Clay slept for three hours. He had left a note on the floor
instructing MacWilliams and young Langham not to go to the mines, but
to waken him at ten o'clock, and by eleven the three men were galloping
off to the city. As they left the Palms they met Hope returning from a
morning ride on the Alameda, and Clay begged her, with much concern,
not to ride abroad again. There was a difference in his tone toward
her. There was more anxiety in it than the occasion seemed to justify,
and he put his request in the form of a favor to himself, while the day
previous he would simply have told her that she must not go riding
alone.
"Why?" asked Hope, eagerly. "Is there going to be trouble?"
"I hope not," Clay said, "but the soldiers are coming in from the
provinces for the review, and the roads are not safe."
"I'd be safe with you, though," said Hope, smiling persuasively upon
the three men. "Won't you take me with you, please?"
"Hope," said young Langham in the tone of the elder brother's brief
authority, "you must go home at once."
Hope smiled wickedly. "I don't want to," she said.
"I'll bet you a box of cigars I can beat you to the veranda by fifty
yards," said MacWilliams, turning his horse's head.
Hope clasped her sailor hat in one hand and swung her whip with the
other. "I think not," she cried, and disappeared with a flutter of
skirts and a scurry of flying pebbles.
"At times," said Clay, "MacWilliams shows an unexpected knowledge of
human nature."
"Yes, he did quite right," assented Langham, nodding his head
mysteriously. "We've no time for girls at present, have we?"
"No, indeed," said Clay, hiding any sign of a smile.
Langham breathed deeply at the thought of the part he was to play in
this coming struggle, and remained respectfully silent as they trotted
toward the city. He did not wish to disturb the plots and counterplots
that he was confident were forming in Clay's brain, and his devotion
would have been severely tried had he known that his hero's mind was
filled with a picture of a young girl in a blue shirt-waist and a
whipcord riding-skirt.
Clay sent for Stuart to join them at the restaurant, and MacWilliams
arriving at the same time, the four men seated themselves conspicuously
in the centre of the café and sipped their chocolate as though
unconscious of any imminent danger, and in apparent freedom from all
responsibilities and care. While MacWilliams and Langham laughed and
disputed over a game of dominoes, the older men exchanged, under cover
of their chatter, the few words which they had met to speak.
The manifestoes, Stuart said, had failed of their purpose. He had
already called upon the President, and had offered to resign his
position and leave the country, or to stay and fight his maligners, and
take up arms at once against Mendoza's party. Alvarez had treated him
like a son, and bade him be patient. He held that Caesar's wife was
above suspicion because she was Caesar's wife, and that no canards
posted at midnight could affect his faith in his wife or in his friend.
He refused to believe that any coup d'etat was imminent, save the one
which he himself meditated when he was ready to proclaim the country in
a state of revolution, and to assume a military dictatorship.
"What nonsense!" exclaimed Clay. "What is a military dictatorship
without soldiers? Can't he see that the army is with Mendoza?"
"No," Stuart replied. "Rojas and I were with him all the morning.
Rojas is an old trump, Clay. He's not bright and he's old-fashioned;
but he is honest. And the people know it. If I had Rojas for a chief
instead of Alvarez, I'd arrest Mendoza with my own hand, and I wouldn't
be afraid to take him to the carcel through the streets. The people
wouldn't help him. But the President doesn't dare. Not that he hasn't
pluck," added the young lieutenant, loyally, "for he takes his life in
his hands when he goes to the review tomorrow, and he knows it. Think
of it, will you, out there alone with a field of five thousand men
around him! Rojas thinks he can hold half of them, as many as Mendoza
can, and I have my fifty. But you can't tell what any one of them will
do for a drink or a dollar. They're no more soldiers than these
waiters. They're bandits in uniform, and they'll kill for the man that
pays best."
"Then why doesn't Alvarez pay them?" Clay growled.
Stuart looked away and lowered his eyes to the table. "He hasn't the
money, I suppose," he said, evasively. "He--he has transferred every
cent of it into drafts on Rothschild. They are at the house now,
representing five millions of dollars in gold--and her jewels,
too--packed ready for flight."
"Then he does expect trouble?" said Clay. "You told me--"
"They're all alike; you know them," said Stuart. "They won't believe
they're in danger until the explosion comes, but they always have a
special train ready, and they keep the funds of the government under
their pillows. He engaged apartments on the Avenue Kleber six months
ago."
"Bah!" said Clay. "It's the old story. Why don't you quit him?"
Stuart raised his eyes and dropped them again, and Clay sighed. "I'm
sorry," he said.
MacWilliams interrupted them in an indignant stage-whisper. "Say, how
long have we got to keep up this fake game?" he asked. "I don't know
anything about dominoes, and neither does Ted. Tell us what you've
been saying. Is there going to be trouble? If there is, Ted and I
want to be in it. We are looking for trouble."
Clay had tipped back his chair, and was surveying the restaurant and
the blazing plaza beyond its open front with an expression of cheerful
unconcern. Two men were reading the morning papers near the door, and
two others were dragging through a game of dominoes in a far corner.
The heat of midday had settled on the place, and the waiters dozed,
with their chairs tipped back against the walls. Outside, the awning
of the restaurant threw a broad shadow across the marble-topped tables
on the sidewalk, and half a dozen fiacre drivers slept peacefully in
their carriages before the door.
The town was taking its siesta, and the brisk step of a stranger who
crossed the tessellated floor and rapped with his knuckles on the top
of the cigar-case was the only sign of life. The newcomer turned with
one hand on the glass case and swept the room carelessly with his eyes.
They were hard blue eyes under straight eyebrows. Their owner was
dressed unobtrusively in a suit of rough tweed, and this and his black
hat, and the fact that he was smooth-shaven, distinguished him as a
foreigner.
