WYNDHAM FINDS A CLEW
A few days after Rupert's visit to the schooner, a quantity of cargo
arrived. The goods were not valuable, but the owners were satisfied with
the payment Wyndham told his agent to offer and Marston was surprised
they had got a load at all.
"It's strange," said Wyndham thoughtfully when they lounged under the
awning while the negroes unloaded the canoes. "Of course, the Bat may
have allowed the stuff to come down, for reasons that are not very
plain. On the other hand, it's possible some of the half-breeds don't
yet own his rule. Since this might be important, I'd rather like to
know, but don't see much chance of our finding out."
Marston noted that Harry called Rupert the Bat, but he agreed. Rupert
was no longer a white man. All the same he was Harry's relation.
"I imagine our chance of finding out anything useful here is very
small," he rejoined.
"Then suppose we take the cargo across for transshipment and see if we
can pick up a clew at the other end?" Wyndham suggested. "If we knew
something about Larrinaga's plans, it might help."
Although the schooner was not half-loaded, Marston agreed. Any excuse
was good that took him away from the lagoon, and at noon next day
_Columbine_ went to sea. The voyage to the white town was short and on
the evening of their arrival Marston lounged contentedly on the arcade
in front of his hotel. A full moon shone above the flat roofs, the hotel
was lighted, and the glow from the windows touched the pavement beyond
the pillars. Citizens, enjoying the cool of the evening, crowded the
streets, and sometimes stopped at the small tables to drink a glass of
wine. On the opposite side of the street, the straight-fronted houses
threw a dark shadow. The band of the _cazadores_ regiment played on the
plaza.
Wyndham was talking to a gentleman from whom his agent bought goods. Don
Luis came to town to gamble at the casino, and Marston had met him
before.
"You must come and see my _finca_," he said. "There are ducks on the
marsh and you English are fond of sport."
Marston said he would be pleased to go if they stopped long enough; and
then letting Wyndham carry on the talk, watched the passers-by. After a
few minutes, a big muscular negro entered the belt of light, and Marston
glanced at him with some surprise.
"There's Pepe!" he exclaimed.
He doubted if the negro heard him through the clink of glasses and hum
of talk, but it looked as if he saw his quick movement, for he turned
his head and went behind a group at a table.
"Somebody like him," said Wyndham carelessly, and when Marston looked
back across the street the negro had vanished.
People moved about and Marston imagined he had retired into the gloom,
where one could not distinguish him from the others. Pepe was the pilot
at the lagoon, a good-humored fellow whom they had generally given a
small present besides his pay. As a rule, he did not wear much clothes
on board, but he was now rather neatly dressed in white cotton and his
hat was good. On the Caribbean coast, men spend large sums on their
hats. It looked as if Pepe was getting rich, but Marston could not
imagine why he did not want to be seen. He was going to talk about this
when he caught Wyndham's eye and he lighted a cigarette.
"My partner is a good shot," Wyndham said to their companion. "We will
be occupied for two or three days, but perhaps after that----"
Don Luis fixed a day for their visit, and when he went off Marston
turned to Wyndham.
"It was Pepe," he declared.
"Yes; I saw him. I think he was with the officer of the port-guard."
"But what is he doing here? And why did he step back when I turned to
you?"
"I don't know," said Wyndham. "The thing's interesting."
Marston agreed, but he could suggest no explanation and they talked
about Don Luis. In the morning, when the narrow streets got hot, they
went to the _marina_ where the sea breeze blew among the pepper-trees
and palms. After lounging for a time on a shady bench, Wyndham indicated
some carpenters at work behind the mole.
"It's too early to meet our agent. Let's see what those fellows are
doing," he proposed.
They crossed a belt of shingle and found the carpenters mending a big
open boat. Two or three other boats were drawn up close by and planks
lay about. When Marston stopped, a man who had been sitting in the
shade got up and turned to him with a careless smile. It was Pepe, the
negro pilot.
"Hallo!" said Marston. "Have you given up your job?"
"Not for long. One likes a change," the other replied.
