THE AMERICAN TRADER
Walthew was almost dozing, when he was startled by a sound that came out
of the darkness. It was some distance off, but it had a regular beat in
it, and when it grew louder he could not doubt that some one was riding
fast up the road.
"Move the fire back--there's somebody coming!" he called quickly.
"Blanca, will you give Grahame your pistol?"
He used her name for the first time, and it thrilled him, but he had
other things to think about. The faint glow of the charcoal vanished,
and Grahame came out and stood listening.
"Stay where you are and guard the door!" he said. "I'll drop behind that
bush, and then if the fellow gets down we'll have him between us."
Throwing away a cigarette he was smoking, he vanished into the gloom,
and Walthew lay still with his heart beating fast. The drumming of hoofs
grew slower as the rider climbed the hill before the house, but Walthew
could not see him until he dismounted and came up the path, leading his
mule. It was some comfort to realize that they had only one man to deal
with, but if he was a spy of the President's, he must not get away.
Walthew, lying at full length, quickly worked his elbow into the dust
to steady his pistol hand.
When the stranger was three or four yards away he stopped and looped the
bridle round his arm. Then he put his hand into his pocket, and Walthew,
with his nerves a-tingle, supposed that the man was searching for a
match. In another moment he might have to shoot, and he held his breath
as his finger tightened on the trigger. He heard the match scrape, a
tiny flame flickered between the stranger's hands, and Walthew started
as he saw his face. It was the man who had carried the President's
orders into Rio Frio.
The light spread, falling on Walthew's recumbent figure and sparkling on
his pistol, but the messenger did not throw it down as the American had
half expected. Instead, he coolly held it up.
"I see you have me covered," he said. "Though it's a surprise to find
you here, I'm not going to run away."
Walthew lowered his pistol.
"Very well. Leave your mule and go into the house. Will you tie up the
animal, Grahame?"
"So there are two of you!"
The man did as he was told, and Walthew, following him, asked Blanca to
get a light.
The girl had found a lamp which she placed on the ground, and the
stranger looked at her sharply as she bent over it. Nobody spoke until
Grahame came in.
"Are you alone?" he asked the messenger.
"Quite."
"What's your name and business?"
"Carson, agent for the trading firm, Henniker and Gillatly."
"Where were you going and why did you come here?"
Carson turned to Walthew, who had been wondering whether he recognized
him.
"I imagine this gentleman knows my business," he said. "He did me a
service in Rio Frio which I'm glad to acknowledge. As a matter of fact,
I stopped here to look for something to eat; the owner of this house is
on the President's side. It's pretty plain, though, that he has cleared
out. Taking it all round, I haven't had much luck this trip."
"Who warned you not to call at the _hacienda_ Perez?" Blanca asked.
"I don't know his name--he stopped me for a moment in the dark. I'm
sorry I had to put one of your friends out of action, senorita, but I
hadn't much choice, because he struck at me with his knife. For all
that, I hope the man's not badly hurt."
"We expect him to recover."
"You seem to know this lady," Walthew broke in.
Carson smiled.
"I haven't had the pleasure of being presented, but I've seen Miss
Sarmiento once or twice, and it would be strange if I forgot her."
His easy good-humor disarmed Walthew.
"Did you deliver the President's despatches?" he asked.
"Yes. To tell the truth, I was glad to get rid of them--and I imagine
Miss Sarmiento acted wisely in leaving the town. Now, however, I'm
naturally curious to know what you mean to do with me."
"Will you give us your word not to tell any of the President's
supporters that you have met us?"
"I'll promise with pleasure. I feel that I've done enough in carrying
his despatches."
"Very well," said Grahame. "That clears the ground; but we must talk it
over together."
"Thanks," Carson said coolly. "I'm not pressed for time--and I notice
that you have been cooking. I wonder if I might ask for some supper?"
"All we have is at your service, senor," Blanca answered with Spanish
politeness. "But we'd better put out the light."
She extinguished the lamp, and they gathered round the cooking pot, the
men sitting on the earth floor with the red glow of the burning charcoal
on their faces. It could not be seen many yards away, and Grahame's view
commanded the path to the door. Blanca divided the omelette she had
made, and afterward gave them some black coffee and a bundle of
cigarettes.
