The Web of the Golden Spider

“Men,” began Danbury,–and Stubbs choked back an exclamation at his gentleness,–“men, I haven’t told you much about the errand upon which you are bound, but I feel now that you ought to know. You signed for two months and agreed to accept your orders from me. You were told there would be some scrapping–”

“The hell we were,” broke in Splinter. Danbury, ignoring the interruption, blandly continued:

“And you were all picked out as men who wouldn’t balk at a bit of a mix-up. But you weren’t told what it is all about.

“Well, then, this is the game: down there in Carlina where we are going there is a one-horse republic where they used to have a dinky little kingdom. A republic is all right when it’s an honest republic, but this one isn’t. It was stolen, and stolen from the finest woman in the world. I’m going to give you all a chance to see her some day, and I know you’ll throw up your hats then and say the game is worth it, if you don’t before.”

Their faces were as stolid as though they could not understand a word of what he was saying. But he had lost sight of them and saw only the eyes of the girl of whom he was speaking.

“Once, when she was a little girl, they put her in prison. And it wasn’t a man’s prison either, but a mangy, low-down, dog kennel. Think of it! Put her down there in the dark among the rats. But that was too much for the decent ones of even that crowd, and they had to let her go. So now she lives in a little house in her kingdom, like a beggar outside her own door.”

Danbury had worked himself up to a fever pitch. His words came hoarsely and he stepped nearer in his excitement. But as he paused once more, he realized that he was facing a pack of dummies. For a moment he stared at them in amazement. Then he burst out,

“Are you with us, men? Haven’t we something worth fighting for–something worth fighting hard for?”

He heard a rough guffaw from a few men in the rear; then a voice:

“It’s the dough we’re out fer–no damned princess.”

Danbury whitened. He leaped forward as though to throw himself into the midst of them all, and reached for the throat of the man who had spoken. But Stubbs who had been watching, drew his revolver, and followed close behind. With the aid of Wilson he separated the two and drew off Danbury, while keeping the others at bay.

“Go below,” he commanded. “Let me talk to ’em a minute.”

“But–but the damned jellyfish–the–”

Wilson seized his arm and managed to drag him away and down to his cabin. Then Stubbs, with feet wide apart, faced the gang. His voice was low, but they did not miss a word.

“Th’ cap’n,” he began, “has talked to ye as though ye was white men ’cause he’s young and clean an’ doesn’t know the likes of ye. He hain’t had so much to do with a bunch of white-livered, swill-tub jail birds as I have. But don’t you go further an’ make th’ mistake thet ’cause he’s young he ain’t a man yet. ’Cause if ye do, ye’ll wake up sudden with a jolt. Even if he did mistake a pack of yaller dogs fer men, don’t ye think he doesn’t know how to handle yaller dogs. But I s’pose ye are jus’ as good to shoot at as better. Now I gut ye aboard this craft–me, Stubbs,” he pointed to his breast with a thick forefinger, “an’ ye’re goneter earn yer grub afore ye’re done.”

“Shanghaied–we was shanghaied,” ventured Splinter.

“You was, was ye? D’ ye think ye could make anyone b’lieve a man in his sober senses would shanghai the likes of you? But howsomever that may be, here you is and here you stays till ye git ashore. Then you has yer chi’ce er gittin’ shot in front er gittin’ shot behind,–gittin’ shot like white men er gittin’ shot like niggers. ’Cause I tells you right now thet in all the shootin’, I’ll be hangin’ round where I can spot the first man who goes the wrong way. An’,” he drew his weapon from his pocket, “I can shoot.”

He placed a bullet within two inches of the hand of a man who was leaning against the rail. The group huddled more closely together like frightened sheep.

“Now,” he concluded, “ye’re goneter git more exercise an’ less grub arter this. Tuck it away fer future ref’rence thet th’ next time yer cap’n talks to yer ye’d better show a little life. Now, jus’ ter prove ye appreciate what he said, cheer. An’ cheer good, ye dogs.”

They let out a howl.

“Now back to yer kennels!”

They slunk away, crowding one another in their effort to get from the range of the weapon which Stubbs still carelessly held pointed at their heels.

