"I LIVE TO KILL HIM."
Still she went on, unhalting and resolute, feeling neither fatigue nor
heat, or, if she felt them, ignoring them. She was resolved to reach
Belize, or to fall dead upon the road or in the forests while
attempting to do so.
And thus she came at last to All Pines, seeing the white inn gleaming
in the first rays of the sun, it being now past six o'clock; while
although her thirst was great, she determined that she would not go
near it. She was known too well there as the girl, Zara, from
Desolada, and also as she who acted as croupier for all the dissipated
young planters who assembled at the inn to gamble, she doing so
especially for Sebastian when he held the bank. She would be
recognized at once and her presence commented on.
Yet she must pass near it, go through the village street to get
forward on her way to Belize; she could only pray in her half-savage
way that there might be none about who would see her, while, even as
she did so, she knew that her chances of escaping observation were of
the smallest. In such broiling lands as those of which Honduras formed
one, the earliest and the latest hours of the day are the hours which
are the most utilized because of their comparative coolness and
consequently few are asleep after sunrise.
Yet, she told herself, perhaps after all it was not of extreme
importance whether she was recognised or not. By to-night, if all went
well, and if the pale-faced English girl and her father had any spirit
in them, they would have taken some steps to prevent that which was
meditated at Desolada on this very night. And, if they had not that
spirit, then she herself would utter some warning, would herself see
the "old judge man," and tell him her story. Perhaps he would listen
to it and believe her even though she was but half-breed trash, as
those of her race were termed contemptuously as often as not.
But, now, as she drew nearer to the village street, and to where the
inn stood, she started in dismay at what she saw outside the door. An
animal that she recognised distinctly, not only by itself but by the
saddle on its back and the long Mexican stirrups, and also by its
colour and flowing mane.
She recognised the favourite horse of Sebastian, the one he always
rode, standing at the inn door.
At first a sickening suspicion came to her mind; a fear which she gave
utterance to in the muttered words:
"He has followed me. He knows that I have set out for Belize." Then
she dismissed the suspicion as impossible. For she remembered that
Sebastian had been absent from Desolada all the previous day, and had
not returned by the time when the others had gone to rest; she thought
now (and felt sure that she had guessed aright) that he had slept at
the inn all night, and was about to return to Desolada in the cool of
the morning.
Determined, however, to learn what the master of that horse--and of
her--was about to do, and above all, which direction he went off in
when he came outside, she crept on and on down the street until at
last she was nearly in front of the inn door. Then, lithe and agile as
a cat, she stole behind a great barn which stood facing the _plaza_,
and so was enabled to watch the opposite house without any possibility
of being herself seen from it.
That something of an exciting nature had been taking place within the
house (even as Zara had sought the shelter behind which she was now
ensconced) she had been made aware by the loud voices and cries she
heard--voices, too, that were familiar to her, as she thought. And
about one of those voices she had no doubt--could have no doubt--since
it was that of the man she loved, Sebastian.
Then, presently, even as she watched the inn through a crack in the
old and sun-baked barn-door, the turmoil increased; she heard a
scuffling in the passage, more cries and shouts, Sebastian's
objurgations rising above all, and, a moment later, the girl saw the
latter dragging Paz out into the open space in front of the inn. And
he was shaking him as a mastiff might shake a rat that had had the
misfortune to find itself in his jaws.
"You hound!" he cried, even as he did so; "you will lurk about
Desolada, will you, at light; prying and peering everywhere, as though
there were something to find out. And because you are reproved, you
endeavour to run away to Belize. What for, you treacherous dog? What
for? Answer me, I say," and again he shook the half-caste with one
hand, while with the other he rained down blows upon his almost grey
head.
But, since the man was extremely lithe, in spite of his age, many of
the blows missed their mark; while taking advantage of the twists and
turns which he, eel-like, was making in his master's hands, he managed
during one of them to wrench himself free from Sebastian. And then,
then--Zara had to force her hands over her mouth to prevent herself
from screaming out in terror. And she had to exercise supreme
control over herself also so that she should not rush forth from her
hiding-place and spring at Paz. For, freed from his tyrant's clutches,
he had darted back from him, and a second later, with a swift movement
of his hand to his back, had drawn forth a long knife that glistened
in the morning sun.
What he said, what his wild words were, cannot be written down, since
most of them were uttered in the Maya dialect; yet amid them were some
that were well understood by Zara and Sebastian; perhaps also by the
landlord of the inn and the two or three half-caste servants huddled
near him, all of them giving signs of the most intense excitement and
fear. And Zara, hearing those words, threw up her hands and covered
her face, while Sebastian, his own face white as that of a corpse's in
its shroud, staggered back trembling and shuddering.
"You know," the latter whispered, "you know that! You know?" And his
hand stole into his open shirt. Yet he drew nothing forth; he did not
produce that which Zara dreaded each instant to see. In truth the man
was paralyzed, partly by Paz's words--yet, doubtless, even more so by
the look upon his face--and by his actions.
For now Paz was creeping toward the other, even as the panther creeps
through the jungle toward the victim it is about to spring upon; the
knife clutched in his hand, upon his face a gleam of hate so hideous,
a look in his topaz eyes so horrible, that Sebastian stood rooted to
the ground. While from his white and foam-flecked lips, the man
hissed:
"Shoot. Shoot, curse you! but shoot straight. Into either my heart or
head--for if you miss me!--if you miss me--" and he sprang full on the
other, the knife raised aloft. Sprang at him as the wild cat springs
at the hunter who has tracked it to the tree it has taken refuge in,
and when it recognises that for it there is no further shelter--his
face a very hell of savage rage and spite; his scintillating,
sparkling eyes the eyes of an infuriated devil.
