CHAPTER XII

OSBORN INTERFERES

When Grace and Kit had gone a short distance they heard voices and a

rattle of sticks in the wood, but the noise got fainter and she imagined

the beaters were moving the other way. Ferrars, who shot at the woodcock,

had probably not had time to tell Osborn about his carelessness, and it

looked as if nobody else had been posted near the road. This was

something of a relief, but Grace felt anxious. A gate not far off led to

a drive in the wood, and she thought she had heard Osborn's voice.

She kept on the belt of grass, which got narrower, so that the path ran

close to the hedge. On the opposite side, a clump of silver-firs threw

a shadow across the road, and a patch of pale-yellow sky shone behind

an opening in the trees. The stiff fir-branches cut sharply against the

glow, but where she and Kit were the light was dim. For all that, she

stopped abruptly when a man came out of the wood and turned, as if to

look up the road. It was Osborn and she thought she knew for whom he

was looking.

Grace's judgment failed her. She pushed Kit towards the beech hedge and

they stepped into a small hollow among the withered leaves. Kit like

Grace, had not had time for thought, but as Osborn, looking straight in

front, went past, he felt he had done wrong. For one thing, it was rather

shabby to hide and his doing so reflected on his companion. The feeling

got stronger as Osborn went up the road, and Kit was sorry he had given

way to a cowardly impulse. Yet since he had hidden, he must wait.

After a few moments, Grace turned her head and Kit saw her face was

flushed. It was obvious that she felt much as he felt. She had prompted

him to hide, but she had done so in sudden alarm and he ought to have

kept cool and thought for both, particularly since it was getting plain

that Osborn was looking for them. The latter stopped, hesitated, and came

back, and Grace turned sharply to Kit. Her look was strained, but he got

a hint of haughtiness and resolve. He made a sign that he understood, and

knew he had done well when he moved back from the hedge. A moment's

hesitation would have cost him the girl's respect. They waited in the

road and Kit's heart beat fast, but not with fear.

Osborn stopped a yard or two off and looked at them with sternly

controlled rage.

"It's obvious that I passed you just now," he said.

"You did; I ought to have stopped you," Kit agreed. "For a moment, it did

not strike me that you were looking for Miss Osborn."

Osborn glanced at the hollow in the hedge. "It's curious you stopped at a

spot where there was not much chance of your being seen."

Grace turned, as if she meant to speak, but Kit resumed: "After all, I

don't know that you are entitled to question what I do on a public road."

"Certainly not," said Osborn, with forced quietness. "I have, however, a

right to question my daughter's choice of her acquaintances, and it looks

as if I had some grounds for using my authority." He paused and turned to

Grace. "Your mother is waiting for you. You had better go home."

Grace hesitated, glancing at Kit. It was her fault that they had hidden

and she would have waited had she thought he wanted her. Kit's face,

however, was hard and inscrutable, and with something of an effort she

went away. It was a relief to Kit that she had gone; he had meant to

keep her out of the quarrel and now he was ready to talk to Osborn.

"The matter doesn't end here," the latter remarked. "There's something to

be said that your father ought to know. I am going to Ashness and expect

you to come with me."

"You must wait. I have some sheep at the beckfoot and it will take me

half an hour to drive them home," Kit said coolly.

Osborn looked at him with savage surprise. It was unthinkable that he

should be forced to wait while the fellow went for his sheep, but he saw

that Kit was not to be moved and tried to control his anger.

"Very well. I will meet you at Ashness in half an hour."

Kit braced himself as he went up the road. In a sense, he was not afraid

of Osborn, but he had now to meet a crisis that he ought to have seen

must come. In fact, he had seen it, and had, rather weakly, tried to

cheat himself and put things off. He loved Grace, and Osborn would never

approve. Kit knew Osborn's pride and admitted that his anger was,

perhaps, not altogether unwarranted. For that matter, he doubted if Grace

knew how far his rash hopes had led him. Then he thrilled as he

remembered that when she pushed him back to the hedge, and afterwards

when they left their hiding place, something had hinted that she did know

and acknowledge him her lover.

In the meantime, it was a relief to drive the sheep down the dale; he

could not think while he was occupied and thought was disturbing. He put

the sheep into a field and overtook Osborn as he went up the farm lonning

in the dark. A lamp burned in the kitchen, and when they went in Peter

got up and put his pipe on the table. He looked at them with some

surprise, but waited without embarrassment. Indeed, Kit thought his

father was curiously dignified.

"Mr. Osborn has something to say he wants you to hear," Kit remarked.

"Although the thing's really my business, I agreed."

Osborn refused the chair Peter indicated and stood in a stiff pose. His

face was red and he looked rather ridiculously savage.

"I found your son and my daughter hiding from me in the hedge at Redmire

wood," he said. "I imagine I'm entitled to ask for an explanation."

"Hiding?" said Peter, who turned to Kit. "That was wrong."

"It was wrong," Kit admitted. "I told Mr. Osborn so. In fact, I must have

lost my head when I made a mistake like this. Since I had the honor of

Miss Osborn's acquaintance--"

"Who presented you to my daughter?" Osborn interrupted.

"Nobody," Kit admitted, with some embarrassment. "The day the otter

hounds were hunting the alder pool Miss Osborn wanted to cross the

stepping stones. Some of them were covered and I--"

"Ah!" said Osborn. "Then the thing began as long since as that?" He

turned to Peter. "The girl is young and foolishly proud of being

unconventional, or she would have known that she could make use of your

son's help without an obligation to speak to him again. It's obvious that

he has worked on her rebellious humor until she forgot what is due to

herself and her parents."

"Stop a bit," said Peter. "She was doing her parents no discredit by

speaking to my son."

"No discredit!" Osborn exclaimed, losing his self control. "When I find

her and the fellow skulking out of sight, like a farm hand and a

dairy-maid!"

Kit raised his head and his eyes sparkled. "In a sense, I am a farm hand;

but it would be better if you kept your hard words for me."

"There are verra good dairymaids; modest, hardworking lasses,"

Peter remarked.

"It's rather late to play the part of a rustic cavalier, if that is what

you meant," Osborn said to Kit with a sneer, and then turned to Peter. "I

am forced to own that the girl deserves some blame. Although she's

impulsive and unconventional, she ought to have seen it was ridiculous to

let your son imagine they could be friends."

"You think that was ridiculous?"

"Of course," said Osborn, with haughty surprise. "The absurdity of the

thing is obvious."

"Weel," said Peter dryly, "I reckon they might be friends without much

harm, though I wadn't have them gan farther. Although the lass is yours,

the lad is mine."

Osborn laughed scornfully. "If I understand you, your attitude is

humorous. But do you wish me to believe you didn't know what was going

on? You have made my tenants dissatisfied and plotted against me, and

now, no doubt, you saw another means."

"Stop," said Peter, with stern quietness. "We have not been good neebors,

though I dinna ken that's much fault o' mine; but if you thowt I'd use a

foolish girl to hurt a man I didn't like, you're varra wrang. Hooiver,

you came for an explanation, and I want one, too." He turned to Kit. "You

had better tell us why you kept up Miss Osborn's acquaintance withoot her

father's consent."

"Very well," said Kit, standing very straight and holding up his head. "I

met Miss Osborn, so to speak, by accident, and afterwards we sometimes

talked. Her beauty and talent were plain to me at first, but it was some

time before I knew I loved her, and then it was too late. I knew my

folly--it was a folly I couldn't conquer, and now I think I never shall.

Well, I suppose I hoped that some day things might change."

"Do you imply that Grace knew what you hoped?" Osborn asked.

"No," said Kit, quietly. "I gave her no hint. It was plain that she was

willing we should meet and talk like friends. This was not wrong."

"Not wrong that my daughter should meet you secretly!" Osborn exclaimed

with sudden rage. "Are you foolish enough to imagine you and a member of

my family could meet like equals?"

"I have not pretended to be Miss Osborn's equal. But the inequality I

acknowledge is not what you mean."

Osborn shrugged with scornful impatience. "Pshaw! We'll let that go. You

said you hoped things might change. Do you think any change of fortune

could give you the tastes and feelings of a gentleman? Make you a proper

husband for my daughter? You know the thing's impossible."

Kit colored and hesitated, and Peter signed him to be quiet.

"These meetings must be stopped. I'm as much against such a match as I

think you are."

"Ah," said Osborn, who looked puzzled, "you hinted something of the kind!

I don't know that your point of view's important, but I can't

understand."

"My meaning's no varra hard to see," Peter answered. "The lass is bonny

and, so far as I ken, weel-meaning and kind; but she has been badly browt

up at an extravagant hoose. She'll not can help her husband, except

mayhappen to waste, and she has niver learned to work and gan withoot.

Weel, it seems we are agreed. Miss Osborn is no the lass I would welcome

for my son's wife."

Osborn looked at him with frank surprise. Then he said, "We'll make an

end," and turned to Kit. "If you speak to my daughter again, she will be

forbidden to leave the Tarnside grounds; if you write to her, your

letter will be burned. She cannot resist my control for the next three or

four years. There's nothing more to be said."

He went out and Peter, who walked to the porch with him, came back and

looked quietly at Kit.

"A proud and foolish man, but he's hit hard!" he said. "Mayhappen it

will hurt, my lad, but you must be done wi' this. Osborn's daughter is

none for you."

Kit looked straight in front, with his hands clenched. "So it seems, for

some years. It does hurt. I cannot give her up."

Peter lighted his pipe and there was silence for a few minutes. Then as

Kit did not move he remarked: "I ken something o' what you're feeling; aw

t' same you've got to fratch. There's nowt against the lass except that

she's Osborn's child, but she's none o' our kind and it's sense and

custom that like gans to like."

"It would be easier if I could get away. I can't stop in the dale,

knowing she's about and I mustn't see her."

Peter went into the next room and opened an old desk. He had for some

time expected that the moment he now shrank from would come and his heart

was sore, but he knew his son's steadfast character and meant to save him

pain. Going back he gave Kit his brother's last letter.

"Mayhappen it's better that you should gan," he said quietly.

Kit read the letter and looked up with a strained expression. "I never

thought I'd want to leave Ashness and I feel a selfish brute! All the

same it would be a relief."

"Just that!" said Peter. "I'll miss you when you've gone, but it's no'

my part to stand in your way. We'll write Adam to-morrow and tell him

you'll come."

Kit crossed the floor and put his hand on his father's arm. "Thanks;

I think I know what this means to you. It will cost me something; but

I must go."

He went out and Peter sat still, looking gloomily at the fire. He felt

old and knew he would be very lonely soon. The fire burned low and the

kitchen got cold, but Kit did not come back and when Peter heard his

housekeeper's clogs on the stones outside he got up and crossed the

floor, to get his hat. Old Bella was curious and he did not want to talk,

but there was something to be done in the barn and when his heart was

sore it was a relief to work.

PART II--ON THE CARIBBEAN

CHAPTER I

THE OLD BUCCANEER

It was about four o'clock in the afternoon and Kit Askew lounged in a

chair on the bridge-deck as the _Rio Negro_ steamed slowly across the

long swell of the Caribbean. The wrinkled undulations sparkled with

reflected light in a dazzling pattern of blue and silver, and then faded

to green and purple in the shadow of the ship. A wave of snowy foam

curled up as the bows went down and the throb of the propeller quickened

as the poop swung against the sky. Then the lurching hull steadied and

the clang of engines resumed its measured beat.

The _Rio Negro_ was old and ugly, with short iron masts from which clumsy

derricks hung, tall, upright funnel, and blistered, gray paint. Her boats

were dirty and stained by soot, and a belt of rust at her waterline

hinted at neglect, but no barnacles and weed marred the smoothness of the

plates below. Her antifouling paint was clean, and her lines beneath the

swell of quarter and bows were fine. In fact, the _Rio Negro_ was faster

than she looked when she carried her regular load of two thousand tons

and her under-water body was hidden. She traded in the Gulf of Mexico and

the Caribbean, and at certain ports Customs officials carefully

scrutinized her papers. At others, they smiled and allowed her captain

privileges that strangers did not get.

Kit wore spotless white clothes, a black-silk belt, and a Panama hat of

the expensive kind the Indians weave, holding the fine material under

water. A glass occupied a socket in his chair, and when the _Rio Negro_

rolled a lump of ice tinkled against its rim; a box of choice cigars lay

on the deck. Kit, however, was not smoking, but drowsily pondered the

life he had led for the last three years. He was thinner and looked older

than when he left Ashness. He had lost something of his frankness and

his raw enthusiasm had gone. His face was quieter and his mouth set in a

firm line.

He remembered his surprise when he first met his uncle at a luxurious

Florida hotel. Adam Askew wore loose white clothes, a well-cut Tuxedo

jacket, a diamond ring, and another big diamond in his scarf. His skin

was a curious yellowish brown and his eyes were very black; he rather

looked like a Spanish Creole than an Englishman. He had nothing of his

brother's quiet manner. Although he was getting old, he walked with a

jaunty step; he had a humorous twinkle, and his laugh was careless. In

fact, he had an exotic, romantic look that harmonized with Kit's notions

of the pirates who once haunted the Gulf of Mexico. When Kit afterwards

learned why Adam's friends called him the "buccaneer," he saw that his

first impression was not extravagant.

