THE DANGEROUS SENORITA
Some days after Maxwell's departure Monsieur Victor Rideau, traveling in
hot haste, arrived at Castro's factory. Dom Pedro was absent in the
bush, but his daughter frowned when she saw the visitor coming. She was
standing on the veranda where she had bidden Maxwell farewell; and this
fact recalled the contrast between them, which was distinctly striking,
and to Monsieur Rideau's disadvantage. Maxwell wore an indefinite air of
refinement, which is the birthright of some favored Britons, and there
was a good deal of finely-tempered steel in his composition; Rideau was
by no means ill-favored, and as usual with gentlemen of his extraction,
dressed himself almost too well; but his face was sensual, his black
hair over-crisp, and, in spite of his very cunning eyes, there were
other signs that his animal appetites might on occasion prove stronger
than his judgment.
When he descended from his hammock, attired in spotless duck and
American brown shoes, he was evidently well contented with himself.
"I compassionate you on your misfortune," said Miss Castro. "My father
may not return until midnight, and you will have only myself and my
aunt, who is always sleepy, for company."
"What better could any man desire?" There was a look of the African in
Rideau's over-bold eyes, and the girl regarded him frigidly. "I go east
by the steamer which will call to-night," he continued, "and hurried for
the pleasure of a few hours of your company. The English adventurer has
called here, is it not so?"
That was sufficient warning, and Bonita Castro prepared for the fray.
The weapons she chose in the first place were merely demure glances and
opportune smiles; and though many of his speeches stung her pride to the
quick, she fooled Monsieur Rideau cleverly, and extracted from him more
information than he meant to impart. Still, when the black major-domo
set out the _comida_ and Miss Castro withdrew, the visitor might have
lounged less complacently on the veranda had he seen her kneeling, with
a face that was stamped with hatred, beside the factory medicine chest.
She lifted a ribbed glass phial, and glanced at it earnestly, then let
it fall back, took out another, and clutched at the chest, when she saw
that the door had opened a little. Then, as the rustle of the
palm-fronds suggested that the breeze was accountable for this, she
slipped the bottle behind a vase on the window-sill, and went out
softly. Hardly had she done so than the Senora Diaz entered silently,
lifted the bottle, and read its label, and then, with a gesture which
expressed both relief and perplexity, replaced it. The senora was much
more observant than she seemed to be, and was by no means a friend of
Victor Rideau.
It might have been better for Rideau had he reached the factory after
dinner. He did not eat prettily, and Miss Castro had lived long enough
in the Iberian peninsula to grow particular about small matters. Also,
he drank freely, and while his voice grew louder his consonants lost
their crispness. Rideau spoke several civilized languages, but that
night he emphasized the vowels after the fashion of the negro. Though
not excessively indulgent, Dom Pedro's old Madeira had awakened a side
of his nature he usually kept in subjection, and perhaps it had slightly
clouded his judgment. In any case, the Senora Diaz frowned at some of
the compliments he paid her niece, and her ancient laces rustled as she
stirred with indignation, for while compliments were common in her
country, they were characterized by either a becoming deference or
scintillating wit. Once or twice she glanced sharply at the girl, who
was generally quite capable of resenting a liberty; but Bonita did not
heed her. She was working for an end, and working skilfully. Perhaps she
suffered during the process, but that was only part of the price of
victory.
The _comida_ was cleared away at length, and when Bonita accompanied her
guest to the moonlit veranda, she made it manifest that she did not
desire her aunt's company. Nevertheless the Senora Diaz, who respected
the customs of the Peninsula, seated herself beside an open window and
saw all that passed. Rideau lounged in a cane chair with a cigar in his
hand, while Bonita stood upright, dropping morsels of ice presented by a
steamboat purser into the bowl which rested on the little table at his
side. A Frenchman would not have shown such lack of manners. Rideau's
very leer, which grew more pronounced, conveyed a hint that he knew he
held the whip hand, and meant to use it; with any one of Miss Castro's
disposition, that was very bad policy.
"It is charming, senorita. I have done much for you; you do a little now
for me."
Miss Castro dropped the next lump of ice somewhat hastily, so that the
liquid splashed over the table; but she smiled with apparent good
humor, and the man grew more bold.
"You will sit here while I tell you something, is it not so? This scene
is so charming that after I make one more journey I have resolved to
cultivate the domestic virtue."
"That is commendable," said the girl, smiling. "Might one compliment you
on such a piece of self-denial?"
She did not forget that the African's greatest weakness is vanity, as
Rideau answered her with a deprecatory smile:
"It is not my fault if many women love me. Perhaps they are foolish and
trust to the eye. But, me, I aspire, and am only content with the great
mind and virtue."
