Brainard stood without moving until his muscles ached. Then he dropped
to the floor, crawled over to the bed, and felt beneath the bolster,
where he had taken the precaution to conceal his bag when he had left
that morning. It was still there. The room had been casually searched,
or possibly his pursuers had only just arrived by a delayed train.
At any rate, he had until the next morning. The woman and her companion
would not be likely to make a disturbance that night, feeling that they
had him and his plunder safe within grasp. They knew as well as he that
all escape from Jalapa was impossible before the early morning train for
the North. It must be said that from the moment Brainard first heard the
stenographer’s voice, every thought of Señorita Marie and of the Haçienda
di Rosas dropped from his mind. Danger was a panacea for the early
symptoms of love!
While he thought, Brainard took off his shoes, tied them together by the
laces, and slung them around his neck, as he had done as a boy, when he
wished to make an early escape from the parental house. Then, placing
his precious bag on his shoulders, he crept inch by inch toward the open
window. It was hazardous, but it was his only chance. He was morally
certain that he could not enter the hall without making sufficient noise
to attract attention.
When he reached the balcony, he listened. Not hearing any sound from the
next room, he stepped out into the moonlight, and walked as rapidly as he
could along the open balcony to the corner of the building, and around to
the other side. He knew that the fight-trust man’s room was somewhere in
the rear wing, and his plan was to make an exit through his room. But
the balcony did not extend to this wing, and he was brought to a halt.
He looked over the rail to the street, thinking to drop his bag and
follow it as best he could. It was a good fifteen feet from the balcony
to the hard pavement beneath. As Brainard debated the chances of
breaking a leg, he saw approaching the spot the figure of a night officer
on his rounds. Instinctively he drew back, felt for the nearest window,
and pushed it open. He prayed that it might be an empty room; but he was
no sooner within than he heard the loud snoring of a man.
Perplexed, Brainard listened for a few moments, then quietly crossed to
the bed. Feeling about over the night table, he secured the pistol that
he suspected might lie there, then boldly struck a match. With a snort,
the sleeper sat bolt upright. Luckily it was Calloway, the manager of
the railroad. Brainard whispered tensely:
“It’s all right, but don’t speak! There’s your gun—only don’t shoot!”
“What’s the matter?” the Southerner demanded coolly, now wide awake.
“You said,” Brainard whispered, “that there was always a time when a man
might need charity. Well, I want your help. I have a bag here that
contains valuable papers belonging to some other person. I’m trying to
get them to a safe place, as I was told to. I haven’t stolen anything,
you understand, but of course you won’t believe that. I’ve been followed
here by some enemies of the man who owned the stuff. They’d kill me as
quickly as they would a fly to get possession of this bag. If they can’t
murder me, and take it that way, they will probably put me in prison
to-morrow and keep me there. I must get out of town to-night!”
“You can’t do that before to-morrow morning,” the Southerner replied,
yawning, as if he wished Brainard would take himself off to bed and let
him alone.
“I must get out of this hotel now, to-night, and away from Jalapa, and
not have a soul know where I’ve gone. I’ll pay you well for your
trouble!”
“Keep your money, my son,” the man answered gruffly. “It wasn’t for
_that_ I had to come down here. But I’ll help you out, if you are in
trouble.”
He reflected yawningly for a few moments, while Brainard held his breath
with impatience. For all he knew, the man and the woman might already
have entered his room and discovered his flight.
“If it were daylight, it would be different, but you know I couldn’t
start a train out of here at this time without the whole town knowing
about it; and I reckon that isn’t what you want.”
“Not much!”
“Can’t you bunk here with me until morning? Then Hollinger and I can fix
up something.”
Brainard shook his head.
“I’d run you down myself in an engine to the coast—”
“That’s it!”
“But there isn’t an engine that can turn a wheel in the place. The first
train comes up in the morning.”
“I might get a horse and go over to the haçienda,” Brainard suggested.
