THE night was clear and hot when Appleby sat with Harper in the Cafe
Salamanca looking out upon the plaza at Santa Marta. The big room was
open-fronted, and only divided from the pavement by a row of wooden
pillars and a balustrade. It was also, as usual, crowded with citizens
who assembled there in the evening to discuss politics and the progress
of the campaign, which accounted for the fact that Appleby sat quietly
in a corner with a little glass of wine on the table in front of him. He
realized it was highly desirable that he should obtain some insight into
what was going on, for there was then a growing distrust of American
imperialism which was perhaps not altogether unwarranted among the Cuban
loyalists. Aliens were being watched with a jealous eye, and Appleby,
who had already had difficulties with the petty officials, was aware
that there was little the Administration contemplated that was not known
in the cafes. Most men of Iberian extraction are apt at intrigue, and
since the journals for excellent reasons usually maintained a discreet
reticence popular discontent and factional bitterness found another
vent.
It seemed to him that there was a vague expectancy and uneasiness upon
everybody that evening, for the voices were lower than usual, and here
and there a group sat silent turning over the latest journals from
Spain, though at times a man would express himself with almost
passionate vehemence and then stop abruptly, as though uncertain of his
audience. It was known that American warships had been sighted on the
Cuban coast, and one great vessel was even then lying in Havana harbor,
and the men's dark eyes grew suspicious as they asked what it foretided.
Appleby heard enough to convince him that if he hoped to carry on the
business of the hacienda considerable discretion would be necessary, and
then turned his eyes upon the plaza.
The cazadores' band was playing there, and the patter of feet, swish of
light dresses, jingle of steel, and murmur of voices broke through the
music, for the citizens were as usual taking their evening promenade
with their wives and daughters. The plaza was well lighted, and the
mixture of broadcloth, uniform, white duck, and diaphanous draperies
caught the eye; and Appleby, who had artistic perceptions, found
pleasure in watching the concourse stream through the light that shone
out from the cafe. Grave merchant, portly senora draped in black, with
powdered face, and slim, olive-cheeked senorita went by, smiling not
infrequently over a lifted fan at an officer of cazadores with clinking
sword, or a youthful exquisite from Havana in costly hat of Panama and
toothpick-pointed shoes. Still, even where the press was thickest there
was no jostling, for the assembly was good-humored and characterized by
a distinguished courtesy. The men were Latins, and they could take their
pleasure unconcernedly, though the land lay desolate and strewn with
ashes only a few leagues away. Santa Marta was, for the most part,
loyal, and, in spite of official corruption, and not infrequent abuse of
authority, Spanish domination produced at least an outward decorum and
sense of security in the tropics.
By and by the music stopped, and a murmur seemed to run round the plaza.
It grew louder, and there was a clamor in one of the streets, then a
shout and a bewildering hum of voices broke out. The men in the cafe
rose to their feet, but Appleby, who laid his hand on Harper warningly,
sat still. Something was evidently happening, and he knew the uncertain
temper of the Latins. Then a man who pushed through the crowd sprang
into the cafe flourishing what appeared to be a Havana journal and was
seized by those about the door. A sudden tense silence, which was
heightened by the clamor outside, followed the babel of questions, while
one of the men who had grasped the paper opened it. Then he flung
disjointed sentences at the rest in a voice which was hoarse with
passion and apprehension.
"The American warship sunk at Havana with all her crew!" he said. "No, a
few, it seems, were saved. American suggestions that she was destroyed
by a torpedo insulting to Spain. It is believed to be an explosion in
the magazine. There will be demands for compensation. Attitude of the
Americans unreasonable."
[Illustration: "THE BIG GAUNT AMERICAN AND SLIM LATIN REELED THROUGH THE
CAFE."]
Harper rose up suddenly, a tall, commanding figure, with his face very
grim, and brought a great fist crashing down upon the table.
"Good Lord!" he said hoarsely. "They've sunk the 'Maine'!"
Then striding forward he rent half of the journal from the man who held
it. He thrust it upon Appleby, who followed him, and his face was almost
gray with anger as he waved the rest aside.
"Read it! I can't trust my eyes," he said.
