The Coast of Adventure

CHAPTER XXX

THE ESCAPE

Walthew waited for the peons, and then turned toward calle Pinastro, where he had arranged to meet Grahame. He had now three companions whom he thought he could trust, but they were unarmed, except for their knives. Gomez had sent the order for Grahame's release, but if he could rearrest him and seize Walthew without causing a tumult, he would do so. They had only five or six minutes' start. It did not look as if they could get out of the town in time, and Walthew felt fiercely impatient. For all that, he stopped at the corner of a street when one of the others touched him.

There was a lighted café near by, and a girl stood on the pavement near its open front. She was dressed very plainly in white, with a dark shawl fastened round her head, like a peasant girl, but he felt a sudden thrill as she turned toward him. Although he could not see her very well, he knew it was Blanca. When he cautiously crossed the street she drew him back into the shadow, but he saw her look of relief.

"You have succeeded!" she said softly. "Where is Mr. Grahame?"

"I am to meet him at Ramon Silva's."

"You cannot go this way; there are two rurales farther on. But it would be dangerous to turn back now."

She put her hand on his arm, as if to detain him while she considered what to do, and Walthew looked about, knowing that he could trust her knowledge of the town. The street was narrow and dark except where the light from the café shone across it. A few citizens sat round the small tables, and several shadowy figures loitered in the gloom outside. Walthew thought they had come with the girl, but there was nothing in their attitude to suggest that they had any particular business in the neighborhood, and his own followers had stopped at the corner.

Suddenly a clatter of hoofs broke out. Some one was riding fast toward them. Walthew felt Blanca's hand tighten warningly on his arm as she drew back a pace or two. The sound grew louder; there was a hoarse shout like a sentry's challenge, and an answer which Walthew imagined satisfied the rurales on guard; and then a mounted man rode into the stream of light.

The mule was foul with sweat and dust, and a trickle of blood ran down its shoulder; the rider's face was pale and set. Walthew's eyes rested on him for only a second, but he knew the fellow was English or American. There was an angry cry in the background, and a stealthy figure, outlined against a blank, white wall, crossed the street. The mounted man was obviously the President's messenger; but Walthew, having seen his grim, tired look, and the way he drove the worn-out mule furiously down the street, felt a touch of half-admiring sympathy. After all, the fellow was white, and was gallantly doing what he had undertaken.

A moment more and Walthew saw something glisten in the hand of the stealthy figure that seemed ready to spring. He was only a yard away and, acting on impulse, he stumbled as if by accident and fell against the man. The knife dropped with a jingle, and the messenger dashed past, throwing Walthew a quick glance as he went.

An angry murmur broke out, and several of the loiterers closed in on Walthew, while men left the café to see what was going on, and there were quick footsteps farther off in the gloom. Remembering the need for haste and that Grahame might be in danger, Walthew half regretted his rashness, but as he wondered what to do Blanca ran to his side.

"The rurales are coming!" she shouted; and the men about them vanished as she led him away.

They turned a corner into a lane between dark houses.

"Why did you interfere?" she asked breathlessly.

"I don't know. Felt I had to," Walthew answered with some embarrassment.

"But you know who he is!"

"Yes; he's carrying the despatches. Still, he looked played out and he had got through."

"Through your friends!"

"I suppose so. It didn't seem to make much difference. Guess I've been foolish."

"You were generous, but generosity of that kind must be paid for," Blanca answered in a hard tone. "It will cost our people something, and, now that Gomez has got his orders, I don't know that we can leave the town."

"Grahame and I must find a way. But you'd be safer without us. I can't let you run into needless danger."

Blanca laughed.

"Do you think I would leave you to get into fresh difficulties? With a temperament like yours, you're not to be trusted alone."

"I handled Gomez pretty well," Walthew boasted.

"And you still wear the bandage he saw you with! Is it safe to take it off?"

"I'd forgotten it," he admitted.

He threw the bandage into the lane with some annoyance, for the girl seemed amused, but she made no remark until they reached a quiet street.

"Well," she said, "perhaps I can excuse you to the others, who haven't deserted us. But we turn down here and you had better go a few yards in front."

Following the directions she gave him, he presently crossed a square and entered a street where a dim light burned. A man stood near it in a careless pose, smoking a cigarette, and Walthew's heart beat fast as he saw him.