Now he remembered that when they sat behind the imitation Moorish arches

on the hotel veranda Adam studied him and laughed.

"You're certainly Peter's son," he remarked. "I can imagine I'd just left

him at the end of the Ashness lonning thirty years since. Except that

he's got older, I reckon he hasn't changed, and for that matter, Peter

was never young. Well, you are surely like him, but if you stop in this

country we'll put a move on you."

"If I'm like my father, I am satisfied," Kit rejoined.

Adam's black eyes twinkled. "Now I see a difference; there's red blood in

you. But don't take me wrong. Peter's a white man, straight as a

plumb-line, one of the best; he's a year the younger of us, but when the

old man died he brought me up. There are two kinds of Askews and I belong

to the other lot. I don't know why they called you after roystering Kit."

It was obvious that Adam knew the family history, for Christopher Askew

was a turbulent Jacobite who lost the most part of his estate when he

joined Prince Charlie's starving Highlanders in the rearguard fight at

Clifton Moor. Afterwards the sober quietness at Ashness had now and then

been disturbed by an Askew who inherited the first Kit's reckless

temperament.

Three years had gone since Kit met Adam, and he had learned much. To

begin with, Adam sent him to an American business school, and made him

study Castilian and French. Then he sent him to Mexico and countries

farther south, where he studied human nature of strangely varied kinds.

He met and traded with men of many colors: French and Spanish Creoles,

negroes, Indians, and half-breeds with some of the blood of all. He knew

the American gulf ports and their cosmopolitan hotels and gambling

saloons, but Adam noted with half-amused approval that while he was not

at all a prig he developed Peter's character and not Kit the Jacobite's.

Now they were going south across the Caribbean on a business venture.

By and by Adam came slowly along the bridge-deck. The three years had

marked a change in him and Kit thought he did not look well. Adam

suffered now and then from malarial ague, caught in the mangrove swamps.

He was thin, his yellow face was haggard, and his shoulders were bent.

Sitting down close by, he lighted a cigar and turned to Kit.

"We ought to raise the coast before it's dark and I reckon Mayne will

get his bearings," he remarked. "The lagoon's a blamed awkward place to

enter and I'd have waited until to-morrow only that Don Hernando is

expecting us."

"It will save us a day if we can get in, since you want to land the B. F.

cargo in the dark," Kit said thoughtfully. "We pay high wages and the

_Rio Negro_ is an expensive boat to run."

"That's so," Adam agreed with a smile. "You talk like a Cumberland

flock-master. Counting every cent you spend is a safe plan, but I don't

know that this trip will pan out much of a business proposition."

"Do you feel better for your sleep?" Kit asked.

"Some, though I've got a headache and a pain in my back. Guess they'll

shake off when I get to work."

"I was surprised when you said you meant to sail with us."

"So I imagined," Adam rejoined dryly. "You wondered why I didn't, as

usual, trust you to deliver the goods? Well, there's rather more to

this job than that, and I meant to put you wise before we landed. You

have heard me called a pirate, but I don't reckon on taking home much

plunder now."

Kit mused while Adam beckoned a mulatto steward, who brought him a glass

and some ice. His uncle's character was complex. Sometimes he was hard

and exacted all that was his; sometimes he was rashly generous.

Ostensibly, he was a merchant, shipping tools and machines, particularly

supplies for sugar mills, to the countries round the Caribbean, and

taking payment in native produce. Kit, however, knew the cases landed

from the _Rio Negro_ did not always hold the goods the labels stated, and

that Adam's money sometimes helped to float an unpopular government over

a crisis and sometimes to turn another out. It was a risky business,

carried on with people who had a talent for dark revolutionary intrigue.

"Since Don Hernando Alvarez is president of the republic, I don't quite

see why we need smuggle in his machine-guns," Kit remarked.

"On the surface, the reason isn't very obvious. Alvarez is president now,

but mayn't be very long. It depends on whether he or his rival, Galdar,

gets his blow in first. I reckon the chances are against Alvarez if

Galdar puts up a fight, but the latter's not ready yet and Alvarez means

to arm his troops before the fellow knows. I imagine about half the

citizens are plotters and spies."

"Alvarez has been honest so far. I suppose if he wins he'll pay?"

"That's so," said Adam dryly. "If he goes down, we get nothing. Although

I don't know much about his ancestors and suspect that one was an Indian,

Alvarez is white, but the other fellow's a blamed poor sample of the

half-breed nigger. Well, when Alvarez found things were going wrong, he

sent for me."

"Ah," said Kit in a thoughtful voice, "I begin to understand."

He did understand, although he would not have done so when he met his

uncle first. He had known Adam play the part of a merciless creditor, and

thought few men could beat him at a bargain, but he kept his bargain when

it was made, and now and then risked his money on lost causes. It looked

as if he had inherited something from Christopher the Jacobite.

"You have known Alvarez long, haven't you?" Kit resumed.

"When I met him first, he was a customs officer with some perquisites and

a salary that paid for liquor and tobacco. Vanhuyten and I ran the old

_Mercedes_ then, and Van made a mistake that put us at the fellow's

mercy. There was a good case for confiscating the schooner, which would

have given Alvarez a lift while we went broke. In fact, the night of the

crisis, I dropped Van's pistol overboard; he'd got malaria badly and was

feeling desperate. Well, all we had given Alvarez didn't cover that kind

of a job, but he'd promised to stand our friend and kept his word like a

gentleman. Guess it needed some nerve and judgment to work things the way

he did, and when we stole out to sea at daybreak past the port guard, I

knew there was one man in the rotten country I could trust with my life.

Now he's in a tight place, he knows he can trust me."

Adam got up and crossing the deck leaned against the rails. In the

distance, where the glitter faded, there was a long gray smear that

seemed to float like a smoke-trail above the water. Higher up, a vague

blue line ran across the dazzling sky. The first was a fringe of mangrove

forest; the other lofty mountains. A minute or two later, the fat,

brown-faced captain came down from his bridge.

"Looks like the Punta; we've hit her first time," he remarked. "In about

an hour I ought to get my marks. When d'you want her taken in?"

"Soon as it's dark," Adam replied. "You'll have to trust your lead and

compass. Can't have you whistling for a pilot, and I'd sooner you put out

your lights."

"It's your risk and not the first time I've broken rules. I guess I can

keep her off the ground. We'll get busy presently and heave the hatches

off. The B.F. cases are right on top."

Adam nodded, and beckoned Kit when the captain went away. "You haven't

been in the Santa Marta lagoon yet. Stand by and watch the soundings and

compass while Mayne takes her across the shoals. You may find it useful

to know the channel."

Kit understood. Malaria and other fevers are common on low-lying belts of

the Caribbean coast and skippers and mates fall sick. Moreover, the _Rio

Negro_ did not always load at the regular ports. Sometimes she crept into

mangrove-fringed lagoons, and sometimes stopped at lonely beaches and

sent loaded boats ashore when her captain saw the gleam of signal lights.

When it was getting dark, Kit and Adam went to the bridge and the former

noted that his uncle breathed rather hard and seized the rails firmly as

he climbed the ladder. The red glow of sunset had faded behind the high

land and a gray haze spread across the swampy shore, but the water shone

with pale reflections. On one side, a long, dingy smear floated across

the sky. It did not move and Kit thought it had come from the funnel of a

steamer whose engineer had afterwards cleaned his fires. Captain Mayne

studied the fleecy trail with his glasses.

"I don't know if that's a coffee-boat going north; I can't make out her

hull against the land," he said. "Sometimes there's a _guarda-costa_

hanging round the point."

"Better take no chances," Adam replied, glancing at the _Rio Negro's_

funnel, from which a faint plume of vapor floated.

Mayne signed to the quartermaster in the pilot house and the bows swung

round. Half an hour afterwards, he rang his telegraph and the clang of

engines died away while the throb of the propeller stopped. In what

seemed an unnatural silence, a few barefooted deck-hands began to move

about, and one stood on the forecastle, where his dark figure cut against

the shining sea. The rest went aft with a line the other held, and when

Mayne raised his hand there was a splash as the deep-sea lead plunged. A

man aft called the depth while he gathered up the line, and Mayne

beckoned another, who climbed to a little platform outside the bridge and

fastened a strap round his waist.

"We're on the Santa Marta shelf, but I'm four miles off the course I

set," Mayne remarked. "I want to work out the angle from the first

bearing I got."

Kit went with him into the chart-room, for he knew something about

navigation. They had taught him the principles of land-surveying at the

agricultural college, and this had made his studies easier. When he

came back the moon was getting bright, but the haze had thickened on

the low ground and the heights behind had faded to a vague, formless

blur. The trail of smoke had vanished, there was no wind, and the

smooth swell broke against the bows with a monotonous dull roar as the

_Rio Negro_ went on. She was alone on the heaving water and steaming

slowly, but the noise of her progress carried far. By and by a light

twinkled ahead, leaped up into a steady glow that lasted for some

minutes, and then went out.

"That's a relief," remarked Adam, who had struck a match and studied his

watch. "The ground's clear and Don Hernando has somebody he can trust

waiting at the lagoon. You can let her go ahead, Captain."

Mayne rang his telegraph and Kit went into the pilot house. The dim light

of the binnacle lamp touched the compass, but everything else was dark

and the windows were down. Kit could see the quartermaster's dark form

behind the wheel, and the silver shining of the sea. There was a splash

as the man on the platform released the whirling hand-lead. When he

called the depth Mayne gave an order and the quartermaster pulled round

the wheel. The swell was not so smooth now. It ran in steep undulations

and in one place to starboard a broad, foaming patch appeared between the

rollers. Kit knew the water was shoaling fast as the _Rio Negro_ steamed

across the inclined shelf. It was risky work to take her in, because the

fire had vanished and there were no marks to steer for. Mayne must trust

his compass and his rough calculations.

"Tide's running flood," he said to Adam. "She'd have steered handier if

we'd gone in against the ebb; but there's a better chance of coming off

if she touches ground."

"You don't want to touch ground and stop there with the B.F. goods on

board," Adam replied.

After this, there was silence except when Mayne gave an order. White

upheavals broke the passing swell on both sides of the ship. She rolled

with violent jerks and at regular intervals the bows swung up. When they

sank, a dark mass with a ragged top cut off the view from the

pilot-house, and Kit knew it was a mangrove forest. He could see no break

in the wall of trees that grew out of the water, but they were not far

off when there was a heavy jar, and the Rio Negro stopped. The floor of

the pilot-house slanted and Kit and the quartermaster fell against the

wheel. Then there was a roar as a white-topped roller came up astern and

broke about the vessel's rail in boiling foam. She lifted, struck again,

and went on with an awkward lurch.

"Port; hard over!" Mayne shouted hoarsely, and Kit helped the

quartermaster to pull round the wheel.

The order disturbed him, since it looked as if Mayne was off his course.

The swell broke angrily ahead, but in one place, some distance to one

side, the wall of forest looked less solid than the rest. A roar came out

of the mist and Kit knew it was the beat of surf on a hidden beach. This

told him where he was, because a sandy key protected the mouth of the

lagoon; but he doubted if Mayne could get round the point. The tide was

carrying the vessel on and there was broken water all about.

She went on, with engines thumping steadily; the hollow in the forest

opened up until it became a gap and Kit could not see trees behind it.

Mayne gave another sharp order, and Kit and the quartermaster pulled at

the wheel. The dark bows swung, the speed quickened, and the rolling

stopped. The throb of the screw and thump of engines echoed across misty

woods and there was a curious gurgling noise that Kit thought was made by

the tide rippling among the mangrove roots. The air got damp and steamy

and a sour smell filled the pilot-house. Kit knew the odors of rotting

leaves, spices, and warm mud.

In the meantime, he was kept occupied at the wheel for Mayne changed his

course as the trees rolled past, until the telegraph rang and the engines

stopped. Then there was silence until he heard the splash of the anchor

and the roar of running chain. As the _Rio Negro_ slowly swung round, the

winches rattled and her boats were hoisted out. Kit got into one with

Adam and landed on a muddy beach. Dark figures came down to meet them,

horses were waiting at the edge of the forest, and a few minutes later

they mounted and plunged into the gloom.

CHAPTER II

THE PRESIDIO

Dazzling sunshine flooded the belt of sand where the shadows of dusty

palmettos quivered beyond the Moorish arch; the old presidio smelt like a

brick-kiln and the heat outside was nearly intolerable. In the middle of

the dirty patio a fountain splashed in a broken marble basin, and it was

dim, and by contrast cool, under the arcade where Kit sat among the

crumbling pillars. The presidio was a relic of Spanish dominion and its

founders had built it well, copying, with such materials as they could

get, stately models the Moors had left in the distant Peninsula. A part

had fallen and blocks of sun-baked mud lay about in piles, but the long,

white front, with its battlemented top and narrow, barred windows stood

firm. In spite of the ruinous patio, the presidio was the finest building

in the town.

