Kitabı oku: «The Coast of Adventure», sayfa 16
"Where are the others?" Blanca asked.
"They lost you and have gone on. You know where they will wait."
Blanca nodded and beckoned her companions; and they followed her and the woman to a window at the back. Grahame tactfully sprang out first and was relieved to find himself outside the town, with a grove of trees that promised safe concealment not far ahead. He made his way toward them without looking round. Walthew got out next, but as soon as he reached the ground he turned and held up his arms to Blanca, who was sitting on the ledge. As she sprang down he caught her, and holding her fast kissed her ardently. His feeling of triumph banished all thought of their danger when he found that she did not resist. Her eyes shone a deep, mystic blue, and she smiled as she slipped her arm round his neck for a moment before he set her down.
Without speaking, they hurried on after Grahame.
"We have about a mile to go," Blanca said, when they reached him.
She struck into a path that led them past clumps of trees, rows of neatly planted bushes, and fields of cane. It was a still, dark night on which a sound would carry far, but they heard no pursuit, and the town seemed quiet.
At last a small building loomed up ahead, and Blanca stopped beside it.
"We should find the others here," she whispered. "But you wait. It would be better for them to see me first."
They let her go, knowing that she would be easily recognized; but she came back a few moments later.
"There is nobody about. Perhaps they have gone on, because they had news from people in the town, or something may have happened to make them change their plans."
Sitting down outside the building, they began to consider what must be done.
"We must go on without our mules," Blanca said. "I have information that my father must get as soon as possible; but we may not be able to join him until to-morrow night. The road is the nearest way, but now that Gomez has his orders he may have sent out soldiers to stop all travelers. Besides, there are rurales about."
"Then we'll take to the mountains," said Walthew. He did not mean her to run a risk. "I guess they've disarmed Grahame, and with one pistol among us we couldn't put up much of a fight."
"There's another," Blanca returned quietly. "I might let Mr. Grahame have it, if he is a good shot, but he must give it back to me; and, as time is important, we will take the road."
She silenced Walthew's objections and they set off, striking into a broad track some distance farther on. For a time, it wound, deep with dust that clung about their feet heavy with the dew, across a belt of cultivated land where indistinct, orderly rows of coffee bushes ran back from its edge. Then it plunged into thick forest, where the soil was soft and the darkness impenetrable, and they stumbled along blindly, trying to feel their way. For all that, Grahame was conscious of keen satisfaction as he breathed the warm, night air. Heavy as it was, it seemed strangely invigorating after the foul atmosphere of the carcel where he had been imprisoned, and it was something to walk at large again. Walthew, however, felt anxious and limp. He had been highly strung for several hours, and he held himself responsible for the safety of the girl he loved. Listening for sounds of pursuit, he tried to pierce the darkness in front, and started when a leaf rustled or some animal moved stealthily through the forest. He thought his footsteps rang down the branch-arched track alarmingly loud.
They came out into barren, rolling country, where clumps of cactus and euphorbia grew in fantastic shapes. The track led upward, and it was obvious that Blanca was getting tired. Unless they are the wives of peons, Spanish-American women do not lead an active life and, as a rule, limit their walks to an evening stroll in the plaza.
For a while Blanca leaned on Walthew's arm, and he winced as he felt her limping movements, but at last she stopped.
"I cannot go much farther, but there is a house near here," she said. "We can rest when we reach it."
The house proved to be empty and in some disorder, suggesting that its occupants had hurriedly fled, but on searching it with a light they found some food, a little charcoal, and an iron cooking pot. Blanca and Walthew had made a long journey after their last meal and Grahame had eaten nothing since his very plain breakfast at ten o'clock.
Following the girl's instructions, he lighted the charcoal and set the pot near the door while she prepared the food, but Walthew lay down in the dust outside. He was physically tired, and now, when he imagined they were comparatively safe, he felt very slack and his mind was dull. For all that, he lay where he could see the road, and only moved his eyes from it when he glanced into the small adobe building. The charcoal made a faint red glow that forced up the face of the stooping girl out of the darkness and touched her skin with a coppery gleam. Grahame knelt beside her, a dark, vaguely outlined figure, fanning the fire, and Walthew felt half jealous that he should help.