"Grahame!" he said; and the next moment he was shaking his comrade's hand.

"Got your note," said Grahame. "Thought I'd better wait here. Silva can't let us have the mules."

Walthew understood his brevity: there was no time for questions and explanations.

Grahame took off his hat as Blanca joined them.

"I must see Silva. Wait in the shadow," she said, and moved quickly away.

The men stood silent. They had much to say, but it would keep, and the means of escaping from the town occupied their minds. The street was deserted and seemed strangely quiet after the girl's footsteps died away, but indistinct cries came across the flat roofs as if something were happening. Walthew looked about sharply in tense impatience, but could see nothing, and Blanca did not return. At last, however, she came silently toward them through the gloom.

"It is impossible for Silva to give us the mules," she said. "The Government has seized all he has, and two rurales guard the stable."

"Then we must try to get away on foot," Grahame replied. "Would you be safer, señorita, if you got some of your friends to hide you?"

"No," she said; "I must take my father some news I have picked up, and Gomez will leave no place unsearched when he learns that I have been here. I think we shall be out of danger if we can reach a house I know."

They went down the street, quickly but silently, and as they turned the corner a man sprang out from the gloom beside a wall and immediately afterward disappeared. A few moments later they heard a whistle, and Blanca led the men into a narrow lane.

"It is off our way, and we must run!" she said.

She shook off Walthew when he tried to take her arm; and they had gone some distance before they heard footsteps behind them. The pursuers did not seem to gain much ground, but when they slipped round a corner somebody shouted, and the girl sped across the square they had entered. A little farther on, they heard a heavier tread on the uneven stones.

"Rurales!" Grahame whispered.

Blanca turned off quickly and led them through an archway into a street where there was a café, which, to Walthew's surprise, she made for. The pursuers had not come out from the archway yet, and the party, falling into a slower pace before they reached the café, went in and sat down calmly at one of the tables. As usual, the front of the café was open to the pavement, separated from it by only a row of pillars. A few men sat inside and glanced curiously at the newcomers, but they made no remark.

"A bottle of vermouth, as soon as you can!" Grahame said to the landlord.

The fellow gave him a quick glance, and then his eyes rested for a moment on the girl; but he did not delay, and was coming back with some glasses when several barefooted men and two others in uniform ran down the street. Grahame had taken up a newspaper, but he watched them over it without turning his head; Walthew pushed his chair back carelessly into the shadow; and Blanca played with a gaudy fan. The men did not look into the café, but the landlord, after quietly filling the glasses, put down the bottle with a meaning smile.

"They may come back," he said, and moved away.

Walthew was about to get up, but Blanca coquettishly tapped him with her fan and, taking the hint, he sat still; they must drink some of the vermouth before they left. He drained his glass, and insisted on refilling the girl's. Blanca protested laughingly, but Grahame saw that she held her fan so that it hid her face from the other customers. She was playing her part well. Still, he thought that Walthew, knowing less of Spanish conventions, did not understand how daring she was. When Grahame's eyes rested on her she blushed and quickly turned her head.

"It seems you have a number of supporters in the town," he remarked in a low voice.

"Yes," she said; "you are thinking of the landlord's hint. We hope at least half the people are on our side… But we can venture out in a minute or two."

She raised her glass, smiling at Walthew, and then hummed a song until she got up and, standing in front of a dirty mirror, began to arrange the black mantilla that covered her head. Her pose and movements were marked by rakish coquetry, and Grahame saw they had deceived the loungers; but he noticed with a touch of dry amusement that Walthew looked puzzled and not quite pleased.

"Now, señores," she said loudly in Castilian, "you have had wine enough and must not keep me waiting."

She went out in front of them, flaunting her fan, but when they reached the pavement her manner changed, and her voice was strained as she whispered:

"Follow me close, but quickly! There is no time to lose!"

They were not molested as they crossed the town, but when they neared its outskirts, Blanca left the road that led to the open country and plunged into a network of narrow streets. At last she stopped in front of a large but dilapidated looking house and, knocking twice, waited a few moments until her summons was answered. There was no light inside, and she exchanged a word with a half-seen person at the door before the party was admitted. The door was shut and bolted, and they were led into an inner room where a small lamp burned, and a woman with a frightened face confronted them.

"The road is stopped, and you must go at once before the house is searched!" she said excitedly.