The others, so far as Kit could see, were squares of mud, for the most

part whitewashed, although some were colored pink and cream. The glare

they reflected was dazzling, but a row of limp palmettos ran between them

and the space in front of the presidio, and here and there Kit noted

rounded masses of vivid green. Except for the splash of the fountain, all

was very quiet, and although the shadows had lengthened it looked as if

the half-breed citizens were still enjoying their afternoon sleep. Now

and then a barefooted sentry noiselessly passed the arch. He wore a dirty

white uniform and ragged palm-leaf hat, but carried a good modern rifle,

and Kit knew where the latter had come from. The country was rich with

coffee, rubber, sugar, and dyewoods. Its inhabitants, however, for the

most part, preferred political intrigue to cultivation; its government

was corrupt, and prosperity had vanished with the Spaniards' firm rule.

A table carrying some very small glasses and coffee-cups stood in the

arcade. Don Hernando Alvarez occupied the other side, and Kit imagined it

was not by accident he sat with his back to a whitewashed pillar, since

he was in the shadow and as he wore white clothes could not be seen a

short distance off. Don Hernando's hair was coarse and his skin dark. His

face was well molded, although the cheek-bones were prominent; his black

eyes were keen and his thin lips firm. He wore a plain red sash, with no

other touch of color except a bit of riband on his breast. It was obvious

that he was not a Peninsular, as pure-blooded Spaniards call themselves,

but he looked like a man who must be reckoned on. Just then his dark face

was moody.

"You have come in good time," he said to Adam Askew, in Castilian. "I

think the curtain will soon go up for the last act of the drama, but the

plot is obscure and I do not know the end."

"I imagine the action will be rapid," Adam replied. "Unless you have

changed much, you are cut out for your part."

"Ah," said Alvarez, "one gets cautious as one gets old. One loses the

young man's quick, sure touch."

"That is so, to some extent," Adam agreed, and indicated Kit. "It

explains why I have a partner; my brother's son. Still, perhaps one sees

farther when one is old."

Alvarez bowed to Kit. "You have a good model, señor; a man who seldom

hesitates and whose word goes. A rare thing in this country; I do not

know about yours." Then he turned to Adam with a hint of anxiety. "How

far do you see now?"

"I see what I have to do and that is enough. The consequences come

afterwards."

Alvarez's face cleared. "You were always a gambler, but you run some risk

if you bet on me." He was silent for a moment and then resumed: "In a

sense, I envy you; you have a partner you can trust, but I stand alone.

My son was found in the plaza with a knife in his back, and the man who

killed him goes unpunished."

"Galdar was somewhere behind that deed, although I do not see his object

yet," Adam remarked.

"The people liked Maccario and his removal cleared the ground. My enemy

is cunning and, I think, did not mean to force a conflict until my

friends had gone. Now there are not many left and the time has come.

Morales died of poison, Diaz of snake-bite, and Vinoles was shot by a

curious accident. So far, I have escaped; perhaps because I was lucky,

and perhaps because it was not certain the people would choose Galdar if

I followed my friends."

"I have wondered why you hold on. For a president of this country, you

have had a good run. I think I would have left after a few prosperous

years and located at Havana, for example."

Alvarez smiled. "There was a time when we had money in the treasury and I

might have gone; but it was too late afterwards. Part of the revenue

stopped in Galdar's hands--that was one way of embarrassing me--and I was

forced to use the rest to undermine his plots. Now I am drawing on my

small private estate."

"But why didn't you go while there was something left? You are not

extravagant and do not need much."

Kit thought Adam's remark was justified. Alvarez lived with Indian

frugality and looked ascetic; besides he had been long in power and had

no doubt had opportunities for enriching himself at his country's

expense. Kit liked Alvarez, but did not think him much honester than

other Spanish-American rulers he had met.

"It was partly for my daughter's sake I remained," Alvarez replied. "She

is at a Spanish convent and I would not leave her poor. Then I had my

son's death to avenge." He paused and added with a deprecatory smile:

"Moreover I have thought I can rule this country better than my rival."

"That's a sure thing," Adam agreed, in English. "Well, you had better

tell me how you think matters are going. If I'm to help you properly I

want to know."

Alvarez looked about. All was very quiet; there was nobody in the patio,

and it was some distance to the nearest window in the wall that faced the

pillars. For all that, he lowered his voice and answered in hesitating

English with an American accent.

"It is hard to tell; a gamble in which one takes steep chances! Perhaps

half the people with an object are for Galdar, and half for me. Those who

have none will wait and back the man they think will win. So far, I have

the soldiers, but their pay is behind and they are badly armed and

drilled. They will stand by me if I can give them machine-guns and pay

off arrears. But this must be done soon, without Galdar knowing. The next

president will be the man who strikes before the other is ready."

"What will the thing cost altogether?" Adam asked.

He looked thoughtful when Alvarez told him, and then nodded. "All right.

You'll get some of the guns to-morrow and another lot is on the way. Go

ahead; I'll help you put the business over."

Alvarez filled the little glasses with a liquor that had a strong spicy

smell and when his guests lifted them touched theirs with his.

"It is what I had hoped, my friend. If I live, you will not lose."

He drank and then held his glass slackly poised while he mused. Kit, who

was nearest the arch, turned and glanced out. He saw the reflected light

quiver across the trampled sand and the dusty green of the limp

palmettos. Then, below the latter, there was a pale-yellow flash and the

president's glass fell with a tinkle. A pistol-shot rang out and Kit,

swinging round, saw that a flake of plaster had dropped on the table.

There was some dust on Alvarez' brown face and on his clothes, but he

looked unmoved.

Next moment Adam leaned on the table, steadying a heavy automatic pistol,

and three quick flashes streamed from the perking barrel. Three small

puffs of dust leaped up about the roots of a palmetto and as the empty

cartridges rattled on the floor Kit thought an indistinct figure stole

through the shadow of the fan-shaped leaves. He was not certain, because

the light was dazzling and thin smoke drifted about his head.

He threw his chair back and plunging through the arch ran across the sand

and stopped at the top of a narrow street. Men and women of different

shades of color came out of the doors and began to talk excitedly, but

there was nobody who looked like a fugitive. Kit went back after he got

his breath and met two or three untidy, barefooted soldiers who ran past.

When he entered the arch Adam was coolly reloading his pistol while the

president dusted his clothes.

"It is nothing--they have tried again," the latter remarked. "Still, it

looks as if Galdar felt himself stronger than I thought. Now, with your

permission, I will go and give some orders." He smiled as he added:

"There will be some prisoners by and by, men my guards do not like, but

the fellow who fired the shot will not be caught."

"What about the sentry?" Adam asked.

Alvarez shrugged. "It is hot, and perhaps he was half asleep. I think the

man is faithful, and just now I am the soldier's friend."

He went off and Adam filled his glass and looked at Kit. "I feel I'm

getting old and want another drink. I got the bead on the fellow's dark

head and missed him by a yard. Well, I guess you can't expect to have

steady fingers when you've got malarial ague. It's a dramatic kind of

country, anyhow."

Kit lighted a maize-leaf cigarette and mused. He had been startled, but

his nerve was good and he knew something about the dark-skinned, reckless

people of the South. They were robbed by their rulers, who spent the most

part of the revenue to keep themselves in power; and sometimes, when the

vote was useless, assassination seemed the only remedy. But it was on his

uncle's promise Kit's thoughts dwelt. Although Adam was rich, the sum

Alvarez needed was large. The latter was honest, in a sense, and Kit

thought would not rob his friend, but he might be unable to make

repayment. In fact, he had warned Adam that there was a risk and the

bullet that struck the pillar was a significant hint. The venture looked

rash, but Adam had stated that it was not a business proposition. He and

the president were friends and this counted for much. The old Buccaneer

had a sentimental vein.

Then Kit's thoughts strayed and he wondered what Peter was doing in the

north country dale. Kit had prospered since he joined Adam and the latter

had hinted that he might be rich, but he was tired of intrigue and

excitement and the glare of the South. He wanted the bracing winds, and

the soft lights that chased the flying shadows across the English hills.

He smiled as he reflected that he was like the Herdwicks that never

forgot their native heaf; but while he longed for the red moors and

straight-cut valleys he felt a stronger call. He was young and had seen

the daughters of the South; Louisiana Creoles with a touch of old French

grace; dark-haired Habaneras with languid eyes, whose movements were a

delight to watch; octoroons ready to welcome a lover who was altogether

white, and half-breed Indian girls. All had charm and some had shown him

favors that meant much, but their charm had left Kit cold.

He thought about Grace Osborn, steady-eyed and marked by English calm.

She was frank and sometimes impulsive, but even then one got a hint of

proud reserve. There was no touch of southern coquetry about Grace, she

was not the girl to attract a lover and let him go, but if he came and

proved his worth, she would go forward with him steadfastly through the

storms of life. Kit sighed and pulled himself up. Grace was not for him

and he must not be a romantic fool. He looked round and saw that Adam was

quietly studying him.

"What are you thinking about, partner?" he asked and Kit knew the epithet

meant much. Adam had not called him partner at first.

"I was thinking about Ashness," he replied.

"Ah," said Adam softly, "I often think about it too; the old house among

the ash trees, and the Herdwicks feeding on the long slope behind. The

red heath on the fell-top and the beck bubbling in the ghyll.

Everything's clean and cool in the quiet dale, and the folk are calm and

Slow." He paused and resumed with a curious smile: "Once I reckoned I'd

go back when I got rich and make things hum, but when I had the money I

saw that plan wouldn't work. Those quiet folk would have beaten me with

their unchanging ways, and Ashness is too good to spoil. For all that, I

allowed I'd see it again before I died, but now I don't know."

His smile faded and he gave Kit a keen glance. "Why did you pull out? It

wasn't for my money. You haven't told me yet."

"No," said Kit, with some embarrassment. "I hardly think it's much of a

story, but if you like I'll tell you now."

After a few moments he stopped awkwardly, and Adam raised his hand.

"Go on. I want to get the girl properly fixed."

Kit was not skilled at sketching character, but he drew Grace's portrait

well and when he stopped Adam made a sign of sympathy.

"You have helped me place her. Don't know I'd have trusted another man's

judgment when he talked about his sweetheart, but you're not a fool.

Well, it seems to me the girl's worth getting."

"Miss Osborn is not my sweetheart. It is possible I shall never see

her again."

"But you can't forget her?"

"No," said Kit quietly; "I can't forget."

Adam was silent for some moments and then looked up.

"You're like Peter, slow and staunch, but that's one reason you're my

partner. Well, I know Osborn's kind; folk we have no use for in the

United States. White trash, we call them; men with no abilities, whose

foolish pride makes them think it's mean to work. Reckon they've first

claim on the soft jobs and don't belong to the world of fighting men. But

I guess they listen when money talks."

Kit said nothing, although he thought Adam's concluding remark

significant, and the old man went on:

"Don Hernando helped me on my feet when Vanhuyten and I first came along

this coast, with about a thousand dollars and a worn-out schooner. He's

been my friend ever since and now he's hard up against it I've got to see

him out. Guess it's going to cost me high, but when the job's put over

there ought to be some money left and I don't know that you need forget

the girl if she hasn't forgotten you. Well, perhaps I've said enough, and

now I'll go and see where Don Hernando is."

Adam got up and as he crossed the patio Kit noted that his shoulders were

bent and his movement slack. Adam had changed much since their first

meeting at the Florida hotel. He had some very obvious faults, but Kit

knew what he owed him and felt disturbed.

CHAPTER III

THE GOLD ONZA

Kit paused as he wound the long silk sash round his waist, and looked

out of the window of his room at the presidio. Square blocks of houses,

colored white and yellow, ran down the hill. Here and there a palm rose

from an opening, and the dusty green of the alameda broke the monotony

of the flat roofs and straight, blank walls that gave the town an

Eastern look.

Kit noted the strength of the presidio's situation. The old building

stood high, its battlemented roof commanded the narrow streets, and there

was a broad open space all round. He thought a few machine-guns would

make it impregnable, since a revolutionary mob was not likely to be

provided with artillery.

Kit tucked the end of the sash under the neatly-arranged folds. Some time

is required to put on a Spanish _faja_ and at first Kit had thought the

trouble unnecessary, but had found it is prudent to protect the middle of

the body in a hot climate. When he was satisfied, he turned and looked

about the room. There were no curtains or carpets, and two very crude

religious pictures were fixed to the wall. Although the air was not yet

hot, it was not fresh and a smell of spices, decay, and burnt oil came in

through the window that opened on the patio.

A sunbeam touched a small earthen jar, holding a bunch of feather

flowers. The jar was harshly colored, but the outline was bold and

graceful, and Kit knew no pottery like that had been made in the country

since the Spaniards came. He had bought it with the flowers for a few

dollars, and remembered that the shopkeeper had included its contents

when he offered it to him. "_Todo loque hay,_" he said in uncouth

Castilian.

Kit, turning over the jar carelessly, took out the flowers and as he did

so something inside rattled and a large coin fell into his hand. The coin

was old and heavy; indeed, he thought it weighed about an ounce. Taking

it to the window, he rubbed its dull face and when the metal began to

shine sat down with a thoughtful look. Unless he was mistaken, the coin

was gold and did weigh an ounce.

