MAXWELL'S CONFIDENCE
Though the English are not greatly loved in any possessions of Spain,
their gold has the power of rousing even the contemplative Canario out
of his usual lethargy, and when the driver shouted, drowsy men hurried
about the posada. The host had two good mules, and a vine-grower would
be glad to act as guide, but there was, he said, a difficulty. He had
only one saddle fit for a lady and with the deepest respect for the
senora, he feared she was too old to venture over the perilous bridle
paths at that time of night; with which opinion Mrs. Chatterton quite
concurred. Lilian glanced at her aunt, and then toward the bare-legged
peasant, who, with a great blanket rolled about his shoulders, stood,
hat in hand, before her. There was a rude dignity about this
vine-dresser which pleased her, and moving forward she kissed her aunt.
"You must go on alone to the hotel at Oratava," she said.
Mrs. Chatterton had long grown accustomed to being ruled by her niece,
and though she protested, she did so feebly. Even while she spoke the
girl put her foot in the hand of the vine-dresser, who lifted her to the
saddle, and then sprang into his own. He swept his battered hat to his
knee with the grace of a courtier as he passed Mrs. Chatterton, and
almost before the elder lady realized what had happened, the two
mounted figures had vanished among the maize. With a sigh and an
inarticulate prayer, she bade the driver proceed to Oratava, as slowly
as he liked.
Lilian never counted the risks she ran during that ride. The two
strangely-assorted companions soon left the maize behind and rode over
broken lava and scoriae; dipped, sliding and stumbling, into a barranco
filled with impenetrable shadow, out of which the guide had hard work to
drag the horses on the opposite side; and then skirted the dizzy brink
of another vast volcanic fissure in the black hillside. Lilian, looking
down into the depths that yawned beneath her, guessed aright that a slip
would mean destruction, while for once her heart failed her when the
peasant pulled the mules up where the pathway seemed to break off at the
brink. He pointed toward the lights far down in the hollow, saying in
Castilian:
"That is the mill. The senorita rides well. If she will let the mule
find its own way she may, with the blessing of heaven, come down
safely."
Lilian, partly comprehending, shuddered for a moment as she glanced into
the great volcanic pit, then, slacking the bridle, laid one hand on the
high peak of the saddle, as with the cinders rattling away beneath them,
they commenced the descent. No beast but a Canary pack-mule trained to
carry wine kegs over the wild hill trails could have come down alive,
and it seemed to be sliding with legs braced stiffly most of the time,
and then picking its way foot by foot down the face of an almost
precipitous descent. Fortunately the darkness hid the worst terrors;
they came down safely, and swept through tall cane on the level toward a
group of dusky buildings, which grew plainer ahead.
Then the guide shouted, there was a howling of dogs, and Lilian,
dropping stiffly from the saddle, walked into the presence of her uncle
in the Spanish sugar-grower's dwelling. Chatterton, who had been poring
late over some machine drawings, rose abruptly at the sight of her.
"Good heavens, Lily! Have you flown here?" he cried. "What has happened
girl? Is your aunt ill?"
"Don't ask questions! Sit still a minute, and listen! My aunt is well
and should be safe in Oratava by now. Mr. Maxwell is in Santa Cruz, and
brings serious news of Hilton."
Chatterton stiffened to attention as he listened. Then, because he was
above all things a man of action and could let side issues wait, he
asked no questions but patted his niece's shoulder.
"Well done, my girl. Well done!" he said. "God forbid that my dead
partner's son should perish while I have the power to help him. If it's
money Maxwell needs, he shall have it if there's sufficient in the Bank
of Spain. It is lucky I opened credit to show these blunderers how to
run their mill. You will stay here with the Senora Martin, and rejoin
your aunt to-morrow. I shall start, but not by your road, as soon as
these loafers can get horses ready."
"I am going with you," Lilian said, quietly. She was very tired; but
with Dane's life at stake, she dare not take any chances. That her uncle
would do his best to reach Maxwell in time, she knew; and yet, if
something should happen on the way! If his horse should slip on those
treacherous lava trails!
Chatterton saw the pale lips close tightly with a determination that he
never attempted to resist.
"Very well, Lily," he acquiesced; "but it will be a hard ride."
In an incredibly short time the horses were ready, and Chatterton and
his niece followed their guide throughout the remaining hours of the
long night. Few words were spoken by either of them as they urged their
horses forward. At dawn they were still riding, Lilian feverishly
anxious, Chatterton grimly determined.
