THE ADVENTURES BEGIN
A half moon hung over the flat roofs and the air was very still. Walthew
and Grahame sat on a balcony surrounding the patio of Don Martin
Sarmiento's house. The lattice windows that opened onto the balcony had
old but artistic hinges of bronze, and the crumbling hardwood rails
showed traces of skilful carving. Below, a small fountain splashed in a
marble basin surrounded by palmettos, and a creeper covered a trellis
with trails of dusky purple. A faint smell of decay mingled with the
more pungent odors of garlic and olive oil from the kitchen in the
courtyard, where a clatter was going on, but no sound from outside broke
the silence. Rio Frio was very quiet now.
Cups of black coffee and a plate of fruit stood on a table in front of
the men, and the senorita Blanca Sarmiento sat in a low chair opposite,
with her duenna a few yards away. Blanca was then nineteen, and Walthew,
watching her with unobtrusive admiration, wondered how it was that her
relatives had not already arranged a marriage for her, unless, perhaps,
her father's political opinions stood in the way. One ran a risk in
opposing the Government at Rio Frio. The girl was attractive, with a
finely molded figure, the grace of which was displayed by her languid
pose. Her hair was dark and coiled in heavy masses on a small,
well-shaped head; her lips were full and very red, but her eyes were a
deep blue and her skin fairer than that of the Spanish-American women
Walthew hitherto had met. Nor did she use the powder they lavishly
employ.
With a crimson rose in her hair, and a fine black-lace mantilla draped
about her shoulders and emphasizing the whiteness of her neck and
half-covered arms, she reminded Walthew of Carmen. She had something of
the latter's allurement, but he thought it was an unconscious attraction
that she exercised. The art of the coquette was missing; the girl had a
certain dignity, and there was no hint of sensuality in her beauty. She
had, no doubt, Spanish fire in her blood, but the lad thought it burned
with a clear and pure flame.
"How do you come to speak English so charmingly?" he asked, in the hope
of satisfying his curiosity about her.
"Do I speak it charmingly?" She laughed prettily. "Well, the explanation
is that it was my mother's tongue. She was Irish, you must know."
"Ah!" said Walthew. "Now I understand."
Blanca gave him a glance of languid amusement.
"Your interest is flattering, senor; but what is it you understand?"
"That's an awkward question," Walthew answered, grinning frankly.
"Still, there's something about you that I haven't noticed in
Spanish-American girls, charming as they are."
"I'm afraid you're evasive. Do you know many of my countrywomen?"
"I'd like to know more. But I believe I'm good at reading character. It
is a gift I inherited. My father was never mistaken about a man, and he
has made use of a good many."
Blanca studied him. He had a smooth, fresh face, and looked very young,
but while she thought he was direct and perhaps impulsive, something
suggested that he was shrewd.
"Women are supposed to be more puzzling," she answered. "Then the
Sarmientos come from Andalusia, and the Peninsulares are complex people.
On the surface, we are often cheerfully inconsequent, but underneath
there's a strain of melancholy. We live in the shadow of a fatalism we
got from the Moors." She glanced at Grahame. "I think you can
understand."
Grahame made a sign of assent. Sitting thoughtfully silent, his lean but
powerful frame displayed by the thin white duck, and his strong, brown
face impassive, he had a somber look. The man was reckless and sparkled
with gay humor now and then, but it was the passing brightness of the
North.
"Yes," he said, "I understand. But the Irish are optimists, and you are
Irish too."
"Then perhaps that's why I keep hopeful. It is not always easy at Rio
Frio, and life was not very joyous when we were exiles in America."
"You know my country?" Walthew broke in.
"I know your Southern States. We lived there in poverty, wandering up
and down. My father is what his friends call a patriot, and his enemies
a dangerous agitator. He had to choose between ruin and acquiescence in
corrupt tyranny, and his course was plain. But the seed he had sown
sprouted, the dictator was driven out, and we came back to our own.
Then, for a time, there was rest and safety, until the new ruler began
to follow the old. He tried to bribe my father, who had helped to put
him in power; but our honor was not for sale, and we had to leave the
capital. There are men who trust my father, and look to him for help....
But I think you know something of this."
"Yes," said Grahame. "This afternoon we heard Castillo speak in the
plaza."
The girl's eyes flashed angrily.
"Castillo is a fool! He pulls down what others have carefully built up."
"Tries to fire the mine before things are ready?" Walthew suggested. "A
premature explosion's apt to blow up the men who prepared it."
Blanca gave him a keen glance.
"That is what nearly happened this afternoon. I believe you are to be
trusted, senores?"
