THE INTERCEPTED NOTE
When she was able to think calmly, Evelyn found herself confronted by
familiar troubles. She was not a prisoner and yet she could not run
away, because she had no money and could not understand the barbarous
Castilian spoken among the hills. Moreover, she could not appeal, even
by signs, for help, for it was generally believed that she had eloped
with Gomez. His friends would, no doubt, send her back to him. His
enemies would treat her with rude contempt. Sooner than be forced to
marry him, she would steal away and starve; but she had a conviction
that things would not come to the worst. It would suit Gomez best to
break down her resistance by moral pressure.
She was young, but not altogether inexperienced, and during the past
week her mental powers had suddenly developed; besides, she was
supported by a deep-rooted national pride. It was a privilege to be an
American, or, as her countrymen sometimes expressed it, to be white. The
sentiment might not be quite free from prejudice, but it was founded on
truth and carried an obligation. One must respect one's birthright and
never submit to be trampled on by a foreigner.
It was, however, obvious that she must seek outside help, and in her
need she thought of Grahame. He would come if she sent for him, and she
knew now that he would be welcome if he came as her lover. He was a
white man; it was an unspeakable relief to dwell upon his fine, athletic
symmetry and his strong, brown face with its stamp of semi-ascetic
restraint, after the tainted grossness of her persecutor. She had
thought of him often, and had indeed found it hard not to do so oftener,
but the turning-point had come and, flinging aside ambition, she opened
her heart to the love that had been waiting. This was not because she
was in danger, although danger had hastened the crisis.
For a time she forgot Gomez, and listened vacantly to the patter of feet
in the hot streets while she sat quietly in a corner of the shaded room,
lost in alluring dreams. Then she roused herself, and going to her
apartment wrote a short message, stating that she needed help. She could
not find an envelope and dare not ask for one, so she folded the note
and wrote across it the address Grahame had given her. Then she stole
from the house.
No one interfered with her as she went up a street that led to the
outskirts of the town, where she was less likely to be watched. The
unsealed note could not be posted, because it would no doubt be given to
Gomez, but she might find somebody who would arrange for its conveyance
by hand. It would be better if the person were a revolutionary, but she
imagined that the President's enemies would not make themselves
conspicuous. Some risk must be taken, but, after all, very few people
could read English.
After a time she met a peon and showed him the note. He seemed surprised
to see the Spanish name on the back, and at first vigorously shook his
head, but when Evelyn held out two or three coins he began to ponder,
and presently made a sign of understanding and took the note. Evelyn
felt reckless as he moved away, for she had given him all her money and
had no resource left.
Returning by a different way, she entered the house. Gomez did not seem
to be about, but the building was large and she seldom saw him except
when he paid her a formal visit. The man was a ruffian, but it was her
money he wanted, and he would act discreetly. His boast had thrown some
light upon his treacherous schemes: he meant to make himself President,
if he could compel her father to provide the necessary funds.
The peon carrying the note set out on foot for the next village, where
he had a friend who sometimes went to the coast. The friend, however,
was not at home, and Evelyn's messenger, being tired and in possession
of more money than usual, entered a little wine-shop and ordered
refreshment. The _cana_ was strong and after drinking more than was good
for him he forgot his caution when one of the villagers asked what had
brought him there. To satisfy the fellow's curiosity, he produced the
note, and the loungers in the wine-shop grew interested, for the man to
whom it was addressed was known as an enemy of the Government.
One tried to take it from the peon, another interfered, and as both
political parties were represented, a tumult broke out. It was stopped
by the arrival of two rural guards, the note was seized, and one of the
guards set off for Rio Frio at dawn the next morning.
Gomez started when he was given the note, for Evelyn had made an
unexpected move; but he saw the importance of what it implied and
lighted a cigarette while he thought the matter out. He had suspected
the _Enchantress_ for some time and knew that Grahame was her owner.
Since the _yanqui_ was in communication with a dangerous revolutionist,
he must be engaged in smuggling arms, and if he had landed many, the
rebels would be ready to fight. For all that, Gomez was puzzled. Grahame
was a friend of the senorita Cliffe's--perhaps even her lover--and he
was helping the rebels, while her father had spent a good deal of money
to support the President. This suggested that Cliffe might be playing a
crooked game, and bore out some suspicions Gomez had entertained. The
President must be informed at once; but in the meantime Gomez saw how
the note could be made use of.
