A DROP OF BLOOD.
They were drawing near the coast now as the sun sank slowly away over
the crest of the Cockscomb mountains towards Guatemala; and already
there were signs that the night--the swift night that comes to all
spots which lie betwixt Capricorn and Cancer--was drawing near.
The sun, although now hidden behind the topmost ridge of the
Cockscombs, was still an hour above the blue horizon, yet nevertheless
the signs were apparent that he would soon be gone altogether. The
parrots and the monkeys were becoming still and quiet in the
branches--that is to say, as still and quiet as these screeching and
chattering creatures ever do become in their native state--in dark and
shade places where now the evening glow scarce penetrated, the
fireflies gleamed little sparks and specks of molten gold; while,
above all, there rose now from the earth that true tropical sign of
coming night, the incense exuded by countless flowers and shrubs, as
well as the cool damp of the earth when refreshed by the absence of
the burning sun. Sometimes, too, across their path, an unmade one, or
only made by the tracks of wild deer or the mountain cow, two or three
of the former would glide swiftly and gracefully, seeking their lair,
or the iguana would scuttle before their animals into the nearest
copse, while the quash and gibonet were often visible.
They rode slowly, not only because of the heat, but also because none
could progress at a swift rate through those tangled copses, the trees
of which were often hung with masses of wild vines whose tendrils met
and interlaced with each other, so that sometimes almost a wall of
network was encountered. Also they rode slowly, because Desolada was
but a mile or so off now, and they would be within its precincts ere
the sun was quite gone for the day. And as they did so in silence,
Julian was acknowledging to himself that, with every fresh person he
encountered and every fresh question he asked, his bewilderment was
increased.
For now, by his side, rode this man, half Spaniard, half Indian, named
Ignacio Paz, who not only had been present at the birth of Mr.
Ritherdon's son, but also had known that son's mother before she was
married. And, Julian asked himself, how did the knowledge now
proclaimed by this man--this man who, if he possessed any feelings
towards Sebastian possessed only those of hatred--this man who had
prophesied for him a violent death as the reward of his brutality and
cruelty--how did that knowledge make for or against the story told by
George Ritherdon? Let him see.
It served above all to corroborate, to establish, Sebastian's position
as the true son and inheritor of Charles Ritherdon. So truly an
acknowledged son and inheritor that, undoubtedly no contrary proof
could ever be brought of sufficiently powerful nature to overwhelm all
that the evidence of the last twenty-five or twenty-six years
affirmed. Had not this man, Paz, been one of those who had received
money from Mr. Ritherdon to drink Sebastian's health? Surely--surely,
therefore, the old man was satisfied that this was his son. And
if he, Sebastian, was his son, who then was he, Julian?
On the other hand, the half-breed proved by old Mr. Leigh's
conversation that there was some inaccuracy--perhaps an intentional
inaccuracy--in Sebastian's statement that Miriam Carmaux, or Gardelle,
was a relative of Isobel Leigh. That was undoubted! There was an
inaccuracy. Old Leigh had definitely said that he was the first of his
family who had ever been forced to earn a living in exile--yet she,
this woman, with a French maiden, as well as married, name, was a
native of New Orleans, was a Frenchwoman. Was it not enormous odds,
therefore, against her being any connection of the English girl with
the fair, wheat-coloured hair, the peachlike complexion, and the blue
eyes who had been brought as an infant from Essex to Honduras?
Also, was it not immeasurably unlikely that, even if then the women
were connected by blood, such coincidences should have occurred that
both should have come to the colony at almost an identical time; that
Mr. Ritherdon's wandering heart should have chanced to be captivated
by each of those women; that he should have jilted the one for the
other, and that eventually one, the jilted woman, should have dropped
into the place of mistress of the household which death had caused the
other to resign? What would the doctrine of chances say in connection
with these facts, he would like to know?
"One other thing perplexes me, too," he thought to himself, as now
they reached an open glade across which the swift departing sun
streamed horizontally, "perplexes me marvellously. Does Sebastian
know, does he dream, that against his position and standing such a
story has been told as that narrated to me in England by my uncle--as
still I believe him to be. And if--if there is some chicanery, some
dark secret in connection with his and my birth, does he know of
it--or is he inno----"
He paused, startled now at an incident that had happened, an incident
that drove all reflection from his mind.
Across that glade there had come trotting easily, and evidently
without any fear on its part, one of the red deer common enough in
British Honduras. Only this deer was not as those are which sportsmen
and hunters penetrate into the forests and the mountains to shoot and
destroy; instead, it was one which Julian had himself seen roaming
about the parklike grounds and surroundings of Desolada, the territory
of which began on the other side of the open glade.
Yet this was not the incident, nor the portion of the incident which
startled both him and Paz. Not that, but something else more serious
than a tame deer crossing an open grassland a few hundred yards in
diameter each way. There was nothing to startle in that--though much
to do so in what followed.
What followed being that as the deer, still slowly trotting over the
broad-leaved grass, which here forms so luxurious a pasture for all
kinds of cattle, came into line with Julian and Paz riding almost side
by side, though with the latter somewhat ahead of the former--there
came from out of the mangrove trees on the other side of the little
opening, a spit of flame, a puff of smoke, and the sharp crack of a
rifle, while, a second later, from off the side of a logwood tree
close by them there fell a strip of bark to the ground.