Grahame bowed.
"I am an adventurer, not a patriot, and my partner is out for money, but
we made a bargain with Don Martin and we keep our word."
"Then," said the girl quietly, "Castillo is hiding here."
"In the _casa Sarmiento_! Isn't that dangerous? Won't the President's
friends suspect?"
"I think they do, but they are afraid of my father's hold on the people;
and there is only a handful of troops. When it is late they may make a
search, but Castillo will leave soon. It is possible that you are in
some danger."
Walthew laughed.
"That makes things interesting; I've never been in serious danger yet.
But I suppose you have Don Martin's permission to be frank with us?"
"You are shrewd," she answered, smiling. "He has some confidence in my
judgment. I spent the years that should have been happiest in poverty
and loneliness. Are you surprised that I'm a conspirator? If you value
your safety, you will beware of me."
"You might prove dangerous to your enemies, but I believe you'd be very
staunch to your friends."
"_Gracias, senor._ I'm sure I can at least hate well."
A mulatto boy came out on to the balcony, and the girl's stout duenna,
who had been sitting silent and apparently half asleep, rose and
approached the table.
"Don Martin is disengaged," she said to Blanca; and when the girl waited
a moment Grahame imagined that something had been left for her to
decide.
He did not see any sign exchanged, but he thought with some amusement
that he and his companion had passed a test when the duenna said to
them:
"Don Martin would speak with you."
Walthew turned to Blanca, saying in Castilian:
"Until our next meeting! I kiss your hands, senorita."
The girl rose with a grave curtsy and there was a touch of stateliness
in her manner.
"May you go in safety, senores! We expect much from you."
The mulatto led them away, and, passing through the house, they found
their host and another man sitting by a dim lamp in a room with the
shutters carefully closed. Don Martin Sarmiento wore an alpaca jacket, a
white shirt, and a black silk sash round the waist of his duck
trousers. He was dark-haired and sallow, lightly built and thin, but his
expression was eager and his eyes were penetrating. One could have
imagined that his fiery spirit had worn down the flesh.
The other man was of coarser type. His skin was very dark, his face hot
and fleshy, and Grahame noticed that his hands were wet with
perspiration. His glance was restless and he had a rather truculent air,
though there was something in it that hinted at uneasiness. Grahame
thought that while he might show a rash boldness now and then, his nerve
was not very good.
"With your permission, I present my comrade, Senor Castillo," said Don
Martin. "Should any disaster overtake me, Senor Castillo, or another
whom he appoints, will carry out our contract. Our funds are in safe
hands; the rifles will be paid for."
"They will be delivered," Grahame answered quietly.
"Good! The word of a gentleman is sufficient. And now there is something
more to be said. My house is my friend's, particularly if he is in
trouble, but one has higher duties than hospitality."
"Yes," agreed Grahame, turning to Castillo. "The interests of one's
country come first. There are only three of us, and Don Martin is the
head of an important organization."
"It was not for my personal safety that I came here," Castillo broke in
hotly. "I carried papers; lists of names, compromising details. It was
unthinkable that they should fall into the President's hands. They must
be made safe, and then it does not matter what happens to me--though I
may, perhaps, claim to have been of some help to the cause of freedom."
Grahame saw his host's half-impatient smile.
"And so you gave them to Don Martin!" he remarked dryly.
"He is not watched as I am," Castillo answered. "I am hunted among the
sierras, I hide in the fever swamps; but where I pass I leave a spark
that tyranny cannot trample out. It burns and spreads; by and by there
comes the purging conflagration."
"Yes," said Grahame. "I'm told, however, that your President has a keen
scent for smoke, and I don't mean to scatter more sparks than I can
help." He turned to Don Martin. "Since our business is finished, we can
leave Rio Frio in an hour."
"I, too!" exclaimed Castillo. "It is not good for the cause that the
soldiers find me. But there are difficulties; the house may be watched."
Don Martin looked thoughtful, but not disturbed; and Grahame saw that he
could calmly take a risk. Danger and his host obviously were old
acquaintances.
"It is better that you go," he answered. "Sometimes I entertain an
American traveler, and Englishmen now and then visit Rio Frio. I do not
think you are suspected yet, and you may be able to help us by drawing
off the watchers' attention when you leave. We will see what can be
done, but it would be safer for Senor Castillo not to come with us."
He took the others to the roof, where he walked to the edge and looked
over the low parapet. A narrow, dark street divided Sarmiento's house
from the next, but a lattice in a high wall was open, and Grahame
imagined that he made out a man's head, which was, however, promptly
withdrawn.