As he faced them the forelegs of Clay's chair descended slowly to the
floor, and he began to smile comprehendingly and to nod his head as
though the coming of the stranger had explained something of which he
had been in doubt. His companions turned and followed the direction of
his eyes, but saw nothing of interest in the newcomer. He looked as
though he might be a concession hunter from the States, or a Manchester
drummer, prepared to offer six months' credit on blankets and hardware.
Clay rose and strode across the room, circling the tables in such a way
that he could keep himself between the stranger and the door. At his
approach the new-comer turned his back and fumbled with his change on
the counter.
"Captain Burke, I believe?" said Clay. The stranger bit the cigar he
had just purchased, and shook his head. "I am very glad to see you,"
Clay continued. "Sit down, won't you? I want to talk with you."
"I think you've made a mistake," the stranger answered, quietly. "My
name is--"
"Colonel, perhaps, then," said Clay. "I might have known it. I
congratulate you, Colonel."
The man looked at Clay for an instant, with the cigar clenched between
his teeth and his blue eyes fixed steadily on the other's face. Clay
waved his hand again invitingly toward a table, and the man shrugged
his shoulders and laughed, and, pulling a chair toward him, sat down.
"Come over here, boys," Clay called. "I want you to meet an old friend
of mine, Captain Burke."
The man called Burke stared at the three men as they crossed the room
and seated themselves at the table, and nodded to them in silence.
"We have here," said Clay, gayly, but in a low voice, "the key to the
situation. This is the gentleman who supplies Mendoza with the sinews
of war. Captain Burke is a brave soldier and a citizen of my own or of
any country, indeed, which happens to have the most sympathetic
Consul-General."
Burke smiled grimly, with a condescending nod, and putting away the
cigar, took out a brier pipe and began to fill it from his
tobacco-pouch. "The Captain is a man of few words and extremely modest
about himself," Clay continued, lightly; "so I must tell you who he is
myself. He is a promoter of revolutions. That is his business,--a
professional promoter of revolutions, and that is what makes me so glad
to see him again. He knows all about the present crisis here, and he
is going to tell us all he knows as soon as he fills his pipe. I ought
to warn you, Burke," he added, "that this is Captain Stuart, in charge
of the police and the President's cavalry troop. So, you see, whatever
you say, you will have one man who will listen to you."
Burke crossed one short fat leg over the other, and crowded the tobacco
in the bowl of his pipe with his thumb.
"I thought you were in Chili, Clay," he said.
"No, you didn't think I was in Chili," Clay replied, kindly. "I left
Chili two years ago. The Captain and I met there," he explained to the
others, "when Balmaceda was trying to make himself dictator. The
Captain was on the side of the Congressionalists, and was furnishing
arms and dynamite. The Captain is always on the winning side, at least
he always has been--up to the present. He is not a creature of
sentiment; are you, Burke? The Captain believes with Napoleon that God
is on the side that has the heaviest artillery."
Burke lighted his pipe and drummed absentmindedly on the table with his
match-box.
"I can't afford to be sentimental," he said. "Not in my business."
"Of course not," Clay assented, cheerfully. He looked at Burke and
laughed, as though the sight of him recalled pleasant memories. "I
wish I could give these boys an idea of how clever you are, Captain,"
he said. "The Captain was the first man, for instance, to think of
packing cartridges in tubs of lard, and of sending rifles in
piano-cases. He represents the Welby revolver people in England, and
half a dozen firms in the States, and he has his little stores in Tampa
and Mobile and Jamaica, ready to ship off at a moment's notice to any
revolution in Central America. When I first met the Captain," Clay
continued, gleefully, and quite unmindful of the other's continued
silence, "he was starting off to rescue Arabi Pasha from the island of
Ceylon. You may remember, boys, that when Dufferin saved Arabi from
hanging, the British shipped him to Ceylon as a political prisoner.
Well, the Captain was sent by Arabi's followers in Egypt to bring him
back to lead a second rebellion. Burke had everybody bribed at Ceylon,
and a fine schooner fitted out and a lot of ruffians to do the
fighting, and then the good, kind British Government pardoned Arabi the
day before Burke arrived in port. And you never got a cent for it; did
you, Burke?"
Burke shook his head and frowned.
"Six thousand pounds sterling I was to have got for that," he said,
with a touch of pardonable pride in his voice, "and they set him free
the day before I got there, just as Mr. Clay tells you."
"And then you headed Granville Prior's expedition for buried treasure
off the island of Cocos, didn't you?" said Clay. "Go on, tell them
about it. Be sociable. You ought to write a book about your different
business ventures, Burke, indeed you ought; but then," Clay added,
smiling, "nobody would believe you." Burke rubbed his chin,
thoughtfully, with his fingers, and looked modestly at the ceiling, and
the two younger boys gazed at him with open-mouthed interest.
"There ain't anything in buried treasure," he said, after a pause,
"except the money that's sunk in the fitting out. It sounds good, but
it's all foolishness."
"All foolishness, eh?" said Clay, encouragingly. "And what did you do
after Balmaceda was beaten?--after I last saw you?"
"Crespo," Burke replied, after a pause, during which he pulled gently
on his pipe. "'Caroline Brewer'--cleared from Key West for Curacao,
with cargo of sewing-machines and ploughs--beached below
Maracaibo--thirty-five thousand rounds and two thousand rifles--at
twenty bolivars apiece."
"Of course," said Clay, in a tone of genuine appreciation. "I might
have known you'd be in that. He says," he explained, "that he assisted
General Crespo in Venezuela during his revolution against Guzman
Blanco's party, and loaded a tramp steamer called the 'Caroline Brewer'
at Key West with arms, which he landed safely at a place for which he
had no clearance papers, and he received forty thousand dollars in our
money for the job--and very good pay, too, I should think," commented
Clay.
