The distance from Canalejos to San Geronimo is much greater following
the meanders of the Rio Negro than the direct route across the llanos.
When dawn whitened over the river, on the morning after the flight of
the drummer and the Spanish girl, Strawbridge expected hourly to see
the campaniles of San Geronimo appear above the horizon. It was his
plan, when he came in sight of the city, to wait until night before
he attempted to pass in the canoe. He reasoned that Saturnino would
telegraph to San Geronimo and order their arrest and imprisonment.
So, as the two fugitives floated down the great muddy flood, they
peered through the beating sunshine and the dancing glare from the
water, in order to see and be warned by the first glimpse of the
distant city. But such a fulgor lay over the water that toward the
middle of the morning they were hardly able to see the reeds that
marched down to the riverside, or the green parrots that passed over
the canoe in great flocks and filled the sky with a harsh screaming.
The river stretched on, mile after mile, a vast moving plane that
banished the shores to level lines almost at the horizon. At last
Strawbridge came to paddle close to one shore, in order that their tiny
canoe might not be utterly lost amid such an immensity. As they clung
closely to the left or easterly bank they passed, in the afternoon,
what appeared to be the mouth of a small tributary river. Along its
banks were a scattering of deserted huts, stakes with rusting chains
fastened to them, a stockade of reeds daubed with mud, two or three
adobe ovens such as the peons use. Strawbridge looked curiously at
the abandoned site, and presently he realized that he was passing one
of the branches that would have formed a part of General Fombombo's
great system of canals. The work lay abandoned in a furnace of heat;
the conscripted "reds" were gone. The only evidences of life were
the crocodiles which had taken possession of the waterway and sunned
themselves along its sandy rim.
As the man and the woman floated past they looked at the intake and the
empty camp until it grew small in the distance and at last melted into
the dancing horizon. What the Spanish girl thought as she looked at
this ruinous fragment of her husband's great dream, Strawbridge did not
know, nor did he dare to ask.
This long reach of water, wrought by the fettered "reds," somehow made
Strawbridge, as he floated past it in his little canoe, feel small
and uncertain of himself. It brought to his mind keenly the general,
his restless planning; working, gathering gold, attacking cities,
conscripting labor for vast projects; and now he was gone and this
mighty fragment of his work was a harbor for reptiles. Seen from this
perspective, the fact that the dictator had abandoned Dolores, who did
not love him, for peon girls who did, no longer appeared the high crime
which the American had held most harshly against him. It occurred to
Strawbridge that there must have been sides to the general which he had
missed, or but dimly apprehended.
The drummer's thoughts swung away from the general, to the long line of
dictators who had arisen and oppressed Rio Negro. Each tyrant no sooner
gained power than immediately he fell into some madness peculiar to
himself.
Strawbridge wondered why this was so. Heretofore he had thought such
tyranny and oppression arose out of sheer wickedness, but now, looking
back on the life of the general, he doubted this judgment. The trend
of Fombombo's plans had always been toward some great good for his
state. But his efforts, it seemed to Strawbridge, were unbusinesslike.
He made a gesture toward projects far beyond his resources. His effort
to outstrip his physical resources forced him to conscript the "reds."
It was his sensitiveness to any criticism of his unbusinesslike policy
that caused him to imprison every critic of his methods. Lack of
business acumen was the basic weakness which led to the dictator's
tyrannies and to his final downfall.
As Strawbridge sat in the canoe, brooding over it, a strange thought
came to him that perhaps all righteousness of conduct was at last
resolvable to dollars and cents.
He mused over this curious theory. Gumersindo had told him some of the
history of Spain, and all the time the negro editor was relating the
expulsion of the Moors and the Jews from the peninsula, the drummer
kept thinking not of any abstract injustice of the banishment but of
the extraordinarily bad business methods the Spanish monarch used.
Likewise, he could not help thinking that while the Spanish Inquisition
struck a fine attitude before Heaven, it cut a very poor figure on
Exchange.
And now he thought that just as Spain had suffered from lack of
business, Venezuela, her colony, had inherited the same curse. The
Venezuelans placed religion before business, they placed family pride
before business, they placed pleasure before business. It seemed to him
that they placed the smallest before the greatest.
Heretofore, when Strawbridge's Venezuelan friends had twitted the
American with possessing "monetary morals," the drummer was wounded and
inclined to take offense at the qualification. Now, as he thought about
it more steadily, it dawned on him that the ability to sift conduct
down to its money value was about the only universal standard of
righteousness that the world would ever know. This curious conclusion
settled many interrogations in the drummer's mind, and brought to him a
kind of peace.
Strawbridge felt a man's impulse to share his thoughts with the señora.
He glanced up at her, with his theory on the tip of his tongue, but
she seemed absorbed in her own musings. As he looked at her through
the glare of sunshine, his instinct warned him that he would better
not attempt it. It was very precious to him, but it would not be very
precious to her. Indeed, as he looked at her, he began to realize that
she would never understand it; that she was born on the wrong side of
the world ever to understand just these thoughts.