Then he found himself getting drowsy, and, lighting a cigarette, he fixed his eyes resolutely on the road. All was very quiet, and there was not a movement anywhere.
But Blanca was not out of danger yet.
CHAPTER XXXI
THE AMERICAN TRADER
Walthew was almost dozing, when he was startled by a sound that came out of the darkness. It was some distance off, but it had a regular beat in it, and when it grew louder he could not doubt that some one was riding fast up the road.
"Move the fire back – there's somebody coming!" he called quickly. "Blanca, will you give Grahame your pistol?"
He used her name for the first time, and it thrilled him, but he had other things to think about. The faint glow of the charcoal vanished, and Grahame came out and stood listening.
"Stay where you are and guard the door!" he said. "I'll drop behind that bush, and then if the fellow gets down we'll have him between us."
Throwing away a cigarette he was smoking, he vanished into the gloom, and Walthew lay still with his heart beating fast. The drumming of hoofs grew slower as the rider climbed the hill before the house, but Walthew could not see him until he dismounted and came up the path, leading his mule. It was some comfort to realize that they had only one man to deal with, but if he was a spy of the President's, he must not get away. Walthew, lying at full length, quickly worked his elbow into the dust to steady his pistol hand.
When the stranger was three or four yards away he stopped and looped the bridle round his arm. Then he put his hand into his pocket, and Walthew, with his nerves a-tingle, supposed that the man was searching for a match. In another moment he might have to shoot, and he held his breath as his finger tightened on the trigger. He heard the match scrape, a tiny flame flickered between the stranger's hands, and Walthew started as he saw his face. It was the man who had carried the President's orders into Rio Frio.
The light spread, falling on Walthew's recumbent figure and sparkling on his pistol, but the messenger did not throw it down as the American had half expected. Instead, he coolly held it up.
"I see you have me covered," he said. "Though it's a surprise to find you here, I'm not going to run away."
Walthew lowered his pistol.
"Very well. Leave your mule and go into the house. Will you tie up the animal, Grahame?"
"So there are two of you!"
The man did as he was told, and Walthew, following him, asked Blanca to get a light.
The girl had found a lamp which she placed on the ground, and the stranger looked at her sharply as she bent over it. Nobody spoke until Grahame came in.
"Are you alone?" he asked the messenger.
"Quite."
"What's your name and business?"
"Carson, agent for the trading firm, Henniker and Gillatly."
"Where were you going and why did you come here?"
Carson turned to Walthew, who had been wondering whether he recognized him.
"I imagine this gentleman knows my business," he said. "He did me a service in Rio Frio which I'm glad to acknowledge. As a matter of fact, I stopped here to look for something to eat; the owner of this house is on the President's side. It's pretty plain, though, that he has cleared out. Taking it all round, I haven't had much luck this trip."
"Who warned you not to call at the hacienda Perez?" Blanca asked.
"I don't know his name – he stopped me for a moment in the dark. I'm sorry I had to put one of your friends out of action, señorita, but I hadn't much choice, because he struck at me with his knife. For all that, I hope the man's not badly hurt."
"We expect him to recover."
"You seem to know this lady," Walthew broke in.
Carson smiled.
"I haven't had the pleasure of being presented, but I've seen Miss Sarmiento once or twice, and it would be strange if I forgot her."
His easy good-humor disarmed Walthew.
"Did you deliver the President's despatches?" he asked.
"Yes. To tell the truth, I was glad to get rid of them – and I imagine Miss Sarmiento acted wisely in leaving the town. Now, however, I'm naturally curious to know what you mean to do with me."
"Will you give us your word not to tell any of the President's supporters that you have met us?"
"I'll promise with pleasure. I feel that I've done enough in carrying his despatches."
"Very well," said Grahame. "That clears the ground; but we must talk it over together."
"Thanks," Carson said coolly. "I'm not pressed for time – and I notice that you have been cooking. I wonder if I might ask for some supper?"