* * * * *
A big gray-painted steamer lay rolling in the harbor of Santa Cruz, and
Maxwell stood on the hotel steps impatiently glancing at his watch. He
had given Miss Chatterton his conditional promise that he would await
her return, but he dare not miss the steamer. A feathery column of vapor
roaring aloft from her steam-pipe indicated that all was ready. He had
less than ten minutes to spare, and there was still no sign of Miss
Chatterton.
"Five more minutes. There's the first bell now!"
Three of the minutes passed, and Maxwell was hurrying toward the boat,
when somebody shouted his name, and turning, he saw two white-flecked
horses race into the plaza. One kept on to the hotel; almost before the
other stopped, Thomas Chatterton leaped to the ground.
"You're not going in that boat!" he gasped. "Can't you understand me?
You are going back to the Coast instead!"
"I'm afraid I can't, sir," Maxwell replied with a puzzled air. "I don't
want to be uncivil, but I dare not waste a moment. I must catch the
steamer."
"You shan't!" persisted Chatterton, his red face growing purple when
Maxwell shook his hand off his arm. "Confound you! Stop and listen! I
owed Hilton's father more than I can ever repay his son, and Lilian
told me what has befallen him. Well, if it's money you are short of, I'm
not a poor man, and you can have as much as they hold in the bank here
if you want it to rescue your partner. Now, don't let any foolish pride
lead you into manslaughter. I'm doing you no favor, but making a
commercial investment. Call me sleeping partner or anything you like,
but don't throw your comrade's life away."
Maxwell looked his relief.
"I am not quite a fool, sir, and dare not refuse. It only remains for me
to express my gratitude."
"Gratitude be consumed!" said Chatterton, cheerily. "Call it business.
Now we'll order the best breakfast they can serve us in this place, and
you can tell me the whole thing again."
Two days later when Maxwell boarded a steamer bound for the West Coast,
Chatterton and his niece went on board with him. Lilian was both
relieved and sorry when the iron-master hurried away in search of the
purser to make sure that several bags of silver currency were put in
safe keeping. She had something to say to Maxwell, but the task was
difficult.
"I shall always take shame upon myself for what I said on the balcony,"
she began. "You are a very loyal partner, and I wish you Godspeed."
The words were simple, but because, during the fateful moments when the
two stood on the balcony, the veil which covered their inmost thoughts
had been drawn aside, they cost Lilian an effort, and meant a good deal.
They sent a curious thrill to the heart of Maxwell.
"I meant all that I said one other night, and I am ready to prove it,"
he said. "Whether I shall ever return or not, I say it solemnly, only
Gods knows; but if I live to reach our camp, I think Hilton Dane will."
For a moment Lilian's eyes grew hazy, and she looked away from him.
Then, though there was moisture on her lashes, she turned fully toward
her companion, holding out her hand.
"Heaven send you both back safe! You are a good man, and very generous.
I knew it the evening we passed the Hallows Brig--but----"
"Destiny arranges these things for us," Maxwell interrupted quietly. "I
am glad that your good wishes follow me to Africa."
Thomas Chatterton came up panting as he spoke, the warning of the last
bell broke through the rattle of the windlass, and Maxwell bent
bareheaded over Lilian's hand. Then she and Chatterton went down the
side together, a deep-toned whistle vibrated above the waters as the
steamer slowly forged ahead, and Maxwell saw a white-gowned figure in
the boat beneath her side turn with a farewell smile and wave a hand to
him. Once more he raised his hat, and when the boat slid astern Lilian's
eyes grew hazy as she gazed after the departing vessel.
"That man will go far," said Chatterton. "Once he makes up his mind the
devil himself would hardly turn him. He is one of the steely, quiet kind
who are never more in earnest than when they are silent, but I am
anxious. He is bound for a very deadly country."
Cool breezes followed the steamer to the African coast, and Maxwell had
recovered part of his vigor before the first palm-crowned bluff rose out
of the sea. He had sufficient funds at his disposal, but arduous work to
do, and he held himself apart from the few passengers, thinking
earnestly. Among other things he decided to fit out the relief
expedition at Redmond's factory at Little Mahu, because, though more
difficult, the road from there was shorter and less likely to be
watched; and he surmised that Rideau, who must hear of his presence on
the coast sooner or later, would expect him to start from Castro's
factory. Maxwell knew he had not seen the last of their treacherous
partner.
