doorway stiffened out his forefeet and brayed with all the vehemence
of which burro lungs are capable. He was followed by his comrades
in misery--a full chorus of brays from which no discordant note was
missing. Had it been the traditional bellowing of a herd of bulls--it
was noisy enough for that--the timid lady could not have been more
alarmed, nor the doctor more delighted.
"Bravo!" he shouted. "They want you, my Senora. They wait for you."
"Good-bye!" said David, clasping Una's hand.
"Good-bye!" she said, almost inaudibly.
"Doctor, look out for them," he called to Miranda.
"Be sure! Be sure!" was the response, a glint of sympathy lighting his
eyes. "Have a care to you. I have that leetle fellow in bed. He is full
of lemona squash and my pills. Soon his calentura is kill."
"Well, don't kill him too!"
"Ah, canaille!"
The members of General Herran's party had already mounted and were
slowly disappearing down the bend of the street, pack-mules and burros
in the lead. The general himself, on a pinched-up, piebald horse that,
like Hamlet's cloud, bore a comical resemblance to a camel, lingered
behind for his guest. David's bay, lacking in zoological vagaries,
pranced spiritedly to begone as soon as it felt its rider in the saddle.
"That is one good animal," commented Miranda.
"The other needs your pills," remarked Leighton solemnly.
With a laugh and a hearty "adios!" the two horsemen saluted the group
in the doorway and galloped off after their companions. Una watched,
motionless, long after David was out of sight. She had done her best to
prevent his going, but all her efforts had been useless. Nor could she
explain, even to herself, why it was that she so dreaded his leaving
their party to travel alone with Herran. There was nothing logical in
the feeling, of course, and she had to confess that for once she was
influenced by an utterly unreasonable fear, a sort of superstition.
The journey from Honda to Bogota is a scramble over precipitous trails
worn into the living rock by centuries of travel, through wastes of
traffic-beaten mire, along glades of dew-soaked herbage that gleam
refreshingly under cloudless skies in a wilderness of impenetrable
forest. No other city of like size and importance has so rude and
picturesque an approach, nor are there many that keep their commerce
along ways and by methods so unmodern. The stranger, ignorant of the
simplicities of South American life, whether in town or country, is
bewildered by the oddities and hardships in a trip of this kind. But
David had traveled more than once over the Bogota trail, and for him it
had lost its novelty, especially as his sole aim on the present occasion
was to reach his destination as quickly as possible. Herran had a
similar feeling; hence, as the day was not unpleasantly warm, once they
had passed beyond the lowlands of Honda both men urged their horses on
to top speed. In a short time they had left the rest of the party far
behind them, and broke into a race over the rough mountain trail. Tiring
of this, they dropped back to a more sober gait, letting their horses
choose their own way for a time.
"I telegraphed from Honda that we were coming," said Herran in Spanish.
"They are looking for us now in Bogota."
"Did you say that I was with you?" asked David.
"Surely. As an officer it is my duty to give complete information," was
the somewhat pompous reply. "I gave the names of all who are in your
party and told why they stayed in Honda."
"Why so much detail about us? My friends and I are not connected with
the military movements of the country."
"That may be true, Senor. But you travel with me and--I am ignorant of
your business, you know."
"We travel partly for pleasure, partly--I am interested in a Guatavita
mining venture."
"So! Will they know that when they see your name in the Bogota papers?"
"My friend that I am going to visit will know, of course. I wrote to him
that I was coming. Why do you ask?"
"Ah! Just now, it may be, my countrymen will not like American mining
ventures--or Americans."
"Then, Americans are in danger?"
"How can I say, Senor?" he answered with a shrug. "I have lost Panama,
they say. I, too, have enemies. Perhaps I am in danger. But you have a
friend in Bogota? He is--?"
"An American; Raoul Arthur."
"I have heard of him."
"He is well liked here."
"That is good," commented Herran drily.
For the first time since he had been in Colombia David felt uneasy as
to the possible outcome of his trip. His friends, in reach of the river
steamers, could leave the country at the first sign of real danger.
