COMINGS AND GOINGS
Tim rode on through the town, soon left the last house behind him, and
came into the open country. A rough track led northward to Mr.
O'Hagan's hacienda, three miles away. Several years before, Mr. O'Hagan
had bought his estate, consisting of some thousands of acres, at a very
low price, and planted it partly with coffee, partly with sugar. His
workers were Cholos (the native Indians) and Japanese. The cost of
living and of labour being low, and the soil very fertile, the
plantations had in a short time brought him wealth. The chief drawback
was difficulty of transport. San Rosario was in a remote province
between the Andes and the forests, far from railways and from good
roads. There were steep hills almost all round the town, crossed only
by rough paths over which goods were carried on the backs of mules.
Some of the planters had tried to introduce wheeled vehicles; but the
customs of the country proved too strong for them, and the arriero or
muleteer, dirty, cheerful, hard-working and incorrigibly unpunctual,
remained the common carrier.
On first leaving the gobernador, Tim was glowing with pleasure and pride
in his feat. But as he neared his home, his spirits gradually sank. He
did not much relish the coming explanations with his father. Mr. O'Hagan
was by no means strict with his only son as a general rule, but he was
apt to look darkly on escapades which involved the townsfolk. By the
time Tim came to the house he was in quite a sober frame of mind.
The dwelling was a long, one-storied building of adobe and wood,
constructed in Peruvian style. The entrance hall led into a patio--a
sort of courtyard open to the sky, with palms and boxes of flowers
around the walls. To the right of this were the drawing-room and study.
Beyond was another patio with a well in the centre, and a veranda
looking on the garden. On the other side were the dining-room and
bedrooms, and a small room used by Mr. O'Hagan as an office. Then came
the servants' patio, the kitchen and servants' bedrooms, and at the end
of the house a large enclosure, part vegetable garden, part poultry run.
Tim placed his bicycle in its shed behind the house, and entered,
resolved to "get it over." He hoped to see his mother in the patio; she
was often a very convenient buffer between him and his father; but she
was not there, and he remembered that this was the time of her afternoon
nap. He went on until he reached the office, where Mr. O'Hagan and a
Peruvian clerk were at work.
Mr. O'Hagan threw a rapid glance at the boy as he entered, and was
relieved to see no cuts, bruises, or other signs of accident.
"Had a good ride, Tim?" he said.
"Pretty good," replied Tim somewhat gloomily. "I saved Senor Fagasta's
life."
"What's that you say? I suppose you overtook him and didn't run him
down, eh?"
"It wasn't exactly that," said Tim. "I did overtake him on his mule;
he'd been to San Juan; but we were pounced on by four rough-looking
fellows he called brigands. They let me off, and I walked back and found
the gobernador tied to a tree. I brought him in on my machine."
"You don't tell me so! This is very vexing; I wish it hadn't happened."
"But, Father, you wouldn't have left the old gentleman to die!"
"How do you know he'd have died?" said Mr. O'Hagan testily. "The
fellows probably only wanted to squeeze a ransom out of him. Upon my
word, Tim, you're a great trouble to me, with your machine. You know how
careful I am to keep out of local squabbles, and yet you've run
head-first into one."
"Really, I couldn't help it, Father."
"I suppose you couldn't, but it's a pity. You've made an enemy of the
Mollendists, and in this country they may be our governors next week.
You'll cost me a pretty penny. Still, you couldn't help it; only don't
let it occur again."
Tim heaved a sigh of relief.
"You'd have laughed if you'd seen him," he said. "We came through the
street in fine style. He was perched on the carrier, clinging on for
dear life, and all the people shouting like anything."
"You don't mean to say you brought him right through the street?"
"Indeed I did."
"Why on earth did you do that?"
"It was such fun, Father. I really couldn't help it."
"And don't you know you must never be funny with a Peruvian? He has no
sense of fun, especially when the fun is at his expense. You're
terribly thoughtless. You ought to have dropped the gobernador before
you came to the town. However!"
