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.

CHAPTER XX

MAXWELL'S LAST MARCH

Maxwell was never addicted to losing time, and, thanks to Miss Castro's efforts, he had a clear start of Rideau, when he left Little Mahu. Redmond, being warned by a message posted on from the cable station farther along the coast, had a number of picked men ready; and Amadu declared that they were sturdy cattle. Both traders had done their utmost, and by dint of working night and day, Maxwell was able to leave their factory two days after he reached it.

They followed him to the compound gate, where Gilby gazed longingly at the forest and then sighed as he surveyed the line of brawny men, each of whom stood waiting beside his burden. Their clothing was simple. Broad folds of white cotton hung over one shoulder, and, drooping to the knee, were belted at the waist by a band from which a matchet hung. A number of the men also carried long flintlock guns.

"They're warranted free from civilization, and fit for almost anything, if you drive them with a tight rein," Gilby said.

"The niggers are fit enough," agreed Redmond. "If I were you, Maxwell, I wouldn't spare them. Nobody has heard anything of Rideau since he reported you as hopelessly hemmed in, but there's not much happens in this region he does not get news of, and it's my humble opinion he'll turn up somewhere along your trail just when you least desire to see him. As you probably know, news travels very fast in this country. That fellow must have some influence with the nigger headmen or the chiefs of the Leopards, or somebody would have cut his throat long ago. You'll have to push on your fastest to keep ahead of him."

"I quite appreciate the necessity," Maxwell replied quietly. "But if it were not for my comrade's sake I think I'd wait for him. It strikes me that I am wasting precious time now, and I'll leave you with my best thanks for your assistance."

One trader thumped him on the back, the other grasped his hand.

"Good luck!" cried Redmond. "We'll put a spoke in Rideau's wheel if we can."

"You're the sort of man I take to!" Gilby added. "We'll use up a whole quarter's allowance, and turn this place inside out when you come back again."

Maxwell beckoned to Amadu, and waved his hand to the traders, as his carriers picked up their loads; and the two stood gazing after him until the steamy forest swallowed the long line of plodding men. They never saw him again, and it was some time before any news of his movements reached them, but meanwhile Gilby nearly brought about the death of Rideau's principal assistant, and ever afterward regretted he did not wholly do so.

That evening Gilby was returning with a gun in his hand from a prowl beside a lagoon soon after darkness fell, when his boot became unlaced near the factory boys' quarters, which stood at some distance from the white men's dwelling. Gilby seated himself on a fallen log, and remained a few minutes glancing meditatively, but unseen himself, toward a group of dusky figures crouching around a cooking-fire just outside the edifice. They sat with their backs toward the long, low shed, and, because the fire had sunk, the light was dim and fitful. Accordingly, Gilby saw, though the negroes did not, a shadowy form crawl without a sound down the slope of thatch. With suspicions aroused, Gilby reached out for his gun. It was a heavy big-bore, and there was a large-shot cartridge in either chamber.

Still, he was distinctly puzzled until the crawling object resolved itself into a man, who dropped noiselessly from the overhanging eaves, and the next moment appeared before the astonished negroes, as though he had fallen from the clouds. It was cleverly done, and Gilby could see by the negroes' attitude that they were impressed. The stranger was evidently one of the wandering magicians who are a power in that country, and wanted something from the Krooboys. Gilby, having suffered by the visits of similar gentlemen, determined to demonstrate to his servants the hollowness of such trickery, and furnish the intruder with cause to regret having frightened them. He could see the dusky figures shrink backward until the stranger checked them with an imperious gesture, and asked questions in some native tongue. As Gilby crept carefully nearer, the man's appearance seemed to be familiar. He wore a broad palm-leaf hat low down on his forehead, but as the firelight leaped up the trader felt almost certain that he had before him Rideau's headman.

"If you lib for move a foot, I'll shoot you!" he shouted, pitching up the gun.

There was a murmur, apparently of relief, from the Kroos, and, though Gilby afterward said he did not run, the stranger's figure grew less distinct. It had almost vanished when he called again, and, receiving no answer, pressed the trigger. A wisp of smoke blew into his eyes, he heard the lead smash through the frail boarding of the shed; but though he was a tolerable shot there was no other sound beyond the concussion flung back from the palms above. Gilby, dashing forward, searched all the surrounding bush before he returned to the Krooboys, having found nothing.

"What did them Ju-ju man lib for want?" he asked.

"He done ask us how many boy them white man take, and when he lib for bush, sah," answered a trembling negro.

"I'll stop half your rations if the next time he comes one of you doesn't lib for get out soffly, soffly, and tell me," said the trader. "I'll also flog any boy who tells him what he wants to know!"

"Were you trying to shoot yourself, Gilby?" asked Redmond, meeting him at the foot of the stairway. "I'd try to hang out here on top as long as possible, if I were you."

"I was trying to shoot one of those confounded Ju-ju men, more fool me. The beggar got away, and, though of course it was trickery, he did it cleverly. I believe it was that brute of Rideau's."