But every mile placed between himself and the Magdalena lessened his
chances for escape--and that he might need to get out of Colombia in a
hurry was evident from Herran's attitude, his reserve, his ambiguous
answers to David's questions. All this was not exactly through a lack
of friendliness on the general's part. David knew Herran fairly well,
and did not doubt his loyalty. He also knew that he was under suspicion
on account of the Panama affair, and for this reason would have to be
extremely wary in extending protection to an American seeking to enrich
himself in Colombia. Politically, the man who lost Panama could not
afford to let his name be further compromised.
General Herran, however, was not one to keep up an attitude of restraint
for long. The air was bracing, the mountain trail was in excellent
condition, the horses were fresh and responded readily to whip and
bridle. Under these favoring influences the two travelers soon became
sociable enough, and even joked over some of the sinister circumstances
attending their journey.
"We are a long way from Panama, Senor--and Miranda's pills!" exclaimed
Herran.
"Heaven help the schoolmaster!" laughed David.
"Ah, poor fellow! To be at the doctor's mercy! But he is not a bad
doctor. Only nine out of every ten of his victims die, they say. Perhaps
this schoolmaster---- Have you your pistol, Senor?" he broke off
suddenly.
"My pistol, General?"
"For a salute to Panama and our friends," explained the other. "You do
not know the custom of the road to Bogota in times of revolution--that
is, at all times. And you have no pistol," he added with a sigh. "But
this will do for both of us."
Reining in his horse at a shaded bend in the trail, General Herran,
unconsciously following the Fat Knight's memorable exploit on Shrewsbury
Battlefield, took from his hip pocket a huge case bottle and handed it
to David.
"Fire the first shot, my friend, and I will come after with a long one
for your Guatavita mine."
In the act of carrying out this pleasant suggestion, the attention of
David and Herran was suddenly caught by a babel of voices--shouts of
command, the tramp of many feet--coming from the Bogota end of the
trail. Interruptions of this kind are more serious than they may seem to
those unfamiliar with Colombian mountain travel. So rough and narrow is
the road to Bogota, with sometimes a precipice on one hand and a sheer
wall of rock on the other, that the problem of two parties passing each
other is not always an easy one. Although this is the chief thoroughfare
between the national capital and the Magdalena, it remains quite as
primitive and unadapted to modern needs as in the days of the Indians.
To widen and pave it proved more of a task in road-building than the
Spanish conquerors cared to undertake; and their successors in the
government of the country have, until now, attempted little in the way
of improvement. Thus, travelers from the lowlands over this Indian trail
frequently have to fight for a passage through a descending rabble of
men and burros, or else allow themselves to be crowded off into a tangle
of underbrush on one side or thrown down a steep cliff on the other.
As it happened, the spot chosen by General Herran and David for their
friendly salute was a particularly awkward one in an encounter with a
lot of travelers coming from the opposite direction. In front of them
the trail rose abruptly in a long zigzag of rocks and gullies, down
which the caravan from Bogota, the noise of whose approach grew rapidly
more distinct, was bound to descend upon them. Their only chance to
escape was either through a morass, covered with a dense forest growth,
or else up a hazardous mountain side, strewn with boulders and loose
stones. Of course, they might retrace their steps until they found a
more open space; but this seemed too much like retreating from an enemy
and did not recommend itself to either of the horsemen.
"It sounds like a regiment of soldiers," said David, taking another long
draught from the Falstaffian "pistol" and returning it to Herran.
"Perhaps," replied the General, indifferent to outside matters until he
had finished his part of the prescribed ceremony. "And here we are,"
he added, with a sigh of contentment, "saluting Panama and an American
company, with an army of volunteers, bent on licking the Yankees, coming
down upon us."
"Are you sure?"
"Caramba! In Honda they said these volunteers started from Bogota three
days ago. They are due here now."
"We must meet them," said David, upon whom the General's "pistol" had
not failed to score.
"Wait a moment! As Miranda would say, these peons are canaille
and--there is no room for a meeting."