"All we have is at your service, señor," Blanca answered with Spanish politeness. "But we'd better put out the light."
She extinguished the lamp, and they gathered round the cooking pot, the men sitting on the earth floor with the red glow of the burning charcoal on their faces. It could not be seen many yards away, and Grahame's view commanded the path to the door. Blanca divided the omelette she had made, and afterward gave them some black coffee and a bundle of cigarettes.
"These are Habaneros and should be good," she said. "As they belong to a friend of the President's we need not hesitate about using them."
She sat down beside Walthew, and they smoked in silence for a while. Blanca was studying Carson's face as it was lighted by the glow from the charcoal.
"Why did you help Altiera?" she asked him suddenly.
"Commercial interest. He has given us one or two trading privileges. And he seemed to think I had a pretty good chance of getting through."
"Do you know what his orders to Gomez were?"
Grahame had wondered when she meant to ask this, and had left it to her, feeling that she was more likely to catch the messenger off his guard.
Carson laughed.
"Honestly, I don't know; Altiera isn't the man to take an outsider into his confidence."
"Still, you know something."
"Well," Carson said quietly, "I'm sorry I must refuse to tell you my surmises. No doubt you'll understand my obstinacy."
"Aren't you rash, señor?" Blanca asked in a meaning tone.
"On the whole, I think not. Of course, I'm in your hands, but as I've promised not to give you away, I expect these gentlemen won't take an unfair advantage of me. Then, from what I know about Don Martin, I feel that I can trust his daughter."
Blanca smiled.
"Well," she said, "I suppose we must let you go. You are at liberty to leave us when you wish."
Grahame and Walthew agreed, and Carson shook hands with them.
"It's evident that your only reason for stopping near Rio Frio is that Miss Sarmiento finds it impossible to walk any farther," he remarked. "She's welcome to my mule. Gomez requisitioned it from a man called Silva, who's suspected of sympathizing with your party. I believe I know where to find another animal."
They thanked him and let him go; and soon after he vanished into the darkness, Blanca mounted the mule and they set off again.
Pushing on until dawn, they found a small, deserted hacienda standing back from the road, and as tall forest grew close up to it, offering a line of retreat, they decided to rest there. The mule looked jaded. Blanca admitted that she could not go much farther, and Walthew was obviously worn out. They could find nothing to eat; but there was some furniture in the house, and Blanca found a place to sleep in one of the rooms, while the men lay down on a rug outside. The sun was now rising above the high cordillera and, wet with the dew as they were, they enjoyed the warmth. A few lizards crept about the wall in front of them, and an archway near by commanded a view of the road. The building was in good order, and had apparently been abandoned on the approach of the President's soldiers.
"These people know what to expect; they must have been ready to light out," Walthew remarked. "I rather liked that fellow Carson, but it's curious he didn't ask us anything about our business."
"He'd take it for granted that we had an active part in the revolution."
"No doubt the señorita's being with us would suggest something of the kind, but he seemed surprised at first," Walthew replied with a thoughtful air. "For all that, I can't quite see – "
"No," said Grahame; "I don't think you altogether understand the situation yet. I suppose you mean to marry Miss Sarmiento?"
"Certainly, if she'll have me," Walthew answered with firmness, though he looked at his comrade as if he expected something more.
Grahame smiled.
"Then you're to be congratulated, because you won't have much trouble in getting your wish."
"What do you mean?" Walthew's tone was sharp, but he remembered an incident during his escape from the town. "I'll admit I wasn't quite hopeless, but we were both in danger – "
He broke off, and Grahame regarded him with a friendly laugh.
"You're modest – and you're more ignorant of Spanish customs than I thought. However, I'd better explain, so you'll know how Don Martin will look at it. To begin with, a well-brought-up girl is never permitted to meet a man unless she is suitably escorted by an older member of the family, and you have been wandering about with Miss Sarmiento for two or three days. Now you can understand why Carson was surprised, and I noticed he was uncertain how to address Miss Sarmiento at first. She noticed his hesitation, though you did not."
For some moments Walthew was silent, his brows knitted.
