The League of the Leopard

Maxwell left, and in a few minutes Mrs. Chatterton came in to say that Lilian was growing delirious. As they spoke together the iron-master heard a voice in the hall.

"It is that confounded Rae," he observed. "It was he who encouraged Lily to go poking into the houses of poor folks who didn't want her, all winter. I consider him responsible for her illness, and feel quite capable of telling him so."

The clergyman was ushered in, and he had barely stated the purport of his visit when the elder man cut him short.

"No. Miss Chatterton will neither sing at your concert, nor distribute any more coal tickets to encourage professional loafers!" he said. "In fact she is seriously ill. If you had not been enjoying yourself in Edinburgh you would have known it. You are sorry! Well, I really cannot help saying that I think you ought to be. Miss Chatterton has not been strong all winter, and was warned against damp and exposure; but you managed to convince her it was her duty to wander up and down the village, pestering the sick folk, in spite of the rain and snow. Women have not the sense to discriminate between what is necessary and sentimental foolishness, you know."

Rae, who was not readily browbeaten, interrupted the speaker, and though he expressed no contrition, he showed such genuine anxiety concerning Miss Chatterton's health that her uncle was surprised, as well as mollified. It is possible that the clergyman showed his fears too plainly.

"Perhaps you could not help it, being possibly afflicted with the crazy notion that to destroy one's bodily health is good for the soul," he said. "It is one of the few things which always excites my indignation."

Rae, who knew that the things which roused the speaker's ire were numerous, smiled a little. "I certainly have never preached that doctrine."

"You must forgive me if I appear abrupt," Chatterton apologized. "The fact is that when I'm anxious my temper is not so good as it generally is, and I am very anxious about my niece to-night. When Gilmour came round, the infernal – yes, that's the adjective I meant – old scoundrel wasn't even sober. And you remember Dane? Well, he is hemmed in by hostile savages somewhere in Africa, and we can learn no news of him. My niece and he were very good friends, and when she grows light-headed she begs us to tell her what has happened to him. It is distressing because, of course, we cannot do so."

Rae winced visibly at the last few sentences, and found a corroboration of them in the recollection of the change in Miss Chatterton after hearing Johnstone's story. Still, he pulled out his watch.

"There is a clever doctor at Swiftsbridge."

"I believe so," said Chatterton, impatiently. "There are also a number in London and a few in New York, I've heard. I sent over for the Swiftsbridge man some time ago; but considering the snow and bad roads, I don't expect him before to-morrow – and to-morrow may be too late."

"It is scarcely twelve miles across the moor and moss," said Rae. "There's a train this way in two hours' time. If you could lend me a horse – "

"My man, who ought to know, declares that nobody could get through the ford to-night. I'm obliged to you, Rae, but what you suggest is out of the question. The one horse now in my stable has the fiend's own temper, and I cannot allow you, who cannot have had much experience in the saddle, to run risks that were too heavy for a very capable horseman."

"I used to ride a little, and haven't quite forgotten. If, as you suggest, I am responsible for Miss Chatterton's illness, I must make the only reparation possible. In fact, I intend to do so; and unless you will mount me I will borrow a horse at Culmeny. I will not, however promise to spare the beast."

"You can drown him if you bring the doctor through by the last train!" said Chatterton, ringing the bell. "The horse will be ready inside ten minutes; and I'm greatly obliged to you."

The time had not elapsed when Rae walked quietly toward the mettlesome beast, which, resenting the change from its warm stable into the stinging sleet, laid its ears back, and when Chatterton approached it bared its teeth.

"Stand clear of his head!" cautioned Rae, swinging himself to the saddle; and the horse, rearing half upright, sent the gravel flying. "No. Leave the gate shut! I'm going the nearest way."

"I shall not forget this kindness," called Chatterton. "Feel I ought to stop you, but dare not do it. Take care of yourself – and God bless you!"

"I hope He will prosper my journey," the younger man answered gravely.

There was a further scattering of gravel, a pounding of hoofs across a strip of lawn, and a crash of brittle branches as horse and rider smashed through a tall hedge into the sleet which whirled across the meadow beyond it.

Chatterton, shaking the white flakes from him, returned to his wife.

