"I'm--going to. You can see now why I didn't go to a doctor: _I_ did
it--shot myself. You won't give me away?"
"Why--I don't understand."
"Oh, I'm in trouble. I simply had to get away, and this was all I could
think of. I wanted to blow a real hole through myself and I tried three
times. But I missed myself."
"Missed yourself? How? Why?"
Branch wiped the sweat from his face. "I flinched--shut my eyes and
pulled the trigger."
Norine seated herself weakly; she stared in bewilderment at the unhappy
speaker. "Afraid? You, El Demonio! Why, you aren't afraid of anything!"
"Say! You don't believe all that stuff, do you? I'm afraid of my shadow
and always have been. I'm not brave and never was. They told me I was
going to die and it scared me so that I tried to end things quickly. I
couldn't bear to die slowly, to KNOW that I was dying by inches. But,
Lord! It scared me even worse to go into battle. I was blind with
fright all the time and I never got over it. Why, the sight of a gun
gives me a chill, and I jump every time one goes off. God! how I've
suffered! I went crazy at our first engagement--crazy with fear. I
didn't know where I was, or what happened, or anything. Afterward, when
they hailed me as a hero, I thought they were kidding, that everybody
must know how frightened I was. After a time I saw that I'd fooled
them, and that shamed me. Then--I had to keep it up or become
ridiculous. But it nearly killed me."
"If you're speaking the truth, I'm not sure you're such a coward as you
make out," Norine said.
"Oh yes, I am. Wait! Before I knew it I had a reputation. Then I had to
live up to it." The speaker groaned. "It wasn't so bad as long as I
felt sure I was going to die, anyhow, but when I discovered I was
getting well--" Branch raised a pair of tragic eyes, his tone changed.
"I'll tell you what cured me. I SCARED myself well! Those bugs in my
lungs died from suffocation, for I never breathed as long as there was
a Spaniard in the same county with me. One day I found that I couldn't
cough if I tried. I got strong. I slept well. And EAT? Huh! I gobbled
my share of food and whined for more. I stole what belonged to the
others. I began to enjoy myself--to have fun. Life opened up nice and
rosy. I fell in love with my new self and the joy of living. Then I
didn't want to die--never had, you understand, except to cheat the
bugs; it gave me the horrors to think of the chances I'd taken. To be
strong, to be healthy and free from pain, to tear my food like a wild
animal, and to enjoy hard work was all new and strange and wonderful. I
was drunk with it. To think of being cut down, crippled, reduced to the
useless, miserable thing I had been, was intolerable. I was twice as
scared then as I'd ever been, for I had more to lose. You understand? I
forced myself to do the insane things expected of me, when people were
looking--natural pride, I suppose--but when they weren't looking, oh,
how I dogged it! I crawled on my belly and hid in holes like a snake."
"How--funny!" Norine exclaimed.
"You've got a blamed queer idea of humor," Branch flashed, with a show
of his former irritability.
"And so you shot yourself?"
"Yep! I tried to select a good spot where it wouldn't hurt or prove too
inconvenient, but--there isn't a place to spare on a fellow's whole
body. He needs every inch of himself every minute. I was going to shoot
myself in the foot, but my feet are full of bones and I saw myself on
crutches the rest of my life."
"Why didn't you resign from the service? You didn't regularly enlist
and you've surely earned your discharge."
Branch nodded. "I thought of that, but I've gained a reputation that I
don't deserve and, strangely enough, I'm madly jealous of it. I thought
if I were really shot by a regular bullet I'd be mourned as a hero and
have a chance to walk out with colors flying. I want to tell my
children, if I ever have any, what a glorious man I was and how I
helped to free Cuba. Oh, I'd lie like a thief to my own children! Now
you see why I don't want a doctor. There's only one thing I want--and
that's--HOME." Leslie heaved a deep sigh. "Gee! I'm homesick."
"So am I," Norine feelingly declared. "I think I understand how you
feel and I can't blame you for wanting to live, now that you've learned
what a splendid thing life is."
"If O'Reilly had been with me I think I could have managed, somehow,
for he would have understood, too. I--I'll never go back to the front,
alone--they can shoot me, if they want to. Have you heard anything from
him?"
"Not a word. Cuba swallowed him up. Oh, Leslie, it is a cruel country!
It is taking the best and the youngest. I--want to go away."
