THE ESCAPE
Walthew waited for the peons, and then turned toward _calle Pinastro_,
where he had arranged to meet Grahame. He had now three companions whom
he thought he could trust, but they were unarmed, except for their
knives. Gomez had sent the order for Grahame's release, but if he could
rearrest him and seize Walthew without causing a tumult, he would do so.
They had only five or six minutes' start. It did not look as if they
could get out of the town in time, and Walthew felt fiercely impatient.
For all that, he stopped at the corner of a street when one of the
others touched him.
There was a lighted cafe near by, and a girl stood on the pavement near
its open front. She was dressed very plainly in white, with a dark shawl
fastened round her head, like a peasant girl, but he felt a sudden
thrill as she turned toward him. Although he could not see her very
well, he knew it was Blanca. When he cautiously crossed the street she
drew him back into the shadow, but he saw her look of relief.
"You have succeeded!" she said softly. "Where is Mr. Grahame?"
"I am to meet him at Ramon Silva's."
"You cannot go this way; there are two _rurales_ farther on. But it
would be dangerous to turn back now."
She put her hand on his arm, as if to detain him while she considered
what to do, and Walthew looked about, knowing that he could trust her
knowledge of the town. The street was narrow and dark except where the
light from the cafe shone across it. A few citizens sat round the small
tables, and several shadowy figures loitered in the gloom outside.
Walthew thought they had come with the girl, but there was nothing in
their attitude to suggest that they had any particular business in the
neighborhood, and his own followers had stopped at the corner.
Suddenly a clatter of hoofs broke out. Some one was riding fast toward
them. Walthew felt Blanca's hand tighten warningly on his arm as she
drew back a pace or two. The sound grew louder; there was a hoarse shout
like a sentry's challenge, and an answer which Walthew imagined
satisfied the _rurales_ on guard; and then a mounted man rode into the
stream of light.
The mule was foul with sweat and dust, and a trickle of blood ran down
its shoulder; the rider's face was pale and set. Walthew's eyes rested
on him for only a second, but he knew the fellow was English or
American. There was an angry cry in the background, and a stealthy
figure, outlined against a blank, white wall, crossed the street. The
mounted man was obviously the President's messenger; but Walthew, having
seen his grim, tired look, and the way he drove the worn-out mule
furiously down the street, felt a touch of half-admiring sympathy. After
all, the fellow was white, and was gallantly doing what he had
undertaken.
A moment more and Walthew saw something glisten in the hand of the
stealthy figure that seemed ready to spring. He was only a yard away
and, acting on impulse, he stumbled as if by accident and fell against
the man. The knife dropped with a jingle, and the messenger dashed past,
throwing Walthew a quick glance as he went.
An angry murmur broke out, and several of the loiterers closed in on
Walthew, while men left the cafe to see what was going on, and there
were quick footsteps farther off in the gloom. Remembering the need for
haste and that Grahame might be in danger, Walthew half regretted his
rashness, but as he wondered what to do Blanca ran to his side.
"The _rurales_ are coming!" she shouted; and the men about them vanished
as she led him away.
They turned a corner into a lane between dark houses.
"Why did you interfere?" she asked breathlessly.
"I don't know. Felt I had to," Walthew answered with some embarrassment.
"But you know who he is!"
"Yes; he's carrying the despatches. Still, he looked played out and he
had got through."
"Through your friends!"
"I suppose so. It didn't seem to make much difference. Guess I've been
foolish."
"You were generous, but generosity of that kind must be paid for,"
Blanca answered in a hard tone. "It will cost our people something, and,
now that Gomez has got his orders, I don't know that we can leave the
town."
"Grahame and I must find a way. But you'd be safer without us. I can't
let you run into needless danger."
Blanca laughed.
"Do you think I would leave you to get into fresh difficulties? With a
temperament like yours, you're not to be trusted alone."
"I handled Gomez pretty well," Walthew boasted.
"And you still wear the bandage he saw you with! Is it safe to take it
off?"
"I'd forgotten it," he admitted.
He threw the bandage into the lane with some annoyance, for the girl
seemed amused, but she made no remark until they reached a quiet street.
"Well," she said, "perhaps I can excuse you to the others, who haven't
deserted us. But we turn down here and you had better go a few yards in
front."
Following the directions she gave him, he presently crossed a square and
entered a street where a dim light burned. A man stood near it in a
careless pose, smoking a cigarette, and Walthew's heart beat fast as he
saw him.
"Grahame!" he said; and the next moment he was shaking his comrade's
hand.
