The Dust of Conflict

“I don’t quite understand,” said Appleby. “Only a handful of men had actually mutinied.”

“Morales would have shot them, only he is cunning, and had seen the temper of the people. A dead man cannot feel, but one can hold fear over a living one until he crushes him, and those cazadores knew what to expect. One can, however, be too cunning, my friend.”

“The men could have deserted.”

“It is also conceivable that, in spite of the pickets, you could have got out of San Cristoval, but what then? There is only the cane to hide in, starving, until the patrols find one. It was when they heard the Sin Verguenza were coming the affair became simple.”

“Still, they shot three of your friends.”

Maccario’s voice sank a little. “That is counted to Morales, and they will have the opportunity of doing a good deal for us in an hour or two. There will be no fighting when we occupy San Cristoval. Comes a patrol with an order from Morales, and no one is very alert at that hour. The patrol is admitted, there is a seizing of rifles, and the Sin Verguenza, who have crept up behind, are in. With a little contrivance there is no difficulty.”

“One could hold the hacienda with sixty men.”

Maccario laughed. “With six hundred one could be sure; and in a few weeks we shall have a battalion, for our time is coming soon. When the American troops have landed there will be work for those of Spain. You have our felicitations on your clear sight, Don Bernardino. A little thing makes a quarrel when the suspicion and the dislike are there.”

There was a murmur from the rest, and Harper stood up among the cane.

“A little thing!” he said hoarsely. “The devils sunk the ‘Maine’!”

Appleby said nothing. He was worn out and limp from the strain, and fancied he must have gone to sleep, for when he was next conscious of anything the men about him had risen to their feet. It was a little lighter, and a faint cool breeze was blowing, while he shivered as he stood up with his thin damp garments clinging to his limbs.

Maccario spoke sharply, there was a shuffling of feet, and before Appleby quite realized what was happening the Sin Verguenza were once more plodding down the road to San Cristoval. Then he shook the stiffness and lassitude from him, and braced himself to face the work on hand. Maccario’s plan might fail, and he knew it would in that case be no easy task to drive Morales’ cazadores out of the hacienda. The sleep had, however, refreshed him, the vague memories had vanished, and his head was clear, while a faint sense of exhilaration came upon him. There was something inspiriting in the tramp of feet that grew brisker now, and in the thin musical jingle of steel. He had, for what seemed a very long time, played a risky game alone, and it was a relief to face actual visible peril with trusty comrades about him and a good rifle in his hand.

By and by there was another brief stoppage, and the handful of cazadores went on alone when the rest plunged into a path among the cane. Maccario, it was evident, did not care to take the risk of blundering upon a picket, and a man led them by twisting paths until at last the hacienda rose blackly before them. Appleby could see it dimly, a blur of shadowy buildings with the ridge of roof parapet alone cutting hard and sharp against the clearing sky. Beyond it rose the gaunt chimney of the sugar mill, a vague spire of blackness that ran up into the night, but though a few lights blinked in the lower windows there was no sound from the house. The men were standing silent and impassively still, so that he could scarcely distinguish them from the cane, but he made out Maccario few paces away from him.

“We will have to wait. It is farther by the road,” he said “Can you trust the cazadores? They have already deserted one leader.”

Maccario seemed to laugh. “They know what to expect from Morales. It would, of course, not be difficult to warn their comrades, but what then? Comes a sergeant to Morales with a tale that they have led the Sin Verguenza into a trap. Morales is not likely to be grateful, or place much value on the men who change their masters twice in one night. Still, one takes precautions in Cuba, and while they trample down the road a few men who wear no shoes follow close behind them. Then if there is to be another change it is not the cazadores who will walk into the trap.”

Appleby said nothing. He had been afforded another glimpse of the complex Spanish character, which is marked by an intellectual astuteness and a swift cunning that is beyond the attainment of the average Englishman or American, and yet rarely avails the Castilian much when pitted against them. He had seen enough in Cuba to realize that it was seldom shortsighted folly and never lack of valor that had blighted the hopes of Spain, but the apathy and indecision when the eventful moment came, and the instability which when the consummation was almost brought about not infrequently changed the plan. Nor were there many Iberians or Cubans like Maccario who seldom overlooked the trifles that make the difference.

The latter made a little sign with his lifted hand, there was a low rustling, and the Sin Verguenza had vanished among the cane. Appleby smiled as he flung himself down, and realized that a battalion of cazadores might march past without seeing one of them. Then the soft rustling and crackling died away, and it became very still. There was no sound yet from the tram-line which ran between them and the hacienda, and he began to wonder how long the cazadores sent on would be, or if they had after all deceived their new friends and eluded the vigilance of those who watched them. The latter, however, appeared very improbable. In the meanwhile the sky was growing a little lighter, the buildings blacker and sharper in outline, while there was a faint illusory brightness in the east. Still, no sound rose from the hacienda, and there was only silence upon the unseen carretera.

Then he started as a faint rhythmic throbbing came out of it. It suggested marching feet, and grew louder while he listened, until he heard the men stumbling among the sleepers of the tram-line. Maccario said something, and the Sin Verguenza moved in nearer the building by little paths among the cane, while when they stopped again Appleby found himself on the verge of the tram-line with the outer wall of the hacienda close in front of him. A few shadowy objects that stumbled among the sleepers were growing into visibility a little farther along the line. They stopped and stood still a moment when a hoarse shout rose from the building, and then moved on again when somebody flung them a low warning from amidst the cane. Then they stopped close in front of the gate of the patio, and Appleby felt a little quiver run through him as he heard the question of the sentry.