"I suppose you saw what has happened," he said. "There's another of them in the running now, and this one has mettle in him if he is a clergyman. He's going through Langside moss to-night, though I gave him the plainest hint I could that in respect to Lilian his chance is of the smallest. Maxwell, it seems, took his dismissal gracefully; but what Rae has done to-night will count heavily on his side. Why must that idiot Hilton go out and get himself cut off by niggers in Africa?"

Thanks to Rae's daring ride, a skilful doctor arrived at the junction by the last train, and remained at The Larches all the next day. He also made a number of other visits before he stated that his patient was making rapid progress on the way to recovery.

"You had, however, better take her south, say Egypt or the Canaries, to escape our genial spring," he said. "Not necessary, but distinctly advisable. Miss Chatterton might sail almost at any time."

"We will choose Teneriffe, and start at once," Chatterton informed his wife. "It is well on the mail route to West Africa, and I'm growing anxious about Hilton."

CHAPTER XVII

IN NEED OF HELP

Mrs. Chatterton had no objections to Teneriffe, and so it came about that one evening she and her niece, who had almost recovered her usual health, sat upon a hotel balcony in Santa Cruz, looking down upon the quaint Spanish city. It had lain basking under fierce sunlight all day, but now the cool shadow of the giant Cañadas rested upon it, and its olive-faced inhabitants came forth to breathe the freshness from the Atlantic. Garrison officers and somberly clad merchants with their wives and daughters, strolled up and down the plaza beneath the balcony, while laughter and merry voices throbbed through the strains of an artillery band. Near by, the Atlantic swell pulsed whitely on the lava reefs, and high above the great black cordillera heaved aloft its jagged pinnacles against the sunset fires.

Lilian Chatterton, however, saw little of all this. She was looking out across the shimmering Atlantic toward the blue peaks of Grand Canary, beyond which stretched the coast of Africa. A little black-funneled steamer was creeping across the sea-plain between.

"That must be the African boat. The flag is going up above the agent's offices," she said. "She may bring us news. It is a pity that my uncle is away. He seems distressed about the uncertainty concerning Hilton."

Perhaps Lilian's tone was less indifferent than she wished, for Mrs. Chatterton watched her keenly before she answered.

"It is hardly surprising. Your uncle is a just man, and never forgets a benefit. As you must have heard, it was an invention of Hilton's father which first started them, when both were struggling men, on the way to success; but Dane died, and the widow, who was never cordial toward my husband, drew her share out of the business against his advice. She died comparatively poor when Hilton was young, while your uncle, who still considers he owes his dead partner a moral debt, tried several means of discharging it by benefiting his son. Hilton, of whom I am very fond, is not, however, a person one can readily confer favors upon."

"No," said Lilian, with a trace of coldness in her tone. "You never told me quite so much before. My uncle is not always quite judicious in the way he sets about accomplishing his benevolent intentions. But the boat will soon be in."

Mrs. Chatterton smiled a little.

"He will certainly blame us if we allow any opportunity for obtaining news to escape, and I must find somebody to take a note off to the purser. You are tired, Lily, and had better remain here while I go across to the agent's offices."

Lilian sat leaning back in a basket chair, shrouded from observation by two tall aloe plants, with her face still turned toward the cost of Africa. The silver shimmer faded from off the sea, the fires of sunset died out behind the cordillera, but Mrs. Chatterton did not return, and her niece waited with hands crossed idly in her lap. It was now some time since the steamer's anchor had rattled down. Presently, because the long windows behind her were open, she started at a voice in the adjoining room. It seemed the voice of one risen from the dead.

"It is impossible!" she thought.

"I have no baggage," the voice rose again. "Going on with the Southampton boat, due to-morrow. Send across to the offices and book a berth for me."

Lilian, rising, stood in the open window, and the speaker stared at her in astonishment.

"I could hardly believe my eyes, Mr. Maxwell," she exclaimed.

Maxwell strode out into the balcony, but his surprise, which vanished quickly, was surpassed by the girl's. His face was worn and hollow, and in the failing light he looked strangely frail. A great sense of pity came upon her.