It was several days after this that Wilson was pacing the deck alone one night rather later than usual. The sky was filled with big, top-heavy clouds which rolled across the purple, blotting out every now and then the half moon which sprinkled the sea with silver butterflies. The yacht quivered as though straining every timber, but it looked to Wilson a hopeless task ever to run out from under the dark cup and unchanging circumference. It seemed as though one might go on this path through eternity with the silver butterflies ever fluttering ahead into the boundless dark.

He lounged up to Martin at the wheel. The latter, a sturdy, somewhat reserved man, appeared glad to see him and showed evidence of being disturbed about something. He frequently glanced up from the lighted compass before the wheel as though on the point of speaking, but turned back to his task each time, reconsidering his impulse. Finally he cleared his throat and remarked with a fine show of indifference, “Everything been all quiet below, to-day?”

“So far as I know.”

“Been down there lately?”

“No; but the men seemed this morning in unusually good form. More cheerful than they’ve been at all.”

“So?”

For a few moments he appeared engrossed in his work, turning the creaking wheel to the right, the left, and finally steadying it on its true course. Wilson waited. The man had said enough to excite his interest and he knew the best way to induce him to talk more freely was to keep silent.

“Happened to go for’ard afore my shift to-night an’ I heard some of ’em talkin’. Didn’t sound to me like th’ sorter talk that’s good aboard ship.”

“So? What were they saying?”

“Nothin’ much,” he answered, frightened back into stubborn silence.

“They talk pretty free at all times,” returned Wilson. “They haven’t learned much about ship discipline.”

“I hopes they don’t act as free as they talk.”

“No fear of that, I guess.”

Another long silence. Then Martin asked:

“Where’s the ammunition stowed?”

“We had it moved the other day to the vacant cabins just beyond our quarters.”

“All of it?”

“Every cartridge. Why do you ask that, Martin?”

“I happened to go for’ard afore my shift,” he repeated.

Wilson arose and stepped to his side.

“See here, if you heard anything unusual, I’d like to know it before I turn in.”

“My business is a-workin’ of this wheel, an’ what I says is we’ve gut a damned bad cargo.”

Wilson smiled. After all, it was probably only the constitutional jealousy that always exists between a seaman and a landsman.

“All right, Martin, only we’re all in the same kettle. Keep your ears open, and if you hear anything definite let me know.”

“Then I says I puts my chest agin my door afore I sleeps an’ I watches out for shadows when I’m at the wheel.”

“And have you seen any to-night?”

“No, an’ I hopes I won’t.”

“All right. Good night.”

“Good night, sir.”

Wilson stepped out of the pilot-house and made a short round of the ship. He even ventured down to the forward hold, but all was as quiet there as ever. He turned towards his own cabin. Danbury’s light was out. Beyond he saw the form of the first mate who had been posted there to guard the ammunition. He spoke to him and received a cordial reply.

“All quiet?”

“All quiet, sir.”

The door of Stubbs’ cabin was closed, and he heard within his heavy snoring. He entered his own cabin and closed the door. But he felt uneasy and restless. Instead of undressing he threw himself down on the bunk, after placing his pistol underneath his pillow. Martin’s talk had been just suggestive enough to start his brain to working, disturbed as he was by so many other things. He had an impulse to rouse Stubbs. He wanted someone with whom to talk. He would also have been more comfortable if he had been able to make sure that those bits of parchment were still safe in his comrade’s chest, where he had locked them. If the crew once got even a suspicion that there was on board such a golden chance as these offered, it would be a temptation difficult for even better men to resist. He realized that if they were able sufficiently to surrender each his own selfish individual desires and organize compactly under a single leader, they would form an almost irresistible force. But of course the key to the whole situation lay in the ammunition. Without this they were helpless. Knives and clubs could not resist powder and bullet. He became drowsy finally and his thoughts wandered once more to the treasure and then to Jo until his eyes closed and, though his lips still remained tense, he slept.

He was awakened by the sound of a muffled fall in the next cabin. He sprang to his feet, seizing his weapon. The electric light wire had been cut so that the cabin was in suffocating darkness. By some instinct he forced himself flat against the wall by the door. The next second the door was flung open and two forms hurled themselves with a grunt upon the bunk. He fired twice and darted out into the passageway. Here all was confusion, but all was dark. Man fell against man with oaths and wild threshing of the arms, but they all knew one another for friends. He was for the moment safe. The doors to the cabins of Stubbs and Danbury were wide open. He knew that either they had escaped by some such miracle as his, or that they were beyond help. It seemed to him that there was but one thing to do, make the deck and collect whatever honest men were left. The mutineers were still fighting with one another and had grown so panic-stricken that they were making little progress towards their goal. Quick action might even now save the ship. He heard a voice raised in a vain endeavor to control them.