The Southerner scratched his sleepy head for a while.
“You might,” he admitted. “But that wouldn’t put you out of your trouble
and might put other folks into danger. You want to lose these urgent
friends of yours for good.”
“That’s so.”
“Got some nerve?”
“Enough to capture this stuff from a court and tote it ’cross country
from Frisco!” He patted his valise.
“Come on, then!”
The Southerner drew on his trousers and boots. As Brainard turned
impatiently toward the door, he said:
“Not that way!”
He pulled back a hanging at the foot of his bed, revealing a little
wooden door, which he opened, and, candle in hand, led the way through a
close, dusty passage. After making several turns, they descended a
flight of narrow stairs, and Brainard’s guide pushed open a door at the
bottom. The musty odor of old incense told him that they had entered a
church, and the wavering candle-light partially revealed the statues of
the saints and the altars of the chapels.
“The cathedral,” the Southerner remarked, and added, “Convenient
sometimes!”
Brainard followed him closely across the nave of the church to a door,
which Calloway unbolted after some fumbling. They emerged upon a narrow
lane with blank walls on either side.
“That hotel used to be the bishop’s palace,” the Southerner explained.
“It’s a pretty handy place to get out of on the quiet, if you know the
way!”
It was only a short distance to the railroad terminal. Calloway walked
rapidly and noiselessly on the toes of his boots, and kept to the dark
side of the lane. They entered the yards beyond the station building,
and went to the farther end, where several tracks were occupied by
antiquated coaches that looked like a cross between open street cars and
English third-class railway carriages.
“We used these rattletraps before they changed the line to steam. It
took six mules to haul one of ’em up from the junction of the Mexico and
Vera Cruz road; but they can go down flying! It’s down grade all the way
for nearly forty miles. They are rather wabbly now, but if you get one
with a good brake, it will last the trip.”
He tried several of the old cars, and finally selected one with a brake
that worked to his satisfaction. Together they could just start it, and
they pushed it out to the main track. Brainard threw his valise aboard,
and took his post, as the railroad man directed him, at the handbrake.
“I’ll open the gate for you, and set the switch; then it’s clear sailing.
Go slow until you learn the trick, then let her sail. There’s a bad
curve about seven miles out, and a couple of miles farther on you’ll find
a considerable hill and some up grade. You must let her slide down the
hill for all she can do, and take the grade on her own momentum. If you
don’t, you may get stuck. I can’t think of anything else. You’ll roll
down to the junction in a couple of hours, as pretty as coasting, if that
confounded _peon_ hasn’t left the switch open at Cavallo. If he has,
you’ll just have to jump for it, and foot it down through the chaparral,
if you haven’t broken your neck. Needn’t bother to return the car,” he
chuckled. “Is there anything else I can do for you, young man?”
“You’ve got me out of a tight hole,” Brainard replied warmly, “and I
can’t begin to thank you for it. I hope I shall see you up North some
day, and be able to do something for you!”
“It isn’t likely we’ll meet in the States. They don’t want me up there!”
the Southerner answered slowly. “But perhaps, sometime, you’ll be able
to help a poor fellow out of _his_ hole in the same way.”
“That woman may strike the scent, and come hot-foot to Vera Cruz by the
first train. Well, I’ll have to take my chances there before the boat
sails.”
“Leave her to me and Hollinger. We’ll give her a tip that you have gone
North.” Calloway laughed. “If she won’t take it, there are other ways
of stopping her activity. There’s a good deal of smallpox hereabouts,
you know, and if the mayor suspected these _gringos_ had the disease,
he’d chuck ’em into the pesthouse. Don Salvador does pretty much what I
tell him—and the hotel-keeper, too. I think we can keep your friends
quiet.”
“Get me twelve hours, if you can! And tell Hollinger I’m on the job
again.”
The two men shook hands; Calloway pushed back the great gate; and the car
slid down the track out into the warm, black night, groaning to itself
asthmatically as it gathered impetus.