THE HAND OF THE WIZARD.
Another kaleidoscopic change had occurred in my fortunes. I think I had
been president almost three hours, which was quite enough; some men
have not enjoyed the luxury even that long.
And, singular to relate, my first feeling upon hearing the news of the
ex-secretary of war was something in the line of keen pleasure.
I was relieved of a load--so poor Sindbad the Sailor must have felt
when he finally shook off the Old Man of the Sea from his shoulders.
Yes, and in that exceedingly brief space of time, which the hustling
Robbins allowed me in order, as he thought, that I might swallow the
keen regret and chagrin that a deposed president should by right
experience--in that breathing spell, would you believe it, I had a very
distinct and very attractive vision of a jaunty English steam yacht
plowing the blue waters of the Mediterranean, with storied Algiers
in sight, the uniformed captain being Robbins himself, while the
passengers consisted solely of two persons, myself and Hildegarde.
Which must have been conclusive evidence as to the lightness with which
I held my receding presidential glory.
Republics might come, and republics might go, and it was very little I
cared so long as they left me Hildegarde.
So constituted is man that for the sake of a woman he often counts the
world well lost.
Robbins considered that I had had enough time to recover from his
staggering blow.
So he began to speak again.
“Are you all right, governor?”
“Splendid,” which was really far from the truth because lack of sleep
told upon me.
“Good! Thought you weren’t the man to sit down and cry over spilled
milk.”
“Bosh!” I said; “glad the old farce has come to an end. Rather be an
American citizen any day than the uncrowned king of this hot region.”
“Well, then to business. We must get out.”
“Why is that necessary? I’ll gladly resign in favor of Toreado, bless
his fat old heart! No reason we shouldn’t be friends.”
“I tell you he won’t have it. Jealous of your popularity, I reckon, or
else hand in glove with your charming dad-in-law, and sees a chance to
make a pile. Anyhow, he’s gathering his men to march here and throw us
all in prison.”
“What! more dungeons, more _tortillas_, _frijoles_ and water! That
settles it. Robbins, I’ll do whatever you say. Have you a balloon
handy?” I asked in a humorous vein.
“No, but I’ve made sure to have horses ready,” was the quick response.
I was staggered.
It was simply astounding the way in which this wonderful man
anticipated things. Here he had been secretary of war less than three
hours, yet in that period of triumph, when the ordinary person would
have been heedlessly celebrating, my comrade took time by the forelock,
and made ready for flight.
Really, those hot-headed people never knew what a treasure they let
slip through their grasp when Robbins was turned adrift; in less than
a year I believe the country would have emerged from its swaddling
clothes and made to assume a position among second-class nations.
Their loss was my gain, however.
“Horses? Then it’s over the mountains to Jalapa?” I said, quickly.
“Exactly. Tell your wife and the little one.”
Thus suddenly had the thunderbolt fallen, but fortunately I had plenty
of reserve nervous energy to meet the new crisis.
When I went to the other room I found Hildegarde sitting up; she had
heard voices in the front chamber, and, knowing that this was hardly
the appropriate hour for a cabinet meeting, had begun to be curious, as
well as to worry.
“What is it, Morgan?” she asked.
“Sam has been shorn of his locks--I am a back number. It seems old
Toreado was not dead, after all, so they rallied to him, and I’m no
longer the exalted president.”
“Oh! I’m so glad,” was what she said, embracing me.
“Are you? That’s good. You are no happier over it than I am, for now we
can take that cruise to Egypt--if we ever get out of here safely.”
“Morgan, is there danger?” she said, standing up.
“It would be folly to deny it. Robbins says they are soon coming,
inflamed by the sly old _padres_ and Toreado’s jealousy of me--coming
to put me in that dungeon again and feed me on---- Bah! it makes me
tired to even think of it; and consequently I’m afraid we must get out
of Bolivar in a hurry.”
“Don’t worry about me--I’m ready to go anywhere with you, Morgan.”
Of course, I kissed her--who wouldn’t?
“You are a good rider, darling?”
“Yes; is it to be on horses, then?”