Appleby took the journal, and there was once more silence in the cafe,
for Harper stood with his big hand clenched on the neck of a heavy
decanter while his comrade read aloud in Castilian. The account was
brief, and had evidently been written tactfully, but there were mixed
with its expression of regret vague hints that in case of unwarranted
American demands the Administration would remember what was due to
Spanish dignity.
"It's horrible, Harper! Still, it must have been an accident," he said.
Harper stood very straight, with a blaze in his eyes and the veins on
his forehead swelling.
"No," he said, and his voice rang through the cafe, so that men swung
round and stared at him outside. "The devils sunk her. By the Lord,
we'll whip them off the earth!"
He spoke in English, but his voice and attitude were significant, and a
slim young officer of cazadores rose up at a table close beside him, and
glanced at the rest.
"We shall know how to answer the insolence of these Americans, senores,"
he said, and held up his wine-glass as he turned to Harper. "It is
demanded that you join us--Viva la Espana!"
The table went over, and the glass fell in shivers as Harper sprang.
Next moment a frantic clamor broke out, and he had the officer by the
waist and arm. A brown hand clutched at the sword, but dropped inert
again, and the big gaunt American and slim Latin reeled through the
cafe, overturning seats and tables as they went. Then they fell with a
crash against the balustrade, and, though even Appleby could not quite
understand how his comrade accomplished it, the officer of cazadores was
swung from his feet, and went down full-length upon the pavement
outside. A roar went up from the crowd, but while Appleby, who set his
lips, wondered what the result of Harper's folly would be, two of the
lights went out suddenly, and a hand touched his arm.
"It is not advisable to stay here," a low voice said. "There is a door
at the back. Come with me."
The place was almost dark now, and Appleby contrived to seize Harper's
shoulder and drag him back as the crowd poured in from the plaza. Once
more somebody touched him, and a man overturned a larger table, which
brought down three or four of those who made at them most fiercely,
while in another moment or two he found himself, still clutching Harper,
in a shadowy calle behind the cafe. He turned to thank the two men he
saw beside him, but one ran up the street, and the other, slipping back
into the cafe, slammed the door in his face. Harper stared at him,
gasping.
"Let go of me. I'm going back to kill two or three of them," he said.
Appleby thrust him forward into the street. "You are not while I can
hold you," he said. "It seems to me you have done quite enough!"
Harper turned and glared at him, but Appleby still clutched his shoulder
resolutely, and his face relaxed. "Well," he said more calmly, "I guess
I've hurt more than the feelings of one of them. What did that fellow
shove us out for, anyway?"
"I don't know," said Appleby. "Perhaps he was afraid of their wrecking
the cafe, or he didn't want us hurt. We seem to have more friends than
we are aware of in Santa Marta. It is apparently convenient at times to
be connected with the Sin Verguenza."
Harper, who shook off his anger, followed him down the street, but he
stopped again when they crossed another one that led back to the plaza.
They could see the wide opening, with the white walls that hemmed it in
cutting against the soft indigo of the sky, and hear the confused
murmurs that rose out of it. Then there was a crash of music that rang,
as it were, exultantly across the shadowy town until a tumultuous roar
of voices drowned the Royal March of Spain.
Harper clenched one hand. "You hear them!" he said. "Well, they'll get
their answer by and by, and they're not going to feel like shouting when
we're through with them."
Appleby said nothing. He understood the hot Castilian temperament, and
the outburst of sentiment was comprehensible, but the news of the
disaster had also sent a chill of horror and suspicion through him.
Still, he laid his hand with a restraining grasp on Harper's arm, and
they went on silently to the "Four Nations," where they had left the
vehicle in which they had driven out from the hacienda.
It was, somewhat to Appleby's astonishment, next evening before they
heard anything more of the affair, and then, as he sat in the big barely
furnished general room at San Cristoval, Pancho, the major-domo, came up
to say that the Colonel Morales was waiting below. Appleby bade him
bring out cigars and wine, and rose from his seat when Morales came in.