She looked very dear and lovable.
The fugitives did not reach San Geronimo until the third night
following their flight. They approached the city in the darkness, as
they had planned, but to their surprise and dismay, they saw hundreds
of lights moving over the face of the water. From afar off these lights
looked like a field of fireflies, but presently they developed into
native torches, such as the Orinoco Indians use in hunting alligators
at night.
The man and the woman were terrified, and in whispers discussed what
course they could pursue. Dolores suggested that they go ashore on
the other side of the river and walk down past the town. This was
impossible because the city lay in the junction of the Rio Negro and
the Orinoco. They would be caught in this V-shaped Mesopotamia, with
nowhere to walk except back up the Orinoco. Moreover, any walking at
all in such a pestilential country would mean a painful and lingering
death for Dolores. Nor was the drummer in any degree a woodsman. He
always lost his direction in the open.
It seemed to Strawbridge that their only possible hope was to reach one
of the searching canoes and bribe the owner into running them through
the blockade. He knew a report of his imaginary wealth had been spread
among the peons, and now he hoped by wide promises to slip through
Coronel Saturnino's fleet.
He veered his canoe in the darkness and began paddling slowly toward
one of the lights. It seemed an ironic thing that freedom, the right
to a home and to Dolores should lie just a quarter of a mile beyond
those patrolling torches. To accomplish his object, he had scarcely a
gambler's chance. Saturnino, sitting in his study in San Geronimo, had
worked out every possible combination which Strawbridge could attempt.
Now this diapering of lights moving against the darkness was one of his
checks.
In the midst of his thoughts, Strawbridge became aware that half a
dozen or more lights were bearing down on his canoe. The drummer, in
dismay, stopped paddling. He had thought to steal silently up to one of
the canoes, unseen by the others, and quietly make his compact with the
canoeist to assist him through the blockade. Now, with dozens of boats
bearing down on him from every direction, bribery was impossible. He
sat staring at the gathering torches, with a profound sinking of the
heart. By no possibility could he, a one-handed man, race away from the
Indians.
The Spanish girl moved to him.
"Oh, dear Tomas!" she whispered, "are we going to be lost, after all!"
Her helplessness moved the drummer.
"I suppose talking to him, pleading with him, begging him for the love
of humanity to let you go--"
Dolores gave his hand a pressure.
"No, we must not despair. I know the sweet Virgin will save us. She
would not do so much and then let us be lost." The girl lifted her
white face toward the stars and began murmuring her prayers.
The drummer looked at her with a profound pity and tenderness. He
knew it would indeed require a miracle to save her now. He swiftly
considered what he could do. There was only one thing. He could follow
her to Canalejos, and then, when Saturnino had taken her into the
palace and wearied of her ... then....
The drummer wondered whether he himself could keep so long and
humiliating a vigil. It seemed to him that he could; indeed, it seemed
the only thing possible for him to do. Ever again to make a gesture of
deserting her was an impossible thing for Thomas Strawbridge. Among all
the women in the world she alone was for him; she was a very part of
himself.
He put his arms around her.
"Listen, Dolores," he whispered solemnly: "no matter what comes, as
long as I have life I will follow you; no matter what happens, I will
wait for you." He kissed her gently on the cheek and pressed her face
to his. "I will not forsake you, Dolores...."
Amid his murmuring came a shout across the water:
"_Hola, Señor Americano!_ Is that _Señor Americano! Canastos, hombre!_
you are wanted!"
Strawbridge stood up in the canoe.
"Ho, yes!" he shouted loudly. "Come ahead! I am the American!"
Canoes were gathering now from every direction, and their lights began
to illuminate his own boat; still, he could see little of the gathering
flotilla, for each torch was set in front of a tin reflector and flung
all its light forward. From the dimly seen figures came a voice, saying:
"An order from Canalejos, señor. We are to detain you and _la señora_!"
"Yes, I had supposed so."
A pause, then the voice said:
"We have been watching for you day and night, señor."
The American wearied instantly of this polite Spanish circumlocution.
"Oh, well! Now that you've got us what are you going to do with us?"
"If you will accompany me to my ship, señor! Perhaps you recognize me:
we had a very pleasant afternoon together once. I am Captain Vargas of
the _Concepcion Inmaculada_." He twisted the light about in his boat
and exhibited not a canoe but himself and a number of peon oarsmen, in
a jolly-boat.
Strawbridge looked at his good-natured face. That he should have fallen
in with this captain who would have been so easily bribed, amid a
crowd where such bribing was impossible, was the last touch of ironic
fortune. It filled him with such bitterness that he ran his tongue
about his mouth as if the flavor were on his palate.
"Yes, I remember you very well. So you are still here?"
