THE PRESIDENT'S DESPATCHES
The sun had set when Walthew urged his worn-out mule up a narrow track
that twisted along the hillside through thick timber. The evening was
very dark, and thin mist drifted among the giant trees. Creepers
streamed down from their interlacing boughs, damp brush projected from
the sides of the trail, and Walthew growled savagely when he was
buffeted by clusters of dewy leaves. His head ached, the perspiration
dripped from his hot face, and he was sore in every limb, while he found
the steamy atmosphere almost unbreathable.
The cut on his head was healing, but after a long, forced march from the
coast, he had at sunrise left the camp where he and the revolutionaries
had spent the night. The country ahead was reported to be watched by the
President's soldiers, and as the party was not strong enough to fight,
they had separated, hoping to slip past the pickets singly and meet at a
rendezvous agreed upon. Walthew reached the spot without being molested,
but although he waited for an hour nobody else arrived. It seemed
possible, however, that he had mistaken the place, and he determined to
push on to Rio Frio, trusting that his companions would rejoin him
there. He had been told that as the President had dealings with
foreigners he might be allowed to pass by any soldiers he fell in with
when they saw he was an American.
He was, however, still a long way from Rio Frio, his mule was exhausted,
and he doubted if he were going the right way. There was nothing to be
seen but shadowy trunks that loomed through the mist a yard or two off,
and faint specks of phosphorescent light where the fireflies twinkled.
Rocking in his saddle with a painful jar, Walthew thought that if the
jaded beast stumbled again as badly it would come down, and he half
decided to dismount. He felt that he would be safer on his feet; but the
mule, recovering, turned abruptly without his guiding it, and a few
moments later the darkness grew thinner.
The trees now rose on one side in a dense, black mass, the ground was
more level, and Walthew saw that the animal had struck into a road that
led through a clearing. He followed it, in the hope that there was a
_hacienda_ near, and soon a light shone in the distance. The mule now
needed no urging, and in a few minutes a building of some size loomed
against the sky. Walthew rode up to it, and as he reached the arched
entrance to the _patio_ a man appeared, while another man moved softly
behind him as if to cut off his retreat.
"Can I get a fresh mule here and perhaps something to eat?" he asked as
carelessly as he could.
"Certainly, senor," said the man. "If you will get down, we will put the
beast in the stable."
Walthew hesitated. There was no obvious reason why he should distrust
the fellow, but he imagined that he had been watching for somebody
coming down the road. The mule, however, was worn out, and he did not
think he had much chance of escaping if treachery was intended.
"Very well," he said, dismounting, and when another man came up, he
stumbled after the first into the passage.
"You have ridden far, senor, and will enjoy a rest," his guide remarked.
"One does not lose time by stopping for food on a long journey."
Walthew felt more suspicious. They were now near a lamp that hung in the
arch, and although his companion was dressed like a peon his voice
suggested some education. The feeling that his arrival had been expected
was stronger, but it was too late to turn back and he went on,
surreptitiously making sure that his automatic pistol was loose. He was
taken across the _patio_, up an outside staircase, and along a balcony,
where his guide opened a door.
"The house is at your disposal," he said with Spanish politeness, bowing
to Walthew to enter.
The door was closed sharply and Walthew wondered if he had been trapped
as he cast a quick glance about. The room was large, badly lighted, and
scantily furnished. Two of its windows were open, but he remembered that
they must be some distance from the ground. There seemed, however, to be
no reason for alarm. At the far end of the room a table was laid for
supper, and a girl and a priest sat near it. They rose as he came
forward.
Walthew gasped.
"_Blanca!_"
The girl seemed equally astonished.
"Senor Walthew!" she exclaimed, and her tone indicated both perplexity
and concern. Walthew's clothes were gray with dust, his pose was slack
with fatigue, and a dirty bandage covered his forehead.
"You seem surprised," he managed to say; "I guess _I_ am." The gleam in
his eyes showed the pleasure he felt. "I didn't expect to find you
here."
"But where do you come from?"
"From the San Lucar lagoon; traveled as fast as I could, but lost my
companions in the bush. They belong to your party."
The priest came forward and Walthew recognized Father Agustin.
"There has been a mistake," the priest said to Blanca, and bowed to
Walthew. "You will excuse me; I have an order to give."
Walthew thought it had something to do with his arrival. He was no
longer suspicious, but puzzled. He was among friends, but they had
received him in a curious manner.
He turned to Blanca with a smile.
"It looks as if I'm intruding, but I hope you won't turn me out."
"Oh, no," she said with a compassionate glance that thrilled him. "You
seem ill and tired. Are you hurt?"
"Not much; a scratch on my head. But are you safe here? They told us the
woods were full of the President's soldiers."
"We shall be gone at daybreak, and we have a guard." Blanca paused and
resumed with an air of relief: "It was fortunate you did not pass the
house."
"That's a sure thing," Walthew agreed. "However, I guess I know what
you mean. When I pulled up I fancied your friends were watching for me,
and I'd have found the road blocked if I'd gone on. Don't you think you
had better tell me what it's all about?"