Miss Castro, instead of meeting his glance, appeared to be looking out
to sea, and Rideau continued, still far too complacently:
"Now I see all that I desire--the peace, the tranquillity, the night
that speaks of love, and the company of the peerless Bonita."
The girl laughed as she turned upon him; but her sleepy aunt, who sat by
the window, knew that the passion which called the color to her forehead
and set a sparkle in her eyes was by no means love.
"Is that another empty compliment, monsieur?" she asked lightly.
"It is the ambition of my life," he declared in a deeper tone; "and a
long time I dream of it. Now when I make one more journey I ask you to
gratify it."
"You must be more explicit. And is it the custom of France--or
Africa--to make such speeches--so?"
Rideau frowned, and for a moment it appeared that he would have
preferred the African custom of choosing his bride; but remembering what
he claimed to be, he stood upright, a full-fleshed, crisp-haired figure,
with his sensual lips showing too prominently.
"I have the honor to offer you my name and devotion, senorita."
"That is very much better," laughed Miss Castro. "But are you quite sure
you would not find domestic happiness grow monotonous? I, at least, have
been my own mistress so long that it might not content me. What else
have you to offer?"
"An affection that will not weary," was the answer, and the man
dramatically laid his hand where he supposed his heart to be.
"And if even that were not enough?"
"All the good things that money can buy, and women love. I shall be a
rich man presently."
"You have not won those riches yet; and white men have lost their lives
already in the Leopards' country. You should understand me."
Rideau blundered when he resolved to use the strong hand at last.
"There is still something--the safety of your father. It is, as I have
once said, forbidden with the heaviest penalty to sell the black man the
modern rifle, and Dom Pedro has sold more than this."
It is possible that Miss Castro had expected a similar answer, but the
speaker's tone and the glitter of his eyes would have inspired most
women with misgivings under the circumstances.
"You are forgetful," she said slowly. "I have bought that from you
already."
Rideau laughed.
"You are mistaken. You sold me the English madman's map for the Emir's
agreement, but you did not buy my lieutenant or the black headman who
hired your father his people, and is a good friend of me. Senorita, you
quite fail to comprehend me. To those who love me I give everything, but
with those who bargain it is different. You are too young and pretty to
drive a hard one with me."
The girl turned from him, and walked slowly across the veranda with her
back toward her suitor and her face toward the sea, so that he could not
see how one hand slipped without a rustle beneath a fold of her dress.
He had left her but one way out of the difficulty, and it was dangerous;
but gauging the quality of her antagonist she was content to take the
risks. The sleepy aunt saw, however, and smiled grimly to herself.
Then Miss Castro turned, and smiled.
"It is a long journey to the Leopards' country, and many things may
happen on the way. You would be wise to wait for my answer, monsieur.
What you offer appears insufficient now, but few women are sure of their
own minds, so some wise men say; and, who knows, when you come back I
may think differently. I have duties to attend to, and may not see you
before you sail, but I want your promise to keep silence in the
meantime. Pledge it in Vermouth."
Before the man could answer, she had passed into the house and returned
with a small flask and two fresh glasses. One was brimming, and she
filled the other before she held it out to him.
"A swift journey to the land of the Leopard!" she said.
Miss Castro's voice was steady, though she waited almost breathlessly
while the man stood undecided, holding up the cup. It was evident that
he was averse to delay, and yet afraid to lose by undue precipitancy.
"So, I give the promise. To your bright eyes, senorita. It is a journey
I make for you."
Rideau laid the glass down empty, and with a swift salutation that was
half-ironical, and a swish of light draperies, Miss Castro had vanished
before he quite realized that she had left him. When he did, he gnawed
the end off a cigar, and lay thoughtfully back in his chair. It struck
him that perhaps he might find Bonita Castro much less amenable to his
wishes and more difficult to live with than a deeper-tinted helpmate.
In the meantime, a group of chattering Krooboys were lighting a fire on
the crest of the bluff, their figures outlined against the increasing
glare. It was a signal to the east-bound steamer due to pass shortly
that cargo or passengers were awaiting her. Rideau watched the blaze
until it flared high aloft in token that the fire had good hold, then he
walked slowly to the rail of the veranda and leaned over it, as though
expecting an answering light from the moonlit sea. There was none, and
presently he walked back, still more slowly, and sank into his chair
with a sigh. Then his shoulders sank lower until his head drooped
forward and there was silence in the veranda except for the sound of his
uneven breathing. This had scarcely continued five minutes when a
slender black-robed figure flitted out of a shadowy door, and the
profile of a woman's face was silhouetted against the moonlight as it
bent over the sleeper.
"Sleep soundly, and awake too late!" a voice said, and the figure
vanished again.