In the meantime, Wyndham examined the boats. He knew the type, which was
used for taking off cargo to vessels that did not come into the harbor.
For their length, they carried a big load and were generally propelled
by four men who pulled the heavy oars double-banked. Their flat bottom
adapted them for use in shallow water.
"Are you going to buy the _candrays_?" Wyndham asked.
Pepe grinned. "One does not get rich by fishing and piloting. It is cool
here in the shade and I have not much to do."
"Oh, well," said Wyndham, "No doubt you have seen the schooner. I expect
we'll sail in about a week and we can give you a passage, if you are
going back."
Pepe said he did not mean to return yet, and Marston and Wyndham went
away.
"I wonder what he is doing about the boats, although I don't know if it
matters," Marston remarked.
"He was rather obviously loafing."
"I'd have expected to find him loafing about a second-class wine shop."
"With a hat like his and new yellow boots?" said Wyndham dryly.
"They may have cost him all he's got. These fellows are vain. All the
same, there's something strange about his being here and trying to pass
without our seeing him last night. He's frank enough this morning."
"He may have been making the best of it because he could not steal off
before we came up."
"It's possible, although I don't see why he should want to dodge us,"
Marston replied, and added thoughtfully: "Since he's allowed to pilot
vessels at the lagoon, I expect he's the Bat's man."
"Looks like that," said Wyndham. "I imagine he has been in Africa.
Although his Castilian is not remarkably bad, the English he uses on
board has the true West-coast twang. You might hear the words at
Kingston, but the accent's good _Sar Leone_. However, if he's a friend
of the Bat's, why was he going about with one of the President's
port-guard?"
"Perhaps he met him at a wine-shop; they're both sailors," Marston
suggested. "I thought you rather went out of your way to tell him we
would sail in a week."
"An example of instinctive caution. It's possible we may sail before. In
the meantime, we won't bother about the thing."
They went to the agent's office, and after transshipping their cargo set
out one morning for Don Luis' _finca_. The road was bad, their horses
were poor, and when they reached the big whitewashed, mud house their
host persuaded them to stop the night. Dinner was served at four o'clock
and soon afterwards Don Luis gave them fresh horses and they started for
the marsh. It got dark while they floundered through the mud and reeds,
but they shot some ducks as the light was going and stayed until the
mosquitoes drove them off.
Going back, they took a road that crossed a steep hillside. Trees in
dark masses rolled down the slope and thin hot mist drifted about the
trunks. The moon, however, was full, and where there was an opening in
the wet leaves bright beams pierced the gloom and made pools of silver
light on the ground. A cloud of mosquitoes followed them and Marston's
horse was fresh. He was not used to the big stirrups and wide Spanish
saddle, and now and then found it hard to hold the animal. By and by, a
regular throbbing noise came up the hill and he turned to Don Luis.
"It sounds like soldiers marching," he said.
Don Luis pulled up. "It is soldiers. A battalion of _cazadores_ occupies
the old mission. If we could go another way, it would be better, but
there is no road up the hill."
The road was bad and narrow. There would not be much room for the
soldiers to pass, and Marston imagined this accounted for Don Luis'
wanting to turn off.
"They keep the troops a long way from the town," he said.
"The old mission makes a good barracks," Don Luis replied. "Besides,
this is the President's own battalion. They are very loyal while their
pay is regular, and made disturbances in the town, wrecking the wine
shops where there was revolutionary talk."
They rode on and when the tramp of feet got louder, Marston asked: "Do
the _cazadores_ often drill in the dark?"
"Once they scarcely drilled at all," said Don Luis, laughing. "However,
since Ramon Larrinaga became the President's friend they drill them
much, with German officers in command. Recently the drilling has got
harder and one wonders why this is and whether it means something. All
the same, I am a supporter of the President's and if he is satisfied--"
The measured tramp was now very close, and the creak of leather and
rattle of straps and slings came out of the gloom. Marston thought he
could hear the labored breath of men toiling up hill. Then a hoarse
challenge rang out and his horse plunged across the road.
