The voices outside rose high. Apparently the woman, who had, so they
supposed, ridden up on the galloping horse, was having an argument with
the guards.
“She is asking to see us!” exclaimed Stanley, in tones of amazement,
after listening closely to the voices outside for a few minutes.
“And they are going to let her in!” he added the next instant.
Hardly had he spoken before the door of their dungeon was thrown open,
and a shaft of blinding sunlight streamed in. The prisoners all rose
to their feet as there entered the squalid cell a young woman in a
riding habit. The four prisoners instantly recognized her as General de
Guzman’s niece.
“Oh, the poor Americans!” she exclaimed, with a little shudder, as she
gathered her riding skirt about her. The boys noted that it was dusty,
and, taken in conjunction with the rapid pace of her horse, meant that
she had ridden fast to what was to prove a momentous interview.
“To what are we indebted for this visit, senorita?” began Midshipman
Stark.
He spoke in Spanish, but the girl checked him with a finger to her lips.
“Speak in English,” she said, “otherwise they will listen, and if they
should report this to my uncle it might go hard with you.”
“It couldn’t go much worse,” muttered Stanley in a grim aside.
“Where is the one that spoke of my father,” went on the girl, tears
brimming into her large eyes. “Ah! there he is. Tell me, sir, you have
news of him?”
Ned came forward somewhat unwillingly as she spoke. It was going to
be a hard task to tell this woman about the derelict and the almost
certain proof it offered of her father’s death. Perhaps she read his
thoughts, for as he hesitated she exclaimed:
“Do not seek to spare my feelings by not speaking plainly. I must tell
you that since he fled the country on that sailing ship he has been
mourned as dead by those who loved him. We have heard nothing of the
ship for months. She never reached her destination, and there is little
doubt that she was lost at sea.”
As mercifully as he could Ned told her of the encounter with the
derelict and what had been found on board it. As the others watched her
they conceived an intense admiration for this young South American. She
heard Ned out bravely, though her lip quivered at this confirmation of
her worst fears.
“Alas, for my poor mother!” she exclaimed, as Ned finished, “this will
be terrible intelligence for her. She has hoped against hope, even
though my uncle told her that it was certain we should never see my
father again.”
“You live near here?” inquired the midshipman.
“Yes--that is, our plantation is four or five miles away. I rode
straight from there after I had left the villa. But why do I say ‘our’
plantation when it is, in fact, my uncle’s?”
“But it belonged to your father?” asked Ned.
“That is true. But your confirmation of his death will strengthen
the claim of General de Guzman upon it. You see, under our law, the
property goes to him.”
“But not if there is a will expressly deeding it elsewhere?”
“Ah, no, senor, but there is not one. My poor father fled from the
country disguised as a common sailor before he had even time to make
provision for us. There is a suspicion that my uncle betrayed him.”
“I think you are mistaken,” said Ned gently. “There _is_ a will, and I
know its whereabouts. The document is now in possession of Lieutenant
Timmons, of the United States torpedo-boat destroyer _Beale_. But
he will surrender the document to your mother or yourself upon your
application.”
“But why not upon yours, senor? Cannot you obtain it from him?”
Ned looked embarrassed.
“Um, well, you see----” he began.
“We are likely to be here for a few days. We are being detained for
some time by your uncle,” put in the midshipman, coming to the rescue.
“But when you are free again? It is only a misunderstanding, I am sure.”
“When we are free again, senorita, we shall be delighted to do anything
in our power to aid you,” went on Midshipman Stark, “but in the
meantime it would be better for you to communicate with Mr. Timmons
yourself if it becomes possible.”
“Thank you, gentlemen!” exclaimed the Spanish-American girl, with a
grateful glance. “Be assured that my father’s will would be little to
us were it not that my uncle threatens to banish both my mother and
myself from our home unless----”
She paused, and was apparently overcome with confusion. Recovering
herself, she went on proudly:
“But, after all--after all you have told me, you have a right to know.
He is determined that I shall marry the man you saw me with to-day.”
“Chawed bone!” burst out Stanley, in a forecastle roar of indignation.
“Yes, senor, you are right,” said the young woman. “That is something
like the name of the man.”
“But you don’t like him?” demanded the old sailor excitedly.
The young woman gazed at him in surprise, while Midshipman Stark shot a
disapproving glance at the boatswain’s mate.
“No, I do not!” she declared, with a little stamp of her foot. At that
moment the sergeant in charge of the sentries came in and uttered a few
excited words.
“He says that he has received word that my uncle is on his way here,
senors. Perhaps he is coming to release you. I hope so. But it will not
do for him to find me here. Adios!”
In a flash she was gone, and the cell-room door clanged once more.
Presently the rattle of her horse’s hoofs sounded, rapidly dying away
in the distance.
“Well!” exclaimed the midshipman, drawing a long breath, “matters are
getting complicated.”