"No, I never thought of it," he admitted. "But we'll say no more about it until I've seen Don Martin. Besides, there's another matter. A fellow who joined us at the lagoon gave me a letter for you. Sorry I forgot it until now, but I had a good deal to think about."
"I don't suppose it's important," Grahame replied, and lighted a cigarette before opening the envelope with an English stamp.
Then his expression changed, and a few moments afterward he let the letter drop and sat very still. The cigarette went out, the hot sun shone upon his uncovered head, and a lizard ran across his leg; but he did not move. He seemed lost in thought. Walthew, watching with puzzled sympathy, waited for him to speak.
"This letter has been a long time on the way," he explained at last. "It probably had to wait at our Havana address, and then Don Martin's people had no opportunity to deliver it."
"But what's the news?" Walthew asked.
Grahame answered with a strained laugh.
"In a sense, it's rather a grim joke. While I've been risking my life for a few dollars' profit on smuggled guns, and practicing the sternest self-denial, it seems I've been the owner of an old Border estate."
"Ah!" said Walthew. "Then Calder Hall now belongs to you?"
"What do you know about Calder Hall?"
"I've known all about it for some time, and I'm very glad. But I understand that you didn't expect to inherit the estate."
"No; it seemed impossible. I won't trouble you with family particulars, but two deaths have occurred in a very short time. The last owner was no older than I am and married, but his only child is a girl, and he was killed while hunting. Although he was my cousin, I've rarely seen him."
He was silent again for some minutes, his mind busy with alluring visions. He had long struggled with poverty, and had wandered about the world engaging in reckless adventures, but he had inherited a love for the old home of his race; and now it was his. But this, while counting for much, was not the main thing. He had been strongly attracted by Evelyn Cliffe, but, recognizing his disadvantages, he had tried hard to hold in check the love for her which grew in spite of him. The obstacles that had bulked so large were now removed. He was free to win her if he could, and it was comforting to remember that in her urgent need she had sent for him. But he had work to finish first.
"I suppose you mean to start home as soon as you can?" Walthew suggested.
"No," Grahame answered quietly, "I'm not going yet. For one thing, we have taken Don Martin's money, and now that he has to meet a crisis we can't leave him in the lurch. Besides, one day at San Lucar, we promised some of the leaders of the movement that we'd see them through."
It was a good reason. Grahame was not the man to do a shabby thing, but Walthew, remembering that Evelyn was with the rebels, thought his comrade had a stronger motive for staying.
"Well," he agreed, "I guess that's so. Anyway, the game can't last much longer; they'll have to use our guns in the next few days."
"Yes; and as we don't know what part we'll have in it, you'd better get some rest. I'll keep watch a while."
Walthew was glad of the opportunity to sleep; and Grahame, moving back into the shadow as the sun got hot, sat still, with his mind busy and his eyes fixed upon the road.
At noon Blanca came out of the house and stood looking down at Walthew with a compassionate gentleness that she did not try to hide. The half-healed cut showed plainly on his forehead, his brown face looked worn, and he lay in an attitude of deep weariness.
"It is a pity to wake him, but we must start," she said, and indicated the scar. "I suppose you can guess that he has borne something, and he got that wound for you."
"I'm not likely to forget it," Grahame answered quietly.
"No," Blanca said with a curious smile. "You do not make many protestations, you men of the North, but one can trust you."
She stooped and touched Walthew gently.
"It is noon and we must go."
Her voice was quiet, but Walthew seemed to know it in his sleep, for he sprang to his feet with a half-ashamed air.
"I didn't mean to sleep so long," he said, and looked at Blanca anxiously. "Have you rested enough? Are you quite fit to travel?"
Blanca smiled; and when Walthew brought up the mule and helped her to mount she noticed something new in his manner. Hitherto, it had been marked by a certain diffidence, but now this had gone. He was assiduously careful of her, but with a hint of proprietary right. Something had happened since she had last seen him to account for the change. She gave Grahame a searching glance, but his face was impassive.