Both men laughed. Nevertheless, in spite of the humor of the situation,
it had more than the usual peril incident to travel on the Bogota trail
to be comfortable.
"Two men against a regiment!" chuckled Herran.
"But they are not after us," argued David.
"They are after the Yankees--and you are a Yankee. Well, Senor, what
shall we do?"
"You are in command, Senor General."
"Caramba! Then, let us march! We can't jump down those rocks, the swamp
is even worse--and we won't retreat before a lot of peons. Forward,
Senor! We can at least use pistols if we need to!"
With which comforting assurance Herran handed one of his case bottles to
David. This the latter retained, first joining his comrade in a final
"salute," declaring all the while that this kind of exercise had been
unknown to him for years--a statement received by General Herran with
the skepticism it deserved. The two horses were then brought into line
and, with touch of whip and spur, commenced a scramble up the trail, at
the top of which the front ranks of the peons were just visible.
As Herran had predicted, the travelers with whom they had to contest
the right of way belonged to one of the volunteer regiments of Bogota
peons bound for the Isthmus. At their head rode Pedro, "El Rey," more
dilapidated as to costume but more joyous of mood than on that memorable
morning when he led his forces down the Calle de Las Montanas to be
reviewed by the President of the Republic. He had parted with his
blacking box and in place of it, hanging from his neck, was a rusty
old sword that clanked dismally on the scarred and battered ribs of
the solemn burro upon which he was mounted. Burros, as a rule, are
patient animals, taking whatever comes, whether insult, ridicule, or
cajolery, with unruffled temper, and this particular specimen of the
long-suffering race evinced supreme indifference to the military honors
that sat so weightily upon him. Pedro, however, was not unmindful of
the distinctions he had won. Immediately behind him, borne by two of
his trustiest lieutenants, floated the flag of the republic, its red
and yellow folds somewhat faded and dusty from the three days' march,
and flapping now in anything but defiant fashion. But it formed a good
background to the enthusiasm of leadership that marked the bearing and
illuminated the grimy features of Bogota's ex-bootblack and, doubtless,
helped keep up the courage and patriotism of his followers. The latter
marched, for the most part, on foot and in such straggling lines as best
suited them. When it first set out from Bogota the regiment had kept
some sort of military order, but this had long since been abandoned, and
the host of men and boys, some thousand in number, jostled each other
and choked up the narrow trail in glorious confusion.
Having reached the top of the hill overlooking the sheltered ledge
chosen by David and Herran for their impromptu celebration, the
volunteers kept right on. Led by Pedro and his two banner-bearers,
they plunged down the steep, winding trail, crowding upon each other,
shouting and laughing, filling the narrow space with most unmilitary
disorder. In the meantime the two horsemen tried their best to reach a
point as near as possible to the top of the trail before the volunteers
began the descent. In this they failed, and the inevitable collision
with the front ranks of the peons took place half way up the hillside.
Here they met Pedro and his immediate followers, behind whom pressed,
with increasing energy, the whole rabble of peons. But the dejected
burro, whose duty it was to carry the leader of these ragged cohorts
to victory, refused to be hurried by those behind him. The more he was
urged the greater was his deliberation in picking his way among the
treacherous stones covering the trail. Thumps and blows failed to arouse
his enthusiasm, and with every fresh difficulty presented by rock or
sudden dip in the pathway, he stopped to take a careful survey of the
surrounding obstacles before proceeding with his journey. Memories
of past disaster had taught him the value of caution that a younger,
less experienced burro might have failed to observe. But the horses
of David and Herran, although ancient enough, were not afflicted with
recollections of former mishaps, and so plunged into the ranks of the
peons without regard for consequences.
"Hug the side of the road," cautioned Herran in a low voice. "I'll take
the middle and try to distract the attention of these people from you."
"Salute, Senor!" cried Pedro, attempting as courteous a greeting as his
burro would allow. "What news from Panama?"
Not to be outdone in courtesy, Herran pulled back his horse from the
folds of the flag into which he was patriotically heading, and offered
his "pistol" to "El Rey."