"Well, I don't know," Burke demurred. "You take in the cost of leasing
the boat and provisioning her, and the crew's wages, and the cost of
the cargo; that cuts into profits. Then I had to stand off shore
between Trinidad and Curacao for over three weeks before I got the
signal to run in, and after that I was chased by a gun-boat for three
days, and the crazy fool put a shot clean through my engine-room. Cost
me about twelve hundred dollars in repairs."
There was a pause, and Clay turned his eyes to the street, and then
asked, abruptly, "What are you doing now?"
"Trying to get orders for smokeless powder," Burke answered, promptly.
He met Clay's look with eyes as undisturbed as his own. "But they
won't touch it down here," he went on. "It doesn't appeal to 'em.
It's too expensive, and they'd rather see the smoke. It makes them
think--"
"How long did you expect to stay here?" Clay interrupted.
"How long?" repeated Burke, like a man in a witness-box who is trying
to gain time. "Well, I was thinking of leaving by Friday, and taking a
mule-train over to Bogota instead of waiting for the steamer to Colon."
He blew a mouthful of smoke into the air and watched it drifting toward
the door with apparent interest.
"The 'Santiago' leaves here Saturday for New York. I guess you had
better wait over for her," Clay said. "I'll engage your passage, and,
in the meantime, Captain Stuart here will see that they treat you well
in the cuartel."
The men around the table started, and sat motionless looking at Clay,
but Burke only took his pipe from his mouth and knocked the ashes out
on the heel of his boot. "What am I going to the cuartel for?" he
asked.
"Well, the public good, I suppose," laughed Clay. "I'm sorry, but it's
your own fault. You shouldn't have shown yourself here at all."
"What have you got to do with it?" asked Burke, calmly, as he began to
refill his pipe. He had the air of a man who saw nothing before him
but an afternoon of pleasant discourse and leisurely inactivity.
"You know what I've got to do with it," Clay replied. "I've got our
concession to look after."
"Well, you're not running the town, too, are you?" asked Burke.
"No, but I'm going to run you out of it," Clay answered. "Now, what are
you going to do,--make it unpleasant for us and force our hand, or
drive down quietly with our friend MacWilliams here? He is the best
one to take you, because he's not so well known."
Burke turned his head and looked over his shoulder at Stuart.
"You taking orders from Mr. Clay, to-day, Captain Stuart?" he asked.
"Yes," Stuart answered, smiling. "I agree with Mr. Clay in whatever he
thinks right."
"Oh, well, in that case," said Burke, rising reluctantly, with a
protesting sigh, "I guess I'd better call on the American minister."
"You can't. He's in Ecuador on his annual visit," said Clay.
"Indeed! That's bad for me," muttered Burke, as though in much
concern. "Well, then, I'll ask you to let me see our consul here."
"Certainly," Clay assented, with alacrity. "Mr. Langham, this young
gentleman's father, got him his appointment, so I've no doubt he'll be
only too glad to do anything for a friend of ours."
Burke raised his eyes and looked inquiringly at Clay, as though to
assure himself that this was true, and Clay smiled back at him.
"Oh, very well," Burke said. "Then, as I happen to be an Irishman by
the name of Burke, and a British subject, I'll try Her Majesty's
representative, and we'll see if he will allow me to be locked up
without a reason or a warrant."
"That's no good, either," said Clay, shaking his head. "You fixed your
nationality, as far as this continent is concerned, in Rio harbor, when
Peixoto handed you over to the British admiral, and you claimed to be
an American citizen, and were sent on board the 'Detroit.' If there's
any doubt about that we've only got to cable to Rio Janeiro--to either
legation. But what's the use? They know me here, and they don't know
you, and I do. You'll have to go to jail and stay there."
"Oh, well, if you put it that way, I'll go," said Burke. "But," he
added, in a lower voice, "it's too late, Clay."
The expression of amusement on Clay's face, and his ease of manner,
fell from him at the words, and he pulled Burke back into the chair
again. "What do you mean?" he asked, anxiously.
"I mean just that, it's too late," Burke answered. "I don't mind going
to jail. I won't be there long. My work's all done and paid for. I
was only staying on to see the fun at the finish, to see you fellows
made fools of."
"Oh, you're sure of that, are you?" asked Clay.
"My dear boy!" exclaimed the American, with a suggestion in his speech
of his Irish origin, as his interest rose. "Did you ever know me to go
into anything of this sort for the sentiment of it? Did you ever know
me to back the losing side? No. Well, I tell you that you fellows
have no more show in this than a parcel of Sunday-school children. Of
course I can't say when they mean to strike. I don't know, and I
wouldn't tell you if I did. But when they do strike there'll be no
striking back. It'll be all over but the cheering."
Burke's tone was calm and positive. He held the centre of the stage
now, and he looked from one to the other of the serious faces around
him with an expression of pitying amusement.
"Alvarez may get off, and so may Madame Alvarez," he added, lowering
his voice and turning his face away from Stuart. "But not if she shows
herself in the streets, and not if she tries to take those drafts and
jewels with her."
"Oh, you know that, do you?" interrupted Clay.
"I know nothing," Burke replied. "At least, nothing to what the rest
of them know. That's only the gossip I pick up at headquarters. It
doesn't concern me. I've delivered my goods and given my receipt for
the money, and that's all I care about. But if it will make an old
friend feel any more comfortable to have me in jail, why, I'll go,
that's all."
Clay sat with pursed lips looking at Stuart. The two boys leaned with
their elbows on the tables and stared at Burke, who was searching
leisurely through his pockets for his match-box. From outside came the
lazy cry of a vendor of lottery tickets, and the swift, uneven patter
of bare feet, as company after company of dust-covered soldiers passed
on their way from the provinces, with their shoes swinging from their
bayonets.