"Once or twice a guest of mine has reached the _calle_ by a rope, but
the President's friends take precautions to-night," Don Martin remarked.
"There remain the windows on the other side, but Castillo is heavy and
fat. I think the door into the plaza would suit him best."
"Wouldn't the small one at the back be safer?" Walthew suggested.
"That will be watched, but it might be of some help if you went that
way. Possibly you would not mind wearing a sombrero and a Spanish
cloak."
"Not at all," Grahame assured him. "Still, there are two of us."
"That is an advantage. If one leaves shortly after the other, those who
keep watch and expect a single man will be puzzled."
Walthew chuckled.
"Good! I'd a hankering after adventures, and now it looks as if I'd be
gratified. But you had better not give us clothes with a name on them."
"In this country, people out of favor with the Government are modest
about their names," Don Martin rejoined.
Ten minutes later Grahame, wearing a wide black hat and a dark Spanish
cloak, stepped quietly out into the shadowy street. He had seen that his
automatic pistol was ready to his hand, having had more than one
experience of the half-breed's dexterity with the silent knife. For all
that, his hurried, stealthy gait was assumed and not natural to the man,
whose heart beat calmly, though he cast quick glances about. The houses
were high, and the street seemed to get narrower and darker as he went
on. Then he imagined he heard soft steps behind him. Walking faster, he
stopped at a corner and listened. Somebody was certainly following him.
Grahame's first impulse was to hide in a dark doorway and wait for his
pursuer, but he reflected that this would not fall in with his host's
plan, and he went on, keeping in the shadow while he made for the hotel
at which he had left his mules. There were, he imagined, two men
following him now.
A few moments afterward he reached the end of the dark street, and the
empty plaza lay before him. The moon shed a faint light upon the stones
and the high, white walls, and Grahame was glad of this. Now, if it were
needful, he could defend himself: the walk through the shadow had been
trying. Still, he must not hurry, for he never promised more than he
meant to perform, and he knew that Don Martin relied upon his playing
out his part. Perhaps he overdid it when he stopped to light a
cigarette, for, looking up as he dropped the match, he saw two dark
figures stop at the corner he had left. Then there was a low whistle,
and one of them disappeared. Grahame smiled, because he knew that
Walthew had divided the attention of the spies. The remaining man,
however, walked quickly after him, and when Grahame was half way across
the plaza he waited. His pursuer seemed to hesitate, for he came on more
slowly, and stopped a few yards off.
"The American!" he exclaimed.
"English," said Grahame calmly. "The difference is, no doubt, not
important."
The man looked hard at him, and Grahame carelessly dropped his hand upon
his pistol.
"I am going to the _fonda_; if you are going that way, I would rather
you walked in front. One is careful at night, my friend."
Though the fellow had a sinister look, he smiled and went off with an
apology, and Grahame, going on to the hotel, waited outside until
Walthew came up. The boy looked hot and breathless, but Grahame noticed
that he had a flower in his hand.
"I've been followed," Walthew laughed. "The fellows dropped back soon
after I came into the moonlight. Guess they saw they were after the
wrong man."
"Very possibly. It happened to me. I wonder whether Castillo got away?"
They listened, but the town was quiet. One or two citizens crossed the
plaza, but no sound that indicated anything unusual going on rose from
the shadowy streets.
"It seems likely," Walthew replied. "I don't think they could have
arrested him without some disturbance. Why didn't they search
Sarmiento's house?"
"Perhaps they were afraid of starting a riot that would spread. The
President seems to be a capable man, and Don Martin obviously enjoys the
confidence of the citizens. On the whole, I think he deserves it."
"So do I," Walthew agreed. "What do you think of the other fellow?"
"I wouldn't trust him. He's no doubt sincere, but I'm not sure of his
nerve. But where did you get the rose?"
"On the pavement outside the _casa Sarmiento_," Walthew answered with
some embarrassment.
"Mmm! Dropped from a window. Such things happen in Spanish-American
towns, and it's possible that the President's spies have noted it
against you. However, you'll be too busy to think of the senorita when
we get back to the coast." Grahame paused and added: "It might be wise
to remember that you're engaged in a dangerous business, and can't run
the risk of any complications. Neither of us can indulge in philandering
until this job's finished."
"I'll take no risk that could get us into difficulties, but that's all
I'll promise," Walthew said quietly.
Grahame gave him a steady glance.
"Well, I suppose I must be satisfied."
They entered the hotel, and half an hour later they left Rio Frio and
rode down the hillside toward the misty swamps that fringed the coast.