absolute secrecy on the part of the men. I did as requested, and now begins one of the most exciting adventures of my life.