Clay slapped the table with an exclamation of impatience.
"After all, this is only a matter of business," he said, "with all of
us. What do you say, Burke, to taking a ride with me to Stuart's
rooms, and having a talk there with the President and Mr. Langham?
Langham has three millions sunk in these mines, and Alvarez has even
better reasons than that for wanting to hold his job. What do you say?
That's better than going to jail. Tell us what they mean to do, and who
is to do it, and I'll let you name your own figure, and I'll guarantee
you that they'll meet it. As long as you've no sentiment, you might as
well fight on the side that will pay best."
Burke opened his lips as though to speak, and then shut them again,
closely. If the others thought that he was giving Clay's proposition a
second and more serious thought, he was quick to undeceive them.
"There ARE men in the business who do that sort of thing," he said.
"They sell arms to one man, and sell the fact that he's got them to the
deputy-marshals, and sell the story of how smart they've been to the
newspapers. And they never make any more sales after that. I'd look
pretty, wouldn't I, bringing stuff into this country, and getting paid
for it, and then telling you where it was hid, and everything else I
knew? I've no sentiment, as you say, but I've got business instinct,
and that's not business. No, I've told you enough, and if you think
I'm not safe at large, why I'm quite ready to take a ride with your
young friend here."
MacWilliams rose with alacrity, and beaming with pleasure at the
importance of the duty thrust upon him.
Burke smiled. "The young 'un seems to like the job," he said.
"It's an honor to be associated with Captain Burke in any way," said
MacWilliams, as he followed him into a cab, while Stuart galloped off
before them in the direction of the cuartel.
"You wouldn't think so if you knew better," said Burke. "My friends
have been watching us while we have been talking in there for the last
hour. They're watching us now, and if I were to nod my head during
this ride, they'd throw you out into the street and set me free, if
they had to break the cab into kindling-wood while they were doing it."
MacWilliams changed his seat to the one opposite his prisoner, and
peered up and down the street in some anxiety.
"I suppose you know there's an answer to that, don't you?" he asked.
"Well, the answer is, that if you nod your head once, you lose the top
of it."
Burke gave an exclamation of disgust, and gazed at his zealous guardian
with an expression of trepidation and unconcealed disapproval. "You're
not armed, are you?" he asked.
MacWilliams nodded. "Why not?" he said; "these are rather heavy
weather times, just at present, thanks to you and your friends. Why,
you seem rather afraid of fire-arms," he added, with the intolerance of
youth.
The Irish-American touched the young man on the knee, and lifted his
hat. "My son," he said, "when your hair is as gray as that, and you
have been through six campaigns, you'll be brave enough to own that
you're afraid of fire-arms, too."
X
Clay and Langham left MacWilliams and Stuart to look after their
prisoner, and returned to the Palms, where they dined in state, and
made no reference, while the women were present, to the events of the
day.
The moon rose late that night, and as Hope watched it, from where she
sat at the dinner-table facing the open windows, she saw the figure of
a man standing outlined in silhouette upon the edge of the cliff. He
was dressed in the uniform of a sailor, and the moonlight played along
the barrel of a rifle upon which he leaned, motionless and menacing,
like a sentry on a rampart.
Hope opened her lips to speak, and then closed them again, and smiled
with pleasurable excitement. A moment later King, who sat on her
right, called one of the servants to his side and whispered some
instructions, pointing meanwhile at the wine upon the table. And a
minute after, Hope saw the white figure of the servant cross the garden
and approach the sentinel. She saw the sentry fling his gun sharply to
his hip, and then, after a moment's parley, toss it up to his shoulder
and disappear from sight among the plants of the garden.
The men did not leave the table with the ladies, as was their custom,
but remained in the dining-room, and drew their chairs closer together.
Mr. Langham would not believe that the downfall of the Government was
as imminent as the others believed it to be. It was only after much
argument, and with great reluctance, that he had even allowed King to
arm half of his crew, and to place them on guard around the Palms.
Clay warned him that in the disorder that followed every successful
revolution, the homes of unpopular members of the Cabinet were often
burned, and that he feared, should Mendoza succeed, and Alvarez fall,
that the mob might possibly vent its victorious wrath on the Palms
because it was the home of the alien, who had, as they thought, robbed
the country of the iron mines. Mr. Langham said he did not think the
people would tramp five miles into the country seeking vengeance.
There was an American man-of-war lying in the harbor of Truxillo, a
seaport of the republic that bounded Olancho on the south, and Clay was
in favor of sending to her captain by Weimer, the Consul, and asking
him to anchor off Valencia, to protect American interests. The run
would take but a few hours, and the sight of the vessel's white hull in
the harbor would, he thought, have a salutary effect upon the
revolutionists. But Mr. Langham said, firmly, that he would not ask
for help until he needed it.
"Well, I'm sorry," said Clay. "I should very much like to have that
man-of-war here. However, if you say no, we will try to get along
without her. But, for the present, I think you had better imagine
yourself back in New York, and let us have an entirely free hand.
We've gone too far to drop out," he went on, laughing at the sight of
Mr. Langham's gloomy countenance. "We've got to fight them now. It's
against human nature not to do it."
Mr. Langham looked appealingly at his son and at King.
They both smiled back at him in unanimous disapproval of his policy of
non-interference.
"Oh, very well," he said, at last. "You gentlemen can go ahead, kill,
burn, and destroy if you wish. But, considering the fact that it is my
property you are all fighting about, I really think I might have
something to say in the matter." Mr. Langham gazed about him
helplessly, and shook his head.
"My doctor sends me down here from a quiet, happy home," he protested,
with humorous pathos, "that I may rest and get away from excitement,
and here I am with armed men patrolling my garden-paths, with a lot of
filibusters plotting at my own dinner-table, and a civil war likely to
break out, entirely on my account. And Dr. Winter told me this was the
only place that would cure my nervous prostration!"
