The League of the Leopard

The comida was cleared away at length, and when Bonita accompanied her guest to the moonlit veranda, she made it manifest that she did not desire her aunt's company. Nevertheless the Señora Diaz, who respected the customs of the Peninsula, seated herself beside an open window and saw all that passed. Rideau lounged in a cane chair with a cigar in his hand, while Bonita stood upright, dropping morsels of ice presented by a steamboat purser into the bowl which rested on the little table at his side. A Frenchman would not have shown such lack of manners. Rideau's very leer, which grew more pronounced, conveyed a hint that he knew he held the whip hand, and meant to use it; with any one of Miss Castro's disposition, that was very bad policy.

"It is charming, señorita. I have done much for you; you do a little now for me."

Miss Castro dropped the next lump of ice somewhat hastily, so that the liquid splashed over the table; but she smiled with apparent good humor, and the man grew more bold.

"You will sit here while I tell you something, is it not so? This scene is so charming that after I make one more journey I have resolved to cultivate the domestic virtue."

"That is commendable," said the girl, smiling. "Might one compliment you on such a piece of self-denial?"

She did not forget that the African's greatest weakness is vanity, as Rideau answered her with a deprecatory smile:

"It is not my fault if many women love me. Perhaps they are foolish and trust to the eye. But, me, I aspire, and am only content with the great mind and virtue."

Miss Castro, instead of meeting his glance, appeared to be looking out to sea, and Rideau continued, still far too complacently:

"Now I see all that I desire – the peace, the tranquillity, the night that speaks of love, and the company of the peerless Bonita."

The girl laughed as she turned upon him; but her sleepy aunt, who sat by the window, knew that the passion which called the color to her forehead and set a sparkle in her eyes was by no means love.

"Is that another empty compliment, monsieur?" she asked lightly.

"It is the ambition of my life," he declared in a deeper tone; "and a long time I dream of it. Now when I make one more journey I ask you to gratify it."

"You must be more explicit. And is it the custom of France – or Africa – to make such speeches – so?"

Rideau frowned, and for a moment it appeared that he would have preferred the African custom of choosing his bride; but remembering what he claimed to be, he stood upright, a full-fleshed, crisp-haired figure, with his sensual lips showing too prominently.

"I have the honor to offer you my name and devotion, señorita."

"That is very much better," laughed Miss Castro. "But are you quite sure you would not find domestic happiness grow monotonous? I, at least, have been my own mistress so long that it might not content me. What else have you to offer?"

"An affection that will not weary," was the answer, and the man dramatically laid his hand where he supposed his heart to be.

"And if even that were not enough?"

"All the good things that money can buy, and women love. I shall be a rich man presently."

"You have not won those riches yet; and white men have lost their lives already in the Leopards' country. You should understand me."

Rideau blundered when he resolved to use the strong hand at last.

"There is still something – the safety of your father. It is, as I have once said, forbidden with the heaviest penalty to sell the black man the modern rifle, and Dom Pedro has sold more than this."

It is possible that Miss Castro had expected a similar answer, but the speaker's tone and the glitter of his eyes would have inspired most women with misgivings under the circumstances.

"You are forgetful," she said slowly. "I have bought that from you already."

Rideau laughed.

"You are mistaken. You sold me the English madman's map for the Emir's agreement, but you did not buy my lieutenant or the black headman who hired your father his people, and is a good friend of me. Señorita, you quite fail to comprehend me. To those who love me I give everything, but with those who bargain it is different. You are too young and pretty to drive a hard one with me."

The girl turned from him, and walked slowly across the veranda with her back toward her suitor and her face toward the sea, so that he could not see how one hand slipped without a rustle beneath a fold of her dress. He had left her but one way out of the difficulty, and it was dangerous; but gauging the quality of her antagonist she was content to take the risks. The sleepy aunt saw, however, and smiled grimly to herself.

Then Miss Castro turned, and smiled.

"It is a long journey to the Leopards' country, and many things may happen on the way. You would be wise to wait for my answer, monsieur. What you offer appears insufficient now, but few women are sure of their own minds, so some wise men say; and, who knows, when you come back I may think differently. I have duties to attend to, and may not see you before you sail, but I want your promise to keep silence in the meantime. Pledge it in Vermouth."

Before the man could answer, she had passed into the house and returned with a small flask and two fresh glasses. One was brimming, and she filled the other before she held it out to him.

"A swift journey to the land of the Leopard!" she said.

Miss Castro's voice was steady, though she waited almost breathlessly while the man stood undecided, holding up the cup. It was evident that he was averse to delay, and yet afraid to lose by undue precipitancy.

"So, I give the promise. To your bright eyes, señorita. It is a journey I make for you."

Rideau laid the glass down empty, and with a swift salutation that was half-ironical, and a swish of light draperies, Miss Castro had vanished before he quite realized that she had left him. When he did, he gnawed the end off a cigar, and lay thoughtfully back in his chair. It struck him that perhaps he might find Bonita Castro much less amenable to his wishes and more difficult to live with than a deeper-tinted helpmate.