“So Robbins says, to Jalapa over the mountains. That wonderful man has
everything ready. He’s a perfect marvel to me. But time is valuable.
Wake the girl, and we will start.”
It was awfully sudden; she had gone to sleep the wife of a president,
to dream perchance of marble halls and grand palaces; then to awaken to
the fact that she was plain Mrs. Kenneth, and must make a wild fight
over a mountainous country, to save her wretched husband from a daily
diet of miserable fare, was quite enough to unnerve the best of them.
But Hildegarde, bless her! was a thoroughbred.
It was quickly done.
Carmencita proved game enough, and ready to accept of anything rather
than be parted from the only being on earth she loved.
“All ready,” I announced to Robbins, as we fled into the other room.
He was looking a bit anxious as he stood by the door listening to
the confused jumble of shouts over near the cathedral; at our coming
I thought I saw him hustle something bright and steel-like into his
pocket, and could easily guess he had feared there would speedily be
use for it unless we made haste.
“We’ve just got time. Sorry to have our castle tumbled down so
suddenly, madam, but it is always an honor to be the wife of even
an ex-president. There they come, by the church. This way, down the
_calle_. A miss is as good as a mile, I reckon. There’ll be some mad
hornets about here, presently.”
“Do you think they’ll try to chase us?” I asked, in a low voice, as we
hurried away.
“Well, nothing surprises me nowadays, and in this beastly country. That
old man--begging the lady’s pardon for referring to her dad--is hardly
the one to let a good thing slip out of his hands for lack of a few
horses, and golden _ouzas_ to hire trackers. But we’ll give ’em the
slip, see if we don’t?” was his reply.
“I’m afraid it is true--he is very determined. Why, it was his threat
to injure you, Morgan, that made me obey him,” said Hildegarde,
clinging to my arm closely.
“Why, I don’t believe the old villain had the remotest idea where upon
the face of the earth such an individual as myself could be found, or
that he was in any position to hurt me.”
“I think the same way now, but at the time he told such a plausible
story I was forced to believe he had it in his power to injure you.
Yes, I fear he will never give up the pursuit while he has life.”
There was no time to say more, but secretly I expressed a fervent wish
that something might speedily befall the vindictive old schemer, whom I
positively believed to be a fraud, yet whom my wife had accepted as her
worthless parent.
The approaching party streamed down the _calle_; I could see the shovel
hats in the van, and smiled to think how easily the affair had been won
by them in the first round.
Little I cared--the game was not worth the candle to me; my honors had
been unsought, and were relinquished without regret.
Luckily, they did not appear in time to discover the little group that
hurried out of the other end of the narrow _calle_--perhaps they could
not dream that the president of three hours would think of such a thing
as flight, and expected him to be sound asleep, as he might have been,
but for that remarkable secretary of war, who could sniff battle in the
very air.
We made several turnings.
“Hark!” exclaimed Robbins, with a laugh.
Surely, those were angry shouts; the mob had discovered the empty nest,
and some of the inmates of neighboring houses might give them points as
to the direction we had taken.
“It doesn’t matter--here are the horses,” said our magician, simply.
He led them out of a shed.
I had to rub my eyes, for I feared this was all a dream--feared that I
was a boy again; reading the “Arabian Nights,” and that when I awoke,
gone would be the splendid steeds, my gallant comrade in arms, the fair
lady, and all.
But it was real--the horses curveted and whinnied their delight, and
I wondered how Robbins had managed to secure such splendid mounts,
forgetting that as secretary of war he had the power to requisition
anything he desired, that would be for the public weal.
And only three hours in office--think what he might not have done in a
month--a year!
Wretched Bolivar! But, then, some people never know when they are well
off.
Two of the horses had side saddles--I had no idea there was such a
thing in Bolivar, but he had ferreted them out; nothing seemed to
escape his scent when on the track.
Hildegarde had always been a fine horsewoman, and Carmencita would take
to the exercise with the readiness ever shown by confident youth.
We were all quickly mounted, and Robbins led the way; perhaps many an
ex-president had quitted Bolivar in the same fashion; but we were only
too thankful to shake the dust of the tropical metropolis from our
shoes.