Mr. O'Hagan did not continue his rebuke. In his mind's eye he saw the
recent scene, and remembered the time when he himself might have yielded
to the temptation to which Tim had succumbed. Years before, when quite
a young man, just arrived from home, he had thrown himself with Irish
impetuosity into the struggle between Peru and Chile; and having been a
lieutenant of volunteers when living in London, he had made use of his
military knowledge in his new domicile. He had been given a commission
in the Peruvian cavalry, and had led many a daring sortie, many a
gallant charge. With those reckless feats still clear in his memory, he
could not bear hardly on the boy who so much resembled him. "You can't
put old heads on young shoulders," he thought; "but I was a fool to buy
him that motor-cycle."
The conversation between father and son had, of course, been carried on
in English. The Peruvian clerk, bending over his books, listened
attentively, but could understand only a word or two here and there.
What little he picked up whetted his curiosity, and by and by, when he
found an opportunity of speaking to Tim alone, he tried to pump him.
But Tim did not like Miguel Pardo. He could scarcely have told why; it
was an instinctive feeling which did not need explanation. When the
young Peruvian began to ply him with questions in Spanish, perfectly
polite, but yet, as Tim thought, rather too pressing, he gave short and
vague answers. Pardo saw that he was being fenced with, and presently
desisted, breaking off the conversation with a smile.
A little later, when the O'Hagans were having tea in the patio, Pardo
spent the last few minutes before closing work for the day in writing a
letter. Then, locking up his books, he left the house by the servants'
entrance and, instead of going to the huts half a mile away, in which
Mr. O'Hagan's employees lodged, he set off for the town.
He had not gone far when he was met-by Nicolas Romana, the young
Peruvian who was storekeeper and general factotum of the estate. The
two men were always so excessively polite to each other that Mr. O'Hagan
shrewdly guessed them to be hostile at heart. They never quarrelled;
but it was impossible to be in their company long without feeling that
at any moment sparks might fly.
"Ah, senor," said Romana, on meeting Pardo, "you are about to take the
air? Let me give you a friendly warning: beware of a storm. I just now
heard rumblings of thunder."
"Many thanks, senor," replied Pardo. "I shall not go far afield.
Perhaps to the town. San Rosario is not Lima, unluckily. There I should
have a friend's house at every few yards to give me shelter."
This, as Romana very well knew, was a mere boast, an assumption of
superiority: every Peruvian wishes to be regarded as a native of Lima.
"How strange we never met there!" he said politely. "I myself was born
at Lima, and lived there fully twenty years."
"What a loss to me!" said Pardo. "I bid you good-evening."
He swept off his hat and passed on.
Romana stood looking after him in some surprise. It was an unusually
abrupt ending of the conversation. Ordinarily the bandying of words
would have been kept up for several minutes. What was the reason of
Pardo's haste? He was walking very quickly, too, as if he had an errand
of importance.
A man who has weighty secrets himself is very apt to suspect others of
harbouring secrets also. This may perhaps explain why Romana, instead
of proceeding on his way to the hacienda, turned about, and dogged Pardo
to the outskirts of the town. There the clerk entered a small house--a
chacara belonging to one of the Indian agriculturists of the
neighbourhood. In a few minutes he returned, passed unsuspiciously the
clump of bush behind which Romana was spying, and retraced the road
homeward.
Romana remained on the watch. Presently an Indian came out of the
house, went to his corral hard by, caught and saddled a horse, and rode
off, not towards San Rosario, but along a bridle-path that ran westward
and led into the high road to San Juan.
The watcher felt that he had not come in vain. Instead of returning to
the hacienda, he walked rapidly into the town, and showed signs of
pleasure on meeting, near the plaza, a thin, wiry man of about sixty
years of age, with whom he entered into earnest conversation. A few
minutes later this man might have been seen riding quickly out of the
town, on the same road as that which the Indian had struck perhaps half
an hour before.
Next morning, when the workers were busy about the plantation, and Mr.
O'Hagan was engaged with Pardo in the office, Romana strolled to an
orange orchard a quarter of a mile southward from the house. After
waiting there impatiently for nearly an hour, he was joined by the man
with whom he had conversed in San Rosario on the previous evening.
"Well, caballero?" said Romana eagerly.
"I followed him, senor, into San Juan."
"Where did he go?"
"To the Prefect's house."
"Good!" said Romana with satisfaction. "Is there any news?"
"None, senor. The gobernador gives out that he very much enjoyed his
ride."
Romana smiled.
"Very well, caballero. Go back and keep eyes and ears open."
They parted, and Romana returned to his work.