THE SAME FOOL.
I take it that even the bravest of soldiers do not consider that a
masterly retreat reflects upon their valor, especially when it can only
be avoided by serious consequences.
As for Robbins and myself, we hadn’t the least scruple about levanting,
and our only anxiety lay in the fear that we might not be able to
get away speedily enough, for those fellows were swooping down with
considerable promptness, and we had those in our charge who could not
be expected to run as rapidly as ourselves.
I must confess I was pleasantly surprised to see that Carmencita could
gallop along like a young fawn, while Hildegarde also proved herself
able to accomplish something in that line.
So we left the circus behind--for they were still keeping up the
delectable chorus over the garden wall in a manner that would have won
great praise on the comic opera stage.
My one thought now was to cover the acres of ground separating us from
the “pebbly strand,” where the dimpling waters of the Caribbean kissed
the shore of Tobasco, one time a republic.
The good city of Bolivar would ere long be a very unhealthy place for a
fellow of my size: doubtless I had been recognized as a Yankee by some
of the rabble. Words I had shouted would have betrayed this fact, if
nothing else, and there were few enough of my breed in the capital, so
that my identification would be easy.
Truly, the sooner my feet trod the deck of my saucy little vessel,
the better for my peace of mind. They have an uncomfortable way of
standing a fellow up before a file of barefoot soldiers, and against a
dead wall, in these revolutionary republics, and then trying the case
after the execution; and when one considers what wretched shots these
fellows are, the fear lest they might miss their mark and require a
second volley, would be greater than the actual pangs of dissolution.
For the moment I had forgotten what Hildegarde had so vehemently
declared about ever setting foot on my yacht.
Really, there was no other refuge--it was Hobson’s choice.
If she proved obdurate, and ventured to fly in the face of good
fortune, we must adopt some other plan, for I was grimly determined she
should owe her escape to my much abused boat.
Escape--from what?
Well, there was the riotous mob back yonder, danger enough in itself;
but, going back to the prime cause--escape from what?
That reminded me of the fact that as yet I had not the faintest inkling
concerning the nature of the peril that menaced her in the house of
Bolivar’s worthy alcalde.
My willingness to risk life and liberty in her service for what might
simply be a whim--to do all this while utterly in the dark as to the
cause--would these things occur to her as worthy of notice?
Well, we were making good time, you may be sure, hoping to outdistance
the crowd.
They had sighted us, however, and were in full cry, like a pack of
hounds after a fox.
We chose the more unfrequented streets for many reasons, chief among
which was the fact that on the main thoroughfares our passage must of
necessity be blocked by the merrymaking crowds.
There was always a danger lest some fellow, prowling in these darker
_calles_ for some evil purpose, might endeavor to bring us to bay.
I would feel genuinely sorry for him if Robbins found a chance to smash
a blow straight from the shoulder into his face, for the big mate
possessed the power of a bull.
At the same time, while I ran alongside of Hildegarde, I held
something in my hand, the one that was disengaged from that accursed
satchel--something that few men care to face, at least when the finger
of desperation toys with the trigger.
I was not in a mood for play.
It had apparently reached a point where the whole population of Bolivar
was arrayed against us--men, women and children.
The man who raised a hand against Hildegarde would rue the consequences.
I was bent upon saving her--perhaps for that other fellow, whom I
hated; but, nevertheless, I was determined to save her at any cost.
All the while we were zigzagging across the city, and nearing blue
water.
I tried to imagine I could smell the salty air, but that was impossible
in Bolivar, since every cable had an odor peculiar unto itself, and
each exceeded the preceding one in intensity.
Now and then I bawled out which turn Robbins was to make, who galloped
in the van with the little dark-faced girl, for he was a complete
stranger in Bolivar, while I had haunted almost every street in the
days of my idling.
Once I saw a dark figure rise up ahead as if about to seize upon the
mate, doubtless thinking all that came to his net fair prey.
Poor fool! He did not know that it would have been better for him to
have run up against a steam engine than that son of Neptune, with his
sledgehammer fist.
I heard an awful impact, saw the fellow go whirling back into the
darkness whence he had so eagerly sprung, and, when passing the scene
of the encounter, doleful groans told me that chap would trouble us no
more.
About this time another thing occurred to give me anxiety.
Hildegarde had tripped along in a fashion to arouse my secret
admiration, for it had never occurred to me in the past that she had
the making of a heroine in her. I had considered her simply a little
domestic despot, who would rule the family roost or at once abdicate.
But the chase was beginning to tell upon the little woman; excitement
had lent her wings, as it were, up to now; but even this goad began to
fail in spurring her on.
We could not be far away from the shore now, and possibly in five
minutes our eyes would be gladdened by a glimpse of the dancing waves
shimmering in the tropical night, with the lights of my yacht gleaming
there like a beacon of hope.
Yes, Hildegarde was failing.
I could hear her panting; being no experienced sprinter, she had not
learned to keep her lips together while she ran.
There was danger of a collapse.
Really, this would not do at all.
I could hardly pick her up and carry her, even though she were willing;
but there was a way in which I might assist.
The now useless weapon I thrust into a pocket, changed that miserable
handbag to my other set of digits, and then, for the second time
that night, without so much as “by your leave,” threw an arm around
Hildegarde.
Did she shrink? Was her hatred for me so bitter that she would face
any danger rather than suffer such contact? Well, I did not feel any
movement of this sort, nor would it have made the least difference to
me in the desperate condition of affairs that confronted us.
Now we made out better.
With such assistance as I could give, Hildegarde was enabled to keep up.
Strange how I should at such a critical moment allow my thoughts to
fly far back into the dim past to where a young man and a maiden fair
sauntered through wheat fields and clover patches, each forgetful of
the fact that there had been lovers true before their day.
Perhaps close contact between a sturdy arm and a winsome waist has been
responsible for some very queer things, but I venture to declare it
never gave a man more utter contempt for present danger than fell upon
me just then.
Why, I felt as though I could have “taken wings of the morning,” and
soared away with her far from the maddening crowd, so that we two
might once more go Maying as in those halcyon days before she chose
to consider me deficient in manly attributes, and renew the vows made
under the chestnut blooms.
I suppose men will continue to make fools of themselves until the end
of time--that is perfectly natural; but it may be set down as a little
surprising when one deliberately swears he means to remain a celibate
the remainder of his life, and then bows down a second time before the
cruel goddess who had been the cause of his wanderings.
Bah! I grew disgusted with myself, and unconsciously fierce in my
actions, until a little “Oh!” close beside me gave warning that it was
something more fragile than a stone idol of the ancient mound builders
of Mexico that I embraced.
The bay--would it ever come into view?
And what then? How were we to pass over the intervening water, so as to
reach my yacht?
I kept a boat ashore during the day, but it was now late at night, and
it would be only through the merest luck if such were the case at this
time.
Besides, where we reached the water might be a considerable distance
from the spot where the yacht’s boat lay.
Still, there was others, and we would not find fault because the craft
lacked the conveniences of my own dainty naphtha launch.
By chance, before we came to the water, we had to cross a lighted
street, and, intuitively, I knew my companion had turned to look at me.
Her hood had fallen back, her golden hair was streaming in the wind
like Lady Godiva’s and she never looked more distractingly lovely,
albeit the terror of this thing had whitened her delicate face, usually
aglow with roses, and lent a strange, wild gleam to her blue eyes as
she fastened them on me.
My first thought was that she was afraid of me because of my fierce
eagerness, but when she spoke I knew I had been in error.
“See the blood on my arm--on your face. Oh, God, Morgan! you--you are
cruelly hurt!” she cried.