Blanca hesitated with some color in her face, but just then Father
Agustin returned.
"I have warned the men," he informed the girl.
"Senor Walthew wishes to know what is going on," she said.
"It might be better that he should know, and he is to be trusted; but
you must decide whether you will tell him or not."
Blanca was silent for a moment, and then began in a rather strained
voice:
"We have a spy in the President's household, and word was sent us that a
man would leave Villa Paz with some important despatches for Gomez. We
believe they contain instructions about what he must do when the
fighting begins, but, to avoid suspicion, Altiera is sending a foreign
trader to whom he has given some privileges. We expect him to stop and
change mules here, because the _hacienda_ belongs to one of the
President's supporters."
"I see!" said Walthew. "He would not have carried the despatches past
this house. But where is its owner?"
"Hiding at a _hacienda_ some distance off. He is a timid man, and we had
him warned that the rebels were coming to burn the place. An hour after
he left with his family we took possession."
"But why did Don Martin send you?" Walthew asked sharply. "Hasn't he men
enough?"
Blanca blushed and looked embarrassed, but the next moment she lifted
her head with an air of pride. There was a sparkle in her deep blue
eyes.
"I am a patriot, senor, and ready to make a sacrifice for my country. We
must seize the despatches, but we do not wish to use force on a
foreigner, because this might lead to trouble. Our plan was to change
the papers for others and send the messenger on without his knowing that
he had lost them. It would not be an easy matter----"
"In short," Father Agustin interposed with some dryness, "the senorita
thought she might succeed where a man would fail."
The blood rushed to Walthew's face, for he understood. Blanca meant to
use her personal charm to trick and rob the messenger. It seemed to him
an outrage; but she fixed her eyes on him, and they had a haughty,
challenging look. She was daring him to deny that the course she meant
to take was warranted. He was furiously angry, but he tried to be just,
and he knew that she would not go too far.
"It seems you do not approve!" she said.
Walthew felt a thrill. In a sense, she had admitted that his good
opinion was worth something; but he saw that he must be careful. She was
proud and had the fiery Spanish temperament. He might lose her by a hint
of doubt.
"No," he said, "I don't approve; but I can conquer my prejudices, as you
must have done. It is hateful to think of a woman's doing such work, but
one must admire the courage that has helped you to undertake it. I dare
say the cause demands the sacrifice."
The girl's expression softened, and she smiled as she turned to the
priest.
"Do you not think Senor Walthew has answered well?"
"It is obvious that he has tact, and I think he has feeling," said
Father Agustin. "But has he not some news for us, perhaps?"
"I have," said Walthew. "I want your help."
He began with the arrival of Evelyn's message, and Blanca started as if
about to speak, but Father Agustin stopped her by a sign. Her face grew
intent as Walthew told how they had driven the _Enchantress_ before the
gale, and her eyes sparkled when he deprecatingly related the struggle
on the beach.
"I think you have no reason to apologize," she said. "They must have
sent a strong guard, and you tried to rescue your friend alone. Miguel
was right; there was nothing to be done by two or three men with
knives." Then she paused with a thoughtful look. "It seems you do not
know that Miss Cliffe is safe with us."
"It is a relief to learn that," Walthew said with feeling.
"Since she was at Rio Frio when she sent the note, it is plain that
Gomez added the few lines that led you into the trap. But we must think
how we can rescue Mr. Grahame. You suggest that the men who came with
you from San Lucar have no plans?"
"No. They expected to gather a force on the way, but the peons had
already gone off to join Don Martin. We meant to steal into Rio Frio and
then see what could be done. All I know is that I'm not going back
without my partner."
"We may find a way to set him free, but it will need some thought,"
Father Agustin remarked. "When a thing looks difficult, force is not
always the best means."
"It doesn't seem likely to be of much use now," Walthew gloomily agreed.
"I'd six of your countrymen with me until I lost them, and we were told
that Gomez was filling Rio Frio with soldiers.... But how did you come
to take a part in this affair?"
Father Agustin's eyes twinkled.
"I came as duenna. You were surprised when you heard what the senorita
had undertaken, but it appeared that my presence might be something of a
protection and, perhaps, a guarantee. One concludes that this did not
strike you."
Walthew looked embarrassed, but Father Agustin smiled.
"You look as if you need refreshment," he said. "We will have our supper
now."
When the meal was finished, Father Agustin kept Walthew talking while
Blanca leaned back silently in her chair. Her look was strained, and
once Walthew surprised her cautious glance at the clock.
"I had forgotten the despatch-carrier," he said with some sharpness. "He
doesn't seem to be coming."
"There is another road; longer and at present dangerous," explained
Father Agustin. "We have had it watched, but this is the obvious way for
a messenger to take."
"For all that," said Walthew steadily, "I hope the fellow will choose
the other."