At the last moment, he so far modified his plans as to call upon Dom
Pedro.
It was a fine afternoon when the cliff with the tall palms on the crest
of it, and low whitewashed buildings nestling between them and the
smoking beach, rose to view, and the purser, strolling past, halted near
Maxwell.
"We have several boat-loads of cottons for this place, and as the surf
is high it will take us until sunset to land them safely," he said.
"Then, as there are nasty reefs to thread through, the skipper will
probably wait for moonlight before he heaves the anchor; so if you don't
mind a spray bath you might have a few hours ashore."
Maxwell, knowing that he would see quite sufficient of Africa before he
sailed west again, felt no great desire to go ashore; but as he gazed at
the dazzling buildings through his glasses a figure came out upon the
veranda, and an unaccountable impulse urged him to seek speech with Miss
Castro. Why he should do so, and what he should say to her, he did not
know, but he remembered that several times during his career some
unconsidered action made on the spur of the moment proved as fruitful as
his best laid plans. So, donning the mate's oil-skins, he dropped into a
surf-boat and was whirled shoreward on a big breaker's crest, landing
without misadventure amidst a cloud of spray.
Dom Pedro, it appeared, was absent, but his daughter started at the
sight of the stranger, and the warm olive coloring of her face was
suffused with a deeper tinge. She was herself again the next moment, and
came to meet him with only a slightly heightened luster in her black
eyes; but for a man Maxwell was observant, and deduced a good deal from
what he had seen. Nevertheless, he was mistaken when he attributed it to
the loss of his map.
Miss Castro received him affably, and presented him to her aunt, who
combined a lethargic disposition with the usual portliness of an Iberian
lady who has exceeded the age of forty, and after a few drowsy
compliments she betrayed no further interest in the visitor.
Nevertheless, the senora was not so sleepy as she appeared. Maxwell
seated himself beside Bonita near the opposite end of the veranda, and
was not wholly sorry he had come ashore. The girl made a charming
picture as she reclined in a deep chair near at hand, smiling at him
with a trace of shyness that was not assumed, though an occasional
nervous movement betokened a suppressed eagerness. Maxwell had pledged
himself soul and body to the service of another woman with a chivalrous
self-abnegation that only those who knew him well would have suspected
him capable of; but he possessed artistic perceptions, and Bonita's dark
beauty appealed to him.
"You have very much to tell me. How is it you come from the westward,
and where is your companero?" she asked; and once more Maxwell was
wholly misled.
He noticed the swift gleam in the dark eyes that fell beneath his own;
and, knowing what he knew, he was troubled. There was a hidden
gentleness under the man's sardonic exterior, but he never learned how
blind he had been that afternoon.
"My comrade was well when I left him," he said gravely; and Bonita,
flashing a swift glance at him, evinced less satisfaction than he had
expected.
"We were the good friends, senor. You will tell me why you leave him and
now come from the west. Also if you met Rideau, and what you did with
him. You are a strong man, senor, but it may be a woman can help you?"
Maxwell was in his own way a chivalrous person, but he owed a duty to
the comrade who remained in the forest, and he meant to discharge it. So
he answered with incisive frankness.
"Can you not see why it might be better for both of us that I should not
tell you, senorita?"
The girl laughed softly, then laid a little hand upon his own. It felt
strangely hot, and again her eyes were luminous in a manner that puzzled
him.
"It is the map, you mean? It is true I find it after the Senor Dane
leave, and I sell it to _el perro_ Rideau. Senor, we women must use what
weapons we can, and the price he pay me--I have no secrets from you--was
my father's safety."
"I do not venture to blame you," said Maxwell. "I had partly guessed it,
and your confidence is safe with me, but suppose _el perro_ had proved
too strong for me? After this, can I believe that you would prove a good
friend to me?"
Miss Castro positively blushed as she drew her hand away, but her
laughter indicated a mingling of pride with scorn.
"You are modest, senor. It is not possible that the cur dog should prove
too strong for--you. To Dom Pedro I say these Englishmen will kill this
Rideau. So senor, because I hate him, you will tell me."
