and they advanced quickly. Following the circles of light cast by
their torches, they moved so rapidly that when they reached the wall
both were panting. Roddy held his watch in front of the light and
cried out with impatience.
"Ten minutes!" he exclaimed, "and every minute--" He checked himself
and turned to the wall. The dynamite, with the cap and fuse attached,
was as McKildrick had placed it. For a tamp he scooped up from the
surface of the tunnel a handful of clay, and this he packed tightly
over the cap, leaving the fuse free. He led Inez back to a safe
distance from the wall, and there, with eyes fastened on Roddy's
watch, they waited. The seconds dragged interminably. Neither spoke,
and the silence of the tunnel weighed upon them like the silence of a
grave. But even buried as they were many feet beneath the ramparts,
they could hear above them the reverberations of the cannon.
"They are firing in half-minute intervals," whispered Roddy. "I will
try to set off the dynamite when they fire, so that in the casements,
at least, no one will hear me. When the explosion comes," he directed,
"wait until I call you, and if I shout to you to run, for God's sake,"
he entreated, "don't delay an instant, but make for the mouth of the
tunnel."
Inez answered him in a tone of deep reproach. "You are speaking," she
said, "to a daughter of General Rojas." Her voice trembled, but, as
Roddy knew, it trembled from excitement. "You must not think of _me_,"
commanded the girl. "I am here to help, not to be a burden. And," she
added gently, her love speaking to him in her voice, "we leave this
place together, or not at all."
Her presence had already shaken Roddy, and now her words made the
necessity of leaving her seem a sacrifice too great to be required of
him. Almost brusquely, he started from her.
"I must go," he whispered. "Wish me good luck for your father."
"May God preserve you both!" answered the girl.
As he walked away Roddy turned and shifted his light for what he knew
might be his last look at her. He saw her, standing erect as a lance,
her eyes flashing. Her lips were moving and upon her breast her
fingers traced the sign of the cross.
[Illustration: Her fingers traced the sign of the cross.]
Roddy waited until his watch showed a minute to nine o'clock. To meet
the report of the next gun, he delayed a half-minute longer, and then
lit the fuse, and, running back, flattened himself against the side of
the tunnel. There was at last a dull, rumbling roar and a great crash
of falling rock. Roddy raced to the sound and saw in the wall a
gaping, black hole. Through it, from the other side, lights showed
dimly. In the tunnel he was choked with a cloud of powdered cement. He
leaped through this and, stumbling over a mass of broken stone, found
himself in the cell. Except for the breach in the wall the explosion
had in no way disturbed it. The furniture was in place, a book lay
untouched upon the table; in the draft from the tunnel the candles
flickered drunkenly. But of the man for whom he sought, for whom he
was risking his life, there was no sign. With a cry of amazement and
alarm Roddy ran to the iron door of the cell. It was locked and
bolted. Now that the wall no longer deadened the sound his ears were
assailed by all the fierce clamor of the battle. Rolling toward him
down the stone corridor came the splitting roar of the siege guns, the
rattle of rifle fire, the shouts of men. Against these sounds, he
recognized that the noise of the explosion had carried no farther than
the limits of the cell, or had been confused with the tumult
overhead. He knew, therefore, that from that source he need not fear
discovery. But in the light of the greater fact that his attempt at
rescue had failed, his own immediate safety became of little
consequence. He turned and peered more closely into each corner of the
cell. The clouds of cement thrown up by the dynamite had settled; and,
hidden by the table, Roddy now saw, huddled on the stone floor, with
his back against the wall, the figure of a man. With a cry of relief
and concern, Roddy ran toward him and flashed his torch. It was
Vicenti. The face of the young doctor was bloodless, his eyes wild and
staring. He raised them imploringly.
"Go!" he whispered. His voice was weak and racked with pain. "Some one
has betrayed us. They know everything!"
Roddy exclaimed furiously, and, for an instant, his mind was torn with
doubts.
"And you!" he demanded. "Why are you here?"
Vicenti, reading the suspicion in his eyes, raised his hands; the
pantomime was sufficiently eloquent. In deep circles around his wrists
were new, raw wounds.
"They tried to make me tell," he whispered. "They think you're coming
in the launch. You, with the others. When I wouldn't answer, they put
me here. It was their jest. You were to find me instead of the other.
They are waiting now on the ramparts above us, waiting for you to come
in the launch. They know nothing of the tunnel."
