A WARNING
It was a bright morning when the S.S. _Manyamba_ rolled south into sight
of the Canaries over a white-flecked sea. They rose rather like dim blue
clouds than islands athwart the far horizon, with one glistening cone
cut off by silver mists from the ocean plain beneath, towering high
above the loftiest. Maxwell leaned over the poop rails, while Dane, the
middle-aged purser, and Miss Bonita Castro stood near by. The lady's
father, a little, olive-faced Portuguese, with shifty black eyes,
lounged in a deck chair watching them languidly. There were few
passengers on board, and the members of the group, who had made friends
somewhat rapidly, were now amusing themselves by shooting at the bottles
a steward forward flung into the sea.
A big pistol flashed in Miss Castro's hand. The purser clutched at a
stanchion and uttered a quick exclamation; Maxwell wheeled round
suddenly. A bottle, ceasing its gyrations, sank into the white wash of
the screw, and the lady laughed as she lowered the pistol muzzle.
"_Tres!_" she cried exultantly. "That is three to me! _Carramba!_ I have
also it seem, as you say, nearly bag the Senor Maxwell."
If Dom Pedro Castro was a typical Portuguese, his wife had been an
Andalusian, and his daughter, while speaking several languages rather
prettily than well, preferred her mother's tongue, and had inherited a
full share of the voluptuous beauty of a race whose women are famous in
Spain. She formed an interesting picture as she stood with the blue of
the sea behind her, laughter in her dark eyes, and the pistol still
smoking in her hand. They were remarkably attractive eyes; and Maxwell,
knowing what to look for, saw more than Dane had apparently seen in
their depths, and decided to warn his comrade to beware of them. A faint
carmine warmth emphasized the comeliness of the slightly dusky face,
while graceful pose and figure were both characteristic of a woman of
her extraction as yet well short of the age at which Southern beauty
changes into grossness.
"You have not the fright, Senor Maxwell, though a little nearer and we
leave you behind?" she added naively.
Maxwell did not look frightened, though he might well have been, for the
bullet had passed him close. He answered with a smile which, as Dane had
noticed before, appeared to linger on his lips after the gravity had
returned to his eyes.
"No, senorita. If a man could choose his last resting-place, wouldn't
this blue water be much nicer than a mangrove swamp in Africa. That very
little, however, makes a vast difference; and you have won the gloves.
You shall have the best in Las Palmas to-night. You will land us by
sunset, Mr. Purser?"
"Yes." The Purser sighed with relief when he saw that the contest was
over. "Hadn't you better give me that pistol, senorita? Accidents happen
when one least expects them, and the Company would hold me responsible
if you killed anybody. I don't think the skipper would see quite as much
humor in the position as you seem to."
Bonita laughed with the light-heartedness of a child, and glanced
demurely at Dane.
"To kill the Senor Maxwell, or my good friend Don Ilton, is catastrophe;
but to kill a bad man, it is nothing. Many men are killed in Africa; I
myself shoot one. There was in him the blood of the negro, and he forget
it when without respect he speak to me."
Dane was a trifle staggered by the matter-of-fact manner in which Miss
Castro mentioned the way she had disposed of one whom he surmised had
been too venturesome a suitor.
"_Verdad!_" exclaimed Dom Pedro. "The man, by bad fortune, he is not
die, and that affair is cost me much commercio. My daughter she has, in
your English, the spirited way."
The lady's face changed suddenly as she turned toward Maxwell.
"I beat you, Senor, but it is because you are _muy caballero_, and
prefer the defeat from me. You have the steady hand and the dangerous
eye, and have not the fear. That is well if you go up into the forest in
my country. It is different with your friend. The pistol is not for him.
No, he remind me of those big fair men with the axes I read of in
England. I make you my compliments, Don Ilton, and you show me where the
swift Bonita he leap at the bow."
Whether, because Miss Castro was fond of admiration, this was done out
of pique at Maxwell's indifference to her attractions, Dane naturally
did not know, but he answered with a bow, and the two strolled forward
together. There were no porpoises circling, as they often will, athwart
the stem, but the lady who perched herself upon a knighthead seemed in
no way disappointed. The sun made rainbows in the spray which whirled
beneath her, as each blue ridge fell back shattered from the shearing
bows; and nowhere else could one realize so well the swift passage of
the quivering hull through the white-topped seas, or feel the same
cradle-like rise and fall of the warm deck planking.
"All this," remarked Miss Castro, "is very nice; and the Senor Maxwell,
who is _muy caballero_, but somber sometimes, he is not here. You have
my permission to sit there, and I will talk to you."
Dane afterward wondered why, in place of doing so, she led him on to
talk about his comrade; but it was perhaps not unnatural that he should
find a certain degree of pleasure in the society of his comely and
versatile companion. He knew little of Miss Castro beyond what the
purser had told him, and that Maxwell had met her elsewhere; but he was
to learn more in due time. She had been educated in some Spanish
convent; but, being born on the fever coast, could withstand the
climate, and she spent part of her time there in her father's factory,
and the rest with her mother's sister in the Canaries. Dom Pedro was
assumed to be a tolerably prosperous trader.