"Ah!" exclaimed Pedro, his eyes fairly snapping with astonishment; "it
is General Herran! Bueno, Senor General, we go to bring Panama back to
Colombia."
"That is well," replied the other, diplomatically ignoring the implied
reproach; "with such brave men you will surely succeed, Senor Capitan."
"And the Yankees?" queried Pedro, smacking his lips after a long draught
from the General's bottle.
"Doubtless you will find them in Panama."
The news that this was General Herran, the man whom Panama had made
famous, spread like wildfire among the volunteers, who crowded together
excitedly, bent on hearing the latest bulletin from the land they were
pledged to recapture. Shouts of amazement, indignation, derision
echoed along the trail--expressions of hostility that might have
appalled one less cool than Herran. But he pretended not to notice these
demonstrations, and devoted himself to Pedro, who, he perceived, was
moved by his flattery.
"It's a bad business, Senor Capitan," he assured him confidentially.
"But the country is safe with such brave volunteers to defend it."
"And you, Senor General, you fight with us?"
"It will be an honor," graciously replied the hero of Panama. "But first
I must see His Excellency, the President, in Bogota. I will tell him how
you are hurrying to the rescue of the Isthmus."
"Where are your soldiers?"
"Some of them you will meet on the way to Honda."
"An officer was with you just now. Where is he?"
In the throng of volunteers surrounding them it was impossible to
distinguish David, who had doubtless seized the opportunity created by
the sudden recognition of Herran to force his way up the side of the
trail as the General had suggested.
"Caramba!" exclaimed Herran. "He has gone on ahead. He knows the
President awaits us and the despatches of great importance to the
republic that we bring him. I must hurry. Pardon, Senor Capitan, if I am
forced to leave you so quickly. Perhaps we meet soon again in Panama."
With a fine show of deference, Herran saluted the King of the
Bootblacks, whose eyes sparkled proudly at this recognition of his
rank from a brother officer, and who signified his appreciation of the
tribute by a wave of the hand to his followers and a command to them
not to delay the General.
"Senores!" he shouted, "make way for the great Senor General! He comes
for the Republic. After he has seen Don Jose, he will go with us to
bring back Panama."
The order was given with all the flourish that had won renown for Pedro
as a polisher of boots and was received by the volunteers with their
wonted cheerfulness and enthusiasm. Unfortunately, the burro who had
the honor of carrying "El Rey" was so unappreciative of his rider's
eloquence that he allowed himself to be jostled into too close proximity
with the bearers of the flag. He then became so hopelessly entangled
in his country's colors that, uttering a dismal bray, he was tumbled
headlong down the slippery hill, dragging the amazed and protesting
Pedro with him.
Profiting by this accident, General Herran spurred his own horse through
the ranks of the volunteers, gaining at last, after much energetic
pushing and shoving, the top of the hill. Here he paused to look back,
with an inward chuckle, at the excited throng of men and boys from whom
he had escaped, and to pick up again his fellow traveler, David. But
David was nowhere to be seen. Herran expected to find him on the level
space at the top of the hill; that he was not there filled him with
anxiety. Reasoning, however, that if the volunteers had attacked David
he would have heard of it, and convinced that the American was not with
the mob he had just left, he set spurs to his horse, expecting to find
him further on. After all, he argued, it was natural that a Yankee,
traveling alone, should put as great a distance as possible between
himself and these volunteers. But, whatever the explanation, David was
not to be found. There were no cross trails from the main Bogota road
into which he might have blundered, and his disappearance, therefore,
became more of a puzzle as Herran traveled mile after mile, at the best
speed of which his horse was capable, without trace of him.
In a way General Herran felt responsible for the safety of the man
with whom he had been traveling, the more so that this man was a
foreigner, belonging to a nation whose citizens were not welcome
just then in Colombia. Had David been other than an American, Herran
would have taken his disappearance, puzzling though it was, with the
cheerful indifference peculiar to him. But the fact that he was an
American, alone in a hostile country, appealed to a chivalrous strain
in his nature, urging him to do the best he could for his rescue.