Presently, perhaps because there was nobody to watch them, or they had
been regaled too freely with factory gin, the Krooboys left to tend the
fire curled themselves up beside it, and when an hour had passed, only a
thin column of vapor rose up from the bluff. The stokers slumbered
peacefully, as did the comrades they should have awakened, when the
twinkle of a masthead light crept nearer from out at sea. It rose until
the black patch beneath it lengthened into a line of wallowing hull; but
the fresh land breeze and the clamor of the surf between them rendered
the hoot of the steamer's whistle but faintly audible at the factory.
Still, the Senora Diaz awakened, and sitting upright on her couch near
an open window, looked out on to the veranda. Her niece stood in a
doorway, with the moonlight on her face, which showed white and anxious
as she watched the sleeping figure.
The girl set her lips tight when again the whistle's summons, ringing
louder this time, was flung back by the bluff behind the factory; but
Rideau lay motionless in his chair; and Bonita quivered all through
when, finding his signal unanswered, the steamboat skipper burned a
crimson flare. She could see the wall of hull and slanting spars sharp
and clear in the blood-red glare, with the figure of a man leaning out
from the slanted bridge projected against it, but there was still no
answer from either bluff or factory, and with a last blast of the
whistle the steamer moved on. No other boat would call for a fortnight,
and this one would have saved Rideau a protracted and risky surf-boat
voyage, or a weary march through the jungles overland.
It was past midnight when Dom Pedro's hammock came lurching into the
compound, and, alighting stiffly, the trader climbed the veranda steps.
He started on reaching the veranda, for there was nobody to meet him,
only a man whose visits he had learned to dread, asleep in a chair. The
trader bent over him; and by the way his eyes glistened and his fingers
twitched as he saw that the duck jacket had fallen open, leaving the
dusky throat bare, an observer might have concluded that he would not
have been sorry had some accident prevented the sleeper from ever
awakening. Still, Dom Pedro was only a man of lax principles; he
shrugged his shoulders as he quoted a Castilian proverb, and then he
shook his guest by the arm. Rideau sat upright, grasping the arms of his
chair. He stared at the table, possibly seeking the glass he had drunk
from, but it was not there, and rising shakily, he staggered toward the
balustrade.
"What hour is it?" he asked.
"Past twelve. It is not good to sleep in the moonlight, my friend."
Rideau's face was a study of evil passions, but his reason resumed the
mastery. The fact that the glasses were missing was significant, and
perhaps he recognized that the woman might prove no contemptible
adversary; for he answered Dom Pedro calmly.
"Your wine is too good, and I have slept so well that it seems I have
missed the steamer. Well, there are other means of transit, and, if it
is not too late, you and I have business to talk about."
A light shone in a window of the factory for an hour after this, and
when Victor Rideau walked somewhat unevenly toward his quarters, Dom
Pedro cursed him under his breath.
The next morning he demanded a surf-boat and Krooboy crew, and when his
host had provided them, he sought speech with his daughter before
embarking. Rideau did not look his best that morning. His eyes were
heavy, the color of his face was mottled in patches; and he was in a
dangerous humor. Miss Castro, however, did not avoid him.
"It is to be hoped that you passed a good night," she said.
Rideau could not have failed to notice the boldness of the challenge. He
looked at her steadily, and his glance expressed desire rather than
resentment. The girl grew hot beneath his gaze as he surveyed her
critically, after the manner of one appraising a costly bargain.
"I slept well--so well that I missed the steamer--and awakened with a
heaviness I can guess the cause of. You have a bold spirit--and that
pleases me; but you are dangerous, senorita--so dangerous that even if
you were not otherwise very desirable, I dare not let you go."
Miss Castro returned no answer, and the man added threateningly:
"If you have not a promise to make me when I return from this journey,
it will be very bad for Dom Pedro."
The girl clenched one hand tightly, but her voice was clear as she
answered him.
"You shall have your promise now. If you come back from the Leopards'
country, I will marry you."
Rideau appeared both gratified and perplexed. Possibly he felt that he
should seal the bargain; but the girl's attitude did not encourage him,
and he had learned that it was not judicious to press her too hardly. So
he answered with a bow which had in it little Latin grace.
"Then one must defer his happiness. The senorita will not forget."
"I have given my word," said Miss Castro calmly. "You may claim the
fulfilment of my promise if we are both alive when two months have
passed."
Rideau shivered slightly as he turned away. He had inherited more than a
trace of superstition from one side of his ancestry, and there was an
unusual significance in the speaker's tone, and he had heard stories
respecting her powers of prediction. A few minutes later he departed
eastward in a surf-boat, and it was not a blessing which Dom Pedro,
standing on the beach, sent after him.