Hope joined Clay as soon as the men left the dining-room, and beckoned
him to the farther end of the veranda. "Well, what is it?" she said.
"What is what?" laughed Clay. He seated himself on the rail of the
veranda, with his face to the avenue and the driveway leading to the
house. They could hear the others from the back of the house, and the
voice of young Langham, who was giving an imitation of MacWilliams, and
singing with peculiar emphasis, "There is no place like Home, Sweet
Home."
"Why are the men guarding the Palms, and why did you go to the Plaza
Bolivar this morning at daybreak? Alice says you left them there. I
want to know what it means. I am nearly as old as Ted, and he knows.
The men wouldn't tell me."
"What men?"
"King's men from the 'Vesta'. I saw some of them dodging around in the
bushes, and I went to find out what they were doing, and I walked into
fifteen of them at your office. They have hammocks swung all over the
veranda, and a quick-firing gun made fast to the steps, and muskets
stacked all about, just like real soldiers, but they wouldn't tell me
why."
"We'll put you in the carcel," said Clay, "if you go spying on our
forces. Your father doesn't wish you to know anything about it, but,
since you have found it out for yourself, you might as well know what
little there is to know. It's the same story. Mendoza is getting ready
to start his revolution, or, rather, he has started it."
"Why don't you stop him?" asked Hope.
"You are very flattering," said Clay. "Even if I could stop him, it's
not my business to do it as yet. I have to wait until he interferes
with me, or my mines, or my workmen. Alvarez is the man who should
stop him, but he is afraid. We cannot do anything until he makes the
first move. If I were the President, I'd have Mendoza shot to-morrow
morning and declare martial law. Then I'd arrest everybody I didn't
like, and levy forced loans on all the merchants, and sail away to
Paris and live happy ever after. That's what Mendoza would do if he
caught any one plotting against him. And that's what Alvarez should
do, too, according to his lights, if he had the courage of his
convictions, and of his education. I like to see a man play his part
properly, don't you? If you are an emperor, you ought to conduct
yourself like one, as our German friend does. Or if you are a
prize-fighter, you ought to be a human bulldog. There's no such thing
as a gentlemanly pugilist, any more than there can be a virtuous
burglar. And if you're a South American Dictator, you can't afford to
be squeamish about throwing your enemies into jail or shooting them for
treason. The way to dictate is to dictate,--not to hide indoors all
day while your wife plots for you."
"Does she do that?" asked Hope. "And do you think she will be in
danger--any personal danger, if the revolution comes?"
"Well, she is very unpopular," Clay answered, "and unjustly so, I
think. But it would be better, perhaps, for her if she went as quietly
as possible, when she does go."
"Is our Captain Stuart in danger, too?" the girl continued, anxiously.
"Alice says they put up placards about him all over the city last
night. She saw his men tearing them down as she was coming home. What
has he done?"
"Nothing," Clay answered, shortly. "He happens to be in a false
position, that's all. They think he is here because he is not wanted
in his own country; that is not so. That is not the reason he remains
here. When he was even younger than he is now, he was wild and
foolish, and spent more money than he could afford, and lent more money
to his brother-officers, I have no doubt, than they ever paid back. He
had to leave the regiment because his father wouldn't pay his debts,
and he has been selling his sword for the last three years to one or
another king or sultan or party all over the world, in China and
Madagascar, and later in Siam. I hope you will be very kind to Stuart
and believe well of him, and that you will listen to no evil against
him. Somewhere in England Stuart has a sister like you--about your
age, I mean, that loves him very dearly, and a father whose heart aches
for him, and there is a certain royal regiment that still drinks his
health with pride. He is a lonely little chap, and he has no sense of
humor to help him out of his difficulties, but he is a very brave
gentleman. And he is here fighting for men who are not worthy to hold
his horse's bridle, because of a woman. And I tell you this because
you will hear many lies about him--and about her. He serves her with
the same sort of chivalric devotion that his ancestors felt for the
woman whose ribbons they tied to their lances, and for whom they fought
in the lists."
"I understand," Hope said, softly. "I am glad you told me. I shall
not forget." She sighed and shook her head. "I wish they'd let you
manage it for them," she said.
Clay laughed. "I fear my executive ability is not of so high an order;
besides, as I haven't been born to it, my conscience might trouble me
if I had to shoot my enemies and rob the worthy merchants. I had
better stick to digging holes in the ground. That is all I seem to be
good for."
Hope looked up at him, quickly, in surprise.
"What do you mean by that?" she demanded. There was a tone of such
sharp reproach in her voice that Clay felt himself put on the defensive.
"I mean nothing by it," he said. "Your sister and I had a talk the
other day about a man's making the best of himself, and it opened my
eyes to--to many things. It was a very healthy lesson."
"It could not have been a very healthy lesson," Hope replied, severely,
"if it makes you speak of your work slightingly, as you did then. That
didn't sound at all natural, or like you. It sounded like Alice. Tell
me, did Alice say that?"
The pleasure of hearing Hope take his part against himself was so
comforting to Clay that he hesitated in answering in order to enjoy it
the longer. Her enthusiasm touched him deeply, and he wondered if she
were enthusiastic because she was young, or because she was sure she
was right, and that he was in the wrong.
