THE moon hung low above the clump of cottonwoods that flung their black
shadows across the road when Appleby with Harper and four of the Sin
Verguenza crept in among the roots which, rising like buttresses,
supported the great columnar trunks. Beyond the trees the road wound
faintly white towards Santa Marta through the cane that stretched away a
vast sweep of dusky blueness, under the moon. The night was hot and
almost still, though a little breeze that was heavy with a spicy, steamy
smell now and then shook a faint sighing from the cane.
The men sank into the blackest of the shadow with ears strained to catch
the slightest sound, while Appleby lay in a hollow with his rifle across
his knees where he could follow the strip of road until it twisted
sharply. He also fancied that the light was clear enough to make it
risky for any of Morales' cazadores to venture round that bend, and
there was, he felt tolerably certain, a handful of them not far away,
for certain supplies which had been sent the Sin Verguenza had failed to
reach the hacienda. Supplies were also necessary, for, as Maccario had
predicted, adherents had flocked in daily. They, however, had travelled
by paths through the cane, and Appleby had gone out to locate one of the
pickets which were watching the road.
It was not exactly his business, and both Maccario and Harding, who had
remained at the hacienda because he could not well get away, had
protested against his undertaking it, but since the latter had given him
Nettie's message Appleby had been curiously restless, and felt that the
excitement might help him to shake off the thoughts and fancies that
troubled him. It had, however, signally failed to do so as yet, and
while he lay with hot fingers clenched on the rifle barrel he once more
found himself wondering anxiously what had come about in England.
It was with a thrill of satisfaction, that was mixed with disgust at his
own infirmity of purpose, he realized that Nettie Harding must have
meant that she had vindicated him in Violet Wayne's eyes, but in that
case it was evident that he had gone away in vain, since Nettie could
not have proved his innocence without inculpating Tony. It also appeared
out of the question that anybody would believe Tony if he told the truth
now, and Appleby flushed with anger at himself as he pictured the effect
of the blow upon the girl. He knew at last that it was to save her the
pain of the discovery he had borne the blame, and yet he could not
overcome a curious sense of relief and content at the thought that she
had heard he was innocent. Then he wondered what had befallen Tony, and
decided with a trace of bitterness that it was no affair of his. Tony
had had his chances, and if he had thrown them away had only himself to
blame.
At last he shook himself to attention when a distant patter of feet came
faintly across the cane. The sound grew plainer as he listened, while
here and there a shadowy figure rose up among the roots and sank from
sight again. It was evident that two or three men were moving down the
road in haste, but the soft patter of their feet did not suggest the
approach of the cazadores. Still, it seemed advisable to take
precautions, and he sent out two men, who, crossing the road, faded
again into invisibility on the edge of the cane.
"Now we're going to find out where that picket is," said Harper. "Those
fellows are coming right here, and I guess by the noise they're making
they don't belong to the Sin Verguenza."
Appleby repeated the observation in Castilian, and a man unseen among
the roots laughed softly.
"The Senor Harper has reason," he said. "Our friends do not travel on a
white road with their shoes on when the moon is shining."
In another moment a hoarse cry rose from the cane, the patter of feet
quickened suddenly, and Appleby stood up when he heard the sharp ringing
of a rifle. Another shot followed, but the men unseen beyond the cane
were evidently running still, and there was a little murmur from the Sin
Verguenza. Appleby made a restraining gesture with his hand.
"I think the cazadores are coming too," he said.
Then there was silence among the cottonwoods, but hard brown fingers
stiffened on the rifle barrels, and while the patter of feet grew
rapidly louder the strip of white road was swept by watchful eyes. Still
nothing moved upon it, until a man appeared where it twisted into the
cane. A moment later another showed behind him, and then a third, who
seemed to reel a little in his stride.
It was evident that they saw the cottonwoods, and hoped to find
concealment there, but the Sin Verguenza lay still watching the three
blurred shadowy objects with dispassionate curiosity. What befell the
strangers was no concern of theirs, but they were doing excellent
service in leading on the cazadores. Then there was a very faint murmur
as a cluster of men in uniform appeared, for there were rather more of
them than the Sin Verguenza had expected, and it became apparent that
they were running faster than the fugitives. Appleby could almost see
the faces of the latter now, and a moment later Harper, who was
crouching close by, dropped his hand on his comrade's arm.
"That last one's not quite like the rest," he said.
Appleby stiffened his fingers on the rifle at his hip, and stared at the
last figure with growing astonishment.
"No. The man's complexion is as light as mine," he said.
Then there was another rifle shot, and a little spurt of dust leapt up
from the road. The third man swung suddenly round and a pistol twice
flashed in his hand, while his companions flung themselves gasping into
the shadow of the cottonwoods. Hands were stretched out that seized them
and pulled them down, and a little quiver ran through Appleby as he
watched the lonely figure that now showed clear in the moonlight by the
edge of the road. Close behind it the cazadores were coming on at a run,
and there were considerably more of them than there were of the Sin
Verguenza.
Still, the fugitive stood tense and immovable. He was dressed simply in
white duck, with a wide felt hat on his head, but there was something
curiously familiar in his pose that perplexed Appleby, until turning
half round suddenly he looked over his shoulder. Then as his face showed
white in the moonlight Appleby gasped and flung up his rifle.