"Where are the others?" Blanca asked.

"They lost you and have gone on. You know where they will wait."

Blanca nodded and beckoned her companions; and they followed her and the woman to a window at the back. Grahame tactfully sprang out first and was relieved to find himself outside the town, with a grove of trees that promised safe concealment not far ahead. He made his way toward them without looking round. Walthew got out next, but as soon as he reached the ground he turned and held up his arms to Blanca, who was sitting on the ledge. As she sprang down he caught her, and holding her fast kissed her ardently. His feeling of triumph banished all thought of their danger when he found that she did not resist. Her eyes shone a deep, mystic blue, and she smiled as she slipped her arm round his neck for a moment before he set her down.

Without speaking, they hurried on after Grahame.

"We have about a mile to go," Blanca said, when they reached him.

She struck into a path that led them past clumps of trees, rows of neatly planted bushes, and fields of cane. It was a still, dark night on which a sound would carry far, but they heard no pursuit, and the town seemed quiet.

At last a small building loomed up ahead, and Blanca stopped beside it.

"We should find the others here," she whispered. "But you wait. It would be better for them to see me first."

They let her go, knowing that she would be easily recognized; but she came back a few moments later.

"There is nobody about. Perhaps they have gone on, because they had news from people in the town, or something may have happened to make them change their plans."

Sitting down outside the building, they began to consider what must be done.

"We must go on without our mules," Blanca said. "I have information that my father must get as soon as possible; but we may not be able to join him until to-morrow night. The road is the nearest way, but now that Gomez has his orders he may have sent out soldiers to stop all travelers. Besides, there are rurales about."

"Then we'll take to the mountains," said Walthew. He did not mean her to run a risk. "I guess they've disarmed Grahame, and with one pistol among us we couldn't put up much of a fight."

"There's another," Blanca returned quietly. "I might let Mr. Grahame have it, if he is a good shot, but he must give it back to me; and, as time is important, we will take the road."

She silenced Walthew's objections and they set off, striking into a broad track some distance farther on. For a time, it wound, deep with dust that clung about their feet heavy with the dew, across a belt of cultivated land where indistinct, orderly rows of coffee bushes ran back from its edge. Then it plunged into thick forest, where the soil was soft and the darkness impenetrable, and they stumbled along blindly, trying to feel their way. For all that, Grahame was conscious of keen satisfaction as he breathed the warm, night air. Heavy as it was, it seemed strangely invigorating after the foul atmosphere of the carcel where he had been imprisoned, and it was something to walk at large again. Walthew, however, felt anxious and limp. He had been highly strung for several hours, and he held himself responsible for the safety of the girl he loved. Listening for sounds of pursuit, he tried to pierce the darkness in front, and started when a leaf rustled or some animal moved stealthily through the forest. He thought his footsteps rang down the branch-arched track alarmingly loud.

They came out into barren, rolling country, where clumps of cactus and euphorbia grew in fantastic shapes. The track led upward, and it was obvious that Blanca was getting tired. Unless they are the wives of peons, Spanish-American women do not lead an active life and, as a rule, limit their walks to an evening stroll in the plaza.

For a while Blanca leaned on Walthew's arm, and he winced as he felt her limping movements, but at last she stopped.

"I cannot go much farther, but there is a house near here," she said. "We can rest when we reach it."

The house proved to be empty and in some disorder, suggesting that its occupants had hurriedly fled, but on searching it with a light they found some food, a little charcoal, and an iron cooking pot. Blanca and Walthew had made a long journey after their last meal and Grahame had eaten nothing since his very plain breakfast at ten o'clock.

Following the girl's instructions, he lighted the charcoal and set the pot near the door while she prepared the food, but Walthew lay down in the dust outside. He was physically tired, and now, when he imagined they were comparatively safe, he felt very slack and his mind was dull. For all that, he lay where he could see the road, and only moved his eyes from it when he glanced into the small adobe building. The charcoal made a faint red glow that forced up the face of the stooping girl out of the darkness and touched her skin with a coppery gleam. Grahame knelt beside her, a dark, vaguely outlined figure, fanning the fire, and Walthew felt half jealous that he should help.

Then he found himself getting drowsy, and, lighting a cigarette, he fixed his eyes resolutely on the road. All was very quiet, and there was not a movement anywhere.