"That is true, but I sail at once. I am in the Rio Negran navy now,
both me and my _Concepcion Inmaculada_. I am a captain. I am a captain
in the insurgent navy."
It was true. Captain Vargas wore a blue coat trimmed with much gold
braid. Coronel Saturnino had caught him through his vanity.
A rope had been tossed over the prow of the canoe, and now the whole
fleet of small boats approached the lights of a schooner that lay in
the harbor of San Geronimo. This was the old schooner _Concepcion
Inmaculada_, now the solitary ship in the insurgent navy. Beyond the
black rigging of the ship, Strawbridge could see the silhouettes of
the long row of palms which stood on the waterfront. The schooner lay
exactly where the drummer had seen her after the battle of San Geronimo.
The small boats pulled up alongside, and the captain and the captives
went on board. The old tub evidently had been laded during the interim,
for now she smelled strongly of balata and tonka-beans.
Captain Vargas led the way briskly across decks and down the little
hatchway into the cabin. Two oil lamps lighted this place and when the
captain stepped into it the gold braid on his new uniform shone more
brightly than ever. He went over to the ship's chest, opened it, and
drew out an envelop.
"I have a writ here for you, Señor Strawbridge," he explained politely.
"It was very necessary to intercept you; that is why all San Geronimo
turned out to be sure you were brought in."
"Yes. You seemed enthusiastic."
Captain Vargas smiled politely. He was a little more polite, a little
stiffer, and not quite so friendly now that he was in a uniform.
"Now, if the señora will have that chair.... She must be weary." He
drew about a chair and assisted her to it, with elaborate courtesy.
Vargas then bowed again and handed the envelop to the drummer. It was
a government official envelop with a large seal. The American opened
it, moistened his lips, then held it under the light of an oil lamp and
read:
Señor Tomas Strawbridge,
Late of Canalejos, Rio Negro.
_Excellentissimo Señor_:
You are hereby instructed to proceed immediately to Rio de
Janeiro with the _Concepcion Inmaculada_, taking full command of
her cargo of balata and tonka-beans, also of the gold coin and
specie on board, as set forth in the ship's manifest. Deliver
this cargo to the consignee in Rio Janeiro, and with the proceeds
therefor purchase the arms and ammunition as heretofore set out
in a contract entered into by the government of Rio Negro of the
first part and the Orion Arms Corporation of the second part.
This former contract is hereby fully validated by the newly
established government of Rio Negro. I have the honor to be, _al
mas excellentissimo señor, su muy humilde servidor_,
DELGOA,
_Minister of War_.
This surprising letter had a postscript written in a different, and,
indeed, in an almost illegible hand. Its extraordinarily bad Spanish
baffled the drummer for several minutes, but at length he made out:
My devoted _camarado_: You left Canalejos to attend to some
other detail of your gigantic plans, just in the moment of local
victory. However, I saw my opportunity and seized it. The moment
Coronel Saturnino shot down good Father Benicio at the door of
the cathedral, when the father was trying to protect the Señora
Fombombo, that moment I knew Coronel Saturnino had gone too far.
I knew the saints would overthrow such a blasphemous murderer. I
raised the banner of revolt against him. All the peons and half
his own army turned against him at once. I had no difficulty in
capturing him. He is now lodged in La Fortuna, in its vilest cell.
He eats nothing but maggoty bread, and drinks the river water that
seeps into his dungeon. I have him soundly thrashed three times a
day.
Also, I have placed in prison all the palace guards and all the
old government officials and their sympathizers. Be assured none
of them will ever get out, except in sacks. I am determined that
in Rio Negro shall reign liberty, equality, and fraternity. That
is why all aristocrats shall stay in La Fortuna.
All the rooms in the palace are occupied, but Madruja is very ill.
I have also recaptured a large number of "reds" and have set them
to digging the foundation of a magnificent bull-ring.
JUAN LUBITO, EL LIBERTADOR,
_First Constitutional President of the
Free and Independent Republic of Rio Negro_.
* * * * *
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"Although my ancestry is all of New England, I was born in the old town
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_PEACOCK FEATHERS_
The eternal conflict between wealth and love. Jerry, the idealist who
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_THE DIM LANTERN_
The romance of little Jane Barnes who is loved by two men.
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Unusual short stories where Miss Bailey shows her keen knowledge of
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Randy Paine comes back from France to the monotony of every-day
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_CONTRARY MARY_
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_DAUGHTER OF THE SUN_
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Dr. Virginia Page is forced to go with the sheriff on a night journey
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Judith Sanford part owner of a cattle ranch realizes she is being
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Wayne is suspected of killing his brother after a quarrel. Financial
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A reporter sets up housekeeping close to Beatrice's Ranch much to her
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_SIX FEET FOUR_
Beatrice Waverly is robbed of $5,000 and suspicion fastens upon Buck
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No Luck Drennan, a woman hater and sharp of tongue, finds a match in
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