"Keep still!" he cried in English.
He felt the jar on his shoulder, there was a thin red flash and the
smoke was in his eyes. Then spurts of pale flame blazed out from among
the trees, and when the soft vapor slid away the road was empty save for
one man, who ran straight in towards the cottonwoods with uneven
lurching stride. Then while the Sin Verguenza looked on wondering
Appleby stepped out from the shadow.
"Tony!" he said. "By all that's wonderful, Tony!"
The stranger stood still gasping, and stared at him, ignoring his
outstretched hand. Then he drew back a pace.
"I have found you at last," he said. "I've a good deal to tell you, but
it scarcely seems likely those fellows yonder will give me the
opportunity now. It's specially unfortunate, because there does not seem
to be many of you, and I'm a trifle lame."
Appleby glanced up the road, and saw enough to convince him that the
cazadores were slipping forward circumspectly through the shadow of the
cane, while it became evident from their murmurs that his companions had
decided it was advisable to retire while the way was open. He slipped
his arm through Tony's, and they started down a little path through the
cane, while Tony endeavored to shake his grasp off, and finding that he
could not do so limped along clumsily, leaning heavily upon him. The
cazadores, however, apparently knew the ways of the Sin Verguenza too
well to venture far from the open in pursuit of them, and finally they
came gasping and perspiring into sight of the hacienda. Maccario stood
at the gate of the patio waiting them, and glanced curiously at the
stranger.
"A prisoner?" he said.
"No," said Appleby. "A friend of mine!"
Maccario swung off his hat, but when he begged Appleby to explain that
any friend of his was welcome there he saw that the stranger winced.
They went up to Appleby's room, where there was an awkward silence for a
moment or two, when Tony dropped limply into the nearest chair and
averted his eyes from Appleby, who leaned upon the table looking down on
him compassionately. He was worn with travel, and his face showed pallid
and haggard under the lamplight.
"How did you chance upon the cazadores?" said Appleby, who felt that the
question was trivial as he asked it.
"They were watching the road"; and Tony laughed in a curious hollow
fashion, though there was apparently no cause for it. "They nearly got
me. I was a little lame, you see. Tore my foot with one of those
condemned aloe spikes a day or two ago."
"Well," said Appleby, "you were about the last person I expected to come
across. What, in the name of wonder, brought you here?"
Tony looked at him a moment and smiled, while Appleby felt the blood
rise to his forehead, and grew angry with himself. The constraint that
was evidently upon Tony had extended to him, and would not be shaken
off. Why this was so he did not know, but he could not greet his comrade
with fitting friendliness.
"I came to find you," said Tony hastily. "Landed at Havana with
Harding's address as my only guide. He had, I found out, left the city,
but I came across two or three men who seemed to know him, and one of
them passed me on to his friends, who contrived to get me here. We
travelled, for the most part, at night, hiding in the daytime, and got
very little to eat, but most of the men I met did what they could for me
when I told them that I had business with a leader of the Sin
Verguenza."
Appleby laughed a little. "You will find a bath yonder, and I'll send
you up some food," he said. "Then come down when you are ready. You will
find me on the veranda."
He spent half an hour pacing up and down the veranda before Tony
reappeared, and as it happened Harding came out from his room just then.
The moon, which had risen higher now, flooded the veranda with silvery
light. Harding glanced at the stranger and pointed to a cane chair,
while Appleby, who was not sure whether he was glad or displeased to see
him at the moment, introduced them. Tony, however, did not shake hands.
"I had the pleasure of meeting your daughter in England, Mr. Harding,
and it was only owing to that fact I managed to get here at all," he
said. "You have evidently a good many friends in this country."
"I am glad I have been of service," said Harding, with a smile. "In the
meanwhile I haven't the slightest doubt that you and Appleby will excuse
me."
Tony looked at him gravely. "I understood from Miss Harding that you had
reposed a good deal of trust in Appleby and that he had taken you into
his confidence respecting something which happened in England."
"You have surmised correctly," said Harding.
"Then I would sooner you sat down and listened to me. It is, I fancy,
likely that he has not told you all the story. You are not altogether
unconcerned in it, since your daughter was the means of sending me
here."
Appleby made a little impatient gesture. "Tony," he said sharply, "is it
necessary?"
"I believe it is"; and Tony leaned forward in his chair. "It would be a
favor if you sat down, sir."
Harding did so, and for ten minutes Tony, who stared straight in front
of him at the blue Bougainvillea on the moonlit wall, spoke with quiet
conciseness, while Harding sat in the shadow watching him. At last he
turned to Harding.
"I think you will see that your confidence in the man I have injured was
fully warranted, sir," he said. "If I have made you understand that, it
is, at least, a little in reparation. I can't ask you to forgive,
Bernard, but I want to straighten out what I can."
Harding for some reason moved uneasily in his chair, but Appleby,
leaning across the table, held out his hand.
"You can't look past it now, Tony," he said. "Can't we still be
friends?"
Tony glanced at him, and made a curious little sound which resembled a
groan, then a red flush crept into his face as he took Appleby's hand.
An unpleasant silence followed until Harding spoke.
"I shall hope for your better acquaintance, Mr. Palliser," he said.