The Coast of Adventure

"No; but the state of the country has something to do with the matter. We admit that there have been manifestations of discontent, and disturbances caused by mischievous persons who love disorder, and we must enforce quietness and respect for authority. This, you will understand, costs some money."

"I've subscribed a good deal," Cliffe reminded him. "I'm anxious to learn when I'm going to get it back."

"The wish is natural. May I point out that in generously offering help you threw in your lot with the Government and made our interests yours?"

"I see that pretty clearly," Cliffe replied with a touch of grimness, for he recognized the skill with which he had been led on until he could not draw back without a heavy loss. "Anyway, as you seem to have weathered the storm, I want my reward. In short, I've come to find out when your President means to sign the concessions."

"It will be as soon as possible; there is a small difficulty. We have an elective legislature; an encumbrance, señor, which hampers the administration, but in times of discontent it has some influence. Our people are jealous of foreigners, and there are interested persons ready to work upon their feelings. This is why the President hesitates about granting fresh concessions until he has found a way of silencing his enemies among the representatives. You perceive that I am frank with you."

"It's what I like; but you haven't told me yet what I want to know. Now, unless I can find out exactly when I may expect the papers signed, I'll feel compelled to shut off supplies. I'd rather cut my loss than go on enlarging it."

Gomez looked pained.

"I must remind you, with some diffidence, that others have offered their help," he said.

"They offered it; they haven't paid up. I expect you'll find they'll insist on knowing when you mean to deliver the goods. That's my position; I stand firm on it."

"Very well. Before answering, I must inform the President."

"You needn't. I'm going to take this matter to headquarters."

"Unfortunately, the President has gone to Villa Paz for a short rest. I fear he would not like to be disturbed."

"He will see me; he has to," Cliffe declared.

"After all, it is possible, but I see a difficulty. There is no inn at Villa Paz where the señorita could find accommodation and the President is, like myself, a bachelor. He could receive you, but not the señorita. Our conventions are antiquated, but they must be considered. It is this which prevents me from offering my hospitality."

Cliffe pondered for a few moments. The conventions Gomez mentioned were justified, because women are not treated in his country as they are in the United States, and Cliffe could not leave Evelyn alone in the Valverde Hotel. For all that, he must see the President, and he imagined that although Gomez had made some difficulties the fellow was willing that he should go. Gomez was a clever rogue, but Cliffe thought he could be trusted so long as their interests did not clash.

He looked up sharply, for there was a sudden stir in the town. Cliffe was conscious of no definite sound, but he felt that the quietness had been broken and he saw that Gomez was listening. The man's fleshy face was intent; the stamp of indulgence had gone and given place to a look of fierce cruelty. He had become alert and resolute; this struck Cliffe as significant, as there was, so far, nothing to cause alarm.

In a few moments a murmur broke out, and swelled while Gomez walked to the open window. The streets were suddenly filled with the patter of hurrying feet, and the confused outcry became a menacing roar. Cliffe jumped up. He had heard something like it when a mob of desperate strikers drove the police through an American manufacturing town; and now his daughter was alone at the hotel.

"What is it?" he asked.

"A tumult," Gomez answered. "I do not think it will be serious. We have placed a guard about the hotel, so the señorita is safe. But you will excuse me for a few minutes."

He went into an adjoining room, and Cliffe, standing by the window, heard a telephone call. After this, all sounds inside the house were drowned by the growing uproar outside. Cliffe could see nothing of the riot, but he thought he could locate it in one of the dark gaps that pierced a block of houses some distance off. The clamor gained in effect from the mystery that surrounded its cause.

Two pistol shots rang out and there was a wild shouting, but the note of fury had changed to alarm. Cliffe thought he could hear men running, and he pictured the mob pouring down the narrow street in flight, for the cries grew less frequent and receded. At last they died away, and a group of men moving in regular order came out of the mouth of a street. They seemed to have a prisoner in their midst, and four peons plodded behind, carrying something on a shutter. Then they all vanished into the gloom, and when their measured steps were getting faint Gomez returned with an unpleasant smile.