They set off, Walthew walking beside the mule, but it was to Grahame that the girl spoke as they moved slowly forward in the scorching heat. He thought he understood, and his eyes twinkled with amusement when she was not looking. Blanca suspected him, and she did not mean Walthew to take too much for granted.
CHAPTER XXXII
LOVE'S VISION
It was late when Walthew led Blanca's mule through the rebel camp to the table under a tree where Don Martin sat writing. There was a half moon in the sky, and as they passed between the rows of motionless, dark figures stretched on the ground, here and there an upturned face caught the light and shone a livid white. In places a sentry's form was silhouetted, vague and black, against the sky, but except for this all was wrapped in puzzling shadow, and silence brooded over the camp.
One of Don Martin's staff sat beside the table, smoking a cigarette, another lay asleep near by, but a small lamp burned steadily near the leader's hand, lighting up his grave face against the gloom. He put down his pen and waited when Walthew stopped the mule and helped the girl to dismount.
"I have had the honor of escorting the señorita from Rio Frio, where with her help I got my partner out of the carcel," he said.
"Yes," Don Martin returned in a quiet voice, "I have heard something of this. I am told that you met my daughter at the hacienda Perez. Was it by accident?"
Walthew, remembering Grahame's remarks on the subject, felt embarrassed, for the steadiness of Don Martin's glance was significant.
"Certainly!" he answered. "I had never heard of the hacienda before I reached it. For all that, I would not have kept away if I had known the señorita was there."
"One must acknowledge your frankness," Don Martin remarked. "Well, what happened afterward?"
Walthew looked at Blanca, but she seemed to be smiling as she unfolded her fan, and he began a brief account of their adventures.
"And your comrade is with you?" asked Don Martin. "I was told of his escape, but you have been some time on the way. Our friends who lost you in Rio Frio arrived this morning."
Blanca laughed.
"I cannot walk like a peon," she explained.
"But you came on a mule!"
"We had gone some distance when Carson, the trader, lent it to us."
Walthew had not mentioned their meeting with the President's messenger, and Don Martin looked surprised.
"Carson!" he exclaimed. "If I did not believe Mr. Grahame was a man of honor, I should not know what to think."
"Mr. Walthew also is a man of honor," Blanca retorted in a meaning tone. "But I have news which you must hear at once."
Don Martin turned to Walthew.
"You will give me a few minutes; then I will see you again."
Taking this as a dismissal, Walthew went back to where Grahame was waiting and smoked a cigarette with him. Soon after he had finished it, a drowsy soldier beckoned him and he returned to Sarmiento. When he reached the table Blanca had gone.
"Señor," he said, "I have a favor to ask; but the accident that I was thrown into Miss Sarmiento's company at the hacienda and Rio Frio has nothing to do with it. You must understand that. I want your consent to my marriage to your daughter."
"Ah!" said Don Martin. "You have learned that she is willing?"
Walthew felt half guilty when he thought of the kiss beneath the window-sill, but he looked at Don Martin steadily.
"I thought it better to follow your customs," he explained. "Blanca does not know I meant to ask you. But I want to say that my mind has been made up for some time. It was for her sake that I determined to stay on the coast and give you all the help I could."
There was a gleam of amusement in Don Martin's eyes.
"Then my daughter gained us a useful ally. But, so far, you have spoken for yourself. What about your parents? Blanca Sarmiento is not an American."
Walthew hesitated for a moment.
"They may feel some surprise, but I believe it will vanish when they have seen her; and I choose my wife to please myself. I think I have means enough to make my way without any help, though I haven't a great deal."
"How much?"
Sarmiento nodded when Walthew told him.
"It is enough; you would be thought a rich man in this country. Still, I would prefer to have your father's consent. It is our custom that a marriage should be arranged with the approval of both families."
"But you are a progressive and don't count much on customs. I understand that you mean to cut out all those that stop your people from going ahead."
"It is true to some extent," Don Martin admitted with a smile. "For all that, one may believe in progress in the abstract, and yet hesitate about making risky experiments that touch one's own family. However, if Blanca is willing, I can trust her to you."