When he finished dressing he went to the little dark shop. The shopkeeper

was making coffee with a handful of charcoal on the doorstep, for the

sake of the draught, and took off his hat politely as Kit came up.

"I found a piece of money in the jar I bought from you," Kit said in

Castilian.

"Then your worship is lucky," the other remarked.

"But the money was not mine."

The shopkeeper shrugged. "What matter? It is yours now. Was the coin

worth much?"

"It was worth finding."

"Well," said the shopkeeper, "I do not know where the money came from,

and it may have been there a very long time. The jar is old and I

bought it from an Indian some years since." He paused and gave Kit a

keen glance. "You will remember that I offered you the jar with all

there was inside."

"You did; it held some feather flowers. Still, as you did know about

the money--"

"Then you want to give it back, if the owner can be found!"

"Certainly," said Kit.

The shopkeeper bowed. "I will make enquiries. If you should need anything

I sell, señor, perhaps you will remember that I am an honest man."

Kit went away, feeling puzzled and somewhat surprised. It looked as if

the fellow was honest, but Kit thought he had studied him and there was

something curious about his manner. Besides, a remark he made implied

that he knew the coin was old.

When he ate his eleven o'clock breakfast with Adam and the President in

the arcade, he took out the coin and told them about the shopkeeper's

refusal to take it back.

"A Spanish onza," Adam remarked. "Worth nearly five pounds in English

money, but a collector might give you more if it's as old as it looks.

One used to see onzas in Cuba, and native merchants in Central America,

who hadn't much use for banks, liked to get them. Now, however, they're

getting scarce."

"In this country, all gold coins are scarce," Alvarez said dryly. "I

agree with the shopkeeper that Don Cristoval is fortunate, and expect he

feels that my people are honester than he thought."

"I was puzzled--" said Kit and stopped, for he saw the president's smile

and began to understand.

"You are shrewd, señor; but that was to be expected from my old friend's

nephew. To begin with, the man who keeps the shop is not a supporter of

the Government."

"Ah," said Kit, "I think I see!"

Alvarez bowed. "One can trust your intelligence, and you can keep the

coin. It looks as if my antagonists were curious about your

character--the honor of a man who would take money that does not belong

to him is open to doubt. The experiment was cheap."

Kit said nothing and the president filled a little glass with scented

liquor. "I know my friends, Don Cristoval, and your uncle has stood much

harder tests."

He touched Kit's glass with his. "Well, I am lucky, because I may need

friends soon."

He got up and when he went down the long arcade Adam looked at Kit

with a smile.

"When I was your age I wouldn't have taken the onza back. I'd have kept

the money and my faith with the president; in fact, in those days, I kept

anything I could get. Now the other fellow knows what you're like, I

reckon he'll find the owner of the coin."

Adam went off after the president, and Kit pondered. A few days later, he

sat one evening at a small table outside the café Bolivar. The café was

badly lighted, hot, and full of flies. There was no door or window, and a

few wooden pillars divided the low room from the pavement, which was

strewn with cigarette ends and cardboard matches. In front, small palms,

and eucalyptus lined the dusty alameda, where groups of citizens walked

up and down. Inside the café somebody sang a Spanish song and played a

guitar. It was not cool on the pavement, although a faint breeze made the

palms rustle. The air was heavy and a smell of aniseed and new rum hung

about the spot.

Presently a man who had been playing dominos got up and came to Kit's

table. He was a white man, with pale blue eyes and yellow hair, and

although rather fat he carried himself well. Kit had met Olsen before,

and he nodded when he sat down.

"Nothing doing at the casino and the place was very hot," he said.

"Besides, I don't quite trust the man who runs the bank. Taking them all

round, these folks are clever crooks."

Kit agreed languidly and noted the order Olsen gave the half-breed

landlord. The fellow did not look as if he indulged much, but Kit thought

a large glass of the strong liquor was not often asked for. As a rule,

the Americans he had met on the Caribbean coast were abstemious, while

the half-breeds and Spaniards were satisfied with small _copitas_ of

fiery spirits distilled from the sugar cane. The English, German, and

Scandinavian adventurers consumed them freely, and perhaps the Germans

drank the most.

"How do you like it here?" Olsen resumed when he put down his glass.

"It's a country that soon palls. Are you staying long?"

"I can't tell," said Kit, who decided not to state that he knew the

country. "You see, I'm not in command."

"No," said Olsen. "I suppose you're a relation of the Buccaneer?"

"A poor relation. He gave me a lift when I needed it."

Olsen laughed. "Well, I guess he makes you hustle. A pretty lively old

pirate, if all one hears is true! I reckon they don't call him the

Buccaneer for nothing, but it's hinted that he's beginning to lose his

grip. I see your copita's empty. Will you take another drink?"

"No, thanks; I've had enough," said Kit, who distrusted Olsen. He thought

the fellow's careless remarks covered some curiosity and had tried to

leave him in doubt. Olsen probably imagined he was Adam's clerk.

"You're cautious, but one soon gets reckless here," Olsen resumed. "We

are all adventurers, out for what we can get, and the chances against our

making good are pretty steep. My notion is to have the best time I can,

pick up as much money as possible, and quit before fever, intrigue, or a

revolution knocks me out."

"It's an exciting life," Kit agreed. "Money doesn't seem plentiful."

"You have got to hustle and back the right man. Since you're stopping at

the presidio, it's obvious that Askew's on the president's side. Well, I

suppose everybody knows my employers have put their money on Galdar."

"Then, I imagine you run some risk."

"Sure," said Olsen, smiling. "Alvarez doesn't like me, and if I wasn't an

American citizen, I'd feel scared. Showed his secretary my naturalization

papers when I put up my shingle. Took them out as soon as I reached the

United States from Norway."

Kit pondered. Olsen spoke English and Castilian Well, but his accent was

not American, nor, Kit thought, Scandinavian. There were a number of

Germans in the country, engaged in extensive but rather dark commercial

schemes, whom the United States consuls watched with jealous eyes. Kit

knew that no one could transact much business without to some extent

meddling with native politics, but while the other adventurers were

satisfied with the money they could get, it looked as if the Germans

wanted something else. It was perhaps significant that Olsen had, so to

speak, insisted that he was a naturalized American and came from Norway.

Kit doubted.

"Askew's judgment is generally pretty good, but he's getting old," Olsen

remarked. "I don't see why he's backing the president; my notion is,

Galdar's surely going to win." He paused and looked at Kit thoughtfully.

"In fact, if I was holding a clerk's job on the other side, I'd consider

if it wouldn't pay me to change."

Kit imagined this was a cautious feeler, made to find out if he could be

bought, but he smiled.

"If Galdar does win, he won't have much to give his friends."

"He certainly won't have much money," Olsen agreed. "It's going to cost

him all he can raise to turn Alvarez out, but he'll have something to

give at the country's expense; sugar and coffee concessions, and perhaps

monopolies. If I can get my share, it will pay my employers well and I

allow they're generous."

He stopped, as if he thought he had said enough, and after ordering

another drink looked up with a grin. Two girls in light dresses had

passed the café once or twice with a male companion and a fat old woman

who wore black clothes. Kit had not noticed them particularly, because

other groups were moving about, but he now remarked that the man had

gone and the _dueña_ was a yard or two in front. One of the girls looked

round and he thought her glance searched the café and then stopped at

his table.

"The señorita's a looker," said Olsen. "I wonder which of us she fancies.

She's been round this way before."

"I'm not remarkably handsome and there are other people in the café,"

Kit replied. "Anyhow, I don't want to get a jealous señorita's knife

in my back."

"You're a blamed cautious fellow," Olsen rejoined in a meaning tone.

"However, you'll find me at the casino evenings if you feel you'd like a

talk, and now I'll get along."

He went off and Kit smoked another cigarette. He thought Olsen had, so to

speak, been sounding him; the fellow had certainly given him some hints.

Kit imagined he had taken a prudent line by keeping the other in the dark

about his partnership with Adam and their plans.

When he had smoked his cigarette he crossed the street to the alameda and

went up a broad walk beneath the trees. The sky had cleared, the moon was

high, and in front of the openings pools of silver light lay upon the

ground. By and by Kit saw the group he had noticed a few yards ahead.

They were moving slowly and although he walked no faster he soon came up

with them. The girl who had looked into the café was nearest and the

moonlight touched her face as she turned her head.

Kit gave her a half curious glance and felt some surprise, for he could

see her better now and thought her a pure-blooded Spaniard. The

_Peninsulares_ were aristocrats, the girl had a touch of dignity, and her

dress was rich. It was strange if a girl like that was willing to defy

conventions and risk an intrigue with a stranger. Yet he imagined he had

seen her smile, and she carried a little bunch of purple flowers in the

hand nearest him. He looked again and saw that she was beautiful and

moved with the grace that generally marks the _Peninsulares_ when they

are young. The path was broad and he could keep level with the group

without exciting curiosity, but he thought it curious that the fat old

woman, who ought to have guarded the others, was in front.

He resolved to go past, and just before he did so the girl gave him a

glance that he thought was half amused and half provocative. Then she

turned her head and next moment he saw a flower near his feet. He noted a

faint smell of heliotrope and knew she had dropped the flower for him.

This meant something, although it would not have much significance unless

he picked up the heliotrope. He did not, and walking past with a quicker

step, heard a soft laugh.

When he reached the presidio he sat down on the balcony that overlooked

the patio outside his room. There was nobody about and he began to muse.

It was rash to take things for granted, but he thought he had been made

the subject of three experiments. Somebody had put a gold onza in the

Indian jar; Olsen had tried to find out if he was ambitious; and the girl

in the alameda meant to learn if he could be moved by beauty. Well, they

ought to know something about him now, but they were not very clever or

they would have extended their experiments over a longer time. It looked

as if they thought him something of a fool, and this was, perhaps, an

advantage.

Kit smiled as he remembered that when Janet Bell tried to flirt with him

he had been rather humiliated and felt himself a prig. He was older now

and had not been much embarrassed in the alameda, although he nearly

picked up the flower. His curiosity was excited and he wanted to find out

the girl's object. Indeed, it was hard to see why he had left the flower

alone, but he had a vague feeling that it was unfair to use a charming

girl in a dark intrigue. Since he had known Grace Osborn, he had given

women a higher place. For her sake, he would not try to gain an advantage

against his and the president's antagonist by embarking on an adventure

with the Spanish girl.

Then he began to wonder whether he would see Grace again, but presently

got up with an impatient shrug. Grace, in all probability, had forgotten

their friendship and married Thorn. Anyhow, she was not for him and it

was futile to indulge a barren sentiment.

CHAPTER IV

THE PRESIDENT'S BALL

Breakfast was over and Alvarez, sitting at a table in the arcade, smiled

as he indicated the transformed patio. The broken pavement had been

swept, the fountain scrubbed until the marble showed white veins, and the

old brass rails of the balconies gleamed with yellow reflections where

the sunshine fell. Small palms and flowering plants in tubs stood among

the pillars, flags hung from crumbling cornices, and barefooted peons

were fastening up colored lamps.

"When the people are discontented they must be amused," the president

remarked. "In Rome, they gave them circuses and I had thought of a

bull-fight. There is a Spanish quadrilla in Cuba but I found it would

cost too much to bring the company across. Besides, I do not know if

strong excitement would be good for the citizens."

"A ball is safer," Adam agreed. "While they have the function to talk

about they'll forget to plot."

"For a week, perhaps! Well, it ought to be some help, if your agents

are prompt."

"They're hustlers and know they've got to get busy. I expect the _Rio

Negro_ back in fourteen days, and then it will be your business to rush

her cargo up. Mule transport's slow on your swamp tracks, and it's

perhaps unfortunate you didn't give my friends the concession for the

light railroad. You might have found it useful now."

Alvarez shrugged. "A railroad can be cut, and locomotives break down at

awkward times when their drivers are bribed. Then, I have granted so many

concessions that there is not much that foreigners think worth getting

left in the country. One must keep something to bargain with."

"Governing a people like yours is an expensive job. However, since they

make it expensive, they oughtn't to grumble if you tax them high."

"They do not always pay the taxes," Alvarez rejoined with a twinkle. "If

they run me out, they will probably disown their debts, and then there

will be trouble with the foreigners. Still, that is not very important,

because I shall be gone and the Americans will not let the others'

consuls use much pressure. The speculators understand the risks."

"That's so," said Adam and added meaningly: "Some of the speculators are

American."

Alvarez put his finely-shaped hand on Adam's arm. "My friend, if it is

possible, you will be paid. If not, it will be because I am dead."

"I know," said Adam. "I'm not scared to take chances and when they go

against me I don't grumble. Anyhow, time is important and if you work

this ball properly it ought to give us another week. You'll get the money

for your soldiers shortly afterwards and Mayne will land your guns."

The president's dark face softened and he smiled.

"I know whom I can trust," he said and went away.

"If it's possible for a half-breed to be an honest man, Don Hernando

meets the bill," Adam remarked. "Anyhow, he's a better president than

these folks deserve, and they'll be blamed fools if they turn him down."

He was silent for a few moments and then resumed: "I gave you a share in

my business, Kit, and now, if you are willing, I'll buy you out."