"You are ill, and I must not keep you standing! Please sit down, because there is so much I – we all – wish to know," she said, striving to suppress her eagerness.

"I have been in the African forest," Maxwell replied simply, as though that were sufficient explanation. "Thank you, but I would rather lean against the railing here."

As he spoke, he drew out the basket chair, and bent his head with a gesture of invitation, while the girl, noticing the languidness of his movements, showed her compassion in her eyes. Maxwell saw the pity, and smiled wistfully; then as Lilian's gaze met his own, she glanced aside a moment with a sudden trace of color. She remembered their last meeting, and there was an awkward silence which Maxwell broke.

"We can at least return to our former status as good friends, can we not?" he said. "I see you are anxious for my news, and it may be a painful story; but first I must ask you a question. What fortunate accident brought you here?"

"I was unwell and ordered south to escape the spring." Seeing the anxiety in the man's face, Lilian added quickly, "I have recovered now. My aunt will be here in a few minutes, but Mr. Chatterton has gone across the island. An Englishman he met invested some money in a sugar-mill the Spaniards are reconstructing, and he could not resist the temptation of joining him. My uncle has a weakness for showing other people how to manage machinery. It is your turn now, but first, where is your partner?"

In spite of Lilian's intention the last question was put with a sharpness which surprised the listener.

"He is alive and well, I hope," he answered gravely. "My story will be longer, but I will try to tell it to you clearly."

The waltz the band played in the plaza below formed a curious accompaniment to such a tale. After the first few sentences neither of them, however, heard the music, and Lilian leaned forward with the color changing in her intent face as she listened. Maxwell suppressed the most gruesome details, but the narrative would have been startling to any one of the girl's upbringing. The thunder of the sunset gun brought it to an abrupt conclusion, and as the long reverberations rolled among the hills, Lilian rose suddenly and turned upon the speaker. There was scorn, as well as horror, in her eyes.

"And you left him in that pestilence-stricken camp to be murdered by the tribesmen – you coward!"

They were equally off their guard, and, for there are occasions when human nature mocks at all conventional restraint, both had dropped the mask. When once before they spoke openly it was Maxwell who had laid bare his heart, and now, though he made a valiant effort, he could not conceal his astonishment.

"And I never guessed," he said under his breath.

So for a few seconds they stood, with inmost thoughts laid open, face to face. Maxwell, having revealed the less, first recovered himself.

"I am afraid I have told my story badly, Miss Chatterton," he said. "You see there was gold enough to excite most men's cupidity lying within our sight, and that was why we drew lots to determine which should go out and seek help to secure it. Dane was, for a reason he did not mention, not only willing, but anxious, to stake his life on the chance of turning that gold into currency, and the lot fell to me. Being unable to raise the necessary funds by cable, I am now on my way to England, to sell my last possessions and pledge whatever in the future may be mine. Then, if I have to go alone, I am going back into the Leopards' country to bring my comrade help."

It is possible that few men under the circumstances would have framed their answer as Maxwell did; but he was in all things loyal, as his listener recognized. She was once more mistress of herself, but she did not look at the man as she answered him.

"You must forgive me. What you had to tell must have dissipated my poor senses. It is even more startling than anything I had imagined," she said.

"I can hardly forgive myself for telling it so badly," Maxwell answered gravely. "You had already, I gather, received some news that we were not exactly prospering. How did it reach you?"

Lilian mentioned the newspaper paragraph, and Maxwell's face grew dark.

"It was evidently the work of our enemy, and done to divert suspicion from himself in case the tribesmen overwhelmed us, as he hoped. It is another reason for haste, and if you will excuse me I will go on to the steamship office to make sure of my berth."

An inspiration dawned upon Lilian.

"I want you to promise that you will not sail without seeing me again," she said quickly.

"It is a conditional promise. While I would do anything to please you, Miss Chatterton, so much depends on my speed that whatever happens I must catch the steamer. She will land me in England three days before the West Coast boat, and is expected early to-morrow."

