THE PRESIDIO
The sun hung low in the western sky, with a peak of the black cordillera
cutting its lower edge, and Rio Frio shone in the glaring light. Seen
from the road across the valley, the town had an ethereal look, for the
tiers of square, white houses rose from a gulf of shadow and clustered
upon the hillside, glimmering with a pearly luster, picked out by clumps
of green. Behind were barren slopes, deepening in color to dusky purple
as they ran back to the foot of the mountain wall.
Walthew pulled up his mule and sat gazing at the town. He had been
riding beside Blanca, while Father Agustin and two others followed at
some distance.
"Five minutes ago you could hardly see the place against the background
and now it glows as if it were lighted up inside," he remarked. "Looks
more like an enchanted palace than a collection of adobe houses. One
could imagine that some magician had suddenly conjured it up."
"I'm afraid there's not much enchantment in Rio Frio," Blanca answered.
"It's very prosaic and rather dirty."
"Well, I don't know," said Walthew, looking boldly at her. "I'm not
given to romantic sentiment, but something very strange happened to me
one night in your town. Must have been glamour in the air, for I've been
a changed man ever since. You wouldn't expect a matter-of-fact American,
who was on the hunt for money, to trail round the country trying to act
like Garibaldi, unless he was bewitched."
Blanca smiled prettily.
"You have, at least, chosen to follow a great example, senor."
"I don't think I chose him," Walthew returned dryly. "I'd have looked
for somebody easier."
"But you were free to give up the part if you found it too hard for
you."
"No; that's the trouble. I wasn't free."
The girl knew that he was not talking at random to hide nervousness.
There was an underlying gravity in his manner and she secretly thrilled
to it. Although he still wore the dirty bandage and was dusty and
unkempt, she thought he had a very gallant air. His eyes were bright and
intent, and his thin face was very resolute. The faint smile with which
he regarded her somehow emphasized his determined, highstrung look.
"Senor," she said, "it is better to aim high. Achievement is not
everything; the effort counts, and it is a generous errand you go upon
to-night. But we will talk of something else. Look; there is the house
where I spent the only happy years I can remember, until my father heard
the call of duty once more and obeyed. Higher up, you can see the green
gap of the _alameda_; beyond it the church of San Sebastian." She paused
for a moment with a shiver. "The white line beneath it is the top of the
_presidio_, where Gomez lives. But the light fades quickly, and now,
see--everything has gone."
The sun had sunk behind the cordillera, and the white town, changing
suddenly to gray, melted out of sight as the shadows rolled up the
hillside.
"You must see that it's enchanted," Walthew remarked. "The magician has
waved his wand and blotted it out."
"It will shine again to-morrow," Blanca answered in a quiet voice. "The
shadows have long rested on this country of ours, but one looks for the
dawn."
The others were close behind them, but the party was smaller than it had
been. Ragged men with dark, determined faces had been picked up on the
way, but it would excite suspicion if they entered Rio Frio in a body,
and they had separated during the last hour. Walthew did not know what
their orders were, but he thought they would act upon some plan already
made if he failed to secure Grahame's release; and Blanca presently bore
this conclusion out.
"You will not be left unsupported, but it will be better if you can make
Gomez set your comrade free without our help," she said. "We do not wish
to strike the first blow to-night, but if it is needful, the _presidio_
will be attacked. Gomez's position is like ours: he is not quite ready
to force a conflict. You see how that strengthens your hand. He cannot
altogether trust his soldiers, and a shot would rouse the town." Her
voice sounded rather strained as she concluded: "But if you are careful,
the shot will not be fired. Gomez is cruel, but he is a coward, and will
give way if you use moral force."
"It's a big thing," Walthew answered thoughtfully. "Still, I must put
it over somehow. I have to get my partner out."
Darkness fell before they reached Rio Frio, and Blanca stopped her mule
on the outskirts of the town.
"We must separate here," she said. "I do not think the entrance is
carefully guarded, because it is not Gomez's policy to admit that an
attack is possible, but there may be spies, and a _rural_ or two on
watch." She paused and held out her hand. "I wish you good fortune,
senor, and I do not think your nerve will fail, but if the worst comes,
we will not leave you in Gomez's power."
Walthew, bending down, kissed her hand and then lifted his hat.
"Until I see you again, senorita," he said and quietly rode on.