"I'll try to deserve your confidence," Walthew answered, and added with a naïvely thoughtful air: "My people will come round; the only thing they'll insist on is that I enter the family business, and that's going to be easier than I thought."
"Why did you refuse in the beginning?"
"It's rather hard to explain. I wanted to get into touch with realities, to learn what I was good for and find my proper level."
Sarmiento made a sign of comprehension.
"And in searching for what you call realities, you have found yourself."
Walthew recognized the truth of this. It was not that in facing danger and hardship he had gained steadiness and self-control, because he had never lacked courage, but he had acquired a clearer conception of essential things. He would no longer be content to accept thoughtlessly the conventional view. His comrade had taught him much by his coolness in time of strain and his stubborn tenacity when things went wrong. It was not for nothing that Grahame had hawk-like eyes: he had the gift of seeing what must be done. But, after all, it was from hardship itself that Walthew had learned most, and in the light of that knowledge he determined to go home. The work he was best fitted for was waiting in the smoky, industrial town; it was not the task he had longed for, but it was his, and he would be content now.
Don Martin smiled.
"You may try to persuade Blanca to go with you to your country, if you wish. I want a talk with your comrade now. Will you send him to me?"
Walthew left him with a light heart, and shortly afterward Grahame joined Don Martin.
"Señor," said the leader, "you have kept your agreement with us faithfully, and I do not know that we have any further claim, but I understand that you do not mean to leave us yet."
"No," Grahame replied quietly; "I shall see you through."
"Good! Another body of our friends is gathering at a village to which I will send you with a guide. They are well armed and determined. I offer you command."
"Where is the señorita Cliffe?" Grahame wanted to know.
"At a hacienda two or three hours' ride back. She is in good hands, and at daybreak my daughter leaves to join her."
Grahame was sensible of keen disappointment.
"When do you wish me to start?" he asked.
"As soon as possible; but you'd better take an hour's rest."
"I'm ready now if you will give me my orders."
When, a few minutes later, he rode away with the guide, Walthew and Blanca left the camp and followed a path that led through a field of rustling sugar-cane.
"We must not go far," Blanca protested. "This is quite against my people's idea of what is correct."
"It's a sign of the change you're going to make for me. You might have been something like a princess here, and you'll be the wife of a plain American citizen, instead."
"I never wanted to be a princess," she said; "and certainly not a conspirator. All I really hoped for was one faithful subject."
"You have one whose loyalty won't change. But you mustn't expect too much, because I'm giving up my adventurous career and turning business man. Men like Bolivar and the other fellow you wanted me to copy aren't born every day – and I'm not sure we'd appreciate them if they were."
Blanca laughed.
"You are a pessimist, but I will tell you a secret. It needs courage to be the wife of a great soldier and I am not brave enough." Her voice fell to a low, caressing note. "One's heart shrinks from sending the man one loves into danger."
Walthew stopped in the path and faced the girl. She was smiling. The half-moon, now high overhead, shed its beams down in a weird light that lay over everything like a mantle of blue silver. All about them the tall cane whispered in the wind.
Walthew opened his arms, and Blanca cuddled to him.
"It is so wonderful!" he breathed, after the first long kiss. "So wonderful that you are really going back to the States with me!"
"You are not going back the same," she smiled up at him; and he stooped and kissed the smile.
" – You have seen the vision," she finished; "romance has touched you."
"It was you who opened my eyes. Perhaps now they are dazzled; but we will never let the vision quite fade. Romance shall spread her bright wings above the home I'm going to build you on the river bluff – "
Again he found her mouth, and drank deep.
The silence was broken by a rattle of leather and a jingle of steel that startled them, and as they turned quickly and walked up the path a dark figure rose out of the gloom ahead and stood before them, sinister and threatening. When Walthew had answered the sentry's challenge, Blanca shivered.
"I had forgotten for a few minutes," she said. "Rio Frio is not taken yet, and you must fight for us."
"For two or three days, if all goes well. It can't be a long struggle. Rio Frio is bound to fall."
Blanca clung closer to him.
"I cannot keep you," she said; "but how I wish the days were over! There is nothing of the princess in me; I am only an anxious girl."
