TRAPPED IN OLD PANAMA
While Walter Goodwin was watching and waiting on the wharf the checker
at the gangway suddenly became wary. He stormed among the laborers and
abused them for blundering, turning them back with their truck-loads
of commissary stores and otherwise imitating a man honestly doing his
duty. Walter was uncertain whether the checker had spied him and taken
alarm, or whether some one in authority had moved inconveniently near.
The little Panama steamer into which the stolen merchandise had been
conveyed was making ready to cast loose and haul out into the stream.
Walter feared she was about to sail and carry with her all his hopes of
distinguishing himself as an investigator. He was elated, therefore,
when a man of whom he had caught a glimpse on the vessel's bridge
came on the wharf and halted to speak to the checker. The twain were
together for several minutes. Walter had time to study the new-comer.
He was no longer young, bearing marks of hard living, but of an alert,
resolute mien and rugged frame. He was a German, perhaps, certainly
not a Spanish-American. He resembled not so much a seafarer as one of
those broken soldiers of fortune, grown gray in adventures, to be found
in ports of the uneasy republics near the equator, ripe for bold and
unscrupulous enterprises and ready to serve any master.
These two were birds of a feather, thought Walter, and he must somehow
find out why they flocked together. Guesses were not proof. He could
follow the checker after the day's work was done and try to discover
where he went and whom he met.
Presently the older man returned to the steamer. Then Walter's train
of thought was derailed by a cordial voice and outstretched hand which
belonged to his shipmate of the _Saragossa_, Señor Fernandez Garcia
Alfaro.
"I have been to the hospital to see you, my dear friend," cried the
Colombian diplomat. "I read it in a newspaper that you had a fight
with a landslide. Ah, you are as strong as a brick house to be out so
soon. The arm? Alas, is it serious?"
"It will cripple me for base-ball for a while."
"Ah, you plucky Yankees! You are always thinking of your grand sport of
base-ball."
"I thought you had sailed for home," said Walter.
"My steamer had a break-down of her engines. She has not yet arrived
from the south. My father has arranged by cable to have the Chilean
ship touch at my port on her voyage to Valparaiso. She sails in three
days more. I have come to Balboa to see the captain. Will you go on
board with me?"
They climbed to the upper deck and while Alfaro did his errand, Walter
leaned overside and gazed down at the small Panamanian steamer, whose
name he discovered to be _Juan Lopez_. She was a dirty, disorderly
vessel, and the crew, of all shades from black to white, looked as if
some of them might be hanged before they were drowned.
No cargo was strewn about. Everything fetched from the wharf had been
instantly hidden under the hatches. The man who had conferred with the
checker came out of the cabin, glanced up, halted, and stared hard at
Walter. When Alfaro returned, he asked him excitedly:
"Do you know anything about this _Juan Lopez_ steamer alongside? And
have you ever seen that man with the gray mustache before?"
"Yes, I have heard of the _Juan Lopez_. She made trouble on the coast
of Colombia one time. It was a filibustering expedition, but they were
not able to make a landing. That man? It is Captain Brincker. I was in
Guayaquil when he got into some kind of a row with the government. Why
do you ask with so much interest, Goodwin?"
"Oh, I was just curious," said Walter, unwilling to confide in the
talkative, impulsive Colombian. "I suppose the _Juan Lopez_ has
reformed, or she would not be loading freight at Balboa."
"She is maybe trading on the Panama coast and up the rivers. Will you
come back to Ancon with me and dine at the Tivoli Hotel to-night?"
"Thank you, but I can't promise for sure," said Walter. "I have some
business on the wharf. Will it be all right if I telephone you by seven
o'clock?"
"Certainly," exclaimed Alfaro. Curious in his turn, he asked: "Is your
office on the wharf?"
"It is under my hat at present," smiled Walter. "Does this Captain
Brincker live in Panama?"
"I will ask my friends in the city and tell you all about him at
dinner. I think he is a hard customer."
"I have reasons for keeping an eye on him, so I'll be grateful for any
information," said Walter.
The Colombian was in haste to keep an engagement, and he left Walter
impatiently awaiting the next turn of events. The _Juan Lopez_ moved
away from the side of the Chilean steamer and anchored far out in the
bay. Shortly thereafter a small boat was sent ashore. It landed near
the wharf and Captain Brincker disembarked. He walked in the direction
of the railroad station.
A few minutes later, the checker left the gangway and also headed for
the station. Walter followed them into a train for Ancon, but they
did not sit together, and paid no attention to each other. This was
unexpected. When they left the train, the slouchy, ill-favored young
man climbed into a cab, while the grizzled soldier of fortune sturdily
set out on foot into Panama city.