There was no moon and the air was still. The town rose before him, vague
and shadowy, with a faint musky smell drifting out from it. As he
reached the first of the houses, a wave of heat, rising from the rough
pavement, surrounded him. The walls looked blank, for there were no
lights behind the lattices, but a ray of brightness fell across the
street a short distance in front. As he crossed the illuminated strip a
man in white uniform stepped forward and seized his bridle.
"Who comes?" he asked, looking hard at Walthew's face.
"A messenger for the _secretario_."
"Pass, friend," said the other, letting go the bridle.
Walthew rode on, but checked the mule as soon as he was out of sight. It
looked as if he had been expected, but he had been warned that he must
give the revolutionaries time to communicate with their friends in the
city. They might have some trouble in entering it, although he believed
they meant to do so through the house of some sympathizer on the
outskirts. When he turned a corner he stopped to listen, but heard
nothing behind him, and the street in front was quiet. It seemed that
nobody had been sent to announce his arrival, and he could proceed
slowly without rousing suspicion.
Leaving the direct line, he wound in and out through narrow streets, the
mule's shoes clanging on the hot stones. He passed one or two dimly
lighted cafes where men, roused by the clatter, looked up, their figures
showing indistinct about the small tables between the pillars. Farther
on, shadowy groups were sitting close together on the pavement, and
though their voices were quiet they had somehow an air of excitement.
Men appeared and vanished in the gloom, moving softly and quickly, as if
afraid of loitering. There was a mysterious hint of tension about all
that Walthew saw, and he felt his heart beat as he rode on.
Crossing the plaza, he dismounted at the hotel he had previously
visited, and sent for the majordomo when the hostler grumbled something
about the stable's being full.
"You will remember me," he said. "I want to leave my mule here and
perhaps spend the night."
"I am sorry, but we have no room; there are a number of strangers in the
town. They are not so full at the Golden Fleece."
"I'd rather stay here if I have to wait until to-morrow," Walthew
answered. "You take care of the mules well, and I may have a long ride.
Then one puts up at a place one knows, with more--confidence."
The majordomo looked hard at him.
"We must try to make room, senor, since you have--confidence."
"Exactly," said Walthew, smiling. "Now I want the mule fed but not
unsaddled. I may perhaps need it in an hour, and it would be an
advantage if you could find me another."
"It might be possible," the majordomo replied in a thoughtful tone.
"Still, there are spies about and they may watch this house. With
permission, I will send the mule to Ramon Silva in the _calle Pinastro_.
He is a carrier, and it is known that he buys pack-animals; he will have
both mules ready, if you ask for them with confidence."
Walthew thanked the man and set off for the _presidio_. It was a long,
square-fronted building with a sentry-box at the entrance, and an untidy
soldier sat smoking outside. Another stood a little farther on in a
slouching attitude, a rifle raking across his shoulder and his _kepis_
tilted to one side. Discipline is seldom marked among Spanish-American
soldiers, but Walthew was somewhat surprised to note that the fellow was
bantering a group of loiterers. They were dressed like peons, and one
carried a tray of sweetmeats and another a quantity of cigarettes,
apparently for sale. As Walthew passed, the former hurriedly moved his
tray, as if to prevent its being upset.
"Be careful, senor!" he exclaimed, giving Walthew a warning glance.
Walthew understood it. The men were not there by accident, and he saw
that one was within leaping distance of the sentry. He knew that the
Spanish knife is almost as dangerous as the rifle at close quarters; and
can, moreover, be thrown a short distance with effect.
"I have a message for the _secretario_," he told the sentry with a
careless air.
The man let him pass, and he saw that he was expected when a dusky
steward met him at the door. Since the despatch-carrier was known to be
a foreigner, it was easy to enter the _presidio_, but he wondered what
would happen before he left. Now that the dangerous game was about to
begin, he clearly recognized the risk he ran. For all that, it looked as
if he held the trump cards, and he hoped that he had nerve enough to
play them well. Pulling himself together, he followed his guide across
the _patio_ and up an outer stair, until the man stopped and knocked at
a door.
"The messenger, senor," he announced.
Walthew held his breath until he heard the door shut behind him; then he
turned to Gomez, who had risen from his seat at a table. It was a small
room and the table stood between the men. Walthew felt his nerves tingle
and his skin grow damp with perspiration as Gomez looked at him. There
was surprise in the secretary's face and he seemed puzzled, as if he
were trying to revive a memory.
"You are not the man we were told would come, but I think I have seen
you somewhere," he said.
Walthew stood still, his hand in his jacket pocket, as if about to take
the despatches from it.