After some thought, he summoned a confidential clerk who had learned
English in the United States, and gave him the note.
"It seems that the senorita does not like Rio Frio and means to leave
us," he remarked.
The clerk discreetly contented himself with a sign of agreement.
"Well," Gomez resumed, "I think we will let her message go."
"Would that be wise?" the other ventured. "We do not know when and which
way the Englishman will come, and he may be joined by some of
Sarmiento's followers."
Gomez smiled.
"The senorita Cliffe is artless and has made a mistake. Her note covers
only half the paper and leaves room for something to be added
underneath."
"Ah!" The clerk was a skillful penman and had once or twice successfully
imitated the signatures of hostile politicians.
"You understand!" said Gomez. "The writing must not look different and
you must use the same kind of pencil. Now give me some paper."
He smoked a cigarette before he began to write, for the space at the
foot of Evelyn's note was limited. Grahame probably knew the girl's
hand, but would be deceived by a clever imitation of it in the form of a
postscript under her signature. The note was dated at Rio Frio and left
it to be understood that Evelyn expected him there, but the postscript
directed him to land on the beach near Valverde, where a guide would
look out for him for several nights.
"There are two words we had better alter; the Americans do not often use
them," said the clerk cautiously, and Gomez agreed to the change.
"You will have it sent off and make arrangements for the Englishman to
be met," he added with a smile. "And now I must start for Villa Paz to
tell the President."
Half an hour later he mounted in the _patio_, and Evelyn, hearing the
clatter of hoofs, looked out through the half-opened lattice and watched
him ride away. As he had an armed escort and a spare mule, she imagined
he meant to make a long journey, and Grahame might arrive before he
returned.
Soon after the party had gone, the senora Garcia came in and stood
looking at the girl as if she had something to say. Her air of sullen
dislike was less marked than usual, and Evelyn, remembering the sound
she had heard during her interview with Gomez, suspected that she had
listened at the door. Now the woman looked anxious and embarrassed, and
while she hesitated Evelyn studied her. The senora must have possessed
unusual beauty and was handsome yet, although she was getting stout and
losing her freshness, as women of Spanish blood do at an early age in
hot climates. Her skin had been spoiled by cosmetics and her face was
clumsily touched with paint and powder. Evelyn felt a half contemptuous
pity; there was something pathetic in her crude attempts to preserve her
vanishing charm.
The senora made signs which Evelyn supposed to mean that Gomez had gone
away, and then she took out some silver and paper currency. Putting it
into the girl's hand, she pointed to the door.
Evelyn started, for the hint was plain; the senora was anxious to get
rid of her rival. Evelyn grasped at the chance to go. The money could be
repaid; it might be some time before Grahame arrived, and the woman
could be trusted to convey a note to him, because she could not give it
to Gomez without betraying her complicity in the girl's escape.
For a time they struggled to grasp each other's meaning, but at last the
senora Garcia showed she understood that she was to deliver a note to an
Englishman who would come in search of the girl. Evelyn was to find a
peon who lived outside the town and would put her on the way to Villa
Paz. It would, no doubt, prove a difficult journey, but she was
determined to make it.
She was soon ready, and walked carelessly across the plaza as if she had
no object. The townspeople knew her, and she met with no troublesome
curiosity. After a time, she entered a shady street, where she stopped
once or twice to look into a shop. Leaving it at the other end, she came
out into a hot, stony waste, dotted with tall aloes and clumps of
cactus, and presently reached a dilapidated adobe hut.
As she stood, hesitating, before it a man came out to meet her and she
felt her heart beat fast, for she was now confronted by her first
danger. The fellow might rob her or perhaps take her back. His white
clothes were threadbare, but they were clean, and on the whole she liked
his look; and the sight of a woman peeping through the door was somehow
reassuring.
It was not easy to make him understand what she wanted, but he looked
thoughtful when she repeated a word the senora Garcia had taught her.
