NEWS FROM HOME
Letters from home are always welcome, and doubly so when one has been
out of reach of the mail for a long time. As Professor Strong held up
nearly a dozen written communications, the lads fairly pounced upon
them, and for the time being the newspapers were forgotten.
“Here’s one for Mark and two for Frank,” cried Darry. “Where is mine?”
“Here you are,” said Frank, holding out three. “And here is one for
you, Jake.”
“And here’s another for Jake,” added Sam. “And two for myself.”
“No, boys, these two are my own!” laughed Professor Strong, holding
them back. “You mustn’t expect all the good things, you know.”
“Only one for me!” murmured Mark. “And Darry has three. That’s hardly
fair.”
“You want to send your folks a bottle of ink and some pens,” replied
Darry. “Never mind; I’ll tell you what’s in mine, after I read ’em.”
“Don’t say a word,” burst out Frank. “Look at that letter, twelve or
fifteen pages, and this one of mine has only four pages. Mark needn’t
complain.”
“Here’s a photograph,” came slowly from Sam. “My mother! It was nice of
her to send that.” And he gazed at the picture affectionately.
Soon all were sitting in the hammocks and easy chairs at hand reading
the letters received. There was all sorts of news from home, of more
or less interest. Mark’s father was just home from a trip to England
and Scotland, and he and Mr. Newton were contemplating a trip together,
for business as well as pleasure. Sam’s mother had left Boston to visit
relatives up in Maine, and hoped her only son would do his best to keep
out of peril and mischief. Darry’s letters told how his father had gone
to Colorado to look up a big cattle deal, and there was also a letter
from a sister who was just leaving home to go to boarding school.
Hockley had word that his father had lost one saw mill by fire but had
bought two mills to take its place, and that the elder Hockley was now
president of a new Consolidated Lumber Company.
“Tell you what, pop’s getting there,” said Hockley, when he told this
news to the others. “He’ll be the richest lumber dealer in the country
before he gets through,” and he fairly swelled with pride over the
announcement.
“I wonder where my father and yours will go,” said Frank to Mark, after
the letters had been read, not once but several times. “It’s queer
neither my letter nor yours tells that.”
“I guess they hadn’t made up their minds when the letters were written.
I once heard father speak of coming down to Cuba and Jamaica. It would
be queer if they did come down and we met them.”
“That would be just all right,” was the ready return, but as Mark spoke
he never dreamed of the terrible circumstances which was to make that
meeting a reality. Could he have looked ahead it would have caused him
more than one shudder.
It had been determined that they should take the train for La Guayra
on the following morning. There was to be a sailing of a steamer for
Kingston and Havana one day later, and Professor Strong had already
telegraphed ahead for the necessary accommodations.
“We can take our last look around Caracas to-day,” announced Professor
Strong. “Have you boys any place in mind that you would like to visit?”
A general discussion arose. While it was at its height a gentleman who
had driven to the hotel in his carriage came in and rushed up to the
group.
“My own very dear friend, Amos Strong, once more,” he said, with a
strong Spanish accent. “I received word last night that you and the
boys had come back to Caracas. So I made up my mind I must see you all
again. And how have you been?” And he shook hands cordially.
“We are all right, Morano,” was the professor’s reply, as the boys
crowded around to speak to the newcomer, who was a teacher at the
University at Caracas and an old college friend of Professor Strong.
“But we’ve had lots of adventures,” put in Darry.
“To be sure, Master Darry--you could not keep out of them. You see I
have not forgotten how one of my horses once ran away with you,” and
Enrique Morano laughed.
Besides being an instructor at the Caracas University, Enrique Morano
was the owner of a large plantation just outside of the city, which the
party had once visited, much to the delight of all hands. Now Morano
insisted that he be allowed to send for his largest carriage and take
them for a drive to such points of interest as they elected to see.
This was just what the boys wished, and inside of an hour the carriage
was on hand and they piled in. Enrique Morano himself drove, with
Professor Strong beside him. Soon the city itself was left behind and
they were bowling along over a smooth highway in the direction of
Antimano, situated some miles to the westward.
It was a perfect day and the boys enjoyed the sights greatly, as they
passed plantation after plantation. The roadway was lined at some
points with beautiful tropical trees, and flowers were by no means
lacking.
“Tell you what, Señor Morano keeps good horse-flesh,” remarked Darry as
they spun along. “This is better than a drive in Lincoln Park.”
“Or Central Park either,” added Frank.