"Got your note," said Grahame. "Thought I'd better wait here. Silva
can't let us have the mules."
Walthew understood his brevity: there was no time for questions and
explanations.
Grahame took off his hat as Blanca joined them.
"I must see Silva. Wait in the shadow," she said, and moved quickly
away.
The men stood silent. They had much to say, but it would keep, and the
means of escaping from the town occupied their minds. The street was
deserted and seemed strangely quiet after the girl's footsteps died
away, but indistinct cries came across the flat roofs as if something
were happening. Walthew looked about sharply in tense impatience, but
could see nothing, and Blanca did not return. At last, however, she came
silently toward them through the gloom.
"It is impossible for Silva to give us the mules," she said. "The
Government has seized all he has, and two _rurales_ guard the stable."
"Then we must try to get away on foot," Grahame replied. "Would you be
safer, senorita, if you got some of your friends to hide you?"
"No," she said; "I must take my father some news I have picked up, and
Gomez will leave no place unsearched when he learns that I have been
here. I think we shall be out of danger if we can reach a house I know."
They went down the street, quickly but silently, and as they turned the
corner a man sprang out from the gloom beside a wall and immediately
afterward disappeared. A few moments later they heard a whistle, and
Blanca led the men into a narrow lane.
"It is off our way, and we must run!" she said.
She shook off Walthew when he tried to take her arm; and they had gone
some distance before they heard footsteps behind them. The pursuers did
not seem to gain much ground, but when they slipped round a corner
somebody shouted, and the girl sped across the square they had entered.
A little farther on, they heard a heavier tread on the uneven stones.
"_Rurales!_" Grahame whispered.
Blanca turned off quickly and led them through an archway into a street
where there was a cafe, which, to Walthew's surprise, she made for. The
pursuers had not come out from the archway yet, and the party, falling
into a slower pace before they reached the cafe, went in and sat down
calmly at one of the tables. As usual, the front of the cafe was open to
the pavement, separated from it by only a row of pillars. A few men sat
inside and glanced curiously at the newcomers, but they made no remark.
"A bottle of vermouth, as soon as you can!" Grahame said to the
landlord.
The fellow gave him a quick glance, and then his eyes rested for a
moment on the girl; but he did not delay, and was coming back with some
glasses when several barefooted men and two others in uniform ran down
the street. Grahame had taken up a newspaper, but he watched them over
it without turning his head; Walthew pushed his chair back carelessly
into the shadow; and Blanca played with a gaudy fan. The men did not
look into the cafe, but the landlord, after quietly filling the glasses,
put down the bottle with a meaning smile.
"They may come back," he said, and moved away.
Walthew was about to get up, but Blanca coquettishly tapped him with her
fan and, taking the hint, he sat still; they must drink some of the
vermouth before they left. He drained his glass, and insisted on
refilling the girl's. Blanca protested laughingly, but Grahame saw that
she held her fan so that it hid her face from the other customers. She
was playing her part well. Still, he thought that Walthew, knowing less
of Spanish conventions, did not understand how daring she was. When
Grahame's eyes rested on her she blushed and quickly turned her head.
"It seems you have a number of supporters in the town," he remarked in a
low voice.
"Yes," she said; "you are thinking of the landlord's hint. We hope at
least half the people are on our side.... But we can venture out in a
minute or two."
She raised her glass, smiling at Walthew, and then hummed a song until
she got up and, standing in front of a dirty mirror, began to arrange
the black mantilla that covered her head. Her pose and movements were
marked by rakish coquetry, and Grahame saw they had deceived the
loungers; but he noticed with a touch of dry amusement that Walthew
looked puzzled and not quite pleased.
"Now, senores," she said loudly in Castilian, "you have had wine enough
and must not keep me waiting."
She went out in front of them, flaunting her fan, but when they reached
the pavement her manner changed, and her voice was strained as she
whispered:
"Follow me close, but quickly! There is no time to lose!"
They were not molested as they crossed the town, but when they neared
its outskirts, Blanca left the road that led to the open country and
plunged into a network of narrow streets. At last she stopped in front
of a large but dilapidated looking house and, knocking twice, waited a
few moments until her summons was answered. There was no light inside,
and she exchanged a word with a half-seen person at the door before the
party was admitted. The door was shut and bolted, and they were led into
an inner room where a small lamp burned, and a woman with a frightened
face confronted them.
"The road is stopped, and you must go at once before the house is
searched!" she said excitedly.