But Blanca was not out of danger yet.

CHAPTER XXXI

THE AMERICAN TRADER

Walthew was almost dozing, when he was startled by a sound that came out of the darkness. It was some distance off, but it had a regular beat in it, and when it grew louder he could not doubt that some one was riding fast up the road.

"Move the fire back – there's somebody coming!" he called quickly. "Blanca, will you give Grahame your pistol?"

He used her name for the first time, and it thrilled him, but he had other things to think about. The faint glow of the charcoal vanished, and Grahame came out and stood listening.

"Stay where you are and guard the door!" he said. "I'll drop behind that bush, and then if the fellow gets down we'll have him between us."

Throwing away a cigarette he was smoking, he vanished into the gloom, and Walthew lay still with his heart beating fast. The drumming of hoofs grew slower as the rider climbed the hill before the house, but Walthew could not see him until he dismounted and came up the path, leading his mule. It was some comfort to realize that they had only one man to deal with, but if he was a spy of the President's, he must not get away. Walthew, lying at full length, quickly worked his elbow into the dust to steady his pistol hand.

When the stranger was three or four yards away he stopped and looped the bridle round his arm. Then he put his hand into his pocket, and Walthew, with his nerves a-tingle, supposed that the man was searching for a match. In another moment he might have to shoot, and he held his breath as his finger tightened on the trigger. He heard the match scrape, a tiny flame flickered between the stranger's hands, and Walthew started as he saw his face. It was the man who had carried the President's orders into Rio Frio.

The light spread, falling on Walthew's recumbent figure and sparkling on his pistol, but the messenger did not throw it down as the American had half expected. Instead, he coolly held it up.

"I see you have me covered," he said. "Though it's a surprise to find you here, I'm not going to run away."

Walthew lowered his pistol.

"Very well. Leave your mule and go into the house. Will you tie up the animal, Grahame?"

"So there are two of you!"

The man did as he was told, and Walthew, following him, asked Blanca to get a light.

The girl had found a lamp which she placed on the ground, and the stranger looked at her sharply as she bent over it. Nobody spoke until Grahame came in.

"Are you alone?" he asked the messenger.

"Quite."

"What's your name and business?"

"Carson, agent for the trading firm, Henniker and Gillatly."

"Where were you going and why did you come here?"

Carson turned to Walthew, who had been wondering whether he recognized him.

"I imagine this gentleman knows my business," he said. "He did me a service in Rio Frio which I'm glad to acknowledge. As a matter of fact, I stopped here to look for something to eat; the owner of this house is on the President's side. It's pretty plain, though, that he has cleared out. Taking it all round, I haven't had much luck this trip."

"Who warned you not to call at the hacienda Perez?" Blanca asked.

"I don't know his name – he stopped me for a moment in the dark. I'm sorry I had to put one of your friends out of action, señorita, but I hadn't much choice, because he struck at me with his knife. For all that, I hope the man's not badly hurt."

"We expect him to recover."

"You seem to know this lady," Walthew broke in.

Carson smiled.

"I haven't had the pleasure of being presented, but I've seen Miss Sarmiento once or twice, and it would be strange if I forgot her."

His easy good-humor disarmed Walthew.

"Did you deliver the President's despatches?" he asked.

"Yes. To tell the truth, I was glad to get rid of them – and I imagine Miss Sarmiento acted wisely in leaving the town. Now, however, I'm naturally curious to know what you mean to do with me."

"Will you give us your word not to tell any of the President's supporters that you have met us?"

"I'll promise with pleasure. I feel that I've done enough in carrying his despatches."

"Very well," said Grahame. "That clears the ground; but we must talk it over together."

"Thanks," Carson said coolly. "I'm not pressed for time – and I notice that you have been cooking. I wonder if I might ask for some supper?"

"All we have is at your service, señor," Blanca answered with Spanish politeness. "But we'd better put out the light."

She extinguished the lamp, and they gathered round the cooking pot, the men sitting on the earth floor with the red glow of the burning charcoal on their faces. It could not be seen many yards away, and Grahame's view commanded the path to the door. Blanca divided the omelette she had made, and afterward gave them some black coffee and a bundle of cigarettes.

"These are Habaneros and should be good," she said. "As they belong to a friend of the President's we need not hesitate about using them."