He smiled mirthlessly. "I'm fed up on it, too. I want to be where I can
shave when I need to and wear something besides canvas pajamas. I'm
cured of war; I want a policeman to stop the traffic and help me across
the street. I want to put my feet under a breakfast-table, rustle a
morning paper, and slap an egg in the face. That's all the excitement I
hunger for."
Norine filled a basin with clean water and, taking a fresh bandage,
wrapped up the self-inflicted hurt, Branch watching her anxiously. Now
and again he flinched like a child when she touched his wound. At last
he inquired, apprehensively, "Is it infected?"
"No."
"Lord! I'm glad! Wouldn't it be just my luck to get blood poisoning?"
Norine surprised her patient by inquiring, irrelevantly, "Leslie, is
there anybody here who can marry people?"
"Eh? Why, of course!" Then suddenly his somber face lightened and he
cried: "NORINE! DO YOU MEAN IT?"
"Not you. I wouldn't marry you."
"Why not? I'm perfectly well--"
"Please answer me."
Leslie settled back in his chair. "I dare say some of the Cuban Cabinet
officers could put up a good bluff at a marriage ceremony."
"A bluff wouldn't do."
"Who's going to be married?"
"I am."
Branch started to his feet once more, his mouth fell open. "You?
Nonsense!" When she nodded, his face darkened. "Who is he? Some Cuban,
I'll bet--one of these greasers."
"It is poor Esteban."
"'Poor Esteban'! Damn it, they're all poor. That's the very reason he
asked you. He's after your money."
"He didn't ask me. I asked him. He's--dying, Leslie." There was a
pause. "I'm going to marry him and take him home, where he can get
well."
"What will O'Reilly say?"
"I'm afraid we'll never see O'Reilly again. Cuba frightens me. It has
taken him, it will take Esteban, and--that would break my heart."
"Do you love him as much as that?"
Norine raised her eyes and in their depths Branch read her answer.
"Well, that ends the rest of us," he sighed. "There's a Minister of
Justice here, I believe; he sounds as if he could perform most any kind
of a ceremony. We'll find out for sure."
It so happened that the President and well-nigh the entire Provisional
Cabinet were in Cubitas. Leslie and Norine went directly to the former.
The supreme official was eager to oblige in every way the guest of his
Government and her dare-devil countryman, El Demonio. He promptly sent
for the Minister of Justice, who in turn gallantly put himself at
Norine's disposal. He declared that, although he had never performed
the marriage ceremony he would gladly try his hand at it. In no time
the news had spread and there was subdued excitement throughout the
camp. When Norine left headquarters she was the target of smiles and
friendly greetings. Women nodded and chattered at her, ragged soldiers
swept her salutes with their jipi-japa hats, children clung to her and
capered by her side. It was vastly embarrassing, this shameless
publicity, but it was touching, too, for there was genuine affection
and good-will behind every smile. Norine was between tears and laughter
when she ran panting into Esteban's cabin, leaving Branch to wait
outside.
At sight of her Esteban uttered a low cry of happiness. "Dearest! I've
been lying in a stupor of delight. The world has become bright: I hear
people laughing. What a change! And how is El Demonio?"
"He's all right; he's waiting to see you, but first--I've arranged
everything! The President and his Cabinet are coming to witness the
ceremony."
Esteban poised, petrified, upon his elbow, his face was a study. "What
have you arranged?" he managed to inquire.
"'Sh--h!" Norine laid a finger upon his lips. "The guest of the
Republic is to be married to-day. Dignitaries, magistrates, nabobs, are
turning out in her honor. They are shaving and borrowing clean shirts
for the occasion. The Minister of Justice has a brand-new pair of tan
shoes and he has promised to wear them, come rain or shine."
"NORINE! Oh, my dear--" quavered the sick man. "I can't let you do this
mad thing. Think! I'm ready for the grave--"
"This will make you well. We're going away when the very next
expedition arrives."
But still Varona protested. "No, no! Who am I? I have nothing to offer,
nothing to give. I'm poorer than a peon."
"Thank goodness, I can do all the giving! I've never told you, Esteban,
but I'm quite rich." Holding the man away, she smiled into his eyes.
"Yes, richer than I have any right to be. I had no need to come to
Cuba; it was just the whim of an irresponsible, spoiled young woman. I
gave a huge amount of money to the New York Junta and that's why I was
allowed to come."
"You're not a--a trained nurse?"
"Oh, dear, no! Except when it amuses me to pretend."
"How strange!" The invalid was dazed, but after a moment he shook his
head. "It is hard to say this, but I don't know whether you really love
me or whether your great heart has been touched. You have learned my
feelings, and perhaps think in this way to make me well. Is that it?"