"It started this way," Clay began, carefully. He was anxious to be
quite fair to Miss Langham, but he found it difficult to give her point
of view correctly, while he was hungering for a word that would
re-establish him in his own good opinion. "Your sister said she did
not think very much of what I had done, but she explained kindly that
she hoped for better things from me. But what troubles me is, that I
will never do anything much better or very different in kind from the
work I have done lately, and so I am a bit discouraged about it in
consequence. You see," said Clay, "when I come to die, and they ask me
what I have done with my ten fingers, I suppose I will have to say,
'Well, I built such and such railroads, and I dug up so many tons of
ore, and opened new countries, and helped make other men rich.' I
can't urge in my behalf that I happen to have been so fortunate as to
have gained the good-will of yourself or your sister. That is quite
reason enough to me, perhaps, for having lived, but it might not appeal
to them. I want to feel that I have accomplished something outside of
myself--something that will remain after I go. Even if it is only a
breakwater or a patent coupling. When I am dead it will not matter to
any one what I personally was, whether I was a bore or a most charming
companion, or whether I had red hair or blue. It is the work that will
tell. And when your sister, whose judgment is the judgment of the
outside world, more or less, says that the work is not worth while, I
naturally feel a bit discouraged. It meant so much to me, and it hurt
me to find it meant so little to others."
Hope remained silent for some time, but the rigidity of her attitude,
and the tightness with which she pressed her lips together, showed that
her mind was deeply occupied. They both sat silent for some few
moments, looking down toward the distant lights of the city. At the
farther end of the double row of bushes that lined the avenue they
could see one of King's sentries passing to and fro across the roadway,
a long black shadow on the moonlit road.
"You are very unfair to yourself," the girl said at last, "and Alice
does not represent the opinion of the world, only of a very small part
of it--her own little world. She does not know how little it is. And
you are wrong as to what they will ask you at the end. What will they
care whether you built railroads or painted impressionist pictures?
They will ask you 'What have you made of yourself? Have you been fine,
and strong, and sincere?' That is what they will ask. And we like you
because you are all of these things, and because you look at life so
cheerfully, and are unafraid. We do not like men because they build
railroads, or because they are prime ministers. We like them for what
they are themselves. And as to your work!" Hope added, and then paused
in eloquent silence. "I think it is a grand work, and a noble work,
full of hardships and self-sacrifices. I do not know of any man who
has done more with his life than you have done with yours." She
stopped and controlled her voice before she spoke again. "You should
be very proud," she said.
Clay lowered his eyes and sat silent, looking down the roadway. The
thought that the girl felt what she said so deeply, and that the fact
that she had said it meant more to him than anything else in the world
could mean, left him thrilled and trembling. He wanted to reach out his
hand and seize both of hers, and tell her how much she was to him, but
it seemed like taking advantage of the truths of a confessional, or of
a child's innocent confidences.
"No, Miss Hope," he answered, with an effort to speak lightly, "I wish
I could believe you, but I know myself better than any one else can,
and I know that while my bridges may stand examination--_I_ can't."
Hope turned and looked at him with eyes full of such sweet meaning that
he was forced to turn his own away.
"I could trust both, I think," the girl said.
Clay drew a quick, deep breath, and started to his feet, as though he
had thrown off the restraint under which he had held himself.
It was not a girl, but a woman who had spoken then, but, though he
turned eagerly toward her, he stood with his head bowed, and did not
dare to read the verdict in her eyes.
The clatter of horses' hoofs coming toward them at a gallop broke in
rudely upon the tense stillness of the moment, but neither noticed it.
"How far," Clay began, in a strained voice, "how far," he asked, more
steadily, "could you trust me?"
Hope's eyes had closed for an instant, and opened again, and she smiled
upon him with a look of perfect confidence and content. The beat of the
horses' hoofs came now from the end of the driveway, and they could
hear the men at the rear of the house pushing back their chairs and
hurrying toward them. Hope raised her head, and Clay moved toward her
eagerly. The horses were within a hundred yards. Before Hope could
speak, the sentry's voice rang out in a hoarse, sharp challenge, like
an alarm of fire on the silent night. "Halt!" they heard him cry. And
as the horses tore past him, and their riders did not turn to look, he
shouted again, "Halt, damn you!" and fired. The flash showed a splash
of red and yellow in the moonlight, and the report started into life
hundreds of echoes which carried it far out over the waters of the
harbor, and tossed it into sharp angles, and distant corners, and in an
instant a myriad of sounds answered it; the frightened cry of
night-birds, the barking of dogs in the village below, and the
footsteps of men running.
Clay glanced angrily down the avenue, and turned beseechingly to Hope.
"Go," she said. "See what is wrong," and moved away as though she
already felt that he could act more freely when she was not near him.
The two horses fell back on their haunches before the steps, and
MacWilliams and Stuart tumbled out of their saddles, and started,
running back on foot in the direction from which the shot had come,
tugging at their revolvers.
"Come back," Clay shouted to them. "That's all right. He was only
obeying orders. That's one of King's sentries."
"Oh, is that it?" said Stuart, in matter-of-fact tones, as he turned
again to the house. "Good idea. Tell him to fire lower next time.
And, I say," he went on, as he bowed curtly to the assembled company on
the veranda, "since you have got a picket out, you had better double
it. And, Clay, see that no one leaves here without permission--no one.
That's more important, even, than keeping them out."
"King, will you--" Clay began.
"All right, General," laughed King, and walked away to meet his
sailors, who came running up the hill in great anxiety.
MacWilliams had not opened his lips, but he was bristling with
importance, and his effort to appear calm and soldierly, like Stuart,
told more plainly than speech that he was the bearer of some invaluable
secret. The sight filled young Langham with a disquieting fear that he
had missed something.
Stuart looked about him, and pulled briskly at his gauntlets. King and
his sailors were grouped together on the grass before the house. Mr.
Langham and his daughters, and Clay, were standing on the steps, and
the servants were peering around the corners of the house.
Stuart saluted Mr. Langham, as though to attract his especial
attention, and then addressed himself in a low tone to Clay.