He shook hands urbanely, unbuckled his sword, and laid his kepi on the
table, and then sat down with an expression of concern in his olive face
which Appleby fancied was assumed. It was then about eight o'clock in
the evening, and had been dark two hours, but it was very hot, and the
door and window lattices which opened on the veranda had been flung
wide. There was, however, no moon, and black shadows closed in upon the
scanty strip of light that shone outside.
"I have come as a friend on a somewhat delicate business," said Morales,
pouring out a glass of wine. "The affair is, as you will realize, a
serious one."
Appleby, who fancied he understood his man, smiled. "I scarcely think it
is. Nobody attaches much importance to a trifling dispute in a cafe. One
has also to make allowances in moments of political excitement."
"It is not a trifle brutally to assault a Spanish officer, as you would
have discovered had I not held back the order for your friend's arrest,"
said Morales dryly.
"Still, one would scarcely fancy the officer in question would wish
everybody to hear of it. He had, if I remember correctly, his sword with
him. I am only suggesting this because it seems to me that in his case I
would prefer the affair arranged quietly."
The color appeared to grow a trifle warmer in Morales' cheek, and there
was a faint sparkle in his eyes, but though it seemed to cost him an
effort he smiled.
"You have, as I surmised, considerable discretion," he said. "Well, I
will admit that the view I urged upon the Teniente Pinillo much
resembled yours. In fact, it is conceivable that he would be willing to
entertain any honorable amend your comrade should think fit to make
him."
Appleby decided that he would gain nothing by showing any special
eagerness to straighten out the difficulty, since he had reasons for
believing that it was not mere friendliness which had brought Morales
there.
"Of course, that is the sensible view," he said. "Still, knowing the
delicate pride of your countrymen, I am a trifle astonished that the
Teniente Pinillo proved so amenable to reason."
A little grim twinkle crept into Morales' eyes. "It was at my
suggestion. When I venture to make a recommendation it is apt to prove
convincing."
Appleby knew that this was the case, for the little olive-faced soldier
was more dreaded in that country than the Sin Verguenza. He also felt
that it was not without a reason the dark eyes were fixed upon him
searchingly.
"That is not astonishing," he said. "Well, I fancy the one I intend to
make will also be considered by the Senor Harper. I will send for him by
and by."
Morales sat still a minute or two fingering his cigar, with his back to
the window, and the light upon his face. Appleby had foreseen this when
he drew out a chair for him, but he could himself follow the stream of
light that shone out across the veranda, and fancied that a shadowy
object was crouching just outside it. His ears were also keen, and he
had once or twice caught an almost imperceptible sound. Then Morales
turned to him.
"Your comrade was concerned in another affair which cannot be arranged
so easily," he said. "It is not so very long ago since he was seen
carrying arms in the Alturas Pass."
It was only by a strenuous effort that Appleby sat very still, and
strove to keep his face expressionless. "That is your contention!" he
said. "You do not expect me to admit it?"
The two men looked at each other steadily for almost a minute, and then
Morales smiled. "It is of no importance. Here are no witnesses," he
said. "He had, however, a companion, Senor Appleby."
Appleby had expected this, and was prepared. He was also by no means as
sure as Morales seemed to be that there were no witnesses, but the
uncertainty on that point did not trouble him. He had a quiet confidence
in Pancho, and the only men the latter allowed near the house had,
Appleby felt certain, at least a suspicion of his connection with the
Sin Verguenza. He listened intently, and though everything seemed very
still, again fancied he heard a very faint sound on the veranda.
"How long have you known this?" he said.
"Since you came to the hacienda, I think," said Morales dryly. "It was a
very poor compliment you paid me when you fancied that you had deceived
me."
"Then would it be too much to ask exactly how much you know?"
Morales laughed. "I will put my cards on the table. There was the attack
on Santa Marta, the affair at Alturas, and the escape of a prisoner the
night of the Alcalde's ball. There are, I think, other counts one could
urge against you, but those I have mentioned would be sufficient."
Appleby decided to make an experiment. "It seems to me," he said, "that
so much knowledge is apt to prove dangerous to the man who possesses
it."
"You mean--"
"I have but to raise my voice, and you would find it difficult to get
out of the hacienda San Cristoval alive."