Walter had fought shy of invading Panamanian territory because of
General Quesada and the native police, but he could not bear to quit
the chase. He straightway chartered a cab and made the Spanish-speaking
_cochero_ understand that he was to follow the chariot aforesaid. The
weary, overworked little horses jogged slowly through the picturesque
streets of balconied stone houses and mouldering churches and ramparts
recalling the storied age of the _Conquistadores_. Old Panama and the
Canal Zone, side by side, vividly contrasted the romantic past and the
practical, hustling present.
The cab of the checker passed the plaza with its palms and flowers,
and made toward the city water-front. The narrow streets framed
bright glimpses of the blue Bay of Panama. At length Walter bade
his _cochero_ halt. The slouchy young man whom he was pursuing had
dismissed his vehicle and was entering a large weather-worn house of
stucco, one of a solid block in a little thoroughfare close to the
crumbling sea-wall.
"It is my business to find out who lives there," reflected Walter. "I'm
sure that Americans from the Canal Zone are unlikely to have honest
errands in this corner of Panama."
He forsook his cab and walked slowly along the street. The row of
houses resembled an extended wall of stone pierced by windows and
doors. It was puzzling to make certain into which of them the suspected
young man had gone. Walter counted the doors from the corner to verify
his observation and paused to scan the entrance, hoping to find a
street number or name-plate.
He might ask questions of a policeman, but this was impracticable for
three reasons: first, he could not speak Spanish; second, he had no
fondness for Panama policemen; third, there was no policeman to be
found. Feeling rather foolish, he waylaid a barefooted boy and fished
for information with earnest gestures, but the youngster shook his head
and fled into the nearest alley.
"I should have brought Alfaro with me," sighed Walter. "I am as
helpless as a stranded fish. These people ought to be compelled to
learn English."
Still standing in front of the house and wearing an absent-minded,
worried manner, Walter had forgotten for the moment that he was
playing a game which required wit and vigilance. From around the
nearest corner, no more than a few yards away, appeared the robust
figure of Captain Brincker. At sight of the youth with the bandaged
arm, he stopped in his tracks, muttered something, and gazed with open
unfriendliness.
Intuition told Walter that this formidable man had better be avoided.
He felt like taking to his heels, but he was boyishly reluctant to show
the white feather. Undecided, he failed to retreat until it was too
late.
Captain Brincker advanced swiftly, confronted him, and asked in a heavy
voice:
"Were you looking for somebody?"
"Yes, but I don't need him just now," stammered Walter, trying to
brazen it out. "Another time will do just as well, thank you. I must be
going."
"Wait a minute," growled the soldier of fortune, and he grasped
Walter's left arm with a grip of iron. "I have seen you at Balboa this
afternoon, on the wharf, on the Chilean steamer, on the train. Are you
not old enough to mind your own business?"
Not yet recovered from the battering effects of the landslide, Walter
lacked his normal strength and agility, and his disabled arm made him
as helpless as a child. He dared not try to wrench himself free lest it
be injured afresh in the tussle.
"You can't scare me with your bluffs," he angrily retorted. "What right
have you to ask my business?"
"We will discuss that. And if you are not willing to talk, I may have
to hold you by the _right_ arm."
Walter winced at this and looked up and down the street. Brown, naked
children were playing in the gutters. Fighting-cocks were tethered
to the iron railing in front of a near-by dwelling. A black-haired
young man with a chocolate-drop complexion, lounging on a balcony,
lazily thrummed a guitar. Strolling pedlers cried their wares with
rude snatches of song. The voices of fishermen came from the beach by
the sea-wall. The place was wholly foreign, unfrequented by Americans.
The Canal Zone and its protecting power might have been a thousand
miles away. The passers-by would be pleased to see Walter worsted in a
scuffle. His affairs concerned them not in the least. It was futile to
call for help. He had been rash and stupid.
"What do you want to say to me?" he demanded, trying to keep his voice
under control.
"It is not hospitable to make you stand in the street," and Captain
Brincker smiled grimly. "Come inside with me."
As he spoke he twisted Walter violently about and shoved him into the
vestibule of the house, which was only a step from the street. Jerking
himself free in blind rage, Walter struck at his captor, who dodged and
slammed shut the heavy outer door behind them. It was like being in a
prison. Walter moved aside, trying to guard the injured arm.
"You are excited. I do not wish to be brutal," said Captain Brincker.
"You are very easy to handle. You will be foolish if you object."
