JUANITA.
The sun is creeping up the range of hills when Ashley and Navarro leave
the Hotel Royal and set forth at a smart pace for the meeting with Capt.
Raymon Huerta. Ashley is in his usual good spirits, and the enlivening
influence of his society is appreciated by Navarro, whose thoughts are
plainly of a dejected nature.
Half a mile or more down the beach that stretches east of the city three
men are in waiting. Two of them are Capt. Huerta and Senor Cardena; the
third is evidently a surgeon.
The preliminaries for the exchange of shots are quickly arranged.
Ashley, with the fifty-yards range in mind, proposes the comfortable
distance of twenty-five paces, and Cardena assents. Then the revolvers
are handed out and carefully scrutinized, and Huerta and Navarro face
each other on the sands.
“How’s your nerve, old man?” Ashley asks Navarro, as he gives the
latter’s hand an encouraging squeeze.
“Steady,” is the response, in low tones.
“Good.”
“Remember the letter,” admonishes Navarro, and as Ashley nods and steps
back the duelists signal that they are ready.
A minute later two shots startle into flight a flock of sea gulls that
have been hovering along the shore.
With the echoes Capt. Huerta staggers and is immediately taken in charge
by the watchful Cardena and the medico.
“Not scratched, eh?” Ashley inquires of Navarro.
“No; but the lead passed close enough for comfort. Unless my aim was
poor, Huerta is not seriously hurt. To have killed him would have been
to invite serious entanglement.”
Nor is the Spanish captain in any immediate danger of parting with
existence. The bullet has plowed through the right shoulder, causing a
ragged wound and a great flow of blood, but a few days will put him on
his feet again, the surgeon reports to Cardena. Wounded honor is
satisfied by the physical wound, and after a brief announcement of this
fact and a stiff “Adios” the Spaniards drive away, and Navarro and his
American friend are left upon the beach.
“Any trouble with the authorities likely?” Ashley queries, as the two
turn cityward.
“I think not. Huerta is a thorough-paced scoundrel, but he has never
been accused of being a coward or an informer.”
A great change has come over Navarro. His eye is bright and his step
elastic and he tells Ashley, as they stride along in the cool air of the
morning, that he is terribly hungry and would appreciate a good
breakfast.
As good a meal as Cuba affords is forthcoming, and as Ashley suddenly
recollects the now happily unnecessary letter to Don Quesada, Navarro
tears it into fragments and says abruptly:
“Ashley, amigo, have you ever seen the Pearl of the Antilles?”
“No; I haven’t been in Santiago quite twenty-four hours yet. You mean
the insurgent cruiser?”
“Ah, no; I mean the most beautiful girl in Cuba. She is the daughter of
Don Manuel de Quesada, and is at once the joy and the despair of half
the unmarried jeunesse doree of Santiago. Would you like to meet her?”
“By all means. Next to a good horse and a trim yacht, I know of nothing
that interests me more than a beautiful woman.”
“Good. I am going out to La Quinta de Quesada. Hunt up a horse and
accompany me.”
Navarro is already provided with a steed, a magnificent black animal
that interests Ashley far more than the prospects of the acquaintance of
the Pearl of the Antilles. “Came into my possession yesterday,” Navarro
tells him. “Isn’t he a beauty?”
“He is that,” is Jack’s appreciative reply. “If you run across his mate
put me in the way of acquiring him and I will do my war correspondence
in the saddle.”
Ashley succeeds in chartering a fairly presentable beast for the day,
and the two young men set out for Santos in the best of spirits. They
are in no hurry and the ride of something over four miles through El
Valle de Bosque Cillos, the wooded valley, occupies an hour.
Passing through Santos, which is one of the smallest of villages,
embracing only a jail, a church and a score of dwellings, the travelers
take the road to La Quinta de Quesada, which is located in the center of
the Pueblo de Olivet.
The Quinta is a square, two-storied affair and the principal material in
its construction is coral stone. The inevitable and grateful veranda
stretches around three sides and an air of quiet luxury is evident in
the spacious house and its attractive surroundings.
As Navarro and Ashley ride slowly up the shaded carriage way and turn
suddenly in sight of the quinta, the first objects that greet Jack’s
vision are two young people in one of the hammocks on the veranda. A
young man’s arm encircles a young lady’s waist and the attitude of the
pair suggests either the relations of lovers or of brother and sister.
They start up in some confusion upon the advent of a stranger and come
forward to greet Navarro. When the latter dismounts the young man
embraces him warmly and Navarro, as he rests one arm affectionately
about the youth’s shoulders, says to Ashley: “My younger brother, Don
Carlos.” Then he turns to the young lady:
“Juanita, I want you to know my friend, Senor Jack Ashley of New York.
Senor Ashley, La Senorita de Quesada.”
Ashley has slid from his horse and his acknowledgment of the
introduction is rather less debonair than usual; because, as he
confesses afterward to himself, he is somewhat confused by the beauty of
the young woman, who gives him her hand and tells him that the quinta
has no friends more welcome than Don Emilio.
And here is an outline of Juanita de Quesada, the Pearl of the Antilles,
as sketched rapidly but indelibly upon the tablets of Jack Ashley’s
memory:
She is 20 or thereabouts, and is considerably below the medium height.
The proportions of her slender yet full form are as perfect as nature
ever molds. Her face is oval, and her complexion a soft, creamy olive.
