THE FIGHT IN THE MOONLIGHT.
“Didn’t expect you back so soon,” declares Landlord Carter, answering
Ashley’s halloa without the Hotel Americano at Jibana.
“I am a little ahead on my own calculations,” is the reply. “Are the
Americans still here?”
“No, sir; left this afternoon for Santiago.”
“Full house, though, I judge,” motioning toward the windows of the
reading-room, from which emanate snatches of song and the clink of
glasses.
“Yes; gang of Spanish troopers. Noisy devils. Stop overnight, I
suppose?”
“Sure. I want some supper in a hurry and a room at your leisure.”
The landlord shouts to the hostler, who leads Rozinante away to his
well-earned grain, and Ashley follows Carter into the hotel, with the
remark: “I do not care to have those chaps in there see me, or know who
I am.”
“All right, sir. This way. The troopers are all in the drinking-room and
they haven’t moved out of their chairs for an hour.”
Supper over, Ashley is shown to his room and the landlord is about to
make his exit with a cheerful “good-night,” when Ashley remarks:
“By the way, have you an old coat and hat of any description?”
Carter scratches his head reflectively. “I have an old Grand Army
uniform that I brought with me from the states. I was a member of the
13th Massachusetts volunteers, and after the war joined the Chelsea
post, when—”
“That will do very nicely,” interrupts Ashley. “I want to borrow the
uniform for a few hours.”
“All right, sir. I’ll get it out in the morning.”
“But I want it to-night.”
“Very good, sir. I’ve been too long in this business to ask questions.
Used to run a small hotel in Boston,” grins Carter, as he vanishes. He
returns shortly with the clothes, and Ashley, after a glance, pronounces
them satisfactory.
“One more request, Carter. You noticed, perhaps, among your guests a
rather short, thick-set party, with a dark, closely cropped mustache.”
“Smokes a short, black pipe and looks like an Englishman?”
“That’s the chap. Send him up, but don’t attract the attention of his
companions.”
Carter nods and disappears, and a few minutes later the good-natured
countenance of John Barker is thrust into the room.
“Buenas tardes, Senor Parker,” is Ashley’s salutation. “Come in and shut
the door.”
“Where the devil did you come from?” demands the detective, dropping
into a chair.
“Up the road a piece. I got tired of journeying through the desert, and
concluded to take the back track. Fill up your pipe and make yourself
sociable.”
“Can’t stop. It is nearly 9 o’clock and we start at that hour.”
“Oh, yes; on the business you were telling me of this noon. You haven’t
changed your plans, then?”
“No; there was no occasion to.”
“Well, it is not absolutely essential that you should accompany Alvarez,
is it?”
“That was his wish. With the exception of Alvarez and myself and the
four men who were to supplement our little party, the command knows
nothing definite of the evening’s work. Alvarez doesn’t fraternize much
with his followers.”
“Why not send a man in your stead?”
“I am afraid it is too late to make any changes in the plans. Most of
the men below are half-shot now.”
Ashley takes a turn about the room and drops his hand on his friend’s
shoulder. “Barker,” he says, “it was only this noon that you requested
me to be serious for at least ten minutes on a stretch. I never was more
serious than I am now, when I say to you, don’t accompany Alvarez on his
errand to-night.”
“What the deuce are you so interested in the affair for all at once?”
queries the detective.
“Well, remain here, and I will enlighten you.”
At this moment the impatient shout, “Ho, Parker!” floats up from the
hotel yard, and with the remark, “I’m off; see you later, Jack,” Barker
bounds from the room.
“Hang it! I ought to have told him at the outset how the land lay,”
mutters Ashley. “Now, I suppose I shall have to direct my undivided
efforts to preventing his slaughter at the hands of Navarro’s men.”
Ashley slips off his coat and gets into the faded uniform of the
landlord, dons the Grand Army hat and pulls it down over his eyes;
examines his revolvers to make certain that they are in proper working
order, and then, blowing out his lamp, seats himself by the open window,
where he can command a view of the road.
Shortly after 9 o’clock he sees six forms cross the band of moonlight
into the shadows beyond. He waits ten minutes and then glides softly
down the stairway and out into the night.
Alvarez and his men leave the hotel afoot and instead of taking the
railroad track, proceed down the highway. Alvarez rode over the ground
during the afternoon and selected a point about a mile and a half below
the village as the place for holding up the train. Here the road crosses
the railway and beyond is a long stretch of straight track.
The six proceed silently to the appointed spot, and then, there being no
further occasion for secrecy, they fall to smoking and chatting. The
train is due at Jibana at 10 and there is yet half an hour to wait.
Twenty minutes of it go by, when Alvarez discovers that his party is
short two men.
“Ho! Sancho! Francisco!” he calls, and repeats the shout, there being no
response. “Whither went they, Parker?” he asks, turning to his orderly.
“They were here a few minutes ago, captain. I last noticed them
strolling toward the road.”
Alvarez utters an impatient growl. “Search them out, Pedro, and thou,
too, Juan. The train will be here in five minutes.”
As the two troopers addressed take themselves off in quest of their
companions Alvarez lights a lantern and hands it to the orderly.
“By the way, what disposition is to be made of the prisoner?” asks the
latter.
“We shall have to shoot him, I expect,” is the cool response. “We can’t
very well take him with us, and we certainly cannot turn him loose.”
“It seems a rather cold-blooded piece of business. It savors of murder.”