"But I'm quite satisfied; I'd much sooner stick to our agreement," Kit

said with surprise.

"Well, I guess you're rash. Your share isn't large but it would go some

way to buy an English farm. Raising Herdwick sheep is a pretty tame

occupation, but I reckon it's safer than backing Alvarez."

Kit thought hard and imagined he saw Adam's object. "Of course," he said,

"if you want to get rid of me--"

"I don't know that I'm keen. You're some help, but you came out to

forget the girl in England, and not to stay. Well, if you mean to go,

now's your time."

"The trouble is I haven't forgotten her," Kit answered quietly.

Adam's eyes twinkled. "If you go home, you may get her, and I allow she's

probably worth the effort, but you're not going to side-track me like

that. If you quit now, I can buy you out and you'll have something to

help you make another start; afterwards I mayn't be able. You needn't

hesitate about taking the money; I guess you've earned it."

"I suspected where you were leading. Still you see, I'd sooner stay. For

one thing, I hate leaving an awkward job half finished. You're beginning

to feel the job is bigger than you thought it was when you undertook it?"

"It certainly is," Adam agreed. "However, since you insist, I'll talk

plain. Alvarez has no claim on you, although he has a claim on me, and I

pay my debts. The last to fall due is going to strain my finances, but it

must be paid, a hundred cents for every dollar. All the same, the

liability is not yours. There's no reason why you shouldn't pull out

while you're safe."

Kit shook his head. "I see a reason. I don't know if it's sound, but

after all one's self-respect is worth something."

"Oh, well!" said Adam, "we won't quarrel. You're very like Peter and he's

the staunchest man I know."

He got up and when he went off, Kit, feeling somewhat moved, lighted a

cigarette and smoked thoughtfully. It looked as if Adam did not think the

president would win, but for all that meant to stand by him. Although not

fastidious about his business methods, Adam had his code and was not

afraid, when friendship demanded it, to fight for a lost cause. Moreover,

Kit meant to fight with him. Then he got up and smiled. Adam meant well,

but he was clumsy; if he had wanted to save Kit from sharing his risk, he

might have made a better plan.

When evening came Kit entered the arcade and sat down in a quiet spot to

look about. The moon was nearly full and flooded half the patio with

silver light; the rest was in shadow and rows of colored lamps twinkled

in the gloom. A band played behind the pillars, the rattle of castanets

breaking in on the tinkle of the guitars when the beat was sharply

marked. The music was seductive, unlike any Kit had heard in England, and

he thought it tinged by the melancholy the Moors had brought, long since,

from the East to Spain.

At one end of the patio, groups of young men and women moved through the

changing figures of an old Spanish dance. Their poses were strangely

graceful, and some had a touch of stateliness. This vanished when the

music changed and the well-balanced figures, raising bent arms, danced

with riotous abandon. In a minute or two the melancholy note was struck

again and the movements were marked by dignified reserve. Kit got a hint

of Southern passion and, by contrast, of the austerity that often goes

with Indian blood.

In the meantime, he noted the play of moving color, for the women wore

white and pink and yellow. Some had flowers in their dark hair and some

covered their heads with a lace mantilla. The men's clothes were varied,

for a number wore shabby uniforms, and others white linen with red silk

sashes, while a few had chosen the plain black, and wide sombrero, of the

Spanish don.

At the other end of the patio, portly señoras with powdered faces sat

among the pillars, and grave, dark-skinned citizens moved about the

pavement in talking groups. A heavily-built man with a very swarthy color

and thick lips went to and fro among them, bowing and smiling, and Kit

knew this was Galdar, the president's rival. Kit did not like the fellow

and thought his negro strain was marked. He looked sensual, cruel, and

cunning. For the most part, the president stood outside the crowd,

although now and then a group formed about him. He was tall and thin, his

face was inscrutable, and Kit thought he looked lonely and austere.

By and by an officer Kit had met told him he must dance and took him

along the arcade. The officer stopped where two girls sat under a string

of lamps, with a man in black clothes and a fat old woman behind. At

first, Kit could not see them well, but when they got up he started as he

recognized the girl who had dropped the flower. Then he tried to hide his

embarrassment as he was presented to Señorita Francisca Sarmiento. She

was handsomer than he had thought and as she made him a stately curtsey

her eyes twinkled.

Kit imagined the other girl studied him carefully and wondered whether

she knew about the flower. It was, however, his duty to ask the señorita

to dance, and after a few moments they crossed the pavement. Kit had some

misgivings, because the dance was involved and one used a number of

different steps, but the girl guided him through its intricacies and when

he took her back signed him to sit down. He obeyed, for Francisca

Sarmiento had an imperious air. Other young men came up when the music

began again, but passed on, and Kit imagined the girl had made them

understand they were to do so since one or two frowned at him.

"Well," she said, looking at him across her fan, "how do you like

this country?"

"It has many attractions," Kit replied.

"But some drawbacks?"

"The drawbacks are not very obvious now."

"Ah," she said, giving him a mocking glance, "for an Englishman, you are

polite, but it looks as if you were as cautious as I thought."

"I'm flattered that you thought about me at all." Kit rejoined.

She laughed and played with her fan. "Oh, well; we are curious about

strangers, particularly when they are friends of the president's. One

wonders why they come."

"I imagine most of us come to get money."

"In this country, one gets nothing unless one runs some risk, and you are

cautious," Francisca remarked.

Kit noted her insistence on this trait of his. He thought her remarks had

a meaning that did not appear on the surface.

"I wonder what grounds you have for thinking so," he said.

"Are they not obvious?" she answered. "Not long since you hesitated to

pick up a sprig of heliotrope."

"I durst not think the compliment was meant for me."

Francisca glanced at him with quiet amusement. "You are modest, señor; it

looks as if you had a number of virtues. For one thing, I imagine you are

honest, and honesty is not very common here." She paused and resumed in a

meaning tone: "It is a drawback, if one wants to get rich."

"I don't know that my character is worth your study," Kit replied

carelessly.

"You are of some importance, señor. Although I have admitted that you are

modest, it is strange you do not know."

"Why should I know?" Kit asked.

Francisca studied him over her ebony fan, which hid half her face and

emphasized the curious glow of her black eyes. "I do not think you are as

dull as you pretend. Have you not been experimented on recently?"

"I think I have," said Kit. "After all, a gold onza is not a great

temptation. I found another--a spray of heliotrope--harder to resist."

"But you did resist!" she replied in a quiet voice.

"Yes," said Kit, fixing his eyes on her face. "I am an adventurer like

the rest, but it is rather a shabby thing to try to gain an advantage in

a battle with a woman. Besides, as I'm not clever, I might have failed."

With a languid movement of her head Francisca looked round and Kit

imagined she saw the others were too far off to hear. Then she made him a

half mocking bow.

"We need not quarrel, señor, and I will give you a hint. Since you are

incorruptible, this town is not the place for you. Strangers from the

North sometimes get fever. And I would not like you to suffer because you

are honest, and have chosen the losing side."

"Ah," said Kit, "you think our side will lose?"

Francisca moved her fan, as if to indicate Galdar, who stood in the

moonlight near the fountain. He was smiling urbanely and a number of men

and women had gathered about him. Kit knew they were people of

importance. At the end of the patio, the president stood alone in the

advancing gloom.

"You see!" she said. "Well, I am engaged for the next dance. You have my

leave to go."

Kit left her and sat down in a quiet spot. On the whole, he thought the

president's antagonists had been foolish when they tried to use the girl;

she was, so to speak, too good, and perhaps too proud, for the part they

expected her to play. This, however, was not important; he imagined she

had meant well when she gave him a hint, although the hint was not worth

much, because Kit thought Adam saw how things were going. Then he

reflected with some amusement that he need not bother much about

deceiving the enemy, since Galdar's friends would not suspect that

Buccaneer Askew had knowingly chosen the losing side.

Presently Kit joined Adam, who sat near a lamp. His face was damp and

looked pinched.

"Let's go and get a drink," he said. "I'm thirsty; got a dose of

intermittent fever again."

Some tables behind the pillars were laid out with wine and fruit, and

Adam beckoned a mulatto waiter.

"_Tinto and siphon_. Bring some ice."

"There is no _siphon_, señor. We have sherry, vermouth, and some very

good anisado."

"You have plenty _siphon_" Adam declared. "Go and look."

The waiter went away and Adam frowned. "I can't stand for their scented

liquors; I want a long, cool drink."

After a few minutes, the waiter came back with a large glass, in

which a lump of ice floated in red wine and mineral water. Adam,

sending him away, remarked: "That's a stupid fellow. I wanted to mix

the stuff myself."

He drank thirstily and put down the glass.

"Tastes bitter; too much resin in the wine, or perhaps it's imagination."

He lifted the glass but stopped and threw the rest of the liquor on the

pavement. "Reckon I've had enough. About the meanest drink I've struck.

Give me a cigar. The taste stops in my mouth."

Kit gave him a cigar, but after a few minutes he threw it away.

"I don't feel much better and think I'll go to my room. You might come

along; the stairs are steep."

He got up awkwardly and leaned upon the table, breathing rather hard

while big drops of sweat started from his forehead. "This confounded

ague grips me tight. Don't know when I've felt so shaky. Better give me

your arm."

They started, and keeping in the shadow, reached the outside stairs

without exciting much curiosity, but Kit felt disturbed. Adam went up

slowly, stopping now and then, and stumbled across the balcony at the

top. Bright moonlight shone into the bare room, where a small lamp

burned, and Kit saw that Adam's face was wet.

"Leave me alone," he said. "You can come back by and by and see how I'm

getting on."

Kit did not want to go, but gave way when Adam insisted. He met the

president soon afterwards.

"Where is Don Adam?" the latter asked.

Kit told him and added that his uncle had seemed to get worse after

drinking some wine.

"Ah," said Alvarez thoughtfully. "Fresh lime-juice is better when one is

feverish. Did he drink anything else?"

"No," said Kit. "The waiter wanted to bring some anisado, but he insisted

on the wine."

Alvarez took him to the table where the refreshments were served and

clapped his hands. A waiter came up, but Kit said, "That is not the boy."

"Where are your companions?" the president asked.

"One is washing the glasses, señor. I do not know where the other

has gone."

Alvarez opened a door and Kit saw a man putting small _copitas_

into a pail.

"It was another fellow who brought the wine," he said, and Alvarez

beckoned the waiter.

"Call the mayor-domo."

A man dressed in plain black clothes came in, and Alvarez asked: "How

many of these fellows did you send to serve the wine?"

"Two, señor. It was enough."

"Three came. It will be your business to find the third," said the

president sternly and turned to Kit. "What was the fellow like?"

Kit described the waiter and Alvarez said to the mayor-domo, "You will be

held accountable if the man has got away. Send Doctor Martin to the

bottom of the stairs."

The mayor-domo went away and Alvarez knitted his brows.

"Galdar's friends are bold, but I had not expected this. However, Don

Adam's drinking wine may have balked them and Martin is a good doctor."

Kit asked no questions, for he could trust the president and thought

there was no time to lose. They crossed the patio and found a man waiting

in the shadow at the bottom of the steps. Alvarez said a word or two and

they went up. When they entered the room Adam glanced up from the bed.

"I see you have brought the doctor," he said with an effort.

"In this country, one takes precautions," Alvarez replied. "You look ill,

my friend."

"I'd have looked worse if I'd drunk anisado," Adam remarked. "Anyhow, you

had better light out and let Señor Martin get to work."

The doctor, who felt Adam's pulse, made a sign of agreement, and then

writing on a leaf of his pocketbook gave it to the president.

"Will you send that to my house? I need the things at once."

Alvarez moved away and Adam looked at Kit with a forced smile. "You

needn't be anxious, partner. I didn't drink all the wine; reckon they

haven't got me yet."

Then they went out and left Adam with the doctor.

CHAPTER V

OLSEN'S OFFER

For a time, Kit wandered about the arcade, talking now and then to people

he knew. The doctor had forbidden him to return to Adam's room and the

president said it was important the guests should not know that anything

unusual had happened. Although Kit watched the stairs anxiously, nobody

came down, but he saw the mayor-domo going quietly about and servants

came and went on mysterious errands. When he looked out he found the

sentries had been doubled on the terrace and one stopped when, for a few

moments, Kit left the arch, but the soldier knew him and marched on.

While it was obvious that the waiter was being looked for, Kit thought

the search had begun too late.

At length, Alvarez sent for him, and although his heart beat as he

followed the messenger he felt some relief when he saw the president.

"I have good news," the latter said. "The doctor is no longer anxious and

you may see your uncle in the morning. It looks as if Don Adam's caution

saved him."

"You mean when he refused the anisado?"

Alvarez nodded. "It is a strong-smelling liquor and one drinks a small

quantity, taking water afterwards, if one wants. Don Adam knows the

country, and after all my enemies have not much imagination. To offer him

anisado was a rather obvious trick."

"I'm thankful they failed," Kit said sternly, and clenched his fist with

sudden passion. "If they had not--"

"One understands, Don Cristoval; I have felt like that when the plotters

did not fail," Alvarez answered with grim sympathy. He was silent for a

moment or two and Kit imagined he was thinking about his murdered son.