Unfortunately, the solving of the simplest of problems was not in the
General's line, and he painfully turned the matter over and over without
result, one way or the other. David, he told himself, had forced his
way through the ranks of the volunteers without attracting attention.
He felt sure of this because he had watched his ascent of the trail
for a good part of the way. Hence, he could not be with the volunteers
now. Only a few of the latter were mounted, and these marched in the
front ranks where they had been carefully noted by Herran. If David
had remained in the rear ranks of the regiment, voluntarily or as a
captive, his horse would have made him conspicuous. Of course, during
the commotion following the accident to Pedro and his burro almost
anything might have happened; David might have been captured, bound and
gagged, his horse taken away and he himself hidden by the peons who
held him prisoner in the hope of future ransom. But this was all too
bewildering, too complex for Herran seriously to consider. Instead, he
convinced himself that David had escaped the volunteers, that he was no
longer behind him on the trail, that he must therefore be in front, and
that to find him there was only one thing to do--push forward as fast as
possible.
Acting on this, General Herran rode without stopping until nightfall,
reaching just after dusk--dusk comes swiftly enough in the tropics--one
of the primitive little hostelries kept for the accommodation of
travelers to and from Bogota. Here, as is usual in such places, there
was a large number of guests intending to spend the night. This posada,
or inn, was a one-storied, rambling affair consisting of three rooms and
a verandah sheltered by the overhanging eaves of a thatched roof. All
the rooms were filled with people, most of them lying on mats spread on
the floor; the verandah was similarly occupied. In the dim light from
smoky lanterns it was difficult to tell who these people were. Herran,
confident that David was among them, appealed to the proprietor, a
stolid looking peon, for information.
"You have a Yankee here, Senor?"
"No, Senor."
"A Yankee came to-day from Honda?"
"No, Senor."
"He was riding alone to Bogota?"
"No, Senor."
"A young man on a bay horse?"
"No, Senor."
"Is there a foreigner here?"
"No, Senor."
"A foreigner passed here to-day on a bay horse?"
"No, Senor."
"Caramba, hombre! Have you ever seen a foreigner here?"
"No--yes, Senor."
"To-day?"
"No, Senor."
Exasperated by what he considered the stupidity of the landlord, Herran
addressed, in a loud voice, the various guests who were preparing to
pass the night on such improvised beds as they could get for themselves.
"Senores, I am looking for a young man, a foreigner, a Yankee, who is
riding to Bogota on a bay horse. He must be here. Have you seen him?"
There was a confused murmur. A number of the men sat up on their mats
and repeated energetically the landlord's negative. Others grumblingly
denounced all Yankees as robbers and disturbers of the country's peace.
One young man, dressed in the uniform of an army officer, recognizing
Herran's rank, politely offered to share his mat with him, suggesting,
at the same time, that he could pursue his search to much better
advantage in the morning. As further inquiries brought out nothing new,
Herran accepted this officer's hospitality, wearily resigning himself
to the conclusion that David had been mysteriously spirited away, and
was about to be shot by a lot of insane peons, led on by the ridiculous
Pedro. So it seemed to him as he sank into a nightmare-ridden sleep.
Morning failed to bring the expected solution of the General's
difficulties. In the bedlam created by burros, horses, travelers--all
trying to make their departure from the inn at the same early
hour, and all finding their plans delayed by some fault in harness,
mislaying of baggage, or other inconvenience peculiar to a four-footed
conveyance--there was no sign of the missing David. A number of native
merchants on their way from Bogota to the coast, who had lodged at the
inn during the night, recognized Herran, and although their greetings
were cordial, the oldtime friendliness was tempered by the uncertainty
with which the average Colombian viewed this unfortunate officer's part
in the so-called Panama revolution. As news of his presence spread among
the departing guests, General Herran felt the restraint as well as the
disagreeable curiosity with which he was regarded. This made his search
for David more difficult. Under the circumstances it was not easy to
explain why he, of all men, was traveling with an American; hence, he
was forced to speak with more reserve than he would have liked of the
young man's disappearance.