"It's come," he said. "We've been in it since dinner-time, and we've
got a whole night's work cut out for you." He was laughing with
excitement, and paused for a moment to gain breath. "I'll tell you the
worst of it first. Mendoza has sent word to Alvarez that he wants the
men at the mines to be present at the review to-morrow. He says they
must take part. He wrote a most insolent letter. Alvarez got out of
it by saying that the men were under contract to you, and that you must
give your permission first. Mendoza sent me word that if you would not
let the men come, he would go out and fetch them in him self."
"Indeed!" growled Clay. "Kirkland needs those men to-morrow to load
ore-cars for Thursday's steamer. He can't spare them. That is our
answer, and it happens to be a true one, but if it weren't true, if
to-morrow was All Saints' Day, and the men had nothing to do but to lie
in the sun and sleep, Mendoza couldn't get them. And if he comes to
take them to-morrow, he'll have to bring his army with him to do it.
And he couldn't do it then, Mr. Langham," Clay cried, turning to that
gentleman, "if I had better weapons. The five thousand dollars I
wanted you to spend on rifles, sir, two months ago, might have saved
you several millions to-morrow."
Clay's words seemed to bear some special significance to Stuart and
MacWilliams, for they both laughed, and Stuart pushed Clay up the steps
before him.
"Come inside," he said. "That is why we are here. MacWilliams has
found out where Burke hid his shipment of arms. We are going to try and
get them to-night." He hurried into the dining-room, and the others
grouped themselves about the table. "Tell them about it, MacWilliams,"
Stuart commanded. "I will see that no one overhears you."
MacWilliams was pushed into Mr. Langham's place at the head of the long
table, and the others dragged their chairs up close around him. King
put the candles at the opposite end of the table, and set some
decanters and glasses in the centre. "To look as though we were just
enjoying ourselves," he explained, pleasantly.
Mr. Langham, with his fine, delicate fingers beating nervously on the
table, observed the scene as an on-looker, rather than as the person
chiefly interested. He smiled as he appreciated the incongruity of the
tableau, and the contrast which the actors presented to the situation.
He imagined how much it would amuse his contemporaries of the Union
Club, at home, if they could see him then, with the still, tropical
night outside, the candles reflected on the polished table and on the
angles of the decanters, and showing the intent faces of the young
girls and the men leaning eagerly forward around MacWilliams, who sat
conscious and embarrassed, his hair dishevelled, and his face covered
with dust, while Stuart paced up and down in the shadow, his sabre
clanking as he walked.
"Well, it happened like this," MacWilliams began, nervously, and
addressing himself to Clay. "Stuart and I put Burke safely in a cell
by himself. It was one of the old ones that face the street. There
was a narrow window in it, about eight feet above the floor, and no
means of his reaching it, even if he stood on a chair. We stationed
two troopers before the door, and sent out to a café across the street
for our dinners. I finished mine about nine o'clock, and said 'Good
night' to Stuart, and started to come out here. I went across the
street first, however, to give the restaurant man some orders about
Burke's breakfast. It is a narrow street, you know, with a long
garden-wall and a row of little shops on one side, and with the
jail-wall taking up all of the other side. The street was empty when I
left the jail, except for the sentry on guard in front of it, but just
as I was leaving the restaurant I saw one of Stuart's police come out
and peer up and down the street and over at the shops. He looked
frightened and anxious, and as I wasn't taking chances on anything, I
stepped back into the restaurant and watched him through the window.
He waited until the sentry had turned his back, and started away from
him on his post, and then I saw him drop his sabre so that it rang on
the sidewalk. He was standing, I noticed then, directly under the
third window from the door of the jail. That was the window of Burke's
cell. When I grasped that fact I got out my gun and walked to the door
of the restaurant. Just as I reached it a piece of paper shot out
through the bars of Burke's cell and fell at the policeman's feet, and
he stamped his boot down on it and looked all around again to see if
any one had noticed him. I thought that was my cue, and I ran across
the street with my gun pointed, and shouted to him to give me the
paper. He jumped about a foot when he first saw me, but he was game,
for he grabbed up the paper and stuck it in his mouth and began to chew
on it. I was right up on him then, and I hit him on the chin with my
left fist and knocked him down against the wall, and dropped on him
with both knees and choked him till I made him spit out the paper--and
two teeth," MacWilliams added, with a conscientious regard for details.
"The sentry turned just then and came at me with his bayonet, but I put
my finger to my lips, and that surprised him, so that he didn't know
just what to do, and hesitated. You see, I didn't want Burke to hear
the row outside, so I grabbed my policeman by the collar and pointed to
the jail-door, and the sentry ran back and brought out Stuart and the
guard. Stuart was pretty mad when he saw his policeman all bloody. He
thought it would prejudice his other men against us, but I explained
out loud that the man had been insolent, and I asked Stuart to take us
both to his private room for a hearing, and, of course, when I told him
what had happened, he wanted to punch the chap, too. We put him
ourselves into a cell where he could not communicate with any one, and
then we read the paper. Stuart has it," said MacWilliams, pushing back
his chair, "and he'll tell you the rest." There was a pause, in which
every one seemed to take time to breathe, and then a chorus of
questions and explanations.
King lifted his glass to MacWilliams, and nodded.
"'Well done, Condor,'" he quoted, smiling.
"Yes," said Clay, tapping the younger man on the shoulder as he passed
him. "That's good work. Now show us the paper, Stuart."
Stuart pulled the candles toward him, and spread a slip of paper on the
table.
"Burke did this up in one of those paper boxes for wax matches," he
explained, "and weighted it with a twenty-dollar gold piece.
MacWilliams kept the gold piece, I believe."
"Going to use it for a scarf-pin," explained MacWilliams, in
parenthesis. "Sort of war-medal, like the Chief's," he added, smiling.