Roddy's eyes were fixed in horror on the bleeding wrists.
"They tortured you!" he cried.
"I fainted. When I came to," whispered the doctor, "I found myself
locked in here. For God's sake," he pleaded, "save yourself!"
"And Rojas?" demanded Roddy.
"That is impossible!" returned Vicenti, answering Roddy's thought. "He
is in another cell, far removed, the last one, in this corridor."
"In _this_ corridor!" demanded Roddy.
Vicenti feebly reached out his hand and seized Roddy's arm.
"It is impossible!" he pleaded. "You can't get out of this cell."
"I will get out of it the same way I got in," answered Roddy. "Can you
walk?"
With his eyes, Vicenti measured the distance to the breach in the
wall.
"Help me!" he begged.
Roddy lifted him to his feet and, with his arm around him, supported
him into the tunnel. From his flask he gave him brandy, and Vicenti
nodded gratefully.
"Further on," directed Roddy, "you will find Senorita Rojas. Tell her
she must go at once. Don't let her know that I am going after her
father."
"It is madness!" cried Vicenti. "The turnkey is in the corridor, and
at any moment they may come to assassinate Rojas."
"Then I've no time to waste," exclaimed Roddy. "Get the Senorita and
yourself out of the tunnel, and get out _quick_!"
"But you?" pleaded Vicenti. "You can do nothing."
"If I must," answered Roddy, "I can blow the whole damn fort to
pieces!"
He ran to the spot where McKildrick had placed the extra explosives.
With these and the hand-drill, the sledge, and carrying his hat filled
with clay, he again climbed through the breach into the cell. The
fierceness of the attack upon the fort had redoubled, and to repulse
it the entire strength of the garrison had been summoned to the
ramparts, leaving, so far as Roddy could see through the bars, the
corridor unguarded. The door of the cell hung on three trunnions, and
around the lowest hinge the weight of the iron door had loosened the
lead and cement in which, many years before, it had been imbedded.
With his drill, Roddy increased the opening to one large enough to
receive the fingers of his hand and into it welded a stick of
dynamite. To this he affixed a cap and fuse, and clapping on his tamp
of clay, lit the fuse, and ran into the tunnel. He had cut the fuse to
half-length, and he had not long to wait. With a roar that shook the
cell and echoed down the corridor, that portion of the wall on which
the bars hung was torn apart, and the cell door, like a giant
gridiron, fell sprawling across the corridor. Roddy could not restrain
a lonely cheer. So long as the battle drowned out the noise of the
explosions and called from that part of the prison all those who might
oppose him, the rescue of Rojas again seemed feasible. With another
charge of dynamite the last cell in the corridor could be blown open,
and Rojas would be free. But Roddy was no longer allowed, undisturbed,
to blast his way to success. Almost before the iron door had struck
the floor of the corridor there leaped into the opening the burly
figure of the turnkey. In one hand he held a revolver, in the other a
lantern. Lifting the lantern above his head, he stood balancing
himself upon the fallen grating. Hanging to his belt, Roddy saw a
bunch of keys. The sight of the keys went to his head like swift
poison. For them he suddenly felt himself capable of murder. The dust
hung in a cloud between the two men, and before the turnkey could
prepare for the attack Roddy had flung himself on him and, twisting
the bones of his wrist, had taken the revolver. With one hand on the
throat of the turnkey he shoved the revolver up under his chin until
the circle of steel sank into the flesh.
"Don't cry out!" whispered Roddy. "Do as I tell you, or I'll blow your
head off. Take me to the cell of General Rojas!"
Brave as the man had been the moment before, the kiss of the
cold muzzle turned his purpose to ice. The desire to live was
all-compelling. Choking, gasping, his eyes rolling appealingly, he
nodded assent. With the revolver at his back he ran down the corridor,
and, as he ran, without further direction, fumbled frantically at his
keys. At the end of the corridor he separated one from the others, and
with a trembling hand unlocked and pushed open a cell door.
The cell was steeped in darkness. Roddy threw the turnkey sprawling
into it, and with his free hand closed his fingers over the key in the
lock.
"General Rojas!" he called. "Come out! You are free!"
A shadowy figure suddenly confronted him; out of the darkness a voice,
fearless and unshaken, answered.
"What do you wish with me?" demanded the voice steadily. "Is this
assassination? Are you my executioner?"
