Harding said nothing, and the two sat silent awhile. There were few
guests in the "Four Nations" just then, and only a faint murmur rose
from the plaza beyond the pink-washed walls. Somebody, however, was
singing, and now and then a soft tinkle of guitars came musically
through the stillness with the chorus of the "Campanadas." Nettie
Harding listened vacantly, while glancing up at the blue above she
wondered whether the same clear stars shone down on a certain naval
officer, and if he thought of her as the big warship rolled across the
wastes of the Pacific. It was very still, and cool, and peaceful, and
she lay, languidly content to dream, in the cane chair, until she
straightened herself with a little gasp as the ringing of a rifle came
sudden and portentous out of the darkness. It was followed by a crash of
firing, and Harding looked up sharply.
"Winchesters--but those are Spanish rifles now!" he said. "It seems the
Insurgents must have got in behind the pickets."
"The Insurgents!" said the girl, with a shiver.
Harding rose, and stood looking down upon her curiously grave in face.
"This is a thing I never expected. Morales told me there wasn't a rebel
within ten leagues of us; but he has men enough to whip them off," he
said. "Put on a jacket, Nettie. We can see what is going on from the
roof."
In another minute they stood looking down over the low parapet into the
shadowy plaza. There was not a light in it now, but through the ringing
of the bugles there rose a confused clamor and the patter of running
feet, and Nettie Harding could dimly see clusters of citizens apparently
making the best pace they could towards the calle that led out of Santa
Marta. As she watched a line of figures broke through them and by their
rhythmic tramp she guessed that these were soldiery. Then a fresh mob of
citizens poured into the plaza, and the rifles crashed again.
"What does it mean?" she asked.
Harding, stooping over the parapet, listened a moment to the confused
voices, and then shook his head. "I'm afraid it's the Sin Verguenza
coming," he said. "They have a little account against Santa Marta, and I
wouldn't like to be Morales when they send in the bill."
His attitude betokened strained attention, and the girl fancied he was
endeavoring to ascertain how the troops had fared. Then the clamor grew
suddenly louder, and she grasped his arm.
"Oh!" she said. "They are in the town!"
"Yes," said Harding curtly, "I guess they are. The sooner we leave them
and the Santa Martans to it the better! Get your little trinkets
together, Nettie; I'll have the mules we hired ready inside five
minutes."
He plunged down the stairway, burst through the negroes already
clamoring about the stable, and dragged the mules out. There was a crowd
in the archway leading out of the patio when the girl joined him.
"We can't mount here," he said. "Keep close behind me until we make the
plaza."
It was accomplished with difficulty, but the men who pressed upon them
saw the glinting pistol; and Nettie Harding stood ready to mount in the
plaza when a mob of fugitives surged about them. There was a crash of
riflery very close at hand, the mule plunged, and she reeled backwards
with a little cry. For a moment she felt her father's grasp upon her
shoulder, then the mules seemed to vanish and Harding with them, and she
was driven forward amidst the press. A voice she recognized was shouting
a few yards away, but it ceased suddenly, and she was jostled this way
and that with the little breath she had left almost crushed out of her.
She could only wove as the crowd did, and it bore her onward into a dark
calle, where screaming women were pouring from the doorways, and here
and there a pale light shone down upon the terrified faces about her,
but there was no sign of Harding anywhere.
She could never remember how long this lasted; but by and by the crowd
seemed to melt away where two or three streets branched off from a
smaller plaza, and she stood still, breathless, striving to draw the
thin jacket, whose buttons had been torn away, over the trinkets she had
hastily clasped into her bodice and cast about her neck. Then the
venomous clanging of rifles commenced again, and when something zip-
zapped along the stones and struck the white walls with a curious
splashing sound she turned to run and saw a dusky archway in front of
her. Stumbling into it, she flung back the great leather curtains, and
found herself in a little church. It smelt of stale incense, and a few
pale lights that only intensified the darkness blinked here and there;
but she could hear low rustlings which seemed to indicate that others
had taken refuge in it, and shrank into a corner.
She fancied she spent at least an hour in the church, listening with
apprehension to the clamor that broke out and sank again outside. There
were murmurs inside the building, and an occasional rustling of the
leather curtains, but this told her nothing; and at last, unable to bear
the suspense any longer, she moved softly towards the door. The town was
almost silent when she reached it, and there was a light burning in what
appeared to be a wine shop across the plaza. She could also hear
laughter as well as the tinkle of a guitar; and as this did not indicate
fear she decided to enter the shop and endeavor to hire somebody to
search for her father. Unfortunately, however, she did not remember a
saying common in Spain respecting the fondness of evil-livers for the
sound of church bells.
She flitted across the plaza without molestation, and then stopped in
front of a building which bore a scroll announcing that it was a cafe. A
blaze of light shone out from it, and looking in between the wooden
pillars she could see the little tables and wine barricas. Then she
gasped, for in place of reputable citizens the tables were occupied by
women with powdered faces in cheap bravery and ragged men with rifles
slung behind them. The light also showed her standing white in face with
torn garments and the jewels sparkling at her neck to the revellers; and
a man of dusky skin, with a machete hanging at his belt, sprang up with
a shout.