"These are Habaneros and should be good," she said. "As they belong to a
friend of the President's we need not hesitate about using them."
She sat down beside Walthew, and they smoked in silence for a while.
Blanca was studying Carson's face as it was lighted by the glow from the
charcoal.
"Why did you help Altiera?" she asked him suddenly.
"Commercial interest. He has given us one or two trading privileges. And
he seemed to think I had a pretty good chance of getting through."
"Do you know what his orders to Gomez were?"
Grahame had wondered when she meant to ask this, and had left it to her,
feeling that she was more likely to catch the messenger off his guard.
Carson laughed.
"Honestly, I don't know; Altiera isn't the man to take an outsider into
his confidence."
"Still, you know something."
"Well," Carson said quietly, "I'm sorry I must refuse to tell you my
surmises. No doubt you'll understand my obstinacy."
"Aren't you rash, senor?" Blanca asked in a meaning tone.
"On the whole, I think not. Of course, I'm in your hands, but as I've
promised not to give you away, I expect these gentlemen won't take an
unfair advantage of me. Then, from what I know about Don Martin, I feel
that I can trust his daughter."
Blanca smiled.
"Well," she said, "I suppose we must let you go. You are at liberty to
leave us when you wish."
Grahame and Walthew agreed, and Carson shook hands with them.
"It's evident that your only reason for stopping near Rio Frio is that
Miss Sarmiento finds it impossible to walk any farther," he remarked.
"She's welcome to my mule. Gomez requisitioned it from a man called
Silva, who's suspected of sympathizing with your party. I believe I know
where to find another animal."
They thanked him and let him go; and soon after he vanished into the
darkness, Blanca mounted the mule and they set off again.
Pushing on until dawn, they found a small, deserted _hacienda_ standing
back from the road, and as tall forest grew close up to it, offering a
line of retreat, they decided to rest there. The mule looked jaded.
Blanca admitted that she could not go much farther, and Walthew was
obviously worn out. They could find nothing to eat; but there was some
furniture in the house, and Blanca found a place to sleep in one of the
rooms, while the men lay down on a rug outside. The sun was now rising
above the high cordillera and, wet with the dew as they were, they
enjoyed the warmth. A few lizards crept about the wall in front of them,
and an archway near by commanded a view of the road. The building was in
good order, and had apparently been abandoned on the approach of the
President's soldiers.
"These people know what to expect; they must have been ready to light
out," Walthew remarked. "I rather liked that fellow Carson, but it's
curious he didn't ask us anything about our business."
"He'd take it for granted that we had an active part in the revolution."
"No doubt the senorita's being with us would suggest something of the
kind, but he seemed surprised at first," Walthew replied with a
thoughtful air. "For all that, I can't quite see----"
"No," said Grahame; "I don't think you altogether understand the
situation yet. I suppose you mean to marry Miss Sarmiento?"
"Certainly, if she'll have me," Walthew answered with firmness, though
he looked at his comrade as if he expected something more.
Grahame smiled.
"Then you're to be congratulated, because you won't have much trouble in
getting your wish."
"What do you mean?" Walthew's tone was sharp, but he remembered an
incident during his escape from the town. "I'll admit I wasn't quite
hopeless, but we were both in danger----"
He broke off, and Grahame regarded him with a friendly laugh.
"You're modest--and you're more ignorant of Spanish customs than I
thought. However, I'd better explain, so you'll know how Don Martin will
look at it. To begin with, a well-brought-up girl is never permitted to
meet a man unless she is suitably escorted by an older member of the
family, and you have been wandering about with Miss Sarmiento for two or
three days. Now you can understand why Carson was surprised, and I
noticed he was uncertain how to address Miss Sarmiento at first. She
noticed his hesitation, though you did not."
For some moments Walthew was silent, his brows knitted.
"No, I never thought of it," he admitted. "But we'll say no more about
it until I've seen Don Martin. Besides, there's another matter. A fellow
who joined us at the lagoon gave me a letter for you. Sorry I forgot it
until now, but I had a good deal to think about."