The voice of the man who answered reached him distinctly.

“Friends. Orders from the cuartel! We have come from Santa Marta, and it is a long way. Let us in.”

There was another question, and an answer. The big iron grille grated on its hinges as it swung open, and Appleby fancied that one dim figure detached itself from the rest as they disappeared into the patio. Discipline is seldom unnecessarily rigid among the troops of Spain, and it was not astonishing that a man should stop a moment and speak to the sentry.

Then for a minute or two there was a silence. Now and then a man moved amidst the cane, and the low rustling sounded horribly distinct, but while Appleby wondered what was taking place within the hacienda Maccario touched his shoulder, and rising softly he slipped across the tram-line and into the gloom beneath the high wall, with Harper and a cluster of crouching men close behind him. Moving circumspectly they crept forward nearer the gate, until there was a shout from the sentry followed by a struggle and the sound of a fall, and a man stood in the opening shouting to them.

Then they went on at a run, and sprang through the gate, stumbling over a man who crawled out from among their feet. There was a clamor in a lighted room close by, and a pistol shot rang out. Then a rifle flashed, and as they swept in through a doorway a wisp of acrid smoke met them in the face. They had a brief glimpse of a few figures in uniform flying through another door, and two men who stood alone in a corner with the mutinous cazadores in front of them. One of the latter was by his emphatic gestures apparently urging them to consider the recommendation he was making.

The two men, however, stood grimly still, one, who was young and slim, with delicate olive-tinted face and the blue eyes one finds now and then among the Castilians, clenching a big pistol, while the dusky, grizzled sergeant beside him held a rifle at his hip. A little blue smoke was still curling from the muzzle, and a man with a red smear growing broader down one leg sat looking at him stupidly in the middle of the room. Appleby grasped the meaning of the scene at a glance, and then he was driven forward as the Sin Verguenza poured into the room. Harper sprang past him.

“It’s the fellow I hove over the balustrade at the café,” he said. “You’ve got no use for that pistol, señor.”

There was a bright flash, and a flake of plaster fell from the wall close behind Appleby’s shoulder, but even as the brown fingers tightened on the trigger again Harper gripped the young officer. He hove him bodily off his feet, and there was a yell from the Sin Verguenza as he flung him upon the grizzled sergeant. The man staggered, and the pair went down heavily in the corner. Then Harper, who tore one of his comrade’s rifles away from him, stood in front of them.

“I guess you had better keep moving in case the rest light out,” he said.

There was an angry murmur, and though some of the men had already swept through the room the rest stared at Harper, who grinned at them.

“Well,” he said, “it’s not your fault you’re not Americans. Rustle. Hay prisa. Adelante! Tell them I’ll put this contract through, Appleby.”

Those of the Sin Verguenza who had remained appeared a trifle undecided, until Appleby, who had no desire to witness a purposeless piece of butchery, joined his comrade. Then, with the exception of two or three, they turned and went out to head off any of the defenders who might escape by an outer window from the tram-line. Appleby secured the officer’s pistol, while Harper, apparently with no great effort, dragged him to his feet, and holding him by the shoulder gravely looked him over.

“Well,” he said in English, and his voice expressed approbation, “you have grit in you. Now stand still a little. Nobody’s going to hurt you.”

The young officer’s face was dark with passion, but he writhed futilely in his captor’s grasp, while the sergeant, who stood up, handed Appleby his rifle.

“Tell him not to wriggle,” said Harper, grinning. “Oh, let up, you senseless devil!”

Then while the Sin Verguenza laughed he backed his captive against the wall and gravely proceeded to pull his tunic straight and dust him. When this had been accomplished to his satisfaction he stepped back a pace or two, and surveyed his work smiling.

“There’s not much harm done, señor,” he said. “Now, I felt it would have been a pleasure to shake the life out of you a minute or two ago.”

The officer stared at him in blank astonishment, and then looked at the sergeant, who gravely laid a finger on his forehead.

“They are born that way, these Americans,” he said.

The officer made a curious little gesture, and would apparently have unbuckled his sword, but while the men of the Sin Verguenza, unstable even in their fierceness, laughed, Harper seized him by the shoulder, and, signing to the sergeant, propelled him violently to the door.

“Out you go while you’ve got the chance!” he said in English.

The officer turned, and stood still a moment as though undecided, and then vanished into the night, while in another second the sergeant sprang after him. Appleby laughed as he turned to Harper.

“I scarcely fancy that was wise,” he said. “We could have kept him to play off against any of our men who fall into Morales’ hands.”

“Well,” said Harper reflectively, “I don’t quite know why I let him go, but he had grit in him, and it seemed to me that if I hadn’t let up on taking a life or two after getting out of the plaza in Santa Marta it would have been mean of me. Anyway, I don’t figure we’d have kept him. He has the kind of temper that would have stirred up the Sin Verguenza into sticking knives in him.”

Appleby nodded gravely, for he was astonished at very little that Harper did, while though the big skipper’s sentiment were crude there was something in his vague notion of thank-offering that appealed to his fancy. Then Maccario came in.

“The cazadores have left two men behind, but the rest got away, except a few who submitted,” he said. “We will find a place in the stables for them. It will induce Morales to be more considerate with his prisoners.”

Appleby told him about the officer. “It was perhaps a blunder, but we can afford it just now,” he said.

Maccario’s face grew a trifle grim, but in another moment he made a little gesture of resignation.

“If it was the wish of the Senor Harper! It is sometimes a trifle difficult to understand an American,” he said. “Now if we can find any peons they shall cut the cane back from the hacienda. Morales will be here in two or three hours with at least a company.”