"Where are the others?" Blanca asked.
"They lost you and have gone on. You know where they will wait."
Blanca nodded and beckoned her companions; and they followed her and the
woman to a window at the back. Grahame tactfully sprang out first and
was relieved to find himself outside the town, with a grove of trees
that promised safe concealment not far ahead. He made his way toward
them without looking round. Walthew got out next, but as soon as he
reached the ground he turned and held up his arms to Blanca, who was
sitting on the ledge. As she sprang down he caught her, and holding her
fast kissed her ardently. His feeling of triumph banished all thought of
their danger when he found that she did not resist. Her eyes shone a
deep, mystic blue, and she smiled as she slipped her arm round his neck
for a moment before he set her down.
Without speaking, they hurried on after Grahame.
"We have about a mile to go," Blanca said, when they reached him.
She struck into a path that led them past clumps of trees, rows of
neatly planted bushes, and fields of cane. It was a still, dark night on
which a sound would carry far, but they heard no pursuit, and the town
seemed quiet.
At last a small building loomed up ahead, and Blanca stopped beside it.
"We should find the others here," she whispered. "But you wait. It
would be better for them to see me first."
They let her go, knowing that she would be easily recognized; but she
came back a few moments later.
"There is nobody about. Perhaps they have gone on, because they had news
from people in the town, or something may have happened to make them
change their plans."
Sitting down outside the building, they began to consider what must be
done.
"We must go on without our mules," Blanca said. "I have information that
my father must get as soon as possible; but we may not be able to join
him until to-morrow night. The road is the nearest way, but now that
Gomez has his orders he may have sent out soldiers to stop all
travelers. Besides, there are _rurales_ about."
"Then we'll take to the mountains," said Walthew. He did not mean her to
run a risk. "I guess they've disarmed Grahame, and with one pistol among
us we couldn't put up much of a fight."
"There's another," Blanca returned quietly. "I might let Mr. Grahame
have it, if he is a good shot, but he must give it back to me; and, as
time is important, we will take the road."
She silenced Walthew's objections and they set off, striking into a
broad track some distance farther on. For a time, it wound, deep with
dust that clung about their feet heavy with the dew, across a belt of
cultivated land where indistinct, orderly rows of coffee bushes ran back
from its edge. Then it plunged into thick forest, where the soil was
soft and the darkness impenetrable, and they stumbled along blindly,
trying to feel their way. For all that, Grahame was conscious of keen
satisfaction as he breathed the warm, night air. Heavy as it was, it
seemed strangely invigorating after the foul atmosphere of the _carcel_
where he had been imprisoned, and it was something to walk at large
again. Walthew, however, felt anxious and limp. He had been highly
strung for several hours, and he held himself responsible for the safety
of the girl he loved. Listening for sounds of pursuit, he tried to
pierce the darkness in front, and started when a leaf rustled or some
animal moved stealthily through the forest. He thought his footsteps
rang down the branch-arched track alarmingly loud.
They came out into barren, rolling country, where clumps of cactus and
euphorbia grew in fantastic shapes. The track led upward, and it was
obvious that Blanca was getting tired. Unless they are the wives of
peons, Spanish-American women do not lead an active life and, as a rule,
limit their walks to an evening stroll in the plaza.
For a while Blanca leaned on Walthew's arm, and he winced as he felt her
limping movements, but at last she stopped.
"I cannot go much farther, but there is a house near here," she said.
"We can rest when we reach it."
The house proved to be empty and in some disorder, suggesting that its
occupants had hurriedly fled, but on searching it with a light they
found some food, a little charcoal, and an iron cooking pot. Blanca and
Walthew had made a long journey after their last meal and Grahame had
eaten nothing since his very plain breakfast at ten o'clock.
Following the girl's instructions, he lighted the charcoal and set the
pot near the door while she prepared the food, but Walthew lay down in
the dust outside. He was physically tired, and now, when he imagined
they were comparatively safe, he felt very slack and his mind was dull.
For all that, he lay where he could see the road, and only moved his
eyes from it when he glanced into the small adobe building. The charcoal
made a faint red glow that forced up the face of the stooping girl out
of the darkness and touched her skin with a coppery gleam. Grahame knelt
beside her, a dark, vaguely outlined figure, fanning the fire, and
Walthew felt half jealous that he should help.
Then he found himself getting drowsy, and, lighting a cigarette, he
fixed his eyes resolutely on the road. All was very quiet, and there was
not a movement anywhere.
But Blanca was not out of danger yet.