“If she ever marries that Chawedbones----!” roared Stanley, shaking his
fist.
But hardly had the sound of the departing senorita’s horse died away
before a fresh clatter of hoofs, coming from the opposite direction,
sounded.
“Here comes the general,” guessed Stanley. “Now stand by for squalls.”
His guess was right. The horses of the new arrivals were checked in
front of the prison door, and after much clanking of the bolts General
de Guzman himself stalked in, followed by Colonel Charbonde. In the
background hovered Hank Harkins, but he did not enter the dungeon. The
memory of Ned’s blow was too recent for that.
“Prisoners, I have come to make a proposal to you,” began the general,
without any preliminaries.
The prisoners nodded. All but Ned wondered what was coming next. The
Dreadnought Boy had already formed an idea. That he was correct in his
surmise as to the cause of the general’s visit the next words of that
officer proved.
“One of your number spoke of a will,” went on the insurgent leader.
“For reasons of my own I wish it. I have come to offer you your lives
in exchange for the document.”
“What do you want with it?” asked Ned.
“That does not concern you. It is sufficient that I wish it,” shot out
the dictator. “Are you willing to give it to me?”
Ned’s eyes fell on Charbonde’s face at that moment. His repulsive
countenance was fairly ablaze with eagerness.
“I’ll give him a shock,” thought Ned maliciously.
“In order that you may dictate terms to Senorita de Guzman and her
mother, I suppose?” he inquired amiably.
The general’s face grew livid. Even through the gloom of the cell they
could see his color change to an angry white.
“What do you know of this?” he thundered.
“Enough to send you to jail if you were in the United States,” retorted
Ned coolly. “So you offer us our liberty for that document?”
“I do. But you had better hasten to accept. I may change my mind.”
“Oh, no, you won’t--not while you can assume authority over an
unfortunate widow and her daughter. You want my answer to your
proposition?”
“I do--yes. That is what I came for.”
“Then, so far as I am concerned, it is--no!”
“Same here,” put in the midshipman.
Herc echoed his words.
“Better make it unanimous,” grunted Stanley.
“I will have you searched!” shouted the general, “and then have you
shot afterward.”
“Search away. Your soldiers will get some exercise, and that is all.”
The general stepped to the door and beckoned. A man stepped up to
him--some one who had evidently been awaiting some such signal. With a
start of astonishment the boys recognized the proprietor of the Villa
Esperenza.
“Now, my good cousin,” said the general, addressing him, “did you not
overhear these men consulting about this will?”
“Indeed, I did. It was in one of my soda summer houses. I heard every
word.”
“You did, did you, you sea-swab?” bellowed Stanley. “I wish I’d got my
fists on you then. There’d have been one less in the soda business.”
“And what became of the document?”
“That man there”--the man pointed out Ned--“thrust it into his sailor
upper garment.”
Once more the general stepped to the door.
“Search these men,” he ordered, summoning in the squad of insurgent
cavalry outside. Restraining a strong inclination to knock their
searchers “galley west,” as Stanley put it, the Americans submitted to
the ordeal. Of course, nothing was found of the will.
“Will you tell me where the document is?” demanded the general. “It is
your last chance.”
“Oh, go away and don’t bother us,” said Stanley. “We want to sleep.”
“I am not addressing you, sir,” said the general, with almost a
pleading note in his voice. “Remember, you are young, and life is
sweet,” he added, turning to Ned; “one word and you are free.”
“All of us?”
“Yes, all of you. I will trust to your honor to deliver the document to
me if you promise to do so.”
In that moment Ned was tried as men have seldom been tested. As the
cunning general had pointed out, life was very sweet to him--so sweet
that he had not dared to think of the last grim scene which would be
enacted the next morning. But in his decision he held all their fates.
By saying one word he could procure their liberation. But to do so he
would have to sacrifice a girl’s happiness and rob a woman of estates
that belonged to her by right. While he hesitated the same thoughts
had been running through the minds of his comrades. Ned, gazing at
them, saw that they were all of the same mind.
“Come!” It was the general’s voice. He was encouraged by the
Dreadnought Boy’s hesitation, and put it down to a tacit acceptance of
his base proposal.
“Come, you will say yes?”
“Not if it was the last day I had to live!” shot out Ned, and
then halted, with a gasp of dismay, as he realized that, in all
probability--short of a miracle happening--it was his last day to live.
“Unanimous again!” proclaimed Stanley, as the general turned
inquiringly to him.
“Fools! You have signed your own death warrants,” snarled the insurgent
leader, as he turned impatiently and, followed by his companions, left
the cell.
As he did so a dull, booming sound came from seaward, followed by a
loud, screeching rush overhead.
“What on earth is that?” gasped Ned. As he spoke, a terrific explosion
sounded without, and the air became filled with sharp commands,
outcries and groans.
“Sounds like a six-inch shell!” exclaimed Stanley.