"Good God, no!" cried Roddy. "Fifty-four, four! I'm the man that gave
you the warning. The tunnel!" he cried. "The tunnel is open." He
shoved the butt of the revolver toward the shadow. "Take this!" he
commanded; "if I've lied to you, shoot me. But come!"
General Rojas stepped from the cell, and with a cry of relief Roddy
swung to the iron door upon the turnkey and locked it. The act seemed
to reassure the older man, and as the glare of the lanterns in the
corridor fell upon Roddy's face the eyes of the General lit with hope
and excitement. With a cry of remorse he held out the revolver.
"I was waiting to die," he said. "Can you forgive me?"
"Can you run?" was Roddy's answer.
With the joyful laugh of a boy, the General turned and, refusing
Roddy's arm, ran with him down the corridor. When he saw the fallen
grating he gave a cry of pleasure, and at the sight of the breach in
the wall he exclaimed in delight.
"It is good!" he cried. "It is well done."
Roddy had picked up the turnkey's lantern and had given it to General
Rojas. Lowering it before him, the old soldier nimbly scaled the mass
of fallen masonry, and with an excited, breathless sigh plunged into
the tunnel.
As he did so, in his eyes there flashed a circle of light; in his ears
there sounded a cry, in its joy savage, exultant, ringing high above
the tumult of the battle. The light that had blinded him fell
clattering to the stones; in the darkness he felt himself held
helpless, in strong, young arms.
"Father!" sobbed the voice of a girl. "Father!"
Like a coach on the side-lines, like a slave-driver plying his whip,
Roddy, with words of scorn, of entreaty, of encouragement, lashed them
on toward the mouth of the tunnel and, through the laurel, to the
launch. Acting as rear-guard, with a gun in his hand he ran back to
see they were not pursued, or to forestall an ambush skirmished in
advance. Sometimes he gave an arm to Vicenti, sometimes to the
General; at all times he turned upon them an incessant torrent of
abuse and appeal.
"Only a minute longer," he begged, "only a few yards further. Don't
let them catch us in the last inning! Don't let them take it from you
in the stretch! Only a few strokes more, boys," he cried frantically,
"and I'll let you break training. Now then, all of you! Run! Run!"
Not until they were safely seated in the launch, and her head was
pointed to the open sea, did he relax his vigilance, or share in their
rejoicing.
But when the boat sped forward and the shore sank into darkness he
heaved a happy, grateful sigh.
"If you've left anything in that flask, Vicenti," he said, "I would
like to drink to the family of Rojas."
The duel between the city and the fort had ceased. On the man-of-war
and on the ramparts of the fortress the guns were silent. From the
city came a confusion of shouts and cheers. In his excitement, Roddy
stood upright.
"It sounds as though you had won, sir!" he cried.
"Or that they have exhausted their ammunition!" answered the General.
The answer was not long in coming.
From the deck of the gun-boat there sprang into the darkness the
pointing finger of a search-light. It swept the wharves, showing them
black with people; it moved between the custom-house and the fort, and
disclosed the waters of the harbor alive with boats, loaded to the
gunwale with armed men. Along the ramparts of the fort the shaft of
light crept slowly, feeling its way, until it reached the flag-staff.
There it remained, stationary, pointing. From the halyards there
drooped a long, white cloth.
With a cheer, Roddy spun the wheel, and swung the bow of the launch
toward Miramar.
"You needn't go to Curacao to-night, General!" he cried. "This city
votes solid for Rojas!"
From the wharves to the farthest limits of the town the cheers of
victory swept in a tidal wave of sound. With one accord the people,
leaping, shouting, dancing, and cheering, raced into the Alameda.
"To Miramar," they shrieked, "to Miramar! _Viva Rojas!_"
To those in the launch the cheers of triumph carried clearly. The
intoxication of the multitude was contagious.
"What do you wish?" demanded Roddy breathlessly--"to show yourself to
the people, or----"
"No!" cried the General, "to my home, to my home!"
When San Carlos surrendered, those in charge of the _cartel_, making a
virtue of what they knew would soon be a necessity, threw open the
cells of the political prisoners, and Peter, McKildrick, and Pedro
found themselves in the street, once more free men. There they learned
that Vega and his band had been routed, and that Vega, driven back to
the harbor, had taken refuge on a sailing boat, and was on his way to
Curacao.
From Caracas the news was of more momentous interest. The rising of
the Rojas party in Porto Cabello had led the same faction at the
capital to proclaim itself in revolt. They found themselves unopposed.