“Steady, boys, steady! Wait till we get a light.”

At the head of the stairs leading to the deck he found a sentinel. He struck at him and then grappled. The two rolled on the deck, but the struggle was brief. Wilson soon had him pinned to the deck. He raised the fellow’s head and threw him with all his strength backwards. The man lay very still after this.

When he rose to his feet the deck was as deserted as though nothing at all unusual were going on below. He rushed to the pilot-house. The ship swerved tipsily and then the engines ceased their throbbing. Martin lay limply over his wheel. The cutthroats had got below to the engines.

For a moment his head whirled with twenty impossible plans. Then he steadied himself. There was but one thing to do; the gang was evidently so far in control of the ship as to prevent aid from the crew; Danbury and Stubbs were doubtless unconscious, if not dead, and he was left, the one man still free to act. Once the rifles were loaded a hundred men could not control this crowd, but before then–one man with a loaded weapon and with his wits about him, might make himself master.

He groped his way down the stairs and into the midst of the tumult. No one had as yet obtained a light. The leader had succeeded in partly controlling his gang, but one man had only to brush the shoulder of another to start a fight. David elbowed through them, striking right and left in the endeavor to stir up anew the panic. He succeeded instantly. In two minutes pandemonium reigned. Then a man scrambled in with a lantern and was greeted with a cheer. Wilson turned, shot twice, and ducked. The cabin was once more in darkness and confusion.

“Wha’ th’ hell?” roared Splinter.

Wilson plunged on until he stood facing the door which still barred the way to the cartridges. It was intact. At this point someone reached his side with an axe. Snatching it from the fellow’s hand he himself swung it against the lock. He had two things in mind; the act would turn away suspicion, and once within the small room, with his back to the cartridges, he could take the men one by one as they pressed through the narrow door. He had on his cartridge belt and ought to be able, not only to keep them at bay until possible aid arrived from the crew’s quarters, but might even be able to start sufficient panic to drive them out altogether. Wilson swung a couple of times until the lock weakened. Splinter shouted:

“Fer Gawd’s sake, don’t act like frightened rats! Keep cool now an’ we have ’em.”

One more blow and the door fell. With a jump Wilson scrambled in and, turning, fired four times in rapid succession. In the pause which ensued he refilled his weapon. There was a chorus of ugly growls and a concerted movement towards the door. He shot again, aiming low and relying as much on the flash and noise to frighten them as on actual killing. To those without it sounded as though there might be several men. No one knew but what the man next to him had turned traitor. They groped for one another’s throats and finally, as though by one impulse, crowded for the exit. They fought and pounded and kicked at each other. It was every man for himself and the Devil take the hindmost. Wilson helped them along by continued shooting–aiming high and low. In five minutes the cabin was cleared save for the wounded, who managed, however, to drag themselves out of sight.

As Wilson fell back exhausted and half choked from the smoke with which the room was filled, he heard the bark of pistols above and knew that the crew had reached the deck. He waited only long enough to recover strength to walk, and then moved cautiously forward. He was undisturbed. The mutineers had gone, to the last man able to stand. He groped his way to Danbury’s cabin and his hand fell upon a limp form in the bunk. But even as he recoiled the man moved and muttered feeble queries.

“Are you safe, Danbury?” gasped Wilson.

“What–what’s the trouble? Give me a drink–brandy.”

Wilson turned to the wine closet just beyond the bunk and drew out the first bottle his fingers touched. He placed it to Danbury’s lips, and the latter took several deep swallows of it, spitting indignantly as he thrust it away.

“Darned stuff–Martini cocktails. But–but–”

Wilson found himself laughing. Nothing Danbury could have said would so prove the inconsequence of his injuries. It relieved his strained nerves until, in reaction, he became almost hysterical.

“What’s the joke?” demanded Danbury, rising to a sitting posture and feeling at the cut in the back of his head. “Where’s the lights? What has happened?”

“A bit of a fight. Can you make your feet?”

Danbury groped for the side of the bunk, and with the help of Wilson stood up. He was at first dizzy, but he soon came to himself.