He showed the way with a courteous gesture. A long hallway led to
the _patio_ or open court in the centre of the house. It was like a
tropical garden roofed by the sky. Gorgeous flowers bloomed, and a
fountain tinkled pleasantly. Walter followed in glum silence. He had
been caught like a rabbit. Frightened as he was, the fact that he
belonged to the race dominant on the Isthmus helped to steady him. He
felt that he must play the game to the finish without flinching. He
held himself erect, his chin up.
Captain Brincker offered a wicker chair and seated himself in another.
Then he scrutinized his unwilling guest with grave deliberation. His
face was rather questioning than hostile. The suspense made Walter's
heart flutter. The masterful personality of the soldier of fortune held
him silent. At length Captain Brincker said:
"You were watching the young man at the gangway. You wanted to know
all about me and the _Juan Lopez_. You were overheard talking to Señor
Alfaro. You followed the young man to this house. I want to know who is
employing you to do all this."
The quiet demeanor of the speaker helped Walter to regain his
self-confidence. If he could keep his head he might be able to
extricate himself.
"Nobody employed me. I had nothing better to do," he truthfully
replied. "Aren't you taking a lot for granted? I am just out of the
hospital and looking for a job. I don't look like a very dangerous
person, do I?"
"That depends," slowly spoke Captain Brincker. "You may be merely
meddlesome. Do you want to go home to the States? The passage can
be arranged, and some extra money for your pocket. There is a
condition----"
"That I keep my mouth shut," hotly retorted Walter. He turned very
red. His temper got the better of him. He was not old enough and wise
enough to fence with such a situation as this. With reckless, headlong
candor, he burst out:
"You are offering me hush money. It's a crooked, dirty proposition. And
I won't stand for it. I know you were in the scheme to steal commissary
stores from the wharf----"
Walter checked himself, aghast that he should have said so much and
thereby delivered himself into the enemy's hands. The effect of this
speech upon Captain Brincker was extraordinary. He pulled at the ends
of his gray mustache as if greatly perplexed, winked rapidly, and
stared with an air of blank amazement:
"Steal the commissary stores?" he echoed. "I have been called many hard
names, young man, but I plead not guilty this time. Now that you have
begun, will you be so good as to let the cat all the way out of the
bag?"
It was Walter's turn to feel bewildered. Captain Brincker's denial
carried conviction. It impressed Walter as genuine. Perhaps his
conjecture had been wrong. At any rate, the checker was guilty, and why
had the two of them come straight to this house from Balboa?
"I suppose I'm in serious trouble now," stubbornly answered Walter,
"but I won't take back what I said. The _Juan Lopez_ has a lot of
freight on board that doesn't belong there, and I intend to find out
all about it."
Captain Brincker leaned forward in his chair, his strong, brown hands
resting upon his knees, his keen eyes almost mirthful.
"You are frank with me," said he. "We are at cross-purposes, you and I.
I give you my word of honor as a soldier that I know nothing whatever
about this stolen freight. It is safe to tell you the truth, because
I cannot let you go free until after the _Juan Lopez_ sails. I am not
her captain. I am in charge of the expedition. There may be a change of
government in San Salvador very soon. Perhaps I shall assist. The plans
are in the hands of my employer, in whose house you have the honor to
be."
"Then it is a filibustering expedition," cried Walter, all interest and
animation. "And you are going to mix up in another revolution? Whew,
but I wish you would take me with you."
"With your arm in a sling? Besides, my employer detests Americans. Do
you believe I am telling the truth?"
"It sounds that way," confessed Walter. "But what about that checker?
He must be in the house right now."
With a shrug, Captain Brincker explained:
"He comes to see my employer. It is not my affair. I have had no words
with the young man except this afternoon at the wharf. I was instructed
to see that certain supplies were taken on board. I asked him about
them. I did not look at the stuff. It was his business to check it up."
It was quite obvious that Captain Brincker was anxious to clear himself
in the eyes of this honest, ingenuous accuser. He may have committed
many a greater crime against the law, but he disliked being thought a
commonplace thief.
Tempted by the amicable drift of the interview, Walter ventured a
dangerous question:
"Your employer--who is he?"
Captain Brincker scowled. This was treading on forbidden ground. He may
have been inwardly disgusted that the man he served should have stooped
so low as to pilfer supplies for the expedition, but the matter was
not for him to meddle with. He had an odd code of loyalty, a sadly
twisted sense of honor, but such as they were he was stanch to them. He
would not break with the man who had bought his sword and his services.