Evidences of her race are in the lead-black hair, the dark, dreamy eyes
of liquid fire, the rather large, tremulous mouth, with its scarlet
lips, and the completing perfection of Cuban loveliness, the dainty
little feet with the incomparable arches. All Cuban women are not
beautiful, but as Ashley looks upon the present picture he decides that
the imperfections of her sisters are amply compensated for by the
dazzling loveliness of the Senorita de Quesada. “She is glorious,” he
thinks; and then: “I wonder if she knows anything.”
Hardly less striking, though dissimilar in character, is the beauty of
Don Carlos Navarro. He is a slender youth, with dark-brown eyes and
curly hair, and if it were not for the effeminacy of his regular
features he would receive the critical approval of the New Yorker. As it
is, Ashley confesses that Juanita and Don Carlos are the handsomest
young pair he ever set eyes upon, and he wonders what may be the
relationship existing between them. For Carlos is no more Spanish in
appearance than his brother Emilio.
“Where is Don Quesada?” asks Navarro, when the party have disposed
themselves upon the veranda.
“With his books and papers, as usual,” replies Carlos, with a
significant glance at his brother. “Come, I will take you to him. He
will be overjoyed to greet you. It is nearly two weeks, Emilio, since we
last saw you.”
“And it may be much longer than two weeks ere you see me again,” says
Navarro, as he follows Carlos into the house.
Ashley finds himself vastly interested in the young lady with whom he
has been left tete-a-tete. He learns that she has not a near relative
save her father (Carlos must then be her lover); that she is no stranger
to the United States, having resided in New York two years; that she
loves America and everything American; that, were it not that her
father’s interests necessitated a residence in Cuba, she would like to
live always in America; and much more information, imparted in a quiet,
dignified manner which Jack is positive was acquired by her short stay
in the land of the free and the home of the enterprising.
All too soon comes the interruption of luncheon, and Ashley is presented
to Don Manuel de Quesada. Jack takes a good, square look at the tall,
spare, elderly man who grasps his hand warmly and tells him that he is
always proud and happy to meet an American.
Don Quesada is a typical Cuban in appearance; his bearing is
distinguished and his manner partakes of the dignity and repose of his
daughter. But there is a certain weakness about the mouth that Ashley at
once notes.
However, Don Quesada is cordiality itself, and after lunch the three men
adjourn to the library for a smoke, Carlos and Juanita taking themselves
off for a ramble through the park.
The conversation drifts naturally to a discussion of the patriotic
uprising which has almost attained the proportions of a revolution that
promises to be as successful as the struggle for independence of the
American colonists. The talk is general, and Ashley surprises his
companions by remarking abruptly:
“By the way, Don Quesada, before I left America it was hinted to me by
an influential member of the Cuban revolutionary society that the
President of the Provisional Republic of Cuba is a resident of
Santiago.”
“Ah?” says Quesada, inquiringly.
“That is, I suppose Santos may be considered a part of Santiago.”
Quesada and Navarro look at each other meaningly.
“In other words, that this President is none other than yourself, Don
Quesada,” continues Ashley; and without waiting for a reply to this
direct speech he goes on:
“I tell you only what, as I say, was intimated to me in the strictest
confidence. I shall not ask for a confirmation or a contradiction; I am
not thinking of interviewing you. I am an American and the
representative of an American newspaper. As such, I am supposed, while
in Cuba, to maintain a neutrality. I had intended, before I met Don
Navarro, to call upon you in a professional capacity, but now I find
myself your guest. It is for you to say what is your pleasure in the
matter.”
Don Quesada studies keenly the face of the war correspondent, but reads
only sincerity in the frank blue eyes. Then he looks at Navarro and the
latter extends his hand to Jack.
“Ashley, I believe we understand one another,” he says. “There is no
need of further explanations. If there is any interviewing to be done,
you can operate on me. I believe Don Quesada will willingly allow me to
submit to the ordeal.”
“I will be merciful,” smiles Ashley. “But before I proceed further,
permit me to present the vouchers for my discretion and reliability,”
and he passes over a letter which relieves Don Quesada of any possible
distrust of his acquaintance of a few hours.
It is late in the afternoon when Navarro announces that he must depart.
Ashley is courteously invited to enjoy for as long a time as he may care
to the hospitality of the quinta, but duty demands his presence at
Santiago until he gets his affairs into shape. However, he promises to
call frequently while he is in this part of the country, a pledge he
anticipates much pleasure in fulfilling. And as he rides away with
Navarro his usually cool head is disturbed by speculations as to the
probable relations between Don Carlos Navarro and Juanita de Quesada.
“By the way, Navarro,” he says, suddenly to his companion, “is there any
likelihood of my ever chancing upon El Terredo, the mysterious
revolutionary leader whom we were discussing this afternoon?”
“Possibly,” is the reply. The travelers have reached a fork in the road,
about half-way between Santos and Santiago.
“My path lies yonder,” says Navarro, pointing to the north. “We must
part here.”
“Well, take care of yourself,” remarks Ashley, gripping the extended
hand.
Navarro rides slowly away, but he has not gone five yards when he checks
his horse and turns in his saddle.
“Would you like to see El Terredo?” he asks, with a smile.
“It would satisfy my curiosity,” is Ashley’s prompt response.
“Then, my friend, take your first look, and the last for many days, if
not forever. For I am El Terredo!”
Waving his hat with a graceful sweep Navarro rides away to the
mountains.
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