An hour had passed before the two came aft together, and on the next
opportunity Maxwell took his friend to task.
"It is perhaps time for me to warn you about playing with fire, Hilton,"
he said. "Miss Castro is certainly pretty, but her people don't
understand the game of flirtation as played in England. In all
emotional questions they're unpleasantly in earnest. I may remind you
that I met the senorita in Africa."
"I have not so far obtruded my advice on you," Dane returned. "Don't you
think this----"
"Is an impertinence?" and Maxwell smiled. "Perfectly. I also admit that
the role of mentor does not become me. Nevertheless, when Miss Castro
casually mentioned how she got rid of her last suitor, there was
something in her eyes which might have warned an observer. You needn't
trouble about a neat rejoinder, because I'll retire, having done my
duty."
"I mean to call upon Miss Castro at the Catalina to-morrow. Your
warning, however, is superfluous, as it will be the last time I shall
see her. She is remaining here."
There was a trace of mischief in Maxwell's smile as he answered.
"I am going with you. You need not express astonishment. She invited
me."
It was a sunny afternoon when they went ashore together; but they did
not find Miss Castro immediately at her hotel. It appeared that the
British tourists and invalids who sojourned in the dusty Spanish city
had joined hands with its leading inhabitants over the organization of a
gala for the benefit of local institutions, and Miss Castro was playing
the part of soothsayer in the cause of charity.
Dane found it pleasant, in spite of the dust, to watch the white mists
sliding athwart the great volcanic peaks, and the silvery spray toss
beneath the white-walled city. The assembly also was interesting. Gaily
uniformed Castilian officer, and British tourist fantastically attired,
jostled each other. Dark-skinned, black-haired beauties--pleasant to
look upon even when they wore Parisian headgear instead of the national
mantilla--in filmy draperies, flitted in and out among young
Englishwomen, whose indifferent faces and attire emphasized the contrast
between their respective characters; while here and there a matron of
their own nation stood surveying the scene with the pitying contempt for
everything foreign which too many insular Britons consider impresses the
benighted alien. Good music mingled with the merry voices, swish of
diaphanous dresses, clank of sabers, and patter of feet, and through all
rang the monotone of the sea.
"Look at it well," said Maxwell. "It is the last glimpse of civilization
you will get for many a day. Henceforward our path leads us into a land
of eternal shadow haunted by all things evil; at least, and they have
some reason, so the negroes say. There's the senorita, telling fortunes
in that striped tent. It is curious that she is beckoning--me."
Maxwell pushed his way through the throng surrounding a gaudy pavilion,
where Miss Castro was evidently doing excellent business; and presently
he returned, smiling curiously.
"She wishes to tell your fortune. Go in and spend a crown in the cause
of charity. I can't say that mine was a very good one, but the senorita
showed an accuracy which was, under the circumstances, surprising."
Dane made his way with difficulty into the tent, and when his eyes grew
used to the change from brilliant sunshine to shadow, he realized one
reason for Miss Castro's success. She wore the dress of the Andaluces,
thin, lace-like draperies of black, sufficiently short to reveal the
tiny high-arched feet in dainty Moorish slippers. A gauzy black mantilla
and a crimson rose adorned her hair, while the graces of her figure were
emphasized by a broad zone of African gold, chased with zodiacal
characters by sable craftsmen. The costume suited her; and Miss Castro
was probably aware of the fact.
"So you will learn a little of the future, Don Ilton?" she said, with
unusual gravity. "No, you must not smile. This is not the charlatan's
trickery. The ancient Moors they teach us wisdom, and I have study. So,
we throw there the crown, and I lay this Aggri in your palm. The Aggri
has virtue, though what it is no man know."
She detached from her bracelet an insignificant bead, one of the
mysterious Aggri which cannot be counterfeited, and, as Dane afterward
learned, can hardly be bought with money in West Africa.
"It is a big, hard hand, and has done much work, perhaps with the
shovel, in a hot country--I think the Sud America," she said. "It will
also hold the rifle. It is well to hold the rifle straight in Africa."
Miss Castro had splendid eyes, of a kind that it is not wise for a
susceptible man to gaze into too steadily while his hand is held in very
pretty fingers; and Dane felt it incumbent on him to break the spell.
"This is not all divination, senorita. I told you I was going inland
from the African coast; though I certainly did not tell you I had been
in South America. Did you guess it by my darkened skin?"