Then he went in, apparently to consult the woman, and, returning,
signified that he would do what she wished. She must, however, go on
alone to a village some distance off; on the way he would overtake her
with a mule. Evelyn thought it curious that he had not asked for money,
but as he seemed anxious that she should not delay she set off. So far,
her escape had proved easier than she had imagined.
The sun was at its highest, and it was very hot; the road was a rough
track where loose stones lay among the heavy dust. Where water ran down
the hillside in artificial channels, there were palms and belts of
foliage; elsewhere outcropping rock and stones flung up a dazzling
brightness. In the background, rugged peaks rose against a sky of
intense blue, and far off on the opposite hand a misty gleam indicated
the sea.
Evelyn soon began to get tired, and she found her thin shoes badly
suited to the roughness of the ground. The dust that rose about her
gathered on her skin; she got hot and thirsty; but the water she tried
to drink was slimy and she toiled on. It seemed wiser to press forward
while she could, for there was nobody at work in the scattered fields.
Her eyes ached with the glare and her feet were sore, but the peon did
not come, and when she looked back the road wound along the hillside,
white and empty. Here and there tall trees filled the hollows among the
rocks, but the country seemed deserted and she could not see a house
anywhere.
At last, when the sun was low and the shadows were long and cool, she
saw a cluster of small white patches shining amid a belt of green ahead,
and supposed this was the _aldea_ the peon had meant. Limping on
wearily, she came within half a mile of it, and then, finding a place
where she was hidden by a clump of cactus, she sat down to watch the
road. She might run some risk of being robbed or stopped if she entered
the village alone, for it was obvious that a well-dressed foreigner
traveling on foot could not hope to escape notice, and the hill peasants
would probably not understand her few words of Castilian.
The shadows lengthened until they covered the hillside, and the air got
cool, but her guide did not come, and Evelyn began to wonder what had
delayed him. He had seemed willing to assist in her escape, and she
suspected that he must sympathize with the revolutionaries; but, if so,
it was strange that the senora Garcia should have known the password
which had apparently decided him. She had, however, been told that these
people were fond of intrigue, and that a general plot was often
accompanied by minor conspiracies, so to speak, one inside the other.
The senora Garcia had perhaps some object of her own to serve; but this
did not matter--it was more important that the peon did not arrive.
It began to get dark. The dew soaked Evelyn's thin dress, and she felt
hungry and achingly tired. Then a light or two twinkled among the trees
and some one began to sing to a guitar. The lights and the music, with
their suggestions of home and rest after the day's toil, troubled the
girl. She was alone and apparently deserted, with enemies behind her and
the way ahead unknown. For a few minutes her courage failed and she was
in danger of breaking down; then, with a determined effort, she
recovered her calm and roused herself to listen.
The music had grown plainer, and she recognized an air she had heard
when she sat with Grahame in the _patio_ of the International. The
contrast was too great, and brought her poignant memories. She was no
longer a person of consequence, indulged in every wish, but a homeless
fugitive. Then she thought of Grahame, who had translated the song they
were singing, for the plaintive refrain of _Las Aves Marinas_ carried
clearly through the cooling air. Had the wild sea-hawk got her message,
and was he already coming to her rescue? But even this was not of first
consequence. What about the peon? Had he betrayed her?
Everything was silent upon the hillside, but a faint breeze was getting
up and sighed among the stones. There was a splash of water in the
distance, but no sound came from the road. It ran back, a dim white
streak, into the deepening gloom, and then faded out of sight upon the
shoulder of a hill. There was no movement on it as far as the girl could
see.
She waited what seemed an interminable time, and then a faint drumming
caught her attention, and grew into a welcome beat of hoofs. Some one
was coming along the road. She watched eagerly, straining her eyes to
catch a glimpse of the rider. At last an object emerged from the shadow,
and as it drew nearer she could see that it was a man riding a mule.
With her nerves at high tension and her heart beating fast, Evelyn left
her hiding place in the cacti and stepped out into the middle of the
road. The man must see her now, and she had involved herself in fresh
difficulties if he were not the peon she expected.
He came on fast; he had caught sight of her and was urging his mule.
When he pulled up beside her and dropped from the animal, muttering
exclamations in an unknown tongue, Evelyn staggered. It was an Indian
from the hills.