Then he resumed: "Well, we shall have a reckoning and it will be bad for

the dogs when I send in my bill. But that must wait, and I would like you

to dance. I see Señorita Sarmiento is not engaged and she dances well."

"I doubt if Dona Francisca would care to dance with me again."

"Ah," said Alvarez, "one should not be too modest! Francisca is a

politician, but she is a woman. Perhaps you found she is not on my side?"

"I imagined she was not."

Alvarez shrugged. "Well, I do not fight with women, although they are

sometimes dangerous. Try again, my friend. Just now we are all playing at

make-believe."

Kit obeyed and found Francisca gracious. She danced with him and

afterwards allowed him to sit by her. By and by she remarked: "I have not

seen Señor Askew for some time."

"He was not very well," said Kit.

Francisca studied his face. "I hope his illness is not serious. I thought

I saw Doctor Martin."

"Fever. My uncle gets it now and then."

"I think I warned you against our fevers," Francisca replied meaningly.

"There are two or three kinds, but all are not dangerous."

"Some are?" Kit suggested.

"Yes; to foreigners. We others take precautions and are acclimatized."

"Well," said Kit in a thoughtful voice, "I have not had fever yet, but I

suppose an unacclimatized adventurer runs some risk."

Francisca played with her fan and Kit imagined she was pondering.

"A risk that leads to nothing is not worth while," she remarked. "I think

it would be prudent if you left the country while you are well."

"I should be sorry if I thought you wanted me to go," said Kit.

"That is cheap, señor. I gave you good advice."

"Oh, well," said Kit, "I really think you did. There are matters about

which we do not agree; but I believe you are too kind to let a rather

ignorant antagonist get hurt."

Franciscans eyes twinkled as she rejoined: "I like the compliment better

than the other. But I am engaged for the next dance and as you are

intelligent there is not much more to be said."

Kit went away, thinking rather hard. The girl had some part in the

intrigue against the president, and it would obviously be an advantage to

her friends if he could be persuaded to leave the country now Adam was

ill. Admitting this, he thought her warning sincere. On the whole, he

liked Francisca Sarmiento and believed she did not want him to be hurt.

If Adam did not get much better and he had to look after things, he would

certainly run some risk of a cunning attack by the president's enemies.

When the guests began to leave, Kit went to his room and after some

hours of broken sleep was told that Adam wanted him. He found Alvarez in

the room and Adam lying, with a flushed face and wet forehead, in a big

cane chair. When Kit came in Adam gave him a friendly smile and turned

to Alvarez.

"If I'd taken that drink at a wineshop, I'd have deserved all I got," he

said. "I allowed I was safe at the presidio."

"It is a stain on my hospitality for which somebody shall pay."

"That's all right," said Adam; "you're not accountable. Looks as if the

other fellow was too smart for both of us; but I had a feeling I'd better

stick to _tinto_ and _siphon_. You can generally taste anything

suspicious in that mixture and I've been doped before. But, as I'm an

American citizen and American influence is powerful, I didn't expect

they'd be bold enough to get after me."

Alvarez smiled. "Our climate is unhealthy, but if you had died and

suspicion was excited, your countrymen would have made the

president responsible. That would have been another embarrassment

and I have enough."

"Galdar's friends are a cunning lot," Adam replied. "Well, I think your

doctor has fixed me up for a time. What about your plans?"

"I had some talk with my supporters last night and we agreed to strike

when the _Rio Negro's_ cargo arrives. We need the guns and money to pay

my troops, and when we get them we will arrest the leading conspirators.

This will start the revolution, but it will fail if my blow is struck

before Galdar is ready."

"Yes," said Adam. "We can trust Mayne; he knows he's got to hustle. I've

fixed it for him to get the Spanish money at Havana and that will mean

losing a day or two, but the old _Rio Negro_ can hit up a pretty good

pace and Mayne won't spare his coal. I reckon we'll hear from him soon."

Adam stopped and Kit, seeing that it cost him an effort to talk, took

the president away. They met the doctor on the stairs and Kit waited at

the bottom until he came down. Señor Martin was a fat, dark-skinned,

Spanish Creole.

"Your uncle is an obstinate man and will not take a hint," he remarked.

"I had some trouble to save him and he may not escape next time."

"Then you imagine there will be another time?"

Señor Martin shrugged expressively, "I am a doctor not a politician, but

in this country much depends upon the risk of being found out. Señor

Askew is old and not strong. One must pay for leading a strenuous life

and he has had malaria for some years. He ought to remain in the North.

It is your business to persuade him, but do not disturb him yet."

"I will try," Kit said doubtfully. "You think it needful?"

"If he does not go soon, he will not go at all," the doctor replied in a

meaning tone.

He went away and some time afterwards Kit returned to his uncle's room.

The shutters were pushed back from the balcony window and the strong

light, reflected by the white wall, showed the thinness of Adam's figure

and the deep lines on his face. His skin was a curious yellow color and

his eyes were dull.

"You haven't been well for some time and the stuff you got last night has

shaken you rather badly," Kit remarked with a touch of embarrassment. "I

think you ought to go back with Mayne."

"You imagine you can manage things better without me?" Adam rejoined.

"No," said Kit, coloring. "It's a big and awkward job, but perhaps I can

manage. I feel you ought to go."

"It looks as if the doctor had put you on my track. He's been arguing

with me. What did he say?"

Kit hesitated and Adam smiled. "I can guess, partner, and perhaps he was

right. Well, I'm getting old and have a notion I won't live long, anyway.

Don't see that it matters much if I go or stay, and I've a reason for

staying you don't know yet. Besides, I hate to be beaten and mean to put

over my last job." He paused and gave Kit a steady look. "There's one

drawback; putting it over may cost you something."

"That doesn't count," Kit said quietly. "What you have is yours; I expect

you earned it hard."

"I certainly did," Adam agreed. "I earned part of what I've got by jobs

that cost me more than my health. I'd wipe out some of my early deals, if

I could. Well, I don't know if playing a straight game on a losing hand

will cancel past mistakes, but I feel I've got to play it out. My wad and

yours are in the pool."

"It's not my wad," Kit objected. "You have treated me generously."

"Oh, well!" said Adam. "Perhaps I'll ask you to remember that by and by.

In the meantime, I've no use for arguing and am going to stop. We'll say

no more about it, but if I'm too sick to handle things, you'll take

control. You know my plans, and that's enough; I don't need your promises

that you won't let me down. Now you can get out. I'm going to sleep."

Kit went away, feeling moved, but anxious. His uncle trusted him and he

had got strangely fond of the Buccaneer. Adam had his faults and his

career had been marked by incidents that were hard to justify, but he was

staunch to his friends. Kit did not know how far Alvarez deserved his

staunch support, and suspected that Adam was, to some extent, moved by

pride. He meant to make good before he let things go. Kit resolved that

when the old man's hands lost the grip he would take firm hold.

Next day Adam was obviously worse and when two or three more had passed

the doctor looked anxious. Then, one hot evening, the president brought

Kit a letter addressed to his uncle.

"Don Adam is asleep and must not be disturbed," he said. "Perhaps you had

better read this. It may be about the _Rio Negro_."

Kit opened the envelope and frowned. The letter was from Mayne, who

stated that he had met bad weather soon after leaving port and the racing

of the engines in a heavy sea had caused some damage. He had, however,

reached Havana, where he had received the Spanish money, and did not know

what to do. Some time would be required to repair the damage, but it

would be risky to resume the voyage with disabled engines. Kit gave the

letter to the president, whose dark face flushed, and for a few moments

he stormed with Spanish fury.

"This dog of a sailor has been bought!" he cried, clenching his hands

as he walked about the floor. "If the money does not arrive soon, it

will be too late; my soldiers will not take our notes. Galdar has paid

him to ruin me."

Kit, knowing the emotional character of the half-breeds, let him rage.

Alvarez did not often lose his self-control and he had some grounds for

feeling disturbed. When he stopped, Kit said quietly, "The captain is

honest, but if he loses his ship with the guns and money on board, it

will not help us much. If my uncle is better in the morning, I will see

what he thinks; if not, I will decide about the orders to send."

When Alvarez left him he went into the town and after walking about the

alameda sat down at a table in front of the café and ordered some wine.

This was safer than the black coffee and scented cordials the citizens

drank, but he tasted it carefully and gave himself up to anxious thought

without draining his glass. The insurance on the _Rio Negro_ did not

cover all the risks Mayne would run if he left port with disabled

engines, and the coast was dangerous. The loss of the ship would be a

blow, but if Mayne did not leave Havana soon the freight might arrive

after the president's fall. Kit, feeling his responsibility, shrank from

the momentous choice, and while he pondered Olsen came up and occupied a

chair opposite.

"Drinking _tinto_!" he remarked. "Well, I guess that's prudent. But how's

the Buccaneer? He's been looking shaky and I heard he was ill."

Kit wondered how much Olsen knew. He said Adam's fever came and went and

he would, no doubt, be better soon. Olsen smiled and shook his head.

"There's no use in giving me that stuff; I know the climate! Askew's

going under fast and will never be fit again. I reckon the old man

knows he's got to let up, if you don't. What are you going to do when

he pulls out?"

"It will need some thought," Kit answered cautiously, since he had

grounds for believing the other imagined he was Adam's clerk.

Olsen ordered some vermouth, and then remarked in a meaning tone: "I

don't have to be careful about my drinks. There's an advantage in taking

the popular side."

"Are you sure yours is the popular side?"

"Wait and see," Olsen rejoined, "though that plan's expensive, because

it may be too late when you find out. My employers don't often back

the wrong man and I trust their judgment now. If you'll listen, I'll

show you."

Kit signed him to go on and Olsen resumed: "The Buccaneer will drop out

soon and you'll be left to do the best you can for yourself. Well, I

don't suppose you'll get another chance like this; we'll pay you ten

thousand dollars if you can keep the _Rio Negro_ back for a week."

"That doesn't indicate that you're sure of winning," Kit remarked dryly.

"Besides, I wouldn't trust Galdar to put up the money."

"I don't ask you to trust Galdar; my people will find the money. In a

sense, it doesn't matter to us who is president, except that we want the

concessions Galdar promised, and they're worth an extra two thousand

pounds. We'll give you American bills for the sum if your steamer lands

her cargo too late to be of use."

Kit thought hard. It looked as if Olsen knew the _Rio Negro_ had broken

down. If so, he was obviously well informed and his employers were

persuaded that the probability of the president's downfall was strong

enough to justify the bribe. Two thousand pounds would go some way to

making Ashness a model farm, while it was plain that Adam might lose the

money he had hinted he meant to leave Kit. Kit, however, did not feel

tempted, although he wanted to find out something about Olsen's plans.

"You seem to take my agreement for granted," he remarked. "You must see

that I could embarrass you by telling Alvarez."

Olsen laughed. "You could put him wise; but you couldn't embarrass us.

The president knows whom he's up against. The trouble is he isn't strong

enough to get after us."

"Well, suppose I refuse?"

"You'll be a blame fool. That's all there is to it."

Kit doubted. He knew what had happened to Adam, and, in spite of Olsen's

statement, imagined Galdar's friends would not let him warn the

president.

"Anyhow, you must give me until the morning. I want to think about it,"

he said, in order to test his suspicions.

"We can't wait; the thing must be put over now. There's no use in trying

to raise my offer. You know our limit."

"Oh, well!" said Kit, "I'm afraid I'll have to let it go. There are

difficulties, and if you can't wait--"

Olsen looked at him with surprise, and Kit saw he had not expected his

offer to be refused. The fellow had a cynical distrust of human nature

that had persuaded him Kit could not resist the temptation; his shallow

cleverness sometimes misled him and had done so when he took it for

granted that Kit was Adam's clerk.

"You don't mean you're going to turn my offer down?" Olsen said sharply.

"You force me. I can't decide just yet."

Olsen hesitated, knitting his brows. "Oh!" he exclaimed, "that's

ridiculous! The thing will cost you nothing, and I'll come up a thousand

dollars. You ought to see you must accept."

"I don't see," Kit replied as carelessly as he could, and got up. "Since

you can't wait, I understand the matter's off."

He went away, and glancing back as he crossed the street, saw that

Olsen's pose was curiously fixed and he seemed to be gazing straight in

front. Some of the customers now left the café and Kit lost sight of him.

The moon was high and clear, but the black shadows of the trees fell upon

the walk through the alameda and there were not many people about. Kit

would sooner not have crossed the alameda, although this was his nearest

way, but thought he had better do so. Olsen might be watching, and Kit

did not want the fellow to imagine he was afraid, since it would indicate

that he knew the importance of his refusal. Yet he was afraid, and it

cost him something of an effort to plunge into the gloom.

CHAPTER VI

THE PRESIDENT'S WATCHERS

When Kit was half way across the alameda he stopped and looked about.

Dark trees rose against the sky; he could smell the eucalyptus and their

thin shadows covered the ground with a quivering, open pattern. There was

a pool of moonlight, and farther on the solid, fan-shaped reflections of

palms. Nobody was near him, although he heard voices across the alameda,

and he stood for a few moments, thinking, while his heart beat.