"It is not the trickery," repeated Miss Castro. "I tell you only the
things I know. There is blood on your path through the forest--blood,
and a shadow that follows, creeping always behind. Look well to your
friend. The shadow follows, but does not rest on--you. If it should,
there is a pale, cold woman in England who--but I cannot tell you if she
would be sorry, or if you will ever see her again. There is also
treasure, but the lines fade and the crosses are many, with only the
sign of danger clear. I can see no farther. Only the good saints know
the end."
She paused for a moment, leaving Dane somewhat impressed, for, although
no believer in palmistry of that description, he had seen that Miss
Castro was apparently not speaking without a purpose. Then she laid down
the Aggri and, it seemed to Dane, her mantle of prophetess
simultaneously, saying in her usual tone, but with somewhat unusual
earnestness:
"And now you will not laugh while I give you the warning. Beware of
these three things: a man with the holy cross on his forehead, the
carved calabash, and the leopard's skin. You will remember always, but
tell only the Senor Maxwell. There is one at least who would not have
that shadow overtake you. It may be I shall see you in Africa."
Here the eager crowd outside showed signs of storming the tent, and Dane
was forced to take his leave, reflecting that it might perhaps be as
well if they did not, as Miss Castro expected, meet in Africa. Rejoining
Maxwell, he told him what he had heard, concluding:
"It much resembled the usual professional soothsayer's medley, and I
could make neither head nor tail of it. Still, the senorita's manner
impressed me."
"How did she look or speak?" Maxwell's glance betrayed his interest.
"As though she believed what she was saying, and wished me to."
"I am inclined to think she did," Maxwell answered thoughtfully. "She
was also probably giving you good advice in the one way available. How
she knows I cannot tell, but by the light of past experience I can make
a good deal of the medley. As you probably surmised, her warning was not
the result of divination."
Maxwell did not appear inclined to answer questions, and, dismissing the
subject, they proceeded to make the most of their last few hours upon
what he termed Christian soil. The black peaks were fading against the
saffron in the west, and purple darkness creeping up from Africa across
the sea, when the mail gun warned them it was time to return to the
steamer.
"We shall have seen, and perhaps suffered, very strange things before we
set foot in a civilized land again," said Maxwell. "It is not a tropical
sporting trip that we are embarking upon. There remain just five minutes
for a valedictory libation."
"Champagne!" Dane said to the Swiss attendant as they passed through the
veranda of the hotel; and presently he rose from a little table, holding
up the sparkling cup. Maxwell's hints had impressed him, and there was a
grimness behind his smile when he spoke.
"Here's death or glory! A swift journey to the heart of the forest!"
Maxwell generally frowned upon anything that approached the theatrical,
but, as he touched his comrade's glass with his own, his face was grave.
"Heaven send us both back safe out of it and--because the one implies
the other--confound the cross-marked man!"
Dane asked no questions. Maxwell was always slightly oracular, and might
not have answered them; and a few minutes later they were being rowed
off to the steamer in company with Dom Pedro Castro.
The _Manyamba_ was not a fast boat; she anchored off many surf-hammered
beaches before she reached the one where the adventurers had arranged to
disembark, and where, as it happened, Dom Pedro had built his principal
factory. He proved a pleasant companion, though Dane fancied that he was
weak alike in character and in principle. One day as they rolled slowly
along the spray-veiled coast with a maze of half-seen mangroves over the
port hand, Dom Pedro sauntered across the deck toward Dane.
"You go up into the Leopard's country to look for gold?" he said,
glancing at Dane in a manner which puzzled him.
"We are certainly going inland, but I am afraid that is all I can tell
you," Dane replied guardedly.
Dom Pedro smiled.
"Then you seek the gold. Even your countrymen do not go into that forest
for pleasure. But only one man, I think, has seen that gold since the
men of my nation who came after Gama ruled this country. That man he
die, as you call it, crazy. How much your expedition cost you, Don
Ilton?"
Dane mentioned an approximate sum, expressing his surprise that the
questioner should even have guessed their object, but refraining from
stating whether the guess was a correct one; and the elder man spread
out his yellow palms deprecatingly.
"Where the gold lie is not concern me. I am gentleman of peace and
commercio. There is one man, not all the nigger, who think he know, and
another not all a white man who will pay him to hinder you. More I only
guess at and cannot tell you, but I know you and the Senor Maxwell never
pass the Leopard country. Don Ilton, I presume you bold man who come
here to make the money. With the sum you mention I show you how. It is
not all for the good will, but for the assistance also of me."
Now Dane might have suspected treachery, but he did not do so. Indeed,
he was inclined to fancy the offer and warning were genuine. He declined
the offer, however; and consulted Maxwell on the first opportunity.
"I believe what he told you was spoken in good faith," Maxwell said;
"and he was perfectly correct. The first man he mentioned is probably
the rascal who betrayed poor Niven; and Rideau must be the other. He
has, if I am correct in my surmises, had dealings not wholly creditable
to either, with Dom Pedro; and it is possible the latter might have
found us useful. This, combination may, however, increase our
difficulties."