There was a burst of laughter, and Nettie Harding fled, with the patter
of several pairs of feet growing louder behind her, until two men came
forward to meet her. They, however, let her pass; there was an
altercation, and she stood still, trembling, when a cry in English
reached her. Then she saw three or four dim figures moving back towards
the cafe and the two men coming towards her. One of them also raised a
hand to his big shapeless hat.
"I scarcely think they will trouble you any more," he said in Castilian,
which Nettie could understand.
She said nothing for a moment, but stood still looking at the men, and
wondering whether they could be trusted. She could, however, see very
little of them, and found a difficulty in expressing herself in
Castilian.
"Can you tell me whether the Hotel Cuatro Naciones is safe?" she asked
in faltering English. "I lost my companion leaving it."
"I scarcely think it is," said one of the men, whose accentuation was
unmistakably English. "You were staying there?"
"Yes," said Nettie. "My father was separated from me by the crowd."
One of the men said something she did not hear to his comrade, while
just then a cry of alarm came out of the darkness, and was followed by a
rush of feet. Then the man who had spoken turned to her again.
"I'm afraid you can't stay here," he said, with evident perplexity.
As he spoke a crowd of shadowy men surged about them, but he called out
angrily in Castilian, and before she quite realized what he was doing
drew the girl's hand beneath his arm. Then there was laughter and a
shout: "Excuses, Don Bernardino. Pass on, comrades!"
Nettie would have snatched her hand free, but the man held it fast with
a little warning pressure, and she went on with him, partly because his
voice had been deferential and puzzlingly familiar, and also because it
was evident that she could not get away. They went up a calle, where
another band of roysterers came clamoring to meet them, until the man
led her under an archway where a lamp was burning. Then he gravely
dropped her hand, and Nettie gasped as she stared at him. He was burned
to the color of coffee, his shoes were burst, and his garments, which
had evidently never been intended to fit him, were mostly rags, but his
face reminded her of the man she had met on board the "Aurania."
"It is perhaps not astonishing that you don't seem to recognize me, Miss
Harding," he said. "You have no idea where your father can have gone
to?"
"No," said the girl, with a little tremor of relief. "He must be in the
town, and I would be very grateful if you could take me to him. Of
course, I know you now."
"Is your father Cyrus Harding--Sugar Harding--of New York?" the other man
broke in.
"Yes," said the girl, and the man drew his comrade aside.
"You and I have got to see her through, and your quarters would be the
safest place," he said.
Appleby stared at him as he asked, "Have you taken leave of your senses,
Harper?"
"No," said his companion dryly. "I guess they're where they are of most
use to me. Everybody's entitled to what he can pick up to-night, and
there are not many of the Sin Verguenza would dispute your claim. It's
beginning to strike you?"
"I hope it will not strike Miss Harding too," said Appleby, whose face
flushed. "Still, I can think of nothing else."
Then he went back slowly to where the girl was standing.
"I fancy I can find you shelter if you will trust yourself to me; and
when your father asks any of my men about you they will send him to
you," he said. "It is, however, necessary that you should take my arm."
Nettie flashed a swift glance at him, but the man was regarding her
steadily with gravely sympathetic eyes, and it was with a curious
intuitive confidence she moved away with him. They passed bands of
roysterers and houses with shattered doors, and finally entered a patio
littered with furniture. An olive-faced man with a rifle stood on guard
in it, and the color swept into the girl's face as she saw his grin; but
he let them pass, and Appleby went on, moving stiffly, and very grim in
face, up a stairway that led to a veranda. There he took down a lantern
that hung on a lattice, and gave it the girl as he pointed to a door.
"There is a strong bolt inside," he said in a curiously even voice. "I
do not know of any other place in Santa Marta where you would be as safe
to-night."
Nettie turned with a little shiver, and looked down into the patio.
There were lights behind most of the lattices, and she could hear loud
laughter and the clink of glasses, while here and there ragged figures
with rifles showed up on the veranda. Then she straightened herself with
an effort and looked steadily at Appleby. He stood wearily before her,
very ragged, and very disreputable as far as appearance went, but he did
not avoid her gaze.
"Where am I?" she asked, with a faint tremor in her voice.
"I believe this was the Alcalde's house. It is occupied by the Insurgent
leaders now."
"Then," said the girl, with a little gasp, "why did you bring me here?"
"I can escort you back to the plaza if you wish it," said Appleby
quietly. "Still, you would be running serious risks, and I believe I can
answer for your security here. You see, I am an officer of the Sin
Verguenza."
Nettie gasped again, and once more shot a swift glance at him. Appleby
was standing very still, and save for the weariness in it his face was
expressionless. Then without a word she turned and went into the room,
while Harper smiled softly when he heard the bolt shot home. The room,
she found, was evidently a sleeping chamber, for there was a cheap iron
bedstead in it, and articles of male attire were scattered about the
floor. From the quantity of them, and the manner in which they were
lying, it also appeared that somebody had been endeavoring to ascertain
which would fit him. Then Nettie, remembering the rags the man wore, sat
down somewhat limply with burning cheeks in the single chair, until a
little burst of meaningless laughter that was tinged with hysteria shook
her.