"I don't suppose it's important," Grahame replied, and lighted a
cigarette before opening the envelope with an English stamp.
Then his expression changed, and a few moments afterward he let the
letter drop and sat very still. The cigarette went out, the hot sun
shone upon his uncovered head, and a lizard ran across his leg; but he
did not move. He seemed lost in thought. Walthew, watching with puzzled
sympathy, waited for him to speak.
"This letter has been a long time on the way," he explained at last. "It
probably had to wait at our Havana address, and then Don Martin's people
had no opportunity to deliver it."
"But what's the news?" Walthew asked.
Grahame answered with a strained laugh.
"In a sense, it's rather a grim joke. While I've been risking my life
for a few dollars' profit on smuggled guns, and practicing the sternest
self-denial, it seems I've been the owner of an old Border estate."
"Ah!" said Walthew. "Then Calder Hall now belongs to you?"
"What do you know about Calder Hall?"
"I've known all about it for some time, and I'm very glad. But I
understand that you didn't expect to inherit the estate."
"No; it seemed impossible. I won't trouble you with family particulars,
but two deaths have occurred in a very short time. The last owner was no
older than I am and married, but his only child is a girl, and he was
killed while hunting. Although he was my cousin, I've rarely seen him."
He was silent again for some minutes, his mind busy with alluring
visions. He had long struggled with poverty, and had wandered about the
world engaging in reckless adventures, but he had inherited a love for
the old home of his race; and now it was his. But this, while counting
for much, was not the main thing. He had been strongly attracted by
Evelyn Cliffe, but, recognizing his disadvantages, he had tried hard to
hold in check the love for her which grew in spite of him. The obstacles
that had bulked so large were now removed. He was free to win her if he
could, and it was comforting to remember that in her urgent need she had
sent for him. But he had work to finish first.
"I suppose you mean to start home as soon as you can?" Walthew
suggested.
"No," Grahame answered quietly, "I'm not going yet. For one thing, we
have taken Don Martin's money, and now that he has to meet a crisis we
can't leave him in the lurch. Besides, one day at San Lucar, we promised
some of the leaders of the movement that we'd see them through."
It was a good reason. Grahame was not the man to do a shabby thing, but
Walthew, remembering that Evelyn was with the rebels, thought his
comrade had a stronger motive for staying.
"Well," he agreed, "I guess that's so. Anyway, the game can't last much
longer; they'll have to use our guns in the next few days."
"Yes; and as we don't know what part we'll have in it, you'd better get
some rest. I'll keep watch a while."
Walthew was glad of the opportunity to sleep; and Grahame, moving back
into the shadow as the sun got hot, sat still, with his mind busy and
his eyes fixed upon the road.
At noon Blanca came out of the house and stood looking down at Walthew
with a compassionate gentleness that she did not try to hide. The
half-healed cut showed plainly on his forehead, his brown face looked
worn, and he lay in an attitude of deep weariness.
"It is a pity to wake him, but we must start," she said, and indicated
the scar. "I suppose you can guess that he has borne something, and he
got that wound for you."
"I'm not likely to forget it," Grahame answered quietly.
"No," Blanca said with a curious smile. "You do not make many
protestations, you men of the North, but one can trust you."
She stooped and touched Walthew gently.
"It is noon and we must go."
Her voice was quiet, but Walthew seemed to know it in his sleep, for he
sprang to his feet with a half-ashamed air.
"I didn't mean to sleep so long," he said, and looked at Blanca
anxiously. "Have you rested enough? Are you quite fit to travel?"
Blanca smiled; and when Walthew brought up the mule and helped her to
mount she noticed something new in his manner. Hitherto, it had been
marked by a certain diffidence, but now this had gone. He was
assiduously careful of her, but with a hint of proprietary right.
Something had happened since she had last seen him to account for the
change. She gave Grahame a searching glance, but his face was impassive.
They set off, Walthew walking beside the mule, but it was to Grahame
that the girl spoke as they moved slowly forward in the scorching heat.
He thought he understood, and his eyes twinkled with amusement when she
was not looking. Blanca suspected him, and she did not mean Walthew to
take too much for granted.