"It is nothing," he said. "We had planned the arrest of a troublesome person called Castillo, who is a favorite with the mob. There was some excitement, and a few stones were thrown, but only one attempt at a rescue, the leader of which was shot by the rural guards. As he was a man we suspected of sedition, this has saved us some trouble."

Cliffe looked at him, as one who might study a new species of animal or some rare and ugly plant.

Gomez spread out his hands.

"It is worth noting that the affair proves our strength," he said gloatingly. "We have seized a popular leader of the discontented, and there was no determined resistance. One may consider it an encouraging sign."

Cliffe nodded agreement, and Gomez changed the subject.

"I have been thinking," he said. "If you are resolved to see the President, Señora Herrero, wife of the alcalde, whom you have met, would take care of the señorita while you are away. They are people of some importance, and she would be safe with them."

This struck Cliffe as a good suggestion, and when Gomez accompanied him to the alcalde's house the matter was arranged with Evelyn's consent. The next morning Cliffe set off with a relay of mules and three or four days later was received by the President at a little town among the hills. Nothing was said about business until he had rested and dined, and then he sat with his host on a veranda half hidden by bougainvillea, looking down on the dim littoral that ran back to the sea.

President Altiera differed from his secretary. He looked more of an autocratic soldier than a diplomatist. There was a hint of brutality about him, and Cliffe thought he would rather use force than guile. The man had a coarse, strong face, and his eyes were stern, but he was rather reserved than truculent.

"Señor," he said, "since I understand you were determined to see me, it is an honor to welcome you, and my house and self are at your command. I imagine, however, that neither of us often wastes much time on compliments."

"My excuse is that I find one does best by going to headquarters when any difficulties arise. It seemed possible that your secretary might smooth down my remarks before transmitting them."

"And you do not wish them smoothed down," Altiera dryly suggested.

"I think it best that we should understand each other."

"That is so. What do you wish to understand?"

"When I may expect the sealed grant of the concessions."

"In two months, provided that my enemies do not kill me first, which I think is hardly probable."

"One hopes not, but there is another risk; not large, perhaps, but to be reckoned with."

Altiera laughed.

"That the people may choose another President? No, señor. I rule this country. When I cease to do so it will be because I am dead. Let us be candid. Your concessions depend upon the luck that may attend some assassin's attempt, and I take precautions."

Cliffe thought this was true. Altiera carried a pistol, and could use it remarkably well, and two armed guards were posted outside the veranda.

"There is a condition," Altiera said. "The concessions will be yours in two months, but payment of the money my secretary asked for must be made in a fortnight, or, if this is impossible, as soon as you get home."

"It would suit me better to take the concessions in a fortnight and pay in two months," Cliffe retorted coolly.

"I am not a trader, señor; I do not dispute and haggle over a bargain."

"Neither do I," said Cliffe. "Still, it's necessary for a trader to state his terms."

There was silence for a few moments, and Cliffe, studying his antagonist's face, thought his statement justified. The man might use brutal means to gain his end, but he would not contend about a small advantage.

"Very well," the President conceded. "Though it will cause me some embarrassment, I make another offer. You shall have the grant in a month."

"A month is too long to wait."

Altiera rose and stood with his brown hand clenched upon the back of his chair and his brows knitted. It seemed to cost him an effort to maintain his self-control, and Cliffe saw that he had pressed him hard. For all that, he did not mean to yield. He had gone farther than was prudent, and knew when to stop.

"You understand what you risk by your exactions?" Altiera asked menacingly.

"Señor Gomez made that plain. I have no security for the money already paid, except your honor."

Altiera bowed.

"Though the situation is difficult and you make it worse, I believe your confidence is not misplaced. Well, since one or two of my ministers must be consulted, I cannot give you an answer for a week; but the country is healthful in this neighborhood, and you may be interested in studying its resources. My house is at your disposal, and your comfort will be provided for while I see what can be done."

It took Cliffe a minute or two to make up his mind. He would rather have gone back to Valverde at once; but he felt that he must finish his business before returning. Although he had some misgivings, he agreed to stay.