“If you can walk, come on. I want to look for Stubbs.”

Wilson groped his way into the smoke-filled passageway and across to the other cabin. They found Stubbs lying on the floor unconscious. A superficial examination revealed no serious wound and so, urged on by the increasing noise above, they left him and hurried to the deck. They found the second mate pushing the stubborn group nearer and nearer their own quarters. He was backed by only two men armed with knives and clubs. The gang was hesitating, evidently tempted to turn upon the tiny group, but with the appearance of Wilson and Danbury they pressed at once for the narrow opening.

At sight of them Danbury completely lost his head. It was as though he then first realized what had actually been attempted. He raised his weapon and was upon the point of shooting into their midst when Wilson knocked up his hand and sent the revolver spinning across the deck. But Danbury scarcely looked around to see who had foiled him. He rushed headlong into the group as though he were the center of a football team. He struck right and left with his naked fists and finally by chance fell upon Splinter. The two rolled upon the deck until the mate stooped and picked up Splinter bodily and, raising him above his head, fairly hurled him like a bag of grain down the ladder after the last of the mutineers.

Danbury, in spite of his loss of blood, held himself together wonderfully. For the next hour all were busy, and between them placed Splinter in irons, and crowded the mutineers, a cowed lot, into the forward hold. They found Stubbs still unconscious, but he came around after a good swig of brandy. He rose to his elbow and blinked dazedly at Danbury.

“What’s the trouble?” he demanded.

“Mutiny,” answered Danbury, briefly.

“And me laid up, an’ outer it. Jus’ my pizen luck,” he growled.

CHAPTER XIV

In the Shadow of the Andes

As soon as lights were secured an examination of the battle ground was made. Four men were found, three of them with leg wounds which did no more than cripple them, and one with a scalp wound made by a grazing bullet which had knocked him unconscious. There was no surgeon aboard, but one of the mates had a good working knowledge of surgery and cleaned and dressed the wounds.

As soon as it was daylight Stubbs had a talk with the mutineers.

“’Course,” he informed them, “’course ye knows the medicine ye gets fer mutiny on the high seas. Every yeller dog of ye can look for’ard to a prison sentence of twenty years or so. As for Splinter–yer leader–I can ’member the time I’d ha’ had the pleasure er watchin’ him squirm from a yardarm without any further preliminaries. As ’tis, maybe he’ll be ’lowed to think it over th’ rest of his life in a cell.”

He kept them on a diet of crackers and corned beef and they never opened their lips in protest. Every day they were brought up morning and afternoon for drill. After this the three men divided the night into the three shifts so that at least one of them was always upon guard. But the men were thoroughly cowed, and evidently hoped, by good behavior, to reëstablish themselves before port was reached.

It was during these night watches that Wilson had many long talks with Stubbs–talks that finally became personal and which in the end led him, by one of those quick impulses which make in lives for a great deal of good or wrecking harm, to confide in him the secret of the treasure. This he did at first, however, without locating it nearer than “Within five hundred miles of where we’re going,” and with nothing in his narrative to associate the idol with the priest. Truth to tell, Wilson was disappointed at the cool way in which Stubbs listened. But the latter explained his indifference somewhat when he remarked, removing the clay pipe from his mouth:

“M’ boy, I’m sorter past my treasure hunting days. Once’t I dug up ’bout an acre of sand on one of the islands of the South seas an’ it sorter took all th’ enthusiasm, as ye might say, fer sech sport outern me. We didn’t git nothin’ but clam shells, as I remember. Howsomever, I wouldn’t git nothin’ but clam shells outern a gold mine. Thet’s th’ way m’ luck runs. Maybe th’ stuff’s there, maybe it ain’t; but if I goes, it ain’t.”

He added, a moment later:

“Howsomever, I can see how, in order to find the girl, you has to go. The dago gent–if he lives–will make fer that right off. I’ve heern o’ women with the gift o’ conjurin’–like seventh sons o’ seventh sons–but I ain’t ever met with sech. I dunno now–I dunno now but what I might consider your proposition if we comes outern this right and the cap’n here can spare me. I can’t say this minute as how I takes much stock in it, as ye might say. But I tell ye fair, I’m glad to help a pardner and glad to have a try, fer the sake of the girl if nothin’ more. I don’t like ter see an older man play no sech games as this man–who d’ ye say his name is?”