Maxwell did not speak for a while. Again an impulse which appeared
wholly illogical in face of the girl's confession prompted him to tell
her all; but very much lay at stake, and he did not usually act on
impulse. Meanwhile his companion watched him from under the dark lashes
which half covered her eyes; while, unobserved, the sleepy aunt watched
them both. Bonita Castro looked bewitchingly pretty in her filmy
draperies, perhaps the more so because of her curiously heightened
color; but though Maxwell knew that she was a woman who would do much
when prompted by passion, she did not look like a traitress.
"So you fear to trust me, senor?"
"On the contrary," Maxwell answered, "I have decided to trust you fully.
In doing so, I know that I place my life and my comrade's equally in
your hands."
"It is well; I would hold them safe if I risked salvation," said the
girl. "So tell me everything. I shall be able to help you."
Maxwell did so, and Miss Castro asked him many questions which betokened
a keenness of judgment that surprised the man. He spent some time in
answering them, and Bonita appeared to find pleasure in listening to
him. So while the palm-tufts tossed behind the factory and the spray
whirled above the beach, the minutes slipped by, until, when the sun
dipped, the senora woke up and ordered the black major-domo to hurry
forward _comida_.
Bonita, reappearing attired in filmy robes of black, was more
fascinating than ever during the drawn-out meal.
"That woman would turn any man's head," murmured Maxwell, inaudibly he
thought, and added, with a smile, to the sleepy aunt, who glanced at
him, "I was wondering, senora, if your distinguished family had a
monopoly of all the wit and beauty in the Peninsula."
Maxwell was a little confused to notice that Bonita had overheard; for a
second the long lashes dropped across her eyes, and again there was a
flicker of damask in her cheek.
The moon hung over the ocean which stretched away before them, a broad
sheet of silver, when the two stood once more on the veranda; and Miss
Castro shivered slightly for no apparent cause when Maxwell announced
that it was time for him to take his departure. The surf had gone down,
and the roar of the breakers diminished to dull pulsations that fell
drowsily on the ear, while the warm breeze brought down the fragrance of
spices and lilies from the forest. Two of the pure white blossoms
nestled among the laces beneath Miss Castro's neck, and their fragrance
filled Maxwell's nostrils as he stood close beside her under the
effulgent moonlight of the tropics. There was a thrill in the girl's
voice which, but for one fact, might have awakened an answering
vibration within him.
"So you have trusted me, senor, and I am glad. It is also good that you
start from Little Mahu, for so _el perro_ hear the less of you. There
are many black people who fear him, and tell him things, but he come
first to this factory--and I deal with him. You will leave Mahu, two,
three, perhaps four weeks before him. It is true you have no longer any
doubt of me?"
"I have no doubt at all. I have trusted you to the utmost."
Bonita's eyes dropped swiftly beneath his gaze, but there was in her
attitude no sign of coquetry. She had, the man thought, changed with the
night, and put on a quiet simplicity which became her wonderfully.
Something impelled him to add:
"I feel that I have done wisely."
Once more the girl's voice thrilled him.
"It is a dangerous country, and who can tell what may happen; but,
whatever it costs me, I will help you."
Maxwell felt strangely softened toward her, for it seemed that some
influence born of the glamour of the night was at work upon his will. It
hardly seemed to emanate from his companion, for Miss Castro was graver
than he had ever seen her; but the strange mingling of tenderness and
admiration grew stronger in him, and he was glad when the boom of the
steamer's whistle rang through the monotone of the surf.
"I must go, senorita."
Bonita's eyes shone in the moonlight as, with the faintest of smiles,
she held out her hand to him.
"It is a perilous journey, but I will pray always for your safety," she
said softly.
Maxwell lifted the hat from his head as, stooping, he touched the
olive-tinted fingers with his lips. They trembled a little in his grasp.
"I thank you, senorita. We are allies now."
Again the roar of the whistle throbbed across the surf, and Maxwell went
swiftly down the stairway and across the sand. As the boat plunged out
through the breakers he shook himself with an air of irritation which
attracted the notice of the steamer's mate.
"Got bewildered trying to understand those folks?" he asked
sympathetically.
"No," laughed Maxwell. "The fact is rather that I don't understand
myself."
"I dare say that don't greatly matter," commented the mate. "Take a good
stiff cocktail and give the puzzle up."
The steamer heaved her anchor, and rolled slowly eastward down the
coast, while Miss Castro stood on the veranda following the tier of
diminishing lights until they faded and finally dipped into the moonlit
sea. Then she turned and walked very slowly into the factory without a
word, leaving the sleepy aunt lost in speculation when the door of her
room closed noisily.