And Sebastian, cowed--struck dumb with apprehension of such a foe--a
thing half-human and half a savage beast--forgot to draw his revolver
from his breast and seemed mad with dismay and terror. Yet he must do
something, he knew, or that long glittering blade would be through and
through him, with probably his throat cut from ear to ear the moment
he was down. He must do something to defend, to save himself.
Recognising this even in his mortal terror, he struck out
blindly--whirling, too, his arms around in a manner that would have
caused an English boxer to roar with derision, had he not also been
paralyzed with the horror of Paz's face and actions. He struck out
blindly, therefore, not knowing what he was doing, and dreading every
instant that he would feel the hot bite of the steel in his flesh,
and--so--saved himself.
For in one of those wild, uncalculated blows, his right fist alighted
on Paz's jaw, and, because of his strength, which received accession
from his maddened fury and fear, felled the half-caste to the earth,
where he lay stunned and moaning; the deadly knife beneath him in the
dust.
For an instant Sebastian paused, his trembling and bleeding hand again
seeking his breast, and his fury prompting him to pistol the man as he
lay there before him. But he paused only for a moment, while as he did
so, he reflected that if he slew the man who was at his mercy now it
would be murder--and that murder done before witnesses--then turned
away to where his horse stood, and, flinging himself into the saddle,
rode off swiftly to Desolada.
As he disappeared, Zara came forth from behind the door where she had
been lurking, an observer of all that had taken place, and forgetting,
or perhaps heedless, of whether she was now seen or not, ran toward
Paz and lifted his head up in her arms.
"Paz, Paz," she whispered in their own jargon. "Paz, has he killed
you? Answer."
From beneath her the man looked up bewildered still, and half-stunned
by the blow; then, after a moment or so, he muttered, "No, no! I
live--to--to kill him yet." And Zara hearing those words shuddered,
for since they were both of the same half wild and savage blood, she
knew that unless she could persuade him to forego his revenge, he
would do just as he had said, even though he waited twenty years for
its accomplishment.
"No," she said, "no. You must not. Not yet, at least, Paz, promise me
you will not. I--I--you know--I love him. For my sake--mine, Paz,
promise."
"I do worse," said Paz, "I ruin him--drive him away. Zara, I know his
secret--now."
"What secret?"
"Who he is. Ah!--" for Zara had clapped her little brown hand over his
mouth, as though she feared he was going to shout out that secret
before the landlord of the inn and his servants, all of whom were
still hovering near. "Ah, I not tell it now. But to the other--the
cousin--I tell it. Because I--know it, Zara."
"So," she whispered, "do I. But not now. Do not tell it now. Paz, I go
to Belize to fetch succour. He will kill _him_ if it comes not soon."
"He will kill him to-night, perhaps. I, too, was going to Belize."
"Where is he now?" the girl asked; "where is the handsome cousin?
Where have they put him?"
"In the room at end of corridor, with the steps outside to garden.
Easy bring him down them."
"Will he die?"
"Not of wound," the man said, his eyes sparkling again, but
this time with intelligence, with suggestion. "Not of
wound--but--of--what--they--do--to-night."
"I must go," Zara cried, springing to her feet. "I must go. Every
minute is gold, and--it is many miles."
"Take the mule," Paz said. "It is there. There," and he glanced
towards the stables. "Take him. He go fast."
"I will take him," she replied, "but--but--promise me, Paz, that you
will do nothing until I return. Nothing--no harm to him. Else I will
not go."
"I will promise," the man said, rising now to his feet, and staggering
a little from his giddiness. "I will promise--you. Yet, I look after
him--I take care he do very little more harm now."
"Keep him but from evil till to-night--till to-morrow, let him not hurt
Mr. Ritherdon, then all will be well." And accompanied by Paz, she
went toward the stable where his mule was.
It took but little time for the girl to spring to its back, to ride it
out at a sharp trot from the open plaza, and, having again extorted a
promise from Paz, to be once more on her road toward Belize--she not
heeding now the fierceness of the rays of the sun, which was by this
time mounting high in the heavens.
And so at last she drew near to "Floresta," which she knew well enough
was Mr. Spranger's abode; near to where the other girl was causing
preparations to be made for reaching her father and telling him what
she had learned through the arrival of the negro--she never dreaming
of the further revelations that were so soon to be made to her.
Revelations by the side of which the lying letter and the lying action
of Sebastian in sending forward Julian's luggage would sink into
insignificance.
She sat on in her garden, waiting now for the groom to come and tell
her that the buggy was ready--sat on amid all the drowsy noontide
heat, and then, when once more the parrots rustled their feathers, and
the monkey opened its mournful eyes, she heard behind her a footstep
on the grass; a footstep coming not from the house but behind her,
from an entrance far down at the end of the tropical garden. And,
looking around, she saw close to her the girl Zara, her face almost
white now, and her clothes covered with dust.
"What is it?" Beatrix cried, springing to her feet. "What brings you
here? I know you, you are Zara; you come from Desolada."
"Yes," the other answered, "I come from Desolada. From Desolada, where
to-night murder will be done--if it is not prevented."