“Sorez.”

“Maybe we can find out more ’bout him down here. Anyhow, we’ll talk it over, boy, when we gits through this. In the meanwhile yer secret is safe.”

Wilson felt better at the thought that there was now someone with whom he could talk freely of the treasure. It became the main topic of conversation during the watch which he usually sat out with Stubbs, after his own.

The ship’s log of the remainder of this long journey would read as uninterestingly as that of an ocean liner. Day succeeded day, and week followed week, with nothing to disturb the quiet of the trip. A stop was made at Rio for coal, another after rounding the Horn (here they did not have the excitement of even high seas), and another halfway up the West coast. But at these places not a man was allowed to leave the ship, Danbury, Wilson, and Stubbs themselves remaining on board in fear of a possible attempt on the part of the mercenaries to land.

As a matter of fact, the latter were thoroughly frightened and did their best by good behavior to offset the effect of their attempt. They were obedient at drills, respectful to all, and as quiet as the crew itself. This was as Stubbs had anticipated, but he on his side gave no sign of relenting in the slightest until the day before they sighted Choco Bay, where the landing was to be made. On the contrary, by dark hints and suggestions he gave them to understand that certain of them–and no one knew who was included in this generality–stood actually in danger of prison sentences. So they outdid one another in the hope of reinstating themselves. At the conclusion of what was to be their last drill Stubbs called them to attention and sprung the trap to which he had been gradually leading them. He studied them with a face heavy with clouds.

“We are nearing our port,” he drawled, “an’ some of you are nearin’ the jail. An’ a jail in these diggin’s, my beauties, is a thing that ain’t no joke, ’cause they shets you up below ground where ye has only your natural frien’s the rats fer playmates,–rats as big as dogs an’ hungry as sharks, as ye might say. Sometimes the cap’n of these here ports fergits ye–’specially if they’s frien’s er mine. If they thinks of it, they brings yer sour bread an’ water an’ yer fights the rats fer it; if they fergits, as they has a way er doin’, you jus’ stay there until the rats gits stronger than you. Then, little by little, yer goes. But they buries yer bones very partic’lar, if they finds any. They takes their time in this country, they takes their time.”

Several of the men in the rear huddled closer to one another. One or two in the front row wiped the back of their hands over their brows.

“They can’t take ’Merican citizens,” growled someone.

“No, they can’t–wuss luck for the ’Merican citizens. The others stand some show–but ’Merican citizens don’t stand none. ’Cause they shets yer up without a hearin’ and communicates with the consul. The consul is drunk mostly an’ devilesh hard to find an’ devilesh slow to move. But the rats ain’t,–Lord, no, the rats ain’t. They is wide awake an’ waitin’.”

A big man in the rear shouldered his way to the front.

“See here, Cap’n,” he blurted out, “I’ve had a talk with some of the men, an’ we don’t want none er that. We’ve done wrong, maybe, but, Gawd, we don’t want thet. Give us a show,–give us a fightin’ show. We’ll go where you say and we’ll fight hard. We weren’t used to this sorter thing an’ so it comes a bit tough. But give us a show an’ we’ll prove what we can do.”

He turned to the band behind him.

“Wha’ d’ yer say, fellers? Is this on the level?”

“Sure! Sure! Sure!”

The cry came heartily.

Stubbs thought a moment.

“Is this here another little game?” he asked. “Once yer git on land are yer goin’ ter turn yeller agin?”

“No! No! No!”

“’Cause it won’t do yer no good, anyhow. Now I tell yer–the cap’n an’ I had a talk over this an’ I was fer lettin’ yer take yer medicine an’ pickin’ up another bunch. Men is cheap down here. But he says, ‘No; if they’ll act like white men, give ’em a show. I want to git this princess with ’Mericans an’ I want to show these fellers what ’Mericans can do behin’ a rifle.’ Our game is to git to Carlina and lick the bunch of Guinnies thet has stolen the young lady’s throne. If ye wanter do thet an’ do it hard and square–well, he’s fer lettin’ this other thing drop. Fight an’ yer gits cash ’nuff to keep drunk fer a year; squeal an’ yer gits shot in the back without any more talk. There’s a square offer–do ye take it like men?”

“Sure! Give us a show!”

“Then three cheers fer yer cap’n–Cap’n Danbury.”