"The other messenger was detained, but we have met. I once dined at your
table at the International, in Havana."
Gomez gave him a quick, suspicious glance.
"Then there is something I do not understand, but it is not important
now. You bring the President's orders?"
"No; I bring this."
He took his hand from his pocket and the barrel of an automatic pistol
glinted in the light.
Gomez flinched, but recovered his calm with a quickness that showed
Walthew he had a dangerous antagonist.
"Push your chair back from that open drawer and then keep still!" he
ordered.
Gomez obeyed, and Walthew sat down on the edge of the table, where, if
necessary, he could spring up more quickly than from a chair. Besides,
the position helped him to keep both Gomez and the door in sight.
"You are uselessly dramatic, senor," Gomez remarked with a forced sneer.
"You dare not use the pistol, and I am not to be frightened by so cheap
a trick."
Walthew did not put down the weapon.
"Rather stale, but it has served its purpose by stopping you from
calling out, and that's all I wanted to begin with. Now I'm going to
show you how we stand."
"Your position strikes me as very weak."
"Well," said Walthew coolly, "I don't know. There are some chances in my
favor."
"Not many, I think. A shot or a call from me would lead to your
immediate arrest."
Walthew lowered the pistol.
"I'm not going to shoot and you won't call. One of your sentries is
smoking cigarettes, with a wiry liberator ready to put his knife into
him, and something would happen to the other before he could throw up
his rifle. Then, a number of my friends are waiting to seize the gate."
"What would they gain? They could not hold the building. In a few
minutes the soldiers would arrive."
"Just so. Still, they'd have a few minutes, and there's reason for
believing they're not fond of you. Then, I don't mean to be made a
prisoner and, if I'm forced to, I'll shoot straight."
This was not an idle threat. Walthew's nerves were steady, and he felt a
rancorous hatred of the man. He had been guilty of unspeakable
cruelties, he had carried off an American girl, and he now had Grahame
in his power. Walthew's face was pale, but his lips were firmly set, and
there was an ominous gleam in his eyes. Gomez began to grow uneasy.
"However," Walthew went on, "the important point is that the first shot
starts the revolution. My friends won't have much trouble with the
sentries at the door, but if your soldiers try to break in afterward, it
will rouse the town. You may take this for granted, because you must see
that I'd make sure of being supported outside before I ventured here."
Gomez pondered. The American's position was certainly strong. The lad
was not a rash fool, and his having made the venture proved his
statement about the likelihood of a revolution to be correct; moreover,
Gomez had other reasons for not questioning it. As he looked up, Walthew
made a warning gesture and Gomez heard footsteps outside.
"Don't move!" said Walthew in a low, tense voice. "If that fellow comes
in it will make trouble for both of us. You'd better think how you're
going to keep him out!"
The secretary's lips twitched, but he sat motionless. The steps drew
nearer, echoing down the passage; in another moment the man outside
would reach the door. Walthew held his breath; but the steps continued
and passed. Then they grew fainter, and Walthew saw his antagonist's
pose relax; the strain had told on him. Gomez was weakening and the game
was nearly won.
"What do you want?" the secretary asked.
"An order for Grahame's release."
"Impossible! My signature would make me responsible to the President."
"You'll take a bigger responsibility if you refuse; the men I left
waiting will begin the trouble if I'm not outside very soon. You haven't
got your master's orders yet, and the liberators have headed his
messenger off. I guess you'll have to answer for it if you spoil his
plans. Remember you'll have to face a revolution unless you let Grahame
out."
Gomez was silent for a few moments and then made a sign of acquiescence.
"Very well," he said, and pulling his chair to the table began to write.
Then he gave Walthew the paper. "Are you satisfied?"
"Not quite," said Walthew, glancing over the message. "Ring for one of
your men and send it off with this note." He handed both papers to
Gomez. "Order him to deliver them at once!"
When the man came in, Walthew was sitting carelessly in a chair, as if
nothing unusual had been going on. His right hand, however, was gripping
the pistol in his jacket pocket.
"I'll wait here for five minutes to give him a start. Seems to me that
would be safer," he said when the orderly had left them.
He was relieved when he thought he could get up, for the strain had been
heavy, and he was feeling rather limp, but he walked steadily to the
door and did not quicken his steps until he reached the stairs. It was
with tingling nerves that he came to the outer gate; but the sentries
let him pass, and when he had gone a short distance, three or four peons
who were hanging about turned and followed him. He was outside in the
friendly darkness, but he had still to leave the town.