Since he had refused Olsen's offer, caution was advisable, because Kit

felt sure the fellow had expected him to agree, and it was obvious that

he knew enough to make him dangerous. He distrusted Olsen, who was not a

native American, and probably not a Norwegian, as he pretended. There was

a mystery about his employers, but Kit suspected that they were Germans,

and as a rule the latters' commercial intrigues were marked by an

unscrupulous cunning of which few of their rivals seemed capable. This

was admitting much, since the foreign adventurers did not claim high

principles.

On the surface, it was obviously prudent to take the shortest line to the

presidio, but Kit reflected that Olsen would expect him to do so. It

might be better to put him off the track by going another way and Kit was

anxious to know if he had left the café. Stepping back into the shadow,

he made for another path and a few minutes afterwards returned to the

street. He glanced at the café as he walked past and saw that Olsen was

not there. He thought this ominous, since it indicated that the fellow

had gone to consult his revolutionary friends and Kit imagined they would

try to prevent his reaching the presidio. He seldom carried a pistol,

which was difficult to hide when one wore thin white clothes. On the

whole, he had found a suspicious bulge in one's pocket rather apt to

provoke than to save one from attack; but he was sorry he had not a

pistol now.

Kit went back across the alameda, hoping he had put Olsen's friends off

the track. If so, he would be safe until he got near the presidio, when

he must be cautious. He passed two or three groups of people, and now and

then heard steps behind, but the steps were followed by voices that

relieved his anxiety. For all that, he was glad to leave the alameda and

turn up a street.

The street was narrow, hot, and dirty. There was a smell of decaying

rubbish and the rancid oil used in cooking. One side was in shadow, and

almost unbroken walls rose from the rough pavement. For the most part,

the outside windows were narrow slits, since the houses got light from

the central patio. Here and there an oil-lamp marked a corner, but that

was all, and Kit kept in the moonlight and looked about keenly when he

passed a shadowy door. Perspiration trickled down his face and he felt an

unpleasant nervous tension. Yet nobody came near him and when he

cautiously glanced round nobody was lurking in the gloom. He began to

think he had cheated Olsen, but admitted that it was too soon to slacken

his watchfulness.

At one corner, he saw two figures in shabby white uniform, and hesitated.

In Spanish-American countries, the government generally maintains a force

of carefully picked men, entrusted with powers that are seldom given to

ordinary police. They patrol in couples, carry arms, and are sometimes

called _guardias civiles_ and sometimes _rurales_. Kit knew he could

trust the men, but doubted if they could leave their post; besides he did

not want Olsen to know he thought it needful to ask for protection. Now

he came to think of it, he had seen the _rurales_ outside the café and at

another corner. Perhaps this was why he had been left alone.

He went on, rather reluctantly, and by and by reached the broad square in

front of the presidio. The old building was clear in the moonlight; Kit

could see a sentry on the terrace and a faint glow in the slit in the

wall that marked Adam's room. It was hardly two-hundred yards off and he

would be safe before he reached the arch, but a grove of small palms and

shrubs ran between him and the square. There were rails behind the trees

and the nearest opening was some distance off. A high blank wall threw a

dark shadow that stretched across the road by the rails and met the gloom

of the trees.

Kit looked about, without stopping or turning his head much. There was

nobody in sight, but he somehow felt that he was not alone. It was a

disturbing, and apparently an illogical, feeling that he must not

indulge, and pulling himself together he went on, with his fist clenched.

He was not far from the gate, and although he listened hard could only

hear his own steps and voices in a neighboring street. Yet his nerves

tingled and his muscles got tense. In front, a thick, dark mass that

looked like a clump of euphorbia or cactus stood beside the path, and

just beyond it a bright beam of moonlight shone between the drooping

branches of the palms.

He thought the spot the beam touched was dangerous. As he crossed it his

figure would be strongly illuminated and he would have his back to the

dark bush. He wanted to move aside and go round the bush, but this might

give somebody time to spring out and get between him and the gate. The

gate was close by and he was strangely anxious to reach it. For all that,

he was not going to indulge his imagination.

He plunged into the gloom, without deviating from his path, and conquered

a nervous impulse that urged him to run. When he had nearly passed the

bush he thought he heard a movement and a thick stalk of the cactus

shook. Half instinctively, Kit leaped forward and felt something soft

brush against his shoulder. As he swung round, in the moonlight, with his

mouth set and his hand drawn back to strike, he saw a blanket on the

ground. There was nothing else and he breathed hard as he searched the

gloom. The blanket had not been there before.

Next moment, a dark figure sprang from the shadow and a knife flashed in

the moonlight; then he heard a heavy report and a puff of smoke blew

past his head. The figure swerved and, staggering awkwardly, fell with a

heavy thud. It did not move afterwards, and while Kit gazed at it dully

a man in white uniform ran past and stooped beside the fellow on the

ground. Kit vacantly noted that a little smoke curled from the muzzle of

his pistol.

"One cartridge is enough," he said coolly. "Your worship did not

escape by much."

Another _rural_ came out of the bushes and when they turned over the body

Kit saw a dark face and a long, thin knife clenched in a brown hand. He

understood now that the blanket had been meant to entangle his arm or

head; half-breed peons often carry a rolled-up blanket of good quality on

their shoulder.

"It is Gil Ortega," the _rural_ remarked. "A good shot that will save us

some trouble, comrade!"

"How did you come here when you were wanted?" Kit asked as calmly

as he could.

The _rural_ smiled. "By the president's order, señor. We were watching

the café."

"But it looks as if you had got in front of me."

"It is so, señor. We thought it best to follow this fellow. He lost you

when you turned back."

Kit nodded, for he remembered that he had instinctively avoided one or

two dark lanes that would have given him a shorter line than the streets.

Ortega and the _rurales_ had taken the shorter way. He thought it curious

the report had not drawn a crowd, but although he heard voices nobody

came near and he imagined the citizens were used to pistol shots. Giving

the _rurales_ some money, he crossed the square to the presidio and going

to his room lighted a cigarette. He thought a smoke might be soothing,

for he had got a jar.

After a time, he went to look for Alvarez and found him sitting in front

of a table in the patio. A soldier stood not far off, but the president

was alone and the light of a shaded lamp fell upon a bundle of letters

and documents. Alvarez worked hard and had inherited a rather austere

simplicity from his Indian ancestors. Kit thought his plain white clothes

and quiet calm gave him dignity.

"It looks as if my enemies meant to lose no time," he said, in English,

when Kit told him about his adventure.

"It's their third try in a few weeks," Kit agreed. "Don't you find the

uncertainty about where they'll strike next rather wearing?"

Alvarez shrugged. "One gets used to these affairs; a custom of the

country, and there is something to be said for it. If the plot succeeds,

it is an easy way of turning out a president and changing the government.

Perhaps it is better to kill a man or two than fight round barricades and

burn the town."

"In the North, we find it possible to change our government by vote."

"You are cold-blooded people and don't understand the passions of the

South," Alvarez rejoined with cynical humor. "We have tried your plan,

but one must be rich to buy the votes. Besides, if one is beaten at the

polls, there remains the last appeal to the knife. But you will let this

go. We have something else to talk about."

"That is so," said Kit. "To begin with, I must thank you for sending your

_rurales_ to look after me."

"It is nothing," Alvarez replied in a deprecatory tone. "You are my guest

and we try to take care of foreigners, because if they meet with

accidents their consuls ask embarrassing questions. Besides, watching

them serves two objects."

"Then, I expect you know I met Olsen at the café?" Kit suggested dryly.

Alvarez smiled. "Yes; I know. But I was not suspicious."

"After all, one doesn't generally conspire in a public place. In fact, I

don't understand why Olsen met me there."

"He may have meant to compromise you; to put doubts in my mind."

"It's possible, now I think of it," Kit assented. "I hope he didn't

succeed."

"I know my friends, Don Cristoval. But what did the fellow want? I do not

know all."

"Your spies are pretty smart, but I expect our colloquial English puzzled

them," Kit remarked, smiling. "However, I was going to tell you--"

He narrated what Olsen had said and Alvarez looked thoughtful.

"Galdar must be nearly ready; he has been quicker than I imagined. What

are you going to do about the steamer?"

"I'll wait until tomorrow. If my uncle is well enough, he must decide."

"But if he is no better?" Alvarez asked.

Kit gave him a level glance. "Then I will send Mayne orders to run all

risks and start, whether his engines are repaired or not."

"Ah," said Alvarez with a bow, "Olsen was foolish when he tried to bribe

you! I suppose this is your answer! Well, it is lucky that a fast

schooner sails to a port from which a telegram can be sent. When your

orders are ready I will see that they go."

Next morning Kit found Adam lying half awake after a night of delirium.

The old man's eyes were heavy, his brain was dull, and the doctor, who

came in, made Kit a sign not to disturb him. Kit went out and spent some

time writing a message to Mayne. It was necessary that the captain should

know what he must do, but Kit was anxious to give no hint about the

importance of speed that others would understand. He meant to guard

against his orders being read by spies in Olsen's pay.

When he had sealed the envelope and addressed it as the president had

told him, he went down to the patio and found a peon talking to a guard.

"This man is the mate of the Catalina and wants to see you," said

the guard, and when he went off Kit turned to the other, who looked

like a sailor.

"My wife lives in the town and I have been at home for a day or two,"

said the man. "I am going back to the schooner now and was told you had a

letter for the patron."

Kit put his hand in his pocket. Although he had expected the mayor-domo

would come for the message, there was not much formality at the presidio,

and the fellow was obviously a sailor. Yet Kit hesitated and as he stood

with his hand on the envelope thought the other's eyelids flickered. The

flicker was almost too slight to notice, but it hinted at nervousness and

Kit dropped the message back.

"Very well," he said. "Wait a few minutes."

He went along the arcade and stopping near the end looked back. The

sailor had sat down on a bench and was lighting a cigarette. This looked

as if he did not mind waiting, and Kit wondered whether it was worth

while to disturb the president, who was occupied. He went on, however,

and Alvarez signed him to sit down when he entered his room. After a

minute or two, he put down the document he was reading to his secretary.

"Well," he said, "have you written your message for Captain Mayne?"

"It is here. The _Catalina's_ mate is waiting."

Alvarez turned to the secretary. "My order was that the _patron_

should come."

"That is so, señor. I sent him word."

"The man told me his wife lived in the town and he was starting back,"

Kit interposed.

"The _patron_ has a house here," Alvarez replied. "We will see the man.

But first send an order to the guard to let nobody go out."

He waited for a minute after the secretary went off and then beckoned

Kit, who followed him downstairs and into the arcade. When they reached

it Kit stopped and Alvarez turned to him with a meaning smile. There was

nobody on the bench.

"It looks as if my order was sent too late," Alvarez remarked. "You had

better tell me exactly what happened?"

Kit complied and Alvarez sent for the guard and asked: "How did you know

the sailor was the _Catalina's_ mate?"

"He told me he was, señor. Afterwards, when Don Cristoval did not come

back, he said it was not important and he would not wait."

Alvarez dismissed the man and shrugged as he turned to Kit. "The plotters

are clever, but they made a mistake. The fellow was too modest; he ought

to have said he was the _patron_. Well, we must try to find him, although

I expect we are late. Now give me the message for Captain Mayne. It looks

as if our antagonists knew its importance."

Kit gave him the envelope and went back to Adam's room.

CHAPTER VII

ADAM RESUMES CONTROL

Although the shutters on the balcony window were open, no draught entered

the small, bare room and the heat that soaked through the thick walls was

nearly intolerable. There was not a sound in the presidio and a drowsy

quietness brooded over the dazzling town. It was two o'clock in the

afternoon, and the citizens were resting in their darkened houses until

the sun got low and work and intrigue began again. Adam and Kit, however,

had been talking for some time when the former, leaning back in a big

cane chair, frowned at his nephew. His thin face was wet with sweat, but

he shivered and his hands shook.

"You can quit arguing; I've got to go," he said. "I don't get much

better, anyhow, and can't stand for lying off when there's a big job

to be done."

"I believe I could see the job through," Kit answered quietly.

Adam's dull eyes sparkled. "You might; I guess you're anxious to try your

powers, but so long as I can get about I'm in command."

"It's doubtful if you can get about," Kit insisted.

"I'm going to try. You'll have a quiet mule ready when it's getting dark,

and I'll ride out of town; then, if the saddle shakes me, I'll go in a

hammock. You can cut out your objections. The thing's fixed."

"Very well," said Kit. "We had better make for Corrientes, since the

point commands the port and the lagoon. Mayne will stop for an hour or

two, looking for a signal, when he picks up his marks."

"We'll start for the port and take the other track afterwards. There's no

use in telling the opposition where we're going. I imagine they don't

know if the _Rio Negro_ has sailed or not."

"For that matter, we don't know," Kit remarked.

"Oh, shucks!" Adam exclaimed. "Mayne understands what we're up against

and he'd pull out when he got your telegram. If he can't use his damaged

engine, he'll disconnect and bring her along with the other." He stopped

Kit with a frown. "If you're going to tell me the _Rio Negro_ can't steam

across on one cylinder, you can cut it out. I've taught the men I put in

charge that when a job's needful it has got to be done."