He moved away, and Lilian was left alone, plunged in a whirl of thoughts, with her eyes still turned toward Africa. But as she sat there one purpose grew into definite shape, and at last she rose sharply, and set out in search of Mrs. Chatterton, with determination stamped upon her face. Lilian was shrewd; she saw that Maxwell might well arrive too late unless she could hasten the starting of the relief expedition. She found Mrs. Chatterton presently in the bustling plaza, and the elder lady turned aside from her English companions after a glance at her niece. The girl came straight toward her with swift, resolute steps.

"Mr. Maxwell was on board the steamer," she said, with a calmness that puzzled her aunt. "He has told me all about the expedition, and left Hilton in deadly peril. Money is needed to extricate him, and Maxwell is going home to-morrow to obtain it; but I think my uncle would find it hard to forgive us if we did not let him know immediately. No – we have no time to waste with these people now. Turn back with me."

The girl passed the friends who advanced to greet her as though she did not see them, and by the time they reached the door of the hotel Mrs. Chatterton realized the need for haste.

"My husband must certainly know at once, but it is twenty odd miles to Oratava alone, and several more from there to the sugar-mill," she said. "The telegraph office is closed, and you say the mailboat should sail early to-morrow. It is very unfortunate, but what can we do?"

"There is only one thing possible," declared Lilian. "No one could trust a Canario with so urgent a message. We must start at once ourselves. We need not go all the way round by Oratava. There is a bridle-path across the hills."

"But you are hardly strong enough for such a journey, and we might not get a carriage to take us there to-night."

"The carriage is entering the plaza now," said Lilian. "Can you not see that if Mr. Maxwell goes to England he may be too late."

Mrs. Chatterton looked hard at her niece. Lilian's face was very resolute, but she bore the scrutiny calmly, and the elder lady was not wholly astonished.

"I will be ready in five minutes," she said, and Lilian, moved by some impulse, kissed her swiftly.

The five minutes had hardly expired when, with the Canario driver shouting in warning, a two-horse carriage rolled out of the plaza, and went rattling up the narrow street. Accustomed as they were to the eccentricities of British visitors, the sleepy citizens stared at its occupants, when, with unusual agility, they had leaped out of its way, for the driver stood upright, lashing his horses until they broke into a headlong gallop, and the crazy vehicle lurched and bounced over the uneven stones.

Night had closed in now, and a vault of velvety indigo spangled with many stars, hung over the long rows of sun-baked walls, which rolled away behind. A full moon rose slowly over the Atlantic. In front wastes of scoriæ, maize fields, vineyards, rolled upward, ridge beyond ridge, toward the Titanic wall of lava, nine thousand feet above; but the climbing road was broad and good, and, if the string-patched harness held, they might bring Thomas Chatterton news in time.

Lilian retained but a blurred impression of that part of the journey. They swept past climbing mule teams, and, sometimes on two wheels only, swung round many curves. Blinding clouds of dust rolled up, and, driven forward by the breeze from the Atlantic, whirled about them. There were odd gleams of light, and a howling of dogs, as white-walled dwellings swept by, then only the clang of iron on lava, and creaking of the vehicle to break the silence of the desolate hillside, until the driver howled again as they clattered into old-world Laguna, just sinking into early sleep. The carriage lurched over the cobbles, sparks blazed up, white walls and glimmering lattices raced by, and Lilian glanced at her watch as, while the lathered team swung into swifter stride upon the level, Laguna receded into the night. Branches of eucalyptus met above, the road was checkered with shadow, but it was straight and good, and the driver evidently meant to win the guerdon promised him.

It was cool on the higher levels. The fresh night wind stirred the passengers' blood, and while the stinging whip-cuts roused the horses to further effort, the eucalyptus gave place to sugar-cane, vineyards, cork-trees, and, looming black in the moonlight on the bare hill shoulders, gnarled pines.

"We have lost no time so far," said Lilian, bending her head over the moonlit dial of her tiny watch, and almost resenting the attention when her aunt drew the wrappings closer about her. "Still, it is passing fast."

The driver was certainly doing his utmost. He stood upright, for the most part, shouting as he lashed his horses, for the Castilian is not as a rule merciful to his beasts, and as the road had been lately mended in places with broken lava the carriage jolted painfully. Lilian, making no comment, only held fast the tighter, but once her aunt screamed, and it was fortunate that, startled by her cry, the man checked his horses. There was a steep grade before them, and when the beasts broke into a walk he stopped them altogether, and leaped down from his perch. He glanced at one of the wheels, then cast his hat into the road and kicked it several times, shook his fist at the surrounding country, and for nearly a minute poured forth a torrent of sonorous Castilian. It was well that neither of the listeners wholly understood him.