In reaching his decision he thought Evelyn safe with the alcalde; but he had not reckoned on the cunning of Secretary Gomez.

CHAPTER XXI

A HALF-BREED'S TRICK

Evelyn found the time pass heavily at Valverde. The town was hot and uninteresting, although she did not see much of it, for it was only when the glaring sunshine had faded off the narrow streets that she was allowed a leisurely stroll in company with the alcalde's wife. Señora Herrero, who was stout and placid, and always dressed in black, spoke no English, and only a few words of French. After an hour's superintendence of her half-breed servants' work, she spent most of the day in sleep. Yet she was careful of her guest's comfort, and in this respect Evelyn had no cause for complaint.

It was the monotony the girl found trying. After the ten o'clock breakfast there was nothing to be done until dinner was served at four. The adobe house was very quiet and was darkened by lattices pulled across the narrow windows; and there was no stir in the town between noon and early evening. Evelyn patiently tried to grasp the plot of a Spanish novel, and when she got tired of this sat in the coolest spot she could find, listening to the drowsy rumble of the surf. Hitherto her time had been occupied by strenuous amusements, and the lethargic inaction jarred.

It was better when the shadows lengthened, because there were then voices and footsteps in the streets. One could watch the languid traffic; but when night came Valverde, instead of wakening to a few hours' joyous life, was silent again. Sometimes a group of people went by laughing, and now and then a few gathered round a singer with a guitar, but there was no noisy talk in the cafés and no band played in the alameda. An ominous quietness brooded over the town.

All this reacted on Evelyn's nerves, and one hot afternoon she felt ready to welcome any change as she sat in a shaded room. Her hands were wet with perspiration, the flies that buzzed about her face exasperated her, and she found the musky smell that filled the house intolerable. Señora Herrero lay in a big cane chair, looking strangely bulky and shapeless in her tight black dress, with her eyes half closed and no sign of intelligence in her heavily powdered face. Evelyn longed to wake her and make her talk.

Then there were steps outside and Gomez came in. He bowed, and Señora Herrero grew suddenly alert. Indeed, it struck Evelyn that her hostess felt disturbed, but she paid no attention to this. She was glad of a break in the monotony, and it was not until afterward her mind dwelt upon what took place.

"Señor Cliffe's business with the President will keep him longer than he thought. He may be detained for a fortnight," Gomez said.

Evelyn had no reason for being on her guard, and her disappointment was obvious.

"I was looking forward to his return in a day or two," she answered.

"The señor Cliffe is to be envied for having a dutiful daughter," Gomez smiled. "Still, I need not offer my sympathy, because it is his wish that you should go to him."

"When?" Evelyn asked eagerly.

"As soon as you are ready. I have ordered the mules, and you can bring what you think needful. We could start after dinner, and I offer myself as escort for part of the way."

"But this is impossible!" Señora Herrero exclaimed in horrified protest.

Gomez spread out his hands deprecatingly.

"With apologies, señora, I think not. My plan is that you should go with your guest until I can place her in some other lady's hands."

"But it is years since I have ridden a mule, and exercise makes me ill! Besides, I cannot leave my husband and my household."

Evelyn remembered afterward that her hostess's indignant expression suddenly changed, as if Gomez had given her a warning look; but he answered good-humoredly:

"I have seen Don José. He feels desolated at the thought of losing you for two or three days, but he agrees that we must do all we can to suit the wishes of our American friends. Besides, you can travel to Galdo, where we stay the night, in a coach. I will see that one is sent, but it may take an hour or two to find mules."

"They must be good," said the señora. "I am heavy, and the road is bad."

"We will pick the best; but until you overtake us the señorita Cliffe will, no doubt, be satisfied with my escort. We should reach Galdo soon after dark. The señora Romanez will receive us there, and we start early the next morning on our journey to the hills."

Gomez turned to Evelyn.

"This meets with your approval?" he asked suavely.