At the word Alvarez shivers slightly. The nights in Cuba are damp and
chilly.
“Ten o’clock,” he mutters, holding his watch to the lantern. “Where the
devil are my men? We shall likely have to go in search of the second
pair. Ha, the train!”
The whistle of the Havana express is heard in the distance and the men
leap to their feet.
“Down the track with you,” orders Alvarez. “As for you,” turning to four
forms that are approaching from the shadows of the highway, “el diablo!
What sort of men have I in my command?”
The troopers make no reply to the angry query of their leader.
The orderly swings his lantern and an answering blast comes from the
train, which draws up upon the crossing.
“I have an order for the arrest of one of your passengers,” Alvarez
informs the conductor. “Watch the train and see that no one leaves it,”
he tells the four troopers, and, followed by the orderly, he boards the
first coach.
Within this is the object of their search. Don Carlos Navarro is
reclining wearily in a seat about midway of the car. He starts when the
soldiers enter and the color flows from his cheeks when they stop before
him.
Alvarez consults a paper, and, glancing from it to young Navarro,
remarks: “The very chap. I have a warrant for your arrest, sir.” Then to
the orderly: “Remove the prisoner, Parker.”
“By thunder, he’s fainted,” mutters the orderly, as he bears the limp
form from the car.
“Search him,” commands Alvarez, signaling to the conductor to go ahead.
As the train rumbles away the orderly goes through the coat pockets of
the prisoner, but without finding any sign of papers, rebel dispatches
or otherwise. Then he tears open the unconscious youth’s shirt, and the
next instant utters an exclamation of astonishment.
“By heaven! It’s a woman!” he mutters, as he deposits his burden
tenderly on the ground and straightens up to acquaint his chief of the
surprising bit of intelligence.
* * * * *
The moon swings high above the range when Ashley leaves the hotel and
proceeds down the railroad track, the route he naturally supposes
Alvarez and his party have taken.
As the newspaper man, revolver in hand, moves slowly and cautiously
along, his eyes on the alert for a glimpse of Alvarez’ party, the danger
of his situation suddenly occurs to him. If the Spaniards have already
stationed themselves at some point along the rail he is likely to
stumble upon them at any minute.
At last he sights the party of troopers. Then he remembers that the road
is close by, and stealing through the brush, he proceeds softly along
the highway until the hum of conversation greets his ear.
He crawls at a safe distance to a position beyond the group, not twenty
feet distant from the spot where Alvarez and Barker are seated.
The brush is dense and he has nothing now to do but keep perfectly
still. He has seen or heard nothing of El Torredo or his men, but he
knows that secreted somewhere in the waste of chaparral around him are
stout hearts and strong arms waiting for the cry of “Santiago!” to rouse
them to swift action.
He watches Alvarez light the lantern, and, as the rays fall upon the
orderly’s features Ashley thinks: “If I could only get within whispering
distance of the old man I’d give him a quiet tip to make himself
exceeding scarce.”
But at this instant the whistle of the express is heard and Ashley
raises himself on his elbows. He sees Barker start down the track, and
his impulse is to follow. But to do so he will have to cross a broad
belt of moonlit open, and at this moment the four troopers come up.
The train comes to a standstill, Don Carlos is removed, the cars rumble
away, and Ashley notes with satisfaction that the search for the papers
is being conducted by the orderly. “He will not be harmed should
Navarro’s men open fire, if he keeps close to Carlos,” he thinks.
But where is Navarro? The situation is becoming strained for the young
man in the Grand Army uniform.
Jack is watching Barker. He hears him utter an ejaculation of
astonishment as he lays the unconscious form of Carlos upon the ground.
And then he hears a hoarse bellow of rage and sees one of Alvarez’
troopers whip out his sword and spring upon the orderly.
Less than a dozen feet separate Ashley and Barker. With a cry of
warning, Jack dashes forward and catches the descending arm just in time
to avert the certain destruction of the detective, who is wholly off his
guard. As it is, the edge of the falling blade catches Barker across the
forehead, half-stunning him and cutting a gash that means a scar to
recall this night in years to come. At the same instant Ashley
recognizes El Terredo in the wielder of the sword, and he whispers,
“Easy, Navarro,” in time to check a slash at his own head.
Meanwhile the remaining three troopers have hurled themselves upon
Alvarez and Barker. It all occurs in a flash and before Ashley recovers
from his surprise at the unexpected turn of events a shrill whistle from
Navarro has summoned nearly a score more of men from the surrounding
shadows.
Navarro raises Don Carlos in his arms and the youth, who has recovered
consciousness, clasps his arms about his brother’s neck and bursts into
tears of joy.
“There, be a man,” soothes the latter. “Remain here a few minutes while
I look after your Spanish friends.”
Navarro picks up the lantern and flashes its rays into Alvarez’ face.
“What’s this?” he cries. “By heaven, Captain Alvarez, I think we have
met before.”
As the two men confront each other in the moonlight, there is no need of
the lantern for each to see the other’s countenance.
An exclamation of surprise and rage escapes Alvarez’ lips, and he
struggles in the grasp of the two men who pinion his arms.
“Curse you!” he grits, in a voice choked with passion; “I’d give half my
life for five minutes of fair play now!”
“Fair play?” sneers Navarro. “You do not know the meaning of the phrase.
You are a thief, a blackguard, and a traitor!”
Alvarez wrenches free by a mighty effort and with a fearful oath hurls
himself upon Navarro.
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