Neither of them answered. Blanca lay back in her chair; the priest sat
with one elbow on the table, his cheek resting on his upturned palm. He
was very tired.
Walthew studied him for a moment and then put his thoughts into words.
"It is curious, Father Agustin, that whenever I have met you things
began to happen."
"It is possible. Perhaps a priest is most needed where there is trouble,
and my mission is not always peace. One looks forward to the time when
lust and greed and cruelty shall no longer rule the hearts of men, but
it has not come yet."
Walthew lighted the cigarette his host passed over to him. Though Father
Agustin had told him nothing new and his manner was by no means
dramatic, he felt impressed. The quiet priest in his shabby cassock and
clumsy, raw-hide shoes, had somehow a dominating personality. It was
hard to tell what part he took in the revolution, but even if it were
not directly active, Walthew thought him a moral force that must be
reckoned with.
For a time nothing was said. There was no sound in the room except the
ticking of the clock, and it seemed to Walthew that the house had a
deserted feeling; he imagined that there was nobody in it except
themselves. He grew angry and pitiful by turns as he glanced at Blanca.
It was a hateful task she had been given, but he saw that she meant to
carry it out. He wanted to get on, because Grahame might be in danger,
but he could not leave until the despatch-carrier came. One could trust
Father Agustin, but Walthew felt that he must be on hand.
It got cooler, and a faint, earthy smell crept in through the windows.
Now and then the lamp flickered in a passing draught, and once or twice
they forced themselves to talk, but the effort was obvious and the
voices presently died away. After this the quietness became oppressive,
and by degrees Walthew grew drowsy. Rousing himself, he felt ashamed as
he glanced at the girl. She did not move, but her pose was tense, and he
knew that she was watchful. He resented the craving for sleep when she
was bearing a heavy strain, but he had traveled fast since he left the
lagoon and his exhausted body demanded rest.
He would not give in, and at last he started as a faint throbbing sound
reached him from outside. It came from a long way off, but grew plainer,
and he saw Father Agustin lean forward. Then Blanca stood up with a
tinge of color in her face and a tightening of her lips. Somebody was
riding hard down the road. There was a shout and a sharp answer.
For a few moments the three stood waiting with forced calm, and then a
man hurriedly entered.
"Pepe is here, senor," he announced.
"Ah!" said Father Agustin quietly. "Bring him in." He turned to Walthew.
"It is one of our men who watched the other road. Something has gone
wrong."
Walthew saw Blanca's expression change. Although she had meant to get
the despatches, he knew she felt relieved.
Pepe entered. His face was wet with perspiration and he spoke with a
breathless quickness that prevented Walthew's following what he said.
Still, it was plain that his news was bad, for his manner was
apologetic, and Father Agustin looked thoughtful.
"Wait outside; we may want you," he said and turned to Walthew after
dismissing the fellow. "The messenger must have been suspicious and our
men have blundered. It was very dark and he came upon them suddenly.
One was shot as he seized the mule and the messenger escaped before they
could mount, but he was forced to turn back."
"Could he pass them by making a round?"
"It is not likely. There is this road and the other, with thick forest
between, and both are guarded. The man must wait for daylight, and I do
not think he will reach Rio Frio. We may turn this to your advantage,
but it needs thought."
He sat down and lighted a cigarette, and Walthew waited in silence until
he looked up.
"It is possible that Gomez will offer your comrade his liberty in
exchange for information he can use against Don Martin."
"Grahame will give him none," Walthew answered emphatically.
"Then I imagine he is in some danger. You would take a risk to rescue
him?"
"Of course!"
"Very well. Gomez is waiting for instructions and probably knows that
the messenger is a foreigner. I suggest that you impersonate him. The
guards will let you pass, and Gomez will, no doubt, receive you alone.
Then you must try to extort an order for your friend's release."
"I'm a pretty good shot," said Walthew meaningly. "I might get him
covered before I begin."
Father Agustin made a sign of impatience.
"Your best argument will be this--if you are detained for more than a
few minutes, there will be a tumult in the town. Gomez will hesitate
about forcing a rising before he gets his orders. Then as soon as you
enter the house some of our people will find an excuse for loitering
about the door. The soldiers are not well drilled; it might not be
difficult to surprise and disarm the sentry, and then the house could be
seized. For all that, there is a risk. Success will depend upon your
nerve and coolness."
"I can't think of any better plan," said Walthew.
Blanca gave him a quick glance, and he thrilled as he saw a hint of
trouble in her face. He thought she was unwilling that he should run
into danger, but the next moment her eyes sparkled.
"It will work!" she said. "I am coming to help!"
Walthew made a sign of protest, but she would not let him speak.
"I promised to get the despatches, and the messenger may arrive while
you are with Gomez. Then somebody must make arrangements for the door to
be watched, and I am known in Rio Frio. I can find trustworthy men." She
raised her hand imperiously. "You need not object, senor. I am going!"
Walthew was forced to acquiesce, and an hour afterward they left the
_hacienda_ and rode through the dark bush with two well-armed men behind
them.