"Oh, yes," she agreed; though she afterward realized that there was no obvious reason why she should not have waited for the coach, and that it was curious her hostess did not suggest this.

Gomez returned after dinner before Evelyn was quite ready, and she was somewhat surprised that he made no remark about the luggage she wished to take. It was skilfully lashed on the broad pack-saddles, and they set off when she mounted a handsome mule. There were two baggage animals, driven by dark-skinned peons, and two mounted men brought up the rear. Gomez said this explained the delay in getting mules for the coach, but added that the girl would find the journey pleasanter in the saddle.

Evelyn agreed with him as they rode down the roughly paved street. It was a relief to be moving, and the air had got pleasantly cool. Half-breed women with black shawls round their heads looked up at her from beside their tiny charcoal cooking fires, and she saw dark eyes flash with hostility as her escort passed. Here and there a woman of pure Spanish blood stood on a balcony and glanced down with shocked prudery at the bold American, but Evelyn smiled at this. She distrusted Gomez, who obviously was not a favorite with the poorer citizens, but as a traveling companion she did not find much fault with him.

After a while they left the houses behind and turned into a dusty, rutted track. The murmur of the sea followed them until they reached a belt of forest where the sound was cut off, and Evelyn felt as if she had lost a friend. The measured beat of the surf and the gleam of spray were familiar things; the forest was mysterious, and oppressively silent. In places a red glow shone among the massive trunks, but, for the most part, they were hung with creepers and all below was wrapped in shade. The track grew soft and wet; the air was steamy and filled with exotic smells. Evelyn felt her skin get damp, and the mules fell into a labored pace.

Strange noises began to fill the gathering gloom; the air throbbed with a humming that rose and fell. Deep undertones and shrill pipings that it was hard to believe were made by frogs and insects pierced the stagnant air. Specks of phosphorescent light twinkled among the leaves, but the fireflies were familiar and Evelyn welcomed them. She felt suddenly homesick, and wished they were not leaving the coast; but she remembered that her father had sent for her, and brushed her uneasiness away.

After a time, Gomez stopped.

"We have not gone fast, and the señora ought to overtake us soon," he said. "Will you get down and wait for her?"

The forest, with the thin mist drifting through it, had a forbidding look, and, for the first time that she could recollect, Evelyn felt afraid of the dark.

"Let us go on," she said.

Gomez hesitated a moment and then acquiesced.

The road got steep and the mist thicker. Drooping creepers brushed them as they passed, and now and then Evelyn was struck by a projecting branch. Her mule, however, needed no guidance, and she sank into a dreamy lethargy. There was something enervating and soporific in the steamy atmosphere.

At last the gloom began to lighten and they came out into the luminous clearness of the tropic night. In front lay a few flat blocks of houses, surrounded by fields of cane, and here and there a patch of broad-leafed bananas. Passing through the silent village they reached a long building which Gomez said was the Romanez hacienda.

Lights gleamed in the windows, but they knocked twice before a strong, arched door was unfastened, and they rode through into the patio. It was obvious that they were expected. A gentleman dressed in white, his stout wife in black, and a girl who wore a thin, yellow dress, came down to welcome them. They were hospitable, but Evelyn, speaking only a few words of Castilian, and feeling very tired, was glad when her hostess showed her to her room.

She soon went to sleep, and, wakening early, felt invigorated by the cool air that flowed in through the open window and the sight of the blue hills that rose, clean-cut, against the morning sky. Then she had a drowsy recollection of something being wrong, and presently remembered that the señora Herrero had not arrived. This, however, was not important, because Gomez could no doubt arrange for her hostess to accompany them on the next stage of their journey.

Evelyn found Gomez apologetic when they met at breakfast. He was much vexed with the alcalde's wife, but the señorita Romanez and her duenna would take her place, and he expected to put Evelyn in her father's care in two more days. This, he added, would afford him a satisfaction that would be tempered by regret.