"Hold him!" said Wyndham sharply, and two or three men with glittering
bayonets came into the moonlight that shone between the trees.
"A picket, or advance guard!" Wyndham resumed. "Get down, Bob. You
mustn't let the brute go!"
Marston's horse reared and tried to turn from the shining steel, but he
got his foot out of the awkward stirrup and swung himself from the
saddle. The others dismounted and the soldiers led them off the road and
then stood on guard.
"I do not know if we are arrested," Don Luis remarked with a shrug. "One
must use patience; but I am not without some influence and expect
apologies when the officers arrive."
When he had quieted his horse Marston lighted a cigarette and leaned
against a tree. For a few yards the moonlight shone upon the road and
when the first fours of the leading platoon crossed the illuminated belt
he was surprised. The _cazadores_ were short, dark-skinned men. Their
sloped rifles wavered at different angles, and their march was
slouching, but they carried complete field equipment; pouches,
mess-tins, tools and bandoliers. It was the first time he had seen the
republican soldiers in regular marching order.
"Your government has been extravagant," he said to Don Luis.
Don Luis spread out his hands. "It is these Germans! Somebody will have
to pay and the country is poor. Perhaps it is well to pay the soldiers,
but one need not spend money on equipment until there is risk of war."
"Then there is no risk of war just now?" Wyndham interposed.
"I know of none. I cannot see why we should quarrel with our neighbors
and although the negroes are turbulent in the back country, one leaves
them alone. The Germans have led us into extravagance, senor. All must
be efficient and worked on a plan! They do not understand us. We are not
machines like them!"
He stopped, for one of the guards roughly ordered the party farther back
into the wood. From their new position they could not see much. Sloped
rifles tossed and wavered across the opening in the trees; steel bands
and swivels shone in the moon, and one distinguished shadowy figures
going by. After a time the measured tramp got fainter and rolled up the
hill, and the beat of horses' feet came out of the gloom. The soldier
who had driven the party back went to the road and his voice reached the
others. Then he ordered them to advance and they saw two or three
mounted officers in the moonlight. One sat stiff and motionless and
asked a few sharp questions in uncouth Castilian, after which he turned
to a companion.
"They say they are sportsmen and the fellow in the cloak claims to be
well known. The others look like foreigners. I will leave you to talk to
them, Don Maccario."
"Ah," said Don Luis, "now the thing resolves itself!"
The other officer pushed his horse forward, and then laughed. "It is
you, my friend! Well, perhaps we ought to make our apologies, but we are
being trained on the German model and you are not as discreet as usual."
"Is one forbidden to look at the soldiers for whom, one must pay?" Don
Luis asked.
"One is not encouraged, when they marched at night," the other rejoined
dryly.
"I and my friends come back from shooting and there is no other road.
What must we do? It is well known that I am a staunch supporter of the
President's and a friend of Don Ramon's. However, you can see the ducks
and our guns."
"It is not necessary. Do you know Don Ramon is at the mission? I think
he means to breakfast with you to-morrow. But who are your friends?"
Don Luis presented Wyndham and Marston, and after greeting them politely
the officer let the party go. They rode on down the hill and Don Luis
grumbled.
"I am staunchly for the Government; the thing was ridiculous. I do not
see why they hide our soldiers. It is some German plan. We will talk
about it to Don Ramon if he comes in the morning."
When they reached the _finca_ and Wyndham and Marston were alone for a
few minutes the former said, "Perhaps it's lucky we came here, because I
think I have found a clew. I expect you noted they tried to keep the
drilling and equipping of the President's battalion a secret."
"It looks like that," said Marston. "Still I don't see what it implies."
"For one thing, it implies they want a small, highly-efficient, striking
force. The force is obviously to be used. These fellows don't study
efficiency for its own sake."
"But why don't they want people to know?"
"I think that's rather plain. There's an advantage in striking before
your antagonist is ready, and the citizens of this country have some
talent for political intrigue; plot and counter plot are always going
on. I don't imagine the President altogether trusts his friends."
"Ah," said Marston, "I begin to see----"
He stopped, and when Don Luis came up talked about the shooting.