"No, no! I'm thoroughly selfish and must have what I want. I want you.
So don't let's argue about it." Norine tenderly enfolded the weak
figure in her arms, "You must, you SHALL get well or--I shall die, too."
"I haven't the strength to refuse," Esteban murmured. "And yet, how can
I leave Cuba? What right have I to accept happiness and leave Rosa--"
This was a subject which Norine dreaded, a question to which she knew
no answer. She was not in a mood to discuss it, and made no attempt to
do so. Instead, she laid the invalid upon his pillow, saying:
"Leslie is waiting to wish you joy and a quick recovery. May I ask him
in?"
She stepped to the door, only to behold her late companion making off
down the village street in great haste and evident excitement.
Surprised, offended, she checked her impulse to call him back. A
moment, then she stepped out into the full sunlight and stared after
him, for she saw that which explained his desertion. Approaching
between the drunken rows of grass huts was a little knot of people.
Even as Norine watched it grew into a considerable crowd, for men and
women and children came hurrying from their tasks. There were three
figures in the lead, a man and two boys, and they walked slowly,
ploddingly, as if weary from a long march.
Norine decided that they were not villagers, but ragged pacificos, upon
the verge of exhaustion. She saw Branch break into a swifter run and
heard him shout something, then through eyes suddenly dimmed she
watched him fall upon the tallest of the three strangers and embrace
him. The crowd grew thicker. It surrounded them.
"Esteban!" Norine cried in a voice she scarcely recognized. She
retreated into the doorway with one hand upon her leaping heart.
"Esteban! Look! Some one has just arrived. Leslie has gone--" She
cleared her vision with a shake of her head and her tongue grew thick
with excitement. "They're coming--HERE! Yes! It's--it's O'REILLY!"
Young Varona struggled from his hammock. "ROSA!" he called, loudly,
"ROSA!"
Norine ran and caught him or he would have fallen prone. He pawed and
fumbled in a weak attempt to free himself from her restraining arms; a
wildness was upon him; he shook as if with palsy. "Did he bring her
with him? Is she here? Why don't you answer me? Rosa--" He began to
mutter unintelligibly, his vitality flared up, and it was with
difficulty that Norine could hold him down. His gaze, fixed upon the
square of sunlight framed by the low doorway, was blazing with
excitement. To Norine it seemed as if his spirit, in the uncertainty of
this moment, was straining to leap forth in an effort to learn his
sister's fate.
The crowd was near at hand now. There came the scuffling of feet and
murmur of many voices. Esteban fell silent, he closed his hot, bony
hands upon Norine's wrists in a painful grip. He bent forward, his soul
centered in his tortured eyes.
There came a shadow, then in the doorway the figure of a man, a
tattered scarecrow of a man whose feet were bare and whose brown calves
were exposed through flapping rags. His breast was naked where thorns
had tried to stay him; his beard, even his hair, were matted and
unkempt, and the mud of many trails lay caked upon his garments.
It was O'Reilly!
He peered, blinking, into the obscurity, then he turned and drew
forward a frail hunchbacked boy whose face was almost a mulatto hue.
Hand in hand they stepped into the hut and once again Esteban Varona's
soul found outlet in his sister's name. He held out his shaking, hungry
arms and the misshapen lad ran into them.
Dumb with amazement, blind with tears, Norine found herself staring
upward into O'Reilly's face, and heard him saying:
"I told you I would bring her home."
The next instant she lay upon his breast and sobs of joy were tearing
at her.
XXIX
WHAT HAPPENED AT SUNDOWN
The story of Rosa's rescue came slowly and in fragments, for the news
of O'Reilly's return caused a sensation. His recital was interrupted
many times. So numerous and so noisy did these diversions become that
Norine, fearing for the welfare of her patient, banished O'Reilly's
visitors and bore him and Branch off to her own cabin, leaving the
brother and sister alone. In the privacy of Norine's quarters O'Reilly
finished telling her the more important details of his adventures. He
was well-nigh worn out, but his two friends would not respect his
weariness; they were half hysterical with joy at his safety, treating
him like one returned from the dead; so he rambled disjointedly through
his tale. He told them of his hazardous trip westward, of his and
Jacket's entrance into Matanzas and of the distressing scenes they
witnessed there. When he had finished the account of his dramatic
meeting with Rosa his hearers' eyes were wet. The recital of the escape
held them breathless.