In the meantime, a group of chattering Krooboys were lighting a fire on the crest of the bluff, their figures outlined against the increasing glare. It was a signal to the east-bound steamer due to pass shortly that cargo or passengers were awaiting her. Rideau watched the blaze until it flared high aloft in token that the fire had good hold, then he walked slowly to the rail of the veranda and leaned over it, as though expecting an answering light from the moonlit sea. There was none, and presently he walked back, still more slowly, and sank into his chair with a sigh. Then his shoulders sank lower until his head drooped forward and there was silence in the veranda except for the sound of his uneven breathing. This had scarcely continued five minutes when a slender black-robed figure flitted out of a shadowy door, and the profile of a woman's face was silhouetted against the moonlight as it bent over the sleeper.

"Sleep soundly, and awake too late!" a voice said, and the figure vanished again.

Presently, perhaps because there was nobody to watch them, or they had been regaled too freely with factory gin, the Krooboys left to tend the fire curled themselves up beside it, and when an hour had passed, only a thin column of vapor rose up from the bluff. The stokers slumbered peacefully, as did the comrades they should have awakened, when the twinkle of a masthead light crept nearer from out at sea. It rose until the black patch beneath it lengthened into a line of wallowing hull; but the fresh land breeze and the clamor of the surf between them rendered the hoot of the steamer's whistle but faintly audible at the factory. Still, the Señora Diaz awakened, and sitting upright on her couch near an open window, looked out on to the veranda. Her niece stood in a doorway, with the moonlight on her face, which showed white and anxious as she watched the sleeping figure.

The girl set her lips tight when again the whistle's summons, ringing louder this time, was flung back by the bluff behind the factory; but Rideau lay motionless in his chair; and Bonita quivered all through when, finding his signal unanswered, the steamboat skipper burned a crimson flare. She could see the wall of hull and slanting spars sharp and clear in the blood-red glare, with the figure of a man leaning out from the slanted bridge projected against it, but there was still no answer from either bluff or factory, and with a last blast of the whistle the steamer moved on. No other boat would call for a fortnight, and this one would have saved Rideau a protracted and risky surf-boat voyage, or a weary march through the jungles overland.

It was past midnight when Dom Pedro's hammock came lurching into the compound, and, alighting stiffly, the trader climbed the veranda steps. He started on reaching the veranda, for there was nobody to meet him, only a man whose visits he had learned to dread, asleep in a chair. The trader bent over him; and by the way his eyes glistened and his fingers twitched as he saw that the duck jacket had fallen open, leaving the dusky throat bare, an observer might have concluded that he would not have been sorry had some accident prevented the sleeper from ever awakening. Still, Dom Pedro was only a man of lax principles; he shrugged his shoulders as he quoted a Castilian proverb, and then he shook his guest by the arm. Rideau sat upright, grasping the arms of his chair. He stared at the table, possibly seeking the glass he had drunk from, but it was not there, and rising shakily, he staggered toward the balustrade.

"What hour is it?" he asked.

"Past twelve. It is not good to sleep in the moonlight, my friend."

Rideau's face was a study of evil passions, but his reason resumed the mastery. The fact that the glasses were missing was significant, and perhaps he recognized that the woman might prove no contemptible adversary; for he answered Dom Pedro calmly.

"Your wine is too good, and I have slept so well that it seems I have missed the steamer. Well, there are other means of transit, and, if it is not too late, you and I have business to talk about."

A light shone in a window of the factory for an hour after this, and when Victor Rideau walked somewhat unevenly toward his quarters, Dom Pedro cursed him under his breath.

The next morning he demanded a surf-boat and Krooboy crew, and when his host had provided them, he sought speech with his daughter before embarking. Rideau did not look his best that morning. His eyes were heavy, the color of his face was mottled in patches; and he was in a dangerous humor. Miss Castro, however, did not avoid him.

"It is to be hoped that you passed a good night," she said.

Rideau could not have failed to notice the boldness of the challenge. He looked at her steadily, and his glance expressed desire rather than resentment. The girl grew hot beneath his gaze as he surveyed her critically, after the manner of one appraising a costly bargain.

"I slept well – so well that I missed the steamer – and awakened with a heaviness I can guess the cause of. You have a bold spirit – and that pleases me; but you are dangerous, señorita – so dangerous that even if you were not otherwise very desirable, I dare not let you go."

Miss Castro returned no answer, and the man added threateningly:

"If you have not a promise to make me when I return from this journey, it will be very bad for Dom Pedro."

The girl clenched one hand tightly, but her voice was clear as she answered him.

"You shall have your promise now. If you come back from the Leopards' country, I will marry you."

Rideau appeared both gratified and perplexed. Possibly he felt that he should seal the bargain; but the girl's attitude did not encourage him, and he had learned that it was not judicious to press her too hardly. So he answered with a bow which had in it little Latin grace.

"Then one must defer his happiness. The señorita will not forget."

"I have given my word," said Miss Castro calmly. "You may claim the fulfilment of my promise if we are both alive when two months have passed."

Rideau shivered slightly as he turned away. He had inherited more than a trace of superstition from one side of his ancestry, and there was an unusual significance in the speaker's tone, and he had heard stories respecting her powers of prediction. A few minutes later he departed eastward in a surf-boat, and it was not a blessing which Dom Pedro, standing on the beach, sent after him.