"This is in Spanish," Stuart explained. "I will translate it. It is
not addressed to any one, and it is not signed, but it was evidently
written to Mendoza, and we know it is in Burke's handwriting, for we
compared it with some notes of his that we took from him before he was
locked up. He says, 'I cannot keep the appointment, as I have been
arrested.' The line that follows here," Stuart explained, raising his
head, "has been scratched out, but we spent some time over it, and we
made out that it read: 'It was Mr. Clay who recognized me, and ordered
my arrest. He is the best man the others have. Watch him.' We think
he rubbed that out through good feeling toward Clay. There seems to be
no other reason. He's a very good sort, this old Burke, I think."
"Well, never mind him; it was very decent of him, anyway," said Clay.
"Go on. Get to Hecuba."
"'I cannot keep the appointment, as I have been arrested,'" repeated
Stuart. "'I landed the goods last night in safety. I could not come
in when first signalled, as the wind and tide were both off shore. But
we got all the stuff stored away by morning. Your agent paid me in
full and got my receipt. Please consider this as the same thing--as the
equivalent'--it is difficult to translate it exactly," commented
Stuart--"'as the equivalent of the receipt I was to have given when I
made my report to-night. I sent three of your guards away on my own
responsibility, for I think more than that number might attract
attention to the spot, and they might be seen from the ore-trains.'
That is the point of the note for us, of course," Stuart interrupted
himself to say. "Burke adds," he went on, "'that they are to make no
effort to rescue him, as he is quite comfortable, and is willing to
remain in the carcel until they are established in power.'"
"Within sight of the ore-trains!" exclaimed Clay. "There are no
ore-trains but ours. It must be along the line of the road."
"MacWilliams says he knows every foot of land along the railroad," said
Stuart, "and he is sure the place Burke means is the old fortress on
the Platta inlet, because--"
"It is the only place," interrupted MacWilliams, "where there is no
surf. They could run small boats up the inlet and unload in smooth
water within twenty feet of the ramparts; and another thing, that is
the only point on the line with a wagon road running direct from it to
the Capital. It's an old road, and hasn't been travelled over for
years, but it could be used. No," he added, as though answering the
doubt in Clay's mind, "there is no other place. If I had a map here I
could show you in a minute; where the beach is level there is a jungle
between it and the road, and wherever there is open country, there is a
limestone formation and rocks between it and the sea, where no boat
could touch."
"But the fortress is so conspicuous," Clay demurred; "the nearest
rampart is within twenty feet of the road. Don't you remember we
measured it when we thought of laying the double track?"
"That is just what Burke says," urged Stuart. "That is the reason he
gives for leaving only three men on guard--'I think more than that
number might attract attention to the spot, as they might be seen from
the ore-trains.'"
"Have you told any one of this?" Clay asked. "What have you done so
far?"
"We've done nothing," said Stuart. "We lost our nerve when we found
out how much we knew, and we decided we'd better leave it to you."
"Whatever we do must be done at once," said Clay. "They will come for
the arms to-night, most likely, and we must be there first. I agree
with you entirely about the place. It is only a question now of our
being on time. There are two things to do. The first thing is, to
keep them from getting the arms, and the second is, if we are lucky, to
secure them for ourselves. If we can pull it off properly, we ought to
have those rifles in the mines before midnight. If we are hurried or
surprised, we must dump them off the fort into the sea." Clay laughed
and looked about him at the men. "We are only following out General
Bolivar's saying 'When you want arms take them from the enemy.' Now,
there are three places we must cover. This house, first of all," he
went on, inclining his head quickly toward the two sisters, "then the
city, and the mines. Stuart's place, of course, is at the Palace.
King must take care of this house and those in it, and MacWilliams and
Langham and I must look after the arms. We must organize two parties,
and they had better approach the fort from here and from the mines at
the same time. I will need you to do some telegraphing for me, Mac;
and, King, I must ask you for some more men from the yacht. How many
have you?"
King answered that there were fifteen men still on board, ten of whom
would be of service. He added that they were all well equipped for
fighting.
"I believe King's a pirate in business hours," Clay said, smiling.
"All right, that's good. Now go tell ten of them to meet me at the
round-house in half an hour. I will get MacWilliams to telegraph
Kirkland to run an engine and flat cars to within a half mile of the
fort on the north, and we will come up on it with the sailors and Ted,
here, from the south. You must run the engine yourself, MacWilliams,
and perhaps it would be better, King, if your men joined us at the foot
of the grounds here and not at the round-house. None of the workmen
must see our party start. Do you agree with me?" he asked, turning to
those in the group about him. "Has anybody any criticism to make?"
Stuart and King looked at one another ruefully and laughed. "I don't
see what good I am doing in town," protested Stuart. "Yes, and I don't
see where I come in, either," growled King, in aggrieved tones. "These
youngsters can't do it all; besides I ought to have charge of my own
men."
"Mutiny," said Clay, in some perplexity, "rank mutiny. Why, it's only
a picnic. There are but three men there. We don't need sixteen white
men to frighten off three Olanchoans."
"I'll tell you what to do," cried Hope, with the air of having
discovered a plan which would be acceptable to every one, "let's all
go."
"Well, I certainly mean to go," said Mr. Langham, decidedly. "So some
one else must stay here. Ted, you will have to look after your
sisters."
The son and heir smiled upon his parent with a look of affectionate
wonder, and shook his head at him in fond and pitying disapproval.
"I'll stay," said King. "I have never seen such ungallant conduct.
Ladies," he said, "I will protect your lives and property, and we'll
invent something exciting to do ourselves, even if we have to bombard
the Capital."
The men bade the women good-night, and left them with King and Mr.
Langham, who had been persuaded to remain overnight, while Stuart rode
off to acquaint Alvarez and General Rojas with what was going on.