It was evident that the little officer's nerves were good, for he smile
contemptuously.
"That difficulty has been provided against," he said. "There are two or
three files of infantry not very far away, my friend, and two of my
officers have precise instructions as to what o do in case I am absent a
suspicious time."
Appleby laughed, for, though he fancied there was something behind it,
the man's frankness was not without its effect on him. His fearlessness
he took as a matter of course, for it was not without a reason Morales
bore the title of the Sword.
"Then," he said, "we come to the question what do you want from me?"
"As a commencement it would be pleasanter to mention what I can offer
you, and that would be employment on special service by the
Administration at a reasonable remuneration. I may admit that you have
abilities. Still, should you prefer it, you could be sent to the coast
with a permit that would take you safely out of Cuba instead. You are
here to make money, which is, however, scarce in Cuba just now, and the
revolution is no affair of yours."
"Well," said Appleby, "we will come back to my question."
"Then I ask very little. Certain papers of the Senor Harding's which are
in your possession, and the perusal of the communications that pass
through your hands."
Appleby was glad he had his back to the light, for he felt his face grow
hot, but, though it cost him an effort, he maintained an outward
tranquillity, and sat still, rolling in his fingers the cigar he took
up. Morales' purpose was plain to him. He was known to be a loyal
soldier, but he was also a man with an insatiable greed, and Appleby was
aware that Harding, perhaps forecasting an American occupation, had been
making overtures to the insurgents. Indeed, though Harding had never
entirely taken him into his confidence, he had seen enough to convince
him that he was playing a very risky game. Morales, it seemed, suspected
it, and apparently desired sufficient proof to bring Harding within his
grasp, which, Appleby surmised, would only relax when the American had
been largely denuded of his possessions. Then another thought flashed
into his mind. He had once or twice seen Morales' dark eyes fixed on
Nettie, and knew that he was one who usually obtained what he set his
heart upon, while Harding was on his way to Cuba even then. If he proved
obdurate, and Morales had anything to support his demands with, it might
go hard with him.
This was plain to Appleby, though his perceptions were somewhat blunted
by the anger he felt. Morales' suggestion that he was capable of such
treachery stung him to the quick, but he was quite aware that the retort
incisive would be puerile folly, and that if he was to prove he realized
his obligation to Harding he must proceed circumspectly. As affairs
stood just then Morales held him beneath his thumb.
"It is a proposal that must have consideration. There are difficulties,"
he said, and hoped his voice did not betray him.
"I think," said Morales dryly, "that haste would be advisable."
"Still, I must have until this time to-morrow."
Morales rose, put on his kepi, and buckled on his sword. Then he turned
to Appleby with a little significant smile.
"Until then, though it is quite unnecessary," he said. "I think a very
few minutes' reflection will convince you that my proposal should be
acceded to. In that case you will find me at the cuartel any time to-
morrow."
Appleby went out with him, and as they descended the stairway the
officer stopped.
"I fancy I heard somebody in the shadows yonder," he said.
"Yes," said Appleby dryly, raising his voice a trifle, "it is quite
likely that somebody is there. In this country one takes precautions.
You, however, have my word that in your case there is no necessity for
apprehension."
Morales laughed a little. "It is well that I took mine, but I will ask
you for your company as far as the carretera, Senor Appleby. One does
not attach too much importance even to the word of a gentleman just
now."
They walked through the dusky cane together, and parted with punctilious
salutations when they reached the dim white road. Then Appleby went back
to the house, and met Harper at the foot of the stairway.
"Colonel Morales came to demand an apology from you, and I promised him
that you would make it," he said.
Harper seemed hoarse with anger. "I could scarcely keep my hands off him
as it was. It would have pleased me to pound the life out of him."
"Well," said Appleby dryly, "I scarcely think it will be necessary to
make the apology now, but I can't tell you anything more until to-
morrow. There is a good deal I must think over."
He went up the stairway, and sat for at least an hour staring straight
before him with an unlighted cigar in his hand. Then he rose with a
little weary smile, and tapped a suspended strip of tin, which rang
dissonantly until the major-domo came in.
"You know where Don Maccario is?" he said.