"As a matter of fact, our get-away was ridiculously easy," he said,
"for we had luck at every turn--regular Irish luck. I'm sure Captain
Morin suspected that Rosa wasn't a boy, but he was perfectly foolish
about Jacket and tolerated us on his account. We owe everything to that
kid; he's wonderful. I made Morin independent for life, but it wasn't
the money, it was Jacket who induced him to bring us clear to
Turiguano. He landed us one night, this side of the Moron trocha. Since
then we've waded swamps to our armpits, we've fought the jungle and
chewed bark--but we're here." Johnnie heaved a deep sigh of relief.
"Where did you get the money to hire schooners and corrupt captains?"
Branch inquired. "You were broke when I knew you."
O'Reilly hesitated; he lowered his voice to a whisper. "We found the
Varona treasure."
Norine uttered a cry. "Not Don Esteban's treasure?"
"Exactly. It was in the well where young Esteban told us it was."
"Oh, Johnnie! You mean thing!" exclaimed the girl. "You promised--"
"You'll have a chance to dig," he laughed. "We couldn't begin to bring
all of it; we merely took the jewels and the deeds and what money our
clothes would hold. The rest--"
"Wait! WAIT!" Branch wailed, clapping his hand to his head. "'Merely
the jewels and the deeds and what money our clothes would hold?'
Bullets! Why, one suit of clothes will hold all the money in the world!
Am I dreaming? 'Money!' I haven't seen a bona-fide dollar since I put
on long pants. What does money look like? Is it round or--?"
Johnnie produced from his pocket a handful of coins.
Branch's eyes bulged, he touched a gold piece respectfully, weighed it
carefully, then pressed it to his lips. He rubbed it against his cheeks
and in his hair; he placed it between his teeth and bit it.
"It's REAL!" he cried. "Now let me look at the jewels."
"Rosa has them. She's wearing them on her back. Hunched backs are
lucky, you know; hers is worth a fortune."
"Why, this beats the Arabian Nights!" Norine gasped.
"It beats--" Branch paused, then wagged his head warningly at the girl.
"I don't believe a word of it and you mustn't. Johnnie read this story
on his yachting-trip. It couldn't happen. In the first place there
isn't any more money in the world; mints have quit coining it. Why, if
I wrote such a yarn--"
"It IS almost unbelievable," Johnnie acknowledged. "I found Aladdin's
cave, but"--his face paled and he stirred uneasily--"it was nearly the
death of all of us. I'll have to tell you the whole story now; I've
only told you the half."
While his hearers listened, petrified with amazement and doubting their
ears, he recited the incidents of that unforgettable night on La
Cumbre: how Cobo came, and of the trap he sprung; how Jacket stole upon
the assassin while he knelt, and of the blow he struck.
When Johnnie had finished there was a long moment of silence. Then
Norine quavered, tremulously: "That boy! That blessed boy!"
Branch murmured, feebly: "Dash water in my face, or you'll lose me.
I--You--" He found no words to express his feelings and finally voiced
his favorite expletive.
"It's all too weirdly improbable," O'Reilly smiled, "but ask Rosa or
Jacket--the boy is bursting to tell some one. He nearly died because he
couldn't brag about it to Captain Morin, and there won't be any holding
him now. I'm afraid he'll tip off the news about that treasure in spite
of all my warnings. Those jewels are a temptation; I won't rest easy
until they're safely locked up in some good vault. Now then, I've told
you everything, but I'm dying for news. Tell me about yourselves, about
Esteban. I expected to find him well. What ails him?"
"Oh, Johnnie!" Norine began. "He's very ill. He isn't getting well."
Something in her tone caused O'Reilly to glance at her sharply. Branch
nodded and winked significantly, and the girl confessed with a blush:
"Yes! You told me I'd surrender to some poor, broken fellow. I'm very
happy and--I'm very sad."
"Hunh! He's far from poor and broken," Leslie corrected; "with a
half-interest in a humpful of diamonds and a gold-plated well,
according to Baron Munchausen, here. This is the Cuban leap-year,
Johnnie; Norine proposed to him and he was too far gone to refuse. You
came just in time to interrupt a drum-head marriage."
"Is it true?" When Norine acquiesced, O'Reilly pressed her two hands in
his. "I'm glad--so glad." Tears started to the girl's eyes; her voice
broke wretchedly. "Help me, Johnnie! Help me to get him home--"
He patted her reassuringly and she took comfort from his hearty promise.