He paused and when Kit said nothing, went on quietly: "Well, I reckon

Galdar's crowd will expect the boat to make for the port. It's easier to

land cargo there and there's a better road. With good luck, we'll have

the goods delivered before they know she's gone to the lagoon. Now you

can go along and get busy."

Kit went away in a thoughtful mood. He agreed with Adam that secrecy and

speed were essential, because if the rebels got a hint of their plans

they might strike before Alvarez could ensure the loyalty of his troops

by distributing their back pay. Much depended upon which party got in the

first blow. In fact, if the guns and money reached the town before the

rebels knew they were landed, Kit thought the president's chance of

winning was good. All the same, he imagined that Adam, whom the doctor

had forbidden to get up, would run a dangerous risk.

At dusk a few barefooted soldiers paraded on the terrace, with two mules

and three or four peons. Since it was impossible to evade the

watchfulness of Galdar's spies, Adam had resolved to set off openly and

not to give them a hint that his journey had an important object by

trying to hide it. He mounted awkwardly, with an obvious effort, and when

he was in the saddle set his lips for a moment or two. Then he turned to

Alvarez and smiled.

"I'm not a back-number yet, but it's lucky the opposition don't know how

hard it was for me to get up."

Alvarez made a sign of understanding. "You must dismount as soon as

possible. You are very staunch, my friend."

"I've got to make good. If everything is fixed, we'll pull out."

"_Adios, señores_," said Alvarez, taking off his hat. "Much

depends on you."

Somebody gave an order, there was a rattle of thrown-up rifles, a patter

of naked feet, and the party moved away. Kit, turning after a few

moments, looked back. He saw the long, straight building, pierced here

and there by lights, rise against the orange sky, and the president's

tall figure, conspicuous in white clothes, in front of the arch. His

attendants had vanished, he stood motionless, as if brooding, and Kit

thought he looked pathetic and lonely. He afterwards remembered his

glance at the old presidio.

They rode down a hot street. The moon had not risen and the place was

dark except for the feeble gleam of an oil-lamp at a corner. The clatter

of the mules' feet on the uneven stones echoed along the walls, and here

and there indistinct figures looked out from shadowy doors. For the most

part, the watchers let them pass in silence, and although Kit imagined

news of their departure would travel fast, he was glad they passed none

of the lighted cafés and open squares. It would be hard to see who was

riding the mules, and while Galdar's spies would probably find out this

would need time and time was important.

After leaving the streets, they followed the road to the port for some

distance, and then turned into a track that wound along a dark hillside

among clumps of trees. When they entered it, Adam stopped his mule and

got down awkwardly.

"I've had about as much as I can stand for," he remarked, breathing hard.

"Looks as if we had got a start, but I reckon the other lot will try to

track us to the port when the moon gets up."

Then with a sigh of relief he lay down in a hammock the peons had got

ready, and when two of the latter took up the poles they went on again.

On the second night after leaving the presidio, Kit sat on the coaming of

a small steam launch that lurched across the long undulations rolling in

from the Caribbean. It had been blowing fresh, and although the wind had

dropped the swell ran high. When the launch swung up, a vague, hazy smear

rather suggested than indicated land astern; the sea ahead was dark, but

in one place a faint reflection on the sky told that the moon would soon

rise. Although the beach was some distance off, a dull monotonous rumble,

pierced now and then by the clank of the launch's engines, hinted at

breaking surf. The furnace door was open and the red light touched Adam's

face as he sat, supported by a cushion, in a corner of the cockpit. He

looked very haggard and Kit thought him the worse for his journey.

"The light's in my eyes, but there was nothing on the skyline a minute or

two ago," Kit remarked. "It will be awkward if Mayne doesn't get across.

You seem persuaded he'll come."

"I know he'd start. We can't tell what may have happened afterwards and

there was more wind than I liked. He'll be here on time, if he's been

able to keep the old boat off the ground."

"Time is getting short. I expect the rebels have found out we're not at

the port and Galdar will have the road watched when the news gets to the

town. It might pay him to risk forcing a conflict if he could seize the

convoy, and I'll feel happier when the guns and money are off our hands.

It will be the president's business to look after them then."

"That's so," Adam agreed. "Our part of the job's to land the goods and

it's unlucky the tides are small. There won't be much water on the

shoals and although we'll have an extra few inches tomorrow, I don't

want Mayne to wait."

Kit pondered, for he had taken some soundings when coming out. They

were probably not correct, because the launch had rolled among the

white combers that swept the shoals while he used the lead, but the

average depth was about the steamer's draught in her usual trim. Mayne,

however, ought to know what depth to expect, and Kit hoped he had

loaded the vessel to correspond. By and by the mulatto fireman shut the

furnace door, the puzzling light was cut off, and Kit searched the

horizon. For some minutes, he saw nothing; and then a trail of red fire

soared into the sky.

"He's brought her across," said Adam. "Get our rocket off."

The rocket swept up in a wide curve and burst into crimson lights. After

this there was darkness for a time until an indistinct black object

appeared against the brightening sky. Then the launch sank back into the

trough, where the gloom was only broken by the glimmer of the

phosphorescence that spangled the water. When she swung up on the top of

the next swell the steamer was plainer and Kit blew the whistle as he

changed their course.

When the moon rose slowly out of the sea he stopped the clanking engine

and the launch reeled up and down, some fifty yards off the steamer. The

_Rio Negro _carried no lights, but the phosphorescence shone upon her wet

plates as she rolled them out of the water. Her side rose high and black,

and then sank until her rail was nearly level with the spangled foam.

Indistinct figures scrambled about her deck, and when Kit sheered the

launch in, her ladder went down with a rattle. A half-breed on board the

launch caught it with his boat hook, and Adam stood at the bow, waiting

for a chance to jump upon the narrow platform that lurched up above him

and then plunged into the sea. Kit felt anxious. He did not think Adam

was equal to the effort and dreaded the consequences of the shock if he

missed and fell.

"Stand by!" he shouted to the seaman on the ladder when the _Rio Negro_

steadied after a violent roll; and then touched Adam. "Now; before she

goes back!"

Adam, jumping awkwardly, seized the seaman's hand, and Kit, leaning out,

pushed him on to the platform as it began to sink. Then he jumped and

coming down in a foot or two of water helped Adam to the deck. Mayne met

them at the gangway and took them to his room, where Adam sat down and

gasped. When Mayne poured out some liquor he clutched the glass with a

shaking hand. After he drained it he was silent for a moment or two; and

then asked in a strained voice: "Have you brought the goods?"

"Got them all. We hadn't a nice trip. Don't know how Finlay kept her

going and I thought I'd lost her on Tortillas reef; but we can talk about

that afterwards."

Adam made a sign of satisfaction and leaned back feebly. "It's some

relief to know the goods are here."

"Finlay can drive her seven knots and has plenty steam," Mayne said to

Kit. "I'm bothered about the water; there won't be too much."

Kit asked the vessel's draught and looked thoughtful when he heard

what it was.

"I can't guarantee my soundings, but imagine she won't float across and

an ugly sea is running on the bar."

"She'll certainly hit the bottom and the chances are she hits it hard,"

Mayne remarked when Kit told him the depth he had got. "I expect, too,

the mist will drift off from the mangroves with the land-breeze and hide

our marks." He paused and glanced at Adam, who leaned back in a corner

with his eyes half shut.

"But I reckon we have got to take her in?"

"Yes," said Adam dully. "Leave me alone; you can fix things with Kit."

Mayne beckoned Kit and they went to the bridge. The moon had risen and

threw a belt of silver light across the sea, but it was a half moon and

would not help them much. Ahead, in the distance, gray haze obscured the

water, and the dull roar that came out of the mist had become distinct.

Mayne rang his telegraph to reduce the speed.

"So far as I can reckon, it won't be high-water for most two hours, and

on this coast you can't calculate just how much the tide will rise.

There's going to be trouble if we find it shoaler than we expect and I

had plenty trouble coming along. Finlay could hardly drive her four knots

in last night's breeze and the current put us on Tortillas reef. She

stopped there twenty minutes, jambed down on her bilge while the sea came

on board."

Kit noted two boats that had obviously been damaged while the steamer

hammered on the reef, and the white crust of salt on the funnel; but

Mayne resumed: "Say, the old man looks shaky; never seen him like that.

You want to get him home."

"He won't go. However, he's rather worse tonight. I think he was anxious

about your turning up in time to catch the tide. The journey tried him

and now a reaction has begun."

"Well, I allow there's not much use in arguing if he means to stay; but

he needn't have bothered about my getting across. When the orders came, I

knew I had to bring her or pile her up. What Askew says goes."

They were silent for a time while the _Rio Negro_, with engines throbbing

slowly, crept towards the coast. The land breeze brought off a steamy

heat and a sour smell. The long undulations were wrinkled by small waves,

and a thin low haze that obscured the moon spread across the water. Kit,

looking up now and then, could see the mastheads swing across the sky.

There was, however, nothing to be seen ahead but a gray line that moved

back as the steamer went on.

"It's sure a blamed bad night for our job," Mayne remarked as he gazed

towards the hidden land. "I'm glad I told your dagos to burn a flare when

they hit the channel."

Kit said nothing. The launch had vanished, and there was no guiding light

in the mist. The turmoil of the surf had got louder and rang through the

dark like the roar of a heavy train. Presently Mayne ordered a sounding

to be taken and looked at Kit when the leadsman called the depth.

"A foot less than we reckoned, and there won't be much rise. I don't like

it, Mr. Askew, and if my employer was not your uncle, I'd heave the old

boat round."

Kit nodded sympathetically. He felt he hated the smothering haze that

rolled in front and hid the dangers, but they must go on and trust to

luck. He knew Adam's plans and no arguments would shake his resolve. Half

an hour later a twinkle broke out some distance ahead and Mayne rang his

telegraph.

"I'm thankful for that, anyhow," he remarked. "We'll let her go, but I

have my doubts about what will happen next."

The throb of engines quickened, the gurgle of water got louder at the

bows, and the _Rio Negro_, lurching sharply, went shorewards with tide

and swell. The twinkle vanished and reappeared, to starboard now, and

chains rattled as the quartermaster pulled round the wheel. Then the

light faded and they were left without a guide in the puzzling haze. Ten

minutes afterwards there was a heavy shock, and a rush of foam swept the

rail as the steamer listed down. She lifted and struck again with a jar

that tried Kit's nerve. A hoarse shout came from the forecastle and men

ran about the slanted deck as a frothing sea rolled on board. Mayne,

clutching his telegraph, beckoned Kit.

"Bring Mr. Askew up. He's got to tell me what I am to do."

Kit met Adam clumsily climbing the ladder and when he helped him to

the bridge Mayne remarked: "She's on the tongue shoal. Don't know if I

can back her off and steam out to deep water, but, if you consent, I

want to try."

"I won't consent," said Adam. "We're going in! What's that light to

starboard?"

"The launch; she's in the channel. I doubt if there's water enough for

us, if we can get there."

"Then, shove her across the sand or let her go to bits."

Mayne rang the telegraph and touched his cap. "Very well! She's your

ship, and we have some sound boats left."

For the next ten minutes Kit clung to the bridge. He wanted to help Adam

into the pilot-house, but the old man waved him off. Clouds of spray

swept the vessel and made it hard to see her rail where the white combers

leaped. Now and then one broke on board and poured in a foaming torrent

across the slanted deck; she trembled horribly as she struck the sand. It

looked as if she were driving sideways across the shoal, but the flare on

the launch had gone out and Kit doubted if Mayne knew where he was.

Sometimes the tall, black forecastle swung in a quarter-circle;

sometimes the stern went round. For the most part, however, she lay with

her side to the rollers and it was plain that the struggle could not

last long. If they did not get off in a few minutes, rivets would smash

and butts open, and one must take one's chances in the boats. Two were

damaged, but others might be launched, and Kit was relieved to note that

two or three deck-hands moved about as if engaged in clearing the

davit-tackles. He sympathized with the men, although he did not think

Mayne had given them orders.

In the meantime, Adam clung to the rails, swaying when the bridge

slanted, but looking unmoved, and Kit knew that so long as the _Rio

Negro's_ engines turned he would go on. It was not for nothing men called

him the Buccaneer, and now that he was staking his life and fortune on a

hazardous chance there was something daunting about his grim resolve.

A sea rolled up astern and buried the poop. Kit felt the steamer lift

and turn, as if on a pivot at the middle of her length. The after-deck

was full of water, but the bows were high and going round, and he was

conscious of a curious shiver that ran through the straining hull as she

shook herself free from the sand. She crawled forward, stopped, and

moved again with a staggering lurch. The next sea swept her on, but she

did not strike, and after a few moments Kit knew she had crossed the top

of the shoal.

Her whistle shrieked above the turmoil of the sea, a light blinked in

the spray, and she lurched on before the tumbling combers. By and by the

water got smooth and an indistinct dark mass grew out of the mist.

Mayne, who was pacing up and down his bridge, stopped near Kit with a

reckless laugh.

"This is the kind of navigation they break skippers for! If those are the

mangroves on False Point, I may take her in; if they're not, we'll make a

hole in the forest."