"My employer?" said he. "That is not for me to tell you. I shall
have to lock you up for the present. It would be most unfortunate to
have the expedition of the _Juan Lopez_ spoiled by the tongue of a
meddlesome boy. The American government would seize the ship and arrest
all hands if the news leaked out. You know too much to be at liberty."
Oddly enough, Walter made no protest, nor was he any longer angry. He
perceived that he had blundered into one affair while he was on the
trail of another. Captain Brincker had been honest with him, discussing
the situation as man to man, and he was justified in guarding the
secrecy of his adventurous enterprise against discovery by the
authorities. The alarming possibility was that he might think it his
duty to inform his employer of Walter's knowledge concerning the stolen
merchandise.
"Are you going to report what I found out--that the commissary stores
were smuggled on board the _Juan Lopez_?" asked Walter.
Before Captain Brincker could answer, there came from behind the palms
at the other side of the _patio_ the screeching voice of a parrot:
"_Viva Panama. Pobre Colombia. Ha! Ha! Ha!_"
[Illustration: "_Viva Panama! Pobre Colombia! Ha! Ha! Ha!_"]
Walter jumped from his chair. His cheek was quite pale. He had heard
this parrot before. It belonged to General Quesada, who must be the
mysterious employer. Standing in a door-way opening from another
part of the house was the gross, shapeless figure of General Quesada
himself, the parrot cage in his hand. With him was the slouchy young
man from Balboa wharf. Before crossing the _patio_ they had halted in
time to hear Walter's unfortunate question.
The checker repeated it in Spanish, and General Quesada comprehended
that the young seaman of the _Saragossa_ who hammered him with a
broom-stick had now discovered the plot to rob the American government
of supplies for the filibustering expedition.
The Panamanian glared wickedly at Walter and bellowed in Spanish a
volley of questions aimed at Captain Brincker. The latter answered
reluctantly. The scene was evidently distasteful to him. It was in his
mind to temper the storm of wrath and hatred. But General Quesada knew
that he had been found out. The checker, snarling and vindictive, was
rapidly explaining that Walter had been spying at the wharf and on the
train, and had followed him into Panama. Captain Brincker turned to the
hapless Walter and said with a shrug:
"It is a worse fix for you than I thought. General Quesada has a
terrible hatred for you because you struck him and disgraced him on the
ship from New York. I had not heard of it until now. And he knows that
you know too much about the business at the wharf."
"Why don't you help me get out of the house?" implored Walter. "You
don't seem like a coward. He looks as if he wanted to murder me. I
can't put up a fight. I am crippled."
The soldier of fortune looked confused and ashamed. He had never
earned his wages more unpleasantly, but he made no aggressive movement.
Remembering his errand, General Quesada waddled across the _patio_ into
the hallway and dismissed the checker. The street door slammed shut
with a rattle of bolts.
"What did he say he was going to do with me?" Walter besought Captain
Brincker.
"He seems very much pleased to get hold of you. I will try to cool his
anger."
General Quesada returned, grunting and swearing to himself. After
hanging the precious parrot cage in a tree, he dropped heavily into
a wicker chair and sat staring at Walter with the most malicious
satisfaction. Occasionally he chuckled as if here was a jest very much
to his liking. Walter yearned for his broom-handle. He looked about for
something which might serve as a weapon. Regardless of consequences, he
would put his mark on the fat, ugly countenance once more.
General Quesada read his purpose and gave an order to Captain Brincker.
The two captors roughly hustled Walter into a large, empty room
overlooking the bay, and so close to the water that the flooding tide
could be heard lapping against the foundation walls.
"You just wait until my government hears of this performance," cried
Walter. "General Quesada will be chucked in jail, where he belongs."
Captain Brincker replied in kindly tones:
"Take my advice and do what you are told. It is the best policy."
Left alone, Walter tried to persuade himself that no serious danger
could menace him. The Isthmus was almost a part of the United States,
and he was no more than a few minutes' drive from the Canal Zone, and
the protection of his own people. General Quesada wished to frighten
him into silence.
Walter went to one of the long windows, which was barred against
harbor thieves by ornamental iron grillwork. Misty and golden in the
effulgence of sunset lay the fishing-boats, the wide bay, the scattered
islands, and the steamers anchored off the quarantine station. The
brief tropical twilight fled, and the night came down.
After a long while a boat scraped against the sea-wall. He could
discern it as a slow-moving shadow. Voices murmured in Spanish, an
order was sharply uttered, and an oar rattled against the masonry. It
did not occur to Walter that the coming of the boat had anything to do
with him. He supposed that a crew of fishermen was making a belated
landing.