"Of course I will. We'll take him and Rosa away where they can forget
Cuba and all the misery it has caused them. We'll make him well--don't
worry. Meanwhile, at this moment Rosa needs food and clothing, and so
do I."
As the three friends walked up the street they discovered Jacket
holding the center of an interested crowd of his countrymen. It was the
boy's moment and he was making the most of it. Swollen with
self-importance, he was puffing with relish at a gigantic gift cigar.
"I exaggerate nothing," he was saying, loudly. "O'Reilly will tell you
that I killed Cobo, alone and unassisted. The man is gone, he has
disappeared, and all Matanzas is mystified. This is the hand that did
it; yonder is the weapon, with that butcher's blood still on it. That
knife will be preserved in the museum at Habana, along with my statue."
Jacket spied his chief witness and called to him. "Tell these good
people who killed Cobo. Was it Narciso Villar?"
"It was," O'Reilly smiled. "The fellow is dead."
There was renewed murmuring. The crowd pressed Jacket closer; they
passed the knife from hand to hand. Doubters fell silent; the boy
swelled visibly. Bantam-like he strutted before their admiring glances,
and when his benefactor had passed safely out of hearing he went on:
"God! What a fight we had! It was like those combats of the gladiators
you hear about. The man was brave enough; there's no denying his
courage, which was like that of ten men--like that of a fierce bull;
but I--I was superb, magnificent! The man bellowed, he roared, he
grunted; he charged me, flinging the earth high with his heels, but I
was banderillero, picador, and matador in one. I was here, I was there,
I was everywhere; so swiftly did I move that no eye could follow me."
Jacket illustrated his imaginary movements with agile leaps and bounds.
"The terror of his name frightened me, I'll admit, but it lent me a
desperate courage, too. I thought of the brave men, the good women, the
innocent children he had slain, and I fell upon him from this side,
from that side, from the front, from the rear. I pricked him, shouting:
'That for the people of Las Villas! This for the women of the San Juan.
And once again for the babies you have killed.'" Jacket carried out his
pantomime by prodding with a rigid finger first one, then another of
his listeners. "Oh, he went mad, like a bull, indeed, but I was another
Rafael Guerra. He shed rivers of blood, the ground grew slippery and
the grass became red. He stood rocking in his tracks, finally; his
breath was like a hurricane. He was exhausted, he was covered with
foam, his limbs were made of lead. It was my moment. 'For all your
sins!' I cried, and with that I drove yonder blade through his heart
and out between his shoulders, thus! My brothers, his flesh was rotten,
and the steel clove it as if it were butter."
Jacket was more than gratified at the effect of his recital, for
children screamed, women shuddered, and men turned shocked eyes upon
one another. He realized that with a little further practice and a more
diligent attention to detail he could horrify the stoutest-hearted
listener, nay, cause hysterical women to swoon. He concluded his
account in a studiously careless tone; "O'Reilly came, too late, but he
helped me to bury the offal. We flung it head first into an old well
and dumped rocks upon it. There it will lie until Cuba is free. That,
my friends, was the end of Cobo, exactly as it happened."
O'Reilly saw little of his sweetheart that day, for Norine promptly
bore the girl off to her own quarters and there attended to her needs,
the most pressing of which was clothing. Norine's wardrobe offered
little to choose from, but between them they reduced a nurse's uniform
to fit the smaller figure. Meanwhile, with a rapidity and a
thoroughness delightful to both of them, the two girls came to know
each other.
While O'Reilly was similarly engaged in making himself presentable, he
and Branch talked earnestly, with the result that they repaired later
to General Gomez.
The general welcomed them; he listened with interest to O'Reilly's
story of the rescue, and to the account of conditions in Matanzas.
O'Reilly concluded by saying:
"I've done what I came to do, sir, but Miss Varona is badly shaken by
all she has been through. She's very nervous and far from well.
Esteban, too, isn't recovering."
General Gomez nodded. "Miss Evans declares he must have a change, and
we have arranged to send him out of the country. His sister, poor
child, should go, too."
"When can they leave?"
"Who knows? Not for some time, certainly. Expeditions are irregular."
"They should go at once," O'Reilly said, positively. "That's why we
came to see you. Let us--Branch and me--take all three of them to the
United States."
"You, too, El Demonio?" inquired the general.
"Yes, sir; if you please."
"But how? How can you take two women and a sick man--"
"We'll manage somehow," O'Reilly declared. "It isn't far across to the
Bahama Banks."