In the meanwhile Appleby dropped into a cane chair further along the
veranda and laid his rifle across his knees. "My head's aching, and I
can't see quite straight," he said. "See if you can get me a little wine
somewhere, Harper. Then you had better go along and find out what those
rascals of mine are after, and if anybody has seen Harding."
Harper shook his head. "I guess I've had 'bout enough of them for one
night, and if any indignant citizen slips a knife into one of them it's
not going to be a great loss to anybody," he said. "You know who that
girl is?"
"Miss Nettie Harding. I met her on the 'Aurania' coming out."
Harper smiled. "Well," he said reflectively, "it's not every day one of
the Sin Verguenza is honored with the custody of a young woman who lives
in one of the smartest houses on the Hudson. It strikes me there's money
in the thing, and I'm going to stop right here, and be handy when Sugar
Harding comes along, though I don't know that he'd think much of me as a
chaperon in this outfit."
"Get me some wine," said Appleby, while the bronze deepened in his
forehead. "I have got to keep awake, and don't feel inclined for any
foolery."
Harper went away chuckling, and Appleby sat still. The blow he had
received in the attack had shaken him, and he had spent that day and
most of the night before it in forced marching. It was some time before
Harper returned, and in the meanwhile the Captain Maccario came up the
stairway. He stopped in front of Appleby, and shrugged his shoulders
expressively.
"The senorita is disdainful, then?" he said.
Appleby devoutly hoped Miss Harding did not understand Castilian, and
attempted no explanation. He had more than a suspicion that it would not
be credited, but his face was a trifle grim when he looked up at his
comrade.
"There are times when a wise man asks no questions, my friend," he said.
"If any one tries to get into the room I have taken to-night he will be
sorry."
Maccario, who was an easy-going Andalusian, laughed somewhat
significantly, and Appleby, glancing at the half-opened lattice,
wondered with unpleasant misgivings whether Miss Harding had heard him.
As it happened, she had, and clenched her hands as she listened. Still,
even then she remembered that the man who had brought her there had said
there was no place in Santa Marta where she would be more secure. It
seemed a bold assertion, but she felt that it could be credited.
"Well," said the Spaniard, whose eyes still twinkled, "we march at
sunrise, and there are richer prizes than pretty faces to be picked up
to-night. The others are busy collecting them. Is it wise to lose one's
chances for a senorita who is unsympathetic?"
The humorous Maccario came very nearly receiving a painful astonishment
just then, but by an effort Appleby kept his temper. "My money is my
friend's, but not my affairs," he said. "Tell your men if they can find
an American with blue eyes to bring him here. It will be worth their
while."
Maccario tossed a handful of cigars into his comrade's knees. "The
Colonel Morales smokes good tobacco, and they were his. If we find the
American we will send him to you. It is by misfortune we do not find the
Colonel Morales."
He went away, and by and by Harper came back with a flask of red wine
and a roll of matting, which he spread out at the top of the stairway.
"I'm pretty big, and anybody who treads on me will get a little
surprise," he said. "You have just got to say 'Gunboat' if you want me."
He was apparently asleep in five minutes, but Appleby lay motionless in
his chair with every sense alert. The laughter and hum of voices had
died away, and only an occasional hoarse shouting rose from the town.
His eyes were fixed on the patio, and his hands, which were hard and
brown, clenched on the rifle; but his thoughts were far away in a garden
where the red beech leaves strewed the velvet grass in peaceful England,
and it was not Nettie Harding's blue eyes, but Violet Wayne's calm gray
ones that seemed to look into his. Harper's words by the camp fire were
bearing fruit, and he was ready to admit now that it was a woman who had
sent him there. There was also satisfaction in the thought that he was
serving her, which was the most he could look for, since his part was to
give and not expect, but he felt that she would approve of what he was
doing then. So the time slipped by; while Nettie Harding, still sitting
behind the lattice, now and then raised her head and looked at him. His
attitude betokened his watchfulness, and with a little sigh of relief
she sank back into her chair again. That ragged figure with the grim,
brown face seemed an adequate barrier between her and whatever could
threaten her.
At last there was a trampling below, and several dusky men staggering
suggestively came up the stairway. The girl heard the sound, and
shivered as she watched them, until a gaunt figure rose up from beneath
their feet. Then they stopped, and one of them fell down the steps and
reeled with a crash against a pillar at the bottom.
"You can stop there. There is plenty of room in the stable," said a
voice; and when Appleby flung up a hand commandingly the men went away,
and there was quietness again.
How long it lasted Nettie did not know, for, though she had no intention
of doing so, she went to sleep, and did not hear a man come up the
stairway. He had a lean face and keen blue eyes, but there was tense
anxiety in them now. Appleby, who rose up, signed Harper to step aside,
and in another moment the two men stood face to face--one of them dusty
and worn and ragged, the other in what had been a few hours earlier
immaculate dress.
"Where is my daughter?" said the latter. "There's five hundred dollars
for any one who will bring her to me."