By regiments the government troops had deserted to the standard of
Rojas, and Alvarez, in open flight, had reached his yacht, at La
Guayra, and was steaming toward Trinidad. Already a deputation had
started for Porto Cabello to conduct Rojas to the capital. But as to
whether in freeing Rojas Roddy had succeeded or failed, or whether
Rojas had been assassinated, or had been set at liberty by his
victorious followers, they could learn nothing.
Only at the home of Senora Rojas could they hear the truth.
Accordingly, with the rest of the city, they ran to Miramar. The house
was ablaze with lights, and the Alameda in front of it, the gardens,
even the long portico were packed with a mad mob of people. Climbing
to the railings and to the steps of the house itself, men prominent in
the life of the city called for "_Vivas_" for the new President, for
Senora Rojas, for the Rojas revolution. Below them, those who had been
wounded in the fight just over were lifted high on the shoulders of
the mob, and in it, struggling for a foothold, were many women, their
cheeks wet with tears, their cries of rejoicing more frantic even than
those of the men.
For a mad quarter of an hour the crowd increased in numbers, the
shouting in vehemence; and then, suddenly, there fell a shocked and
uneasy silence. Men whispered together fearfully. In the eyes of all
were looks of doubt and dismay. From man to man swept the awful rumor
that at San Carlos, Rojas had not been found.
It was whispered that, from the fortress, messengers had brought the
evil tidings. The worst had come to pass. At the last moment the
defenders of San Carlos had cheated them of their victory. Rojas had
been assassinated, and his body thrown to the harbor sharks.
From the mob rose a great, moaning cry, to be instantly drowned in
yells of rage and execration. A leader of the Rojas party leaped to
the steps of the portico. "Their lives for his!" he shrieked. "Death
to his murderers! To the fortress!"
Calling for vengeance, those in the garden surged toward the gates;
but an uncertain yell from the mob in the street halted them. They
turned and saw upon the balcony above the portico the figure of Senora
Rojas. With one arm raised, she commanded silence; with the other, she
pointed to the long window through which she had just appeared.
Advancing toward the edge of the balcony, the mob saw two young girls
leading between them, erect and soldierly, a little, gray-haired man.
Amazed, almost in terror, as though it looked on one returning from
the grave, for an instant there was silence. And then men shrieked and
sobbed, and the night was rent with their exultant yell of welcome.
With their backs pressed against the railings of the garden, Peter and
McKildrick looked up at the figures on the balcony with eyes that saw
but dimly.
"So Roddy got away with it," said Peter. "Pino Vega, please write!
_Viva_ the White Mice!"
With a voice that shook suspiciously, McKildrick protested.
"Let's get out of this," he said, "or I shall start singing the
doxology."
An hour later, alone on the flat roof of Miramar, leaning on the
parapet, were two young people. Above them were the blue-black sky and
white stars of the tropics; from below rose the happy cheers of the
mob and the jubilant strains of a triumphant march.
"To-morrow," said Roddy, "I am going to ask your father a favor. I am
going to ask him for the use for two hours of the cell he last
occupied."
"And why?" protested Inez.
"I want it for a friend," said Roddy. "Pedro tells me my friend is the
man who sent word to San Carlos to have the White Mice locked up and
your father moved into another cell. I want the new Commandante to
lock my friend in that cell, and to tell him he is to remain there the
rest of his natural life. Two hours later, the White Mice will visit
him, and will smile on him through the bars. Then I'll unlock the
door, and give him his 'passage-money home and a month's wages.' His
name is Caldwell."
"I had no idea you were so vindictive," said Inez.
"It is rather," said Roddy, "a sense of humor. It makes the punishment
fit the crime."
He turned, and drawing closer, looked at her wistfully, appealingly.
"Your father," he whispered, "is free."
The girl drew a long breath of happiness.
"Yes," she sighed.
"I repeat," whispered Roddy, "your father is free."
"I don't understand," answered the girl softly.
"Have you forgotten!" cried Roddy, "You forbade me to tell you that I
loved you until he was free."
Inez looked up at him, and the light of the stars fell in her eyes.
"What will you tell me?" she whispered.
"I will tell you," said Roddy, "the name of a girl who is going to be
kissed in one second."
THE END
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:
Minor changes have been made to correct obvious typesetters' errors;
otherwise, every effort has been made to remain true to the author's
words and intent.