"By Jove!" exclaimed Julian, his accustomed coolness not deserting him
even at this agitating moment, "the gallant sportsman is a reckless
kind of gentleman. One would think we were the game he is after and
not the deer which, by-the-bye, has departed like a streak of greased
lightning. I say, Paz, that bullet passed about three inches behind
your head and not many more in front of my nose. People don't go out
shooting human beings here as they do partridges at home, do they?"
and he turned his eyes on his companion.
If, as an extra excitement to add to the incident, he had desired to
observe now a specimen of native-born ferocity, he would have been
gratified as he thus regarded Paz. For the man in whose veins ran the
hot blood of a Spaniard, mixed with the still more hot and tempestuous
blood of the Indian, seemed almost beside himself now with rage and
fury. His dark coffee-hued skin had turned livid, his eyes glared like
those of a maddened wolf, and his hands, which were now unstrapping
the rifle that he too carried slung to his saddle, resembled masses of
vibrating cords. Yet they became calm enough as, the antique
long-barrelled weapon being released, he raised that rifle quickly,
brought it to the shoulder and fired towards the exact spot whence
they had observed the flame and smoke of the previous rifle to come.
"Are you mad?" exclaimed Julian, horrified at the act. "Great Heavens!
Do you want to commit a murder? If the person who let drive at that
deer has not moved away yet, you have very likely taken a human life."
But Paz, who seemed now to have recovered his equanimity and to have
relieved his feelings entirely by that savage idea of retaliation,
which had been not only sprung into his mind, but had also been
instantly put into practice, only shrugged his shoulders indifferently
while he restrapped his rifle. Then he pointed a long lean finger at
the spot across the glade where the first discharge had taken place,
directing the digit next to the spot where the deer had been, after
which he pointed next to their heads and then to the tree, in which
they could see the hole where the bullet was buried two or three
inches. Having done all which, he muttered:
"Fired at the deer. At the deer! The deer was there--there--there,"
and he directed his eyes to a spot five yards off the line which would
be drawn between the other side of the glade whence the fire had come
and the deer, "and we are here. Tree here, too."
"What do you suspect?" Julian asked, white to the lips now
himself--appalled at some hitherto unsuspected horror. "What? Whom?"
And as he spoke his lips seemed to take the form of a name which,
still, he hesitated to give utterance to.
"No," the half-caste said in reply, his quick intelligence grasping
without the aid of any speech the identity of the man to whom Julian's
expression pointed. "No. He is in Belize by now. He must be there. He
has money--much money--to pay to lawyer this morning. Not him. Not
him." After which the mysterious creature laughed in a manner that set
Julian's mind reflecting on how he had heard the Indians of old
laughed at the tortures endured by their victims.
"Come," he said now, feeling suddenly cold and chilled, as he had felt
once or twice before in Desolada and its surroundings. "Come, let us
go ho----back to the house," and he started the mustang forward on the
route they had been following.
"No," Paz exclaimed, "however, not that way now. Other way. Quite as
near. Also," and his dark eyes glistened strangely as he fastened them
on Julian, "lead to hacienda. To Desolada. Come. We go through
wood--over glade. Very nice wood."
"What do you expect to do there?" Julian asked, divining all the same.
"Oh! oh!" Paz said, his face alight with a demoniacal gleam. "Oh! oh!
Perhaps find a body. Who knows? Gunny he shoot very straight. Perhaps
a wounded man. Who knows?"
So they crossed the glade, making straight for the spot whence the
murderous belch of flame had sprung forth, and, pushing aside
flowering cacti and oleanders as well as other lightly knitted
together shrubs and bushes, looked all around them. But, except that
there were signs of footmarks on the bruised leaves of some of the
greater shrubs and also that the undergrowth was a little trodden
down, they saw nothing. Certainly nobody lay there, struck to death by
Paz's bullet.
The keen eyes of the half-caste--glinting here and there and
everywhere--and looking like dark topazes as the rays of the evening
sun danced in them--seemed, however, to penetrate each inch of the
surrounding shrubbery. And, at last, Julian heard him give a little
gasp--it was almost a bleat--and saw him point with his finger at
something about three feet from the ground.
At a leaf--a leaf of the wild oleander--on which was a speck that
looked like a ladybird. Only--it was not that! But, instead, a drop of
blood. A drop that glistened, as his eyes had glistened in the sun; a
drop that a step or two further onward had a fellow. Then--nothing
further.
"I hit him," Paz said, "somewhere. Only--did not kill." While,
instantly he wheeled round and gazed full into Julian's eyes--his face
expressing a very storm of demoniacal hate against the late owner of
that drop.
"That," he almost hissed, "will keep. For a later day. When I know
him."
They went now toward the house, each intent on his own meditations and
with hardly a word spoken between them; or, at least, but a few words:
Julian requesting Paz to say nothing of the incident, and the latter
replying that by listening and not talking was the way to discover a
secret.
"Ha! the gentle lady," said the half-breed now, as they observed
Madame Carmaux seated on the veranda arranging some huge lilies in a
glass bowl, while the form of Zara was observed disappearing into the
house. "Ha! the gracious ruler and mistress." Then, as they drew near
and stepped on to the veranda, Paz began bowing and scraping before
the former with extraordinary deference. Yet, all the same, Julian
observed that his eyes were roving everywhere around, and all over the
boards near where Madame Carmaux sat, so that he wondered what it was
for which the half-breed sought!