"Then it would have saved somebody a lot of trouble if you had held straighter. Rideau doesn't usually make his movements plain, but it will be unlucky for Maxwell if those two rascals are on his trail."

Maxwell in the meantime was pushing north with feverish haste. He did not know what had happened at the factory, but he feared many things, and guessed that his rival would miss no opportunity to prevent his joining hands with his comrade. Still, he could not forecast what his plan would be, and could only redouble his precautions and make Amadu solemnly promise to carry relief to the threatened camp if disaster overtook him personally. Also he traveled very fast, for Maxwell possessed the gift of getting the utmost out of his men, and because news flies swiftly through the African bush, that perhaps accounted for his being able to cover the distance he did before misfortune overtook him.

The rains had set in, when, with Amadu some paces behind him, he plodded one day through thick jungle before his men. The deluge had ceased during the last hour, but the narrow path ran water, while the cane, which grew higher than a tall man's head on either side, shook down drenching showers alike on soaked white man and naked negro. Belts of thick steam drifted across it in places. There was no sound but the splash of moisture and the fall of weary feet, but Maxwell, with his pistol loose in its waterproof holster, marched the more cautiously. He had faced numerous perils in his time, and had learned never to run an unnecessary risk; and the jungle he traversed was particularly suitable for an ambush.

Amadu, who recognized this, also was vigilant, and swept the cane on either side with searching eyes. He endeavored to persuade his master to travel in his hammock; but unavailingly. Therefore he carried the long Snider rifle with its breech well covered by his arm, and felt at times with wet fingers for the hilt of the short, straight blade, which hung at his side. He was a tolerable shot, but like most of the Moslem tribesmen deadly with the steel.

"These men march well," said Maxwell. "We should reach the camp within a week if nothing hinders us. Tell them to spread out a little and keep their matchets ready. The cane is getting thicker."

Amadu moved backward along the plodding line, and when he turned to rejoin his master, Maxwell was some distance in front of him. The path twisted sharply round a thicker clump of cane, and suddenly Amadu caught a glimpse of a tiny black patch among the dripping stems. Nevertheless, he evinced no sign of notice until he was certain that the black strip formed part of a human arm; and then he was called upon to make an eventful decision. The dusky soldier of fortune knew that if an ambush had been planted among the cane the lurking foe would, should both pass apparently unobservant, hold their fire until, by a volley poured into the main body, they could spread panic and cut the column in two. That might mean the loss of many black men; but Amadu counted these as beasts of burden in comparison with his master. He guessed that almost before he could pitch up his rifle a poisoned arrow or a charge of ragged potleg would strike down the white man. So he held on stolidly, with dusky lips set tight, hoping that Maxwell might not see what he had until the corner was passed. Then there might still be time to crawl in upon the enemy from behind.

Maxwell walked straight on until he turned and glanced over his shoulder; then he shook the moisture from his jacket, and in doing so, let his hand slip from its lower corner to his revolver holster. He turned again, with death, as it were, suspended above his head; and Amadu gasped as he approached the thicker clump of cane. There was now no sign of an enemy's presence in all the jungle; only the splashing and panting of the carriers behind.

Suddenly the white man's hand swept out level with his shoulder, and almost at the same instant a bright flash blazed from the cane. Then the quick ringing of a rifle broke through the dull thud of the flintlock and the pistol's second crack, and Maxwell, reeling a little, hurled himself into the thicket.

With a roar to those who followed, Amadu plunged in too, a score of clamorous black men with naked blades hard behind, and was just in time to spring upon a naked man who strove to clear an entangled foot from the creeper withes. The short blade twice passed through him; and wrenching it free with an exultant laugh, Amadu floundered on. For a space he and his followers smashed through that strip of jungle, but found only a smoking rifle and one flintlock gun; then calling off the rest, he led them back to the path. Maxwell was sitting there in a pool of water.

"Send those boys back," he said thickly. "One of those brutes missed me, the other did not. One can't always guess aright, Amadu, and I thought there were at least a score of them."

Amadu groaned. He could see that his master was hard stricken, for he looked faint and cold, and did not usually converse with his subordinates in that kind of English. Still, he understood the first sentence, and drove the curious black men back beyond the corner before he stooped over the speaker. Maxwell's face was distorted and clammy. There was a stain on the side of his jacket, and it plainly cost him an effort to speak.

"Did you lib for chop them bush boy, Amadu?"

"One of him, sah," was the grim answer. "He done leave them rifle."

"Let me see," said Maxwell. "That is an old chassepot. Rideau had a number of them. You don't quite follow? Well, you got the wrong man, Amadu. Don't stand there, but slit up this jacket. Chop them doff piece up the side of him."

Amadu did it with the still wet blade, and groaned again when Maxwell, turning his head a little, looked down at the slow, red trickle from his right side, then passed his hand across his lips and nodded when he saw what there was upon it.

"Take them lil' silver bottle out of my pocket and pull the top off him," he said very slowly; and when Amadu had done so he gulped down a draught of lukewarm brandy before he spoke again.