They started after breakfast, but Evelyn did not feel drawn to her new companion. Luisa Romanez was handsome in a voluptuous style, with dark hair, a powdered face, and languishing black eyes, but so far as she could make her meaning clear, she banteringly complimented Evelyn on having won the admiration of a distinguished man. Evelyn declared that this was a mistake, and Gomez had offered his escort as a duty, to which Doña Luisa returned a mocking smile. Her amusement annoyed Evelyn. On the whole, she was glad that conversation was difficult. The sour, elderly duenna who rode behind them said nothing at all.

After traveling all day, they stopped at a lonely hacienda, where Evelyn soon retired to rest. She slept well, and, wakening rather late the next morning, found that Doña Luisa and her duenna had left an hour before. This was embarrassing, because Evelyn knew something about Spanish conventions; but, after all, she was an American, and they did not apply to her.

Gomez appeared annoyed and extremely apologetic.

"There has been a misunderstanding," he explained. "I thought the señorita Romanez would go with us to Rio Frio, but she told me last night that she must return early this morning. I expostulated and implored, but the señorita was firm. She declared she had not promised to come farther than the hacienda. You see my unfortunate position. One cannot compel a lady to do what she does not wish."

"When shall we reach Rio Frio?" Evelyn asked.

"If all goes well, late this afternoon."

Evelyn thought for a moment. She was vexed and vaguely alarmed, but her father was waiting for her at Rio Frio.

"Then let us start as soon as possible," she said.

Gomez bowed.

"When breakfast is over. I go to give my men their orders."

Leaving the hacienda, they rode by rough, steep tracks that wound through belts of forest and crossed sun-scorched slopes. Although it was hot, the air was clear, and Evelyn was pleased to see that Gomez kept the mules at a steady pace. At noon they reached a cluster of poverty-stricken mud houses, and Gomez called one of the ragged, half-breed peons. They talked for some time in a low voice, and then Gomez turned to Evelyn.

"I am afraid we shall have to wait here for two or three hours," he said. "It might be dangerous to go any farther now."

"But I must get on!" Evelyn answered sharply.

"Your wishes would be a command, only that I must think of your safety first. There is an inn in the village, and while you rest I will explain why we cannot go forward."

Evelyn found the small fonda indescribably dirty, but it offered shelter from the sun. Openings in its bare walls let in puffs of breeze, and decaying lattices kept out the glare, but the room was full of flies, and rustling sounds showed that other insects lurked in the crevices. The place reeked with the smell of caña and kerosene, and Evelyn had to force herself to eat a little of the greasy mess that was set before her in rude, sun-baked crockery. When the meal was over Gomez began his explanation.

"You have heard that the country is disturbed. There are turbulent people who want a revolution, and I am not popular with them."

Evelyn smiled, for she had learned something about the country's politics and she thought he had expressed the feeling of its discontented citizens very mildly. She distrusted him, but, so far, his conduct had been irreproachable.

"I see you understand," he resumed. "The worst is that you too are an object of suspicion; it is known that your father is a friend of the President and has business with him. Well, I have been warned that some of our enemies are in the neighborhood, and they might rouse the peons to attack us. They will know when we left the hacienda and watch for us, but we can outwit them by waiting a while and then taking another road."

This was plausible, and Evelyn agreed to the delay, although she did not feel quite satisfied when Gomez left her. The dirty room was very hot and its atmosphere unspeakably foul, but she could not sit outside in the sun, and, taking up a soiled newspaper, she tried to read. Her knowledge of Castilian did not carry her far, but she made out that the Government was being urged to deal severely with a man named Sarmiento.

Evelyn put down the paper, feeling that she ought to know the name. Sarmiento had some connection with Grahame and his friends; perhaps they had spoken of him. This led her to think of them. It looked as if Grahame were interested in the country's politics. Remembering the promise she had made, she wondered whether the Enchantress was then on the coast. As he seemed to be opposing Gomez, he must be helping the revolutionaries, while her father had business with the President. This was puzzling, and she sat thinking about it for some time; and then looked up with a start as Gomez came in.

"So you have been reading the diario!" he remarked.

"I don't understand very much; but who is Don Martin Sarmiento?"