“Oh, my father keeps just as good horses,” came from Hockley. “He’s got
a trotter that can beat all creation for stepping out on a smooth road
like this.”
So far they had passed but few turnouts on the highway. But now they
saw approaching a carriage with a single seat, drawn by a team of
horses which were covered with foam. On the seat sat two men, both
evidently Americans.
“Reckless drivers,” murmured Enrique Morano, as the other carriage
came closer. “Be careful there!” he called out, in Spanish, and pulled
sharply to one side.
“Clear the track!” shouted one of the men, in English, and the tone of
voice showed that he had been drinking. “We don’t get out of the way
for no sun-baked native!” And he cracked his whip loudly.
The carriage came closer and it was only by a few inches that it missed
striking Enrique Morano’s turnout. As it swept by the boys got a good
look at the occupants.
“Dan Markel!” almost shouted Hockley and Mark, in a breath.
“That was Markel, just as sure as you are born,” came from Frank. “Who
would have expected to meet him here?”
“We ought to go after him,” continued Hockley.
“You evidently know the man,” said Enrique Morano, bringing his team to
a halt and gazing inquiringly at the boys.
“He is the man who robbed Hockley,” explained Professor. “He was
captured once, down on the Orinoco, but he escaped.”
“Ah, I see. Yes, he should be caught. And the other man, what of him?”
He looked at the boys again, but all shook their heads. They could not
remember having seen the individual before.
“Guess he’s another victim,” was Mark’s comment. “I don’t believe
Markel had any money of his own. He has struck up an acquaintance with
some newcomer and is doing the sponging act.”
“Or else he is spending the proceeds of another robbery,” said Sam.
“Do you wish to go after the man?” asked Enrique Morano.
“Oh, well, you might as well let him go,” yawned Hockley. “If we make
another complaint and he is locked up, we may have to stay here as
witnesses against him.” Hockley would have liked to see Dan Markel
behind the bars but he was afraid that the rascal might tell of some
things which would prove discreditable to both of them.
“I’d really like to know if that other man was a victim,” mused Frank,
as they continued on their way. “If he is, he ought to be warned.”
There the matter was dropped, and for the time being Dan Markel was
forgotten. When they came back to Caracas at nightfall they looked in
several directions for the rascal but could catch no sight of him. The
truth of the matter was that Markel had recognized several of the boys
on the instant of passing them, and although partly intoxicated he
still had wit enough left to keep hidden.
The party were to leave for La Guayra at nine in the morning, and
the boys were up long before that time, taking a last look at their
surroundings. Then came a good breakfast, and soon they were on the
cars and winding over and around the mountains which separate the
capital city of Venezuela from the seacoast.
“Here is where we had to get off and walk,” said Mark, as the train
rushed on. “Do you remember that, Frank?”
“To be sure I do. And I remember how you got lost in a hole under the
cliffs, too.”
“Yes, and not far away is the spot where you and Hockley pitched into
each other,” whispered Mark, with a sly look at the bully, who sat
just ahead. He did not think the lank youth heard, but he was mistaken.
“Raking up old sores, eh?” growled Hockley, swinging around and with
his face very red. “I thought all that was to be dropped.”
“It is to be dropped, too, Jake,” answered Mark, quickly.
“Oh, yes,” came with a sneer. “You’re dropping it fast enough.”
“But I didn’t really mean anything, Jake,” pleaded Mark. “It--er--just
came to my mind, that’s all. It’s past and gone now.”
“You can’t humbug me, Mark Robertson! You’re laughing in your sleeve
because you think Frank got the best of me in that fight. But let me
tell you I would have come out on top if Professor Strong hadn’t come
up and stopped us.”
“Maybe you would not have come out on top,” said Frank, dryly, for
his temper was rising. “I fancy I had the best of it by a good deal.
Anyway, your teeth----”
“Oh, let that old quarrel drop,” came from Darry, who had caught the
latter part of the conversation. “We’re out for a good time, and let us
have it.”
“I’m willing to let it drop,” said Mark, readily.
“I wouldn’t have said a word, only Hockley--” began Frank.
“That’s it, blame everything on me!” howled the bully, his anger
getting the better of him. “I knew that pretended friendliness of yours
wouldn’t last. You are all down on me and you know it. But I’ll show
you a trick or two before we’re done--you see if I don’t!”
Professor Strong had gone to the end of the car for a drink of water
and to gaze for a moment out of the doorway. Now he returned to his
seat near the boys, and the talk came to a sudden end.