"What is the matter, and what can he be saying?" asked Mrs. Chatterton, almost appalled by the man's vehemence; and Lilian answered with a shudder.

"I am not quite certain, but I fancy that a wheel is coming off."

"Lo creo," interjected the Canario. "Mal rayo! I spik good Ynglez. This jimcraky wheel, which is made of a lost carpenter, she is come right off."

Putting his shoulder against the vehicle he hurled the wheel down crashing upon the lava, and then flung one arm aloft, with a tragic gesture.

"Stop him at once, Lily!" begged Mrs. Chatterton. "The wretched man is beginning again, and his language positively frightens me!"

"You mustn't!" said Lilian severely, as the Canario's tongue, which had apparently been dipped in brimstone unloosed itself again. "Stop immediately! Instead of all that nonsense, try to think of what you can do!"

"I do nothing. No man do nothing. On three wheel this coche she is not can go." The driver's gesture expressed despair. "We stop here for all night, puede ser all to-morrow. We stop a here forever."

"That is absurd," said Lilian sharply. "Is there no blacksmith at Laguna? Blacksmiths —hombre de hierro, entiende? Take one of those horses out and go for him immediately!"

"No possible, señorita. The black-a-smeet he sleep at night," explained the Canario, hopelessly.

Lilian stamped one little foot.

"It is no possible to waken him? Escucha Vd, and please try to comprehend. If I reach the sugar-mill too late you will be paid exactly what the Alcalde at Oratava says is your due. If I get there in time, and not otherwise, you will receive what I promised you. Now take out one of those horses, and I will help you."

The driver rubbed his forehead, and kicked his hat again. Then he declaimed a little further; and finally, while Mrs. Chatterton protested against Lilian's helping him, he proceeded to act upon her suggestion. The girl struggled with rusty buckle and raw-hide patched with string, and at last tethered one horse to a branch, while the Canario clattered off toward Laguna on the other. He had neither saddle nor stirrups, but that did not matter much to a man of his race.

The two women were left standing in the middle of the lonely road.

"I wish we had never come," wailed Mrs. Chatterton. "Mind that horse does not bite you, Lily."

"Poor beast," said the girl, stroking the creature's scraggy neck. "He did his best, and a great deal still depends on him. If that wretched man does not return soon the waiting will drive me mad."

Mrs. Chatterton found a seat by the wayside. Lilian paced to and fro, halting only to listen and gaze down the long dusty road. An hour passed slowly. Still only the rustle of the sugar-cane and the sighing of dark branches broke the stillness. There was no light visible; and save for the horse, the two anxious Englishwomen seemed the only living things upon the mountain-side.

"Can you hear nothing, auntie?" the girl asked; but the elder lady heard only the drowsy gurgle of water in a distant barranco, and the moan of the breeze.

"No. There is no sign of any one coming yet; and I am afraid we should be almost too late if we started now," she said.

Twice again the girl paced up and down in a fever of impatience, then stood rigidly still, leaning forward a little, for a faint thudding sound came out of the shadows.

"He is coming at last!"

The man came up at a gallop, with a hammer and a bag of tools, and, talking volubly, remounted the wheel. Then he lashed his horses viciously, and they were off, pressing on at a gallop almost to the divide, where, partly bathed in silver light by the moon, and partly wrapped in black shadow by the mighty peak, the great horseshoe vale of Oratava sloped to the Atlantic. Here the driver turned.

"The brake of this coche is also broke. I have ten children, señoras, and all very small, and if we must go down at the full speed it will be one more ten shillings for the risk."

Mrs. Chatterton, glancing down toward the lights that twinkled apparently vertically beneath her, and the glimmering plain of the Atlantic very far below, somewhat naturally hesitated, and was about to speak, when Lilian thrust a gold coin into the man's brown palm.

"You shall have more when I come back from Tampena. Only lose no time!" she urged.