The Coast of Adventure

The priest came forward and Walthew recognized Father Agustin.

"There has been a mistake," the priest said to Blanca, and bowed to Walthew. "You will excuse me; I have an order to give."

Walthew thought it had something to do with his arrival. He was no longer suspicious, but puzzled. He was among friends, but they had received him in a curious manner.

He turned to Blanca with a smile.

"It looks as if I'm intruding, but I hope you won't turn me out."

"Oh, no," she said with a compassionate glance that thrilled him. "You seem ill and tired. Are you hurt?"

"Not much; a scratch on my head. But are you safe here? They told us the woods were full of the President's soldiers."

"We shall be gone at daybreak, and we have a guard." Blanca paused and resumed with an air of relief: "It was fortunate you did not pass the house."

"That's a sure thing," Walthew agreed. "However, I guess I know what you mean. When I pulled up I fancied your friends were watching for me, and I'd have found the road blocked if I'd gone on. Don't you think you had better tell me what it's all about?"

Blanca hesitated with some color in her face, but just then Father Agustin returned.

"I have warned the men," he informed the girl.

"Señor Walthew wishes to know what is going on," she said.

"It might be better that he should know, and he is to be trusted; but you must decide whether you will tell him or not."

Blanca was silent for a moment, and then began in a rather strained voice:

"We have a spy in the President's household, and word was sent us that a man would leave Villa Paz with some important despatches for Gomez. We believe they contain instructions about what he must do when the fighting begins, but, to avoid suspicion, Altiera is sending a foreign trader to whom he has given some privileges. We expect him to stop and change mules here, because the hacienda belongs to one of the President's supporters."

"I see!" said Walthew. "He would not have carried the despatches past this house. But where is its owner?"

"Hiding at a hacienda some distance off. He is a timid man, and we had him warned that the rebels were coming to burn the place. An hour after he left with his family we took possession."

"But why did Don Martin send you?" Walthew asked sharply. "Hasn't he men enough?"

Blanca blushed and looked embarrassed, but the next moment she lifted her head with an air of pride. There was a sparkle in her deep blue eyes.

"I am a patriot, señor, and ready to make a sacrifice for my country. We must seize the despatches, but we do not wish to use force on a foreigner, because this might lead to trouble. Our plan was to change the papers for others and send the messenger on without his knowing that he had lost them. It would not be an easy matter – "

"In short," Father Agustin interposed with some dryness, "the señorita thought she might succeed where a man would fail."

The blood rushed to Walthew's face, for he understood. Blanca meant to use her personal charm to trick and rob the messenger. It seemed to him an outrage; but she fixed her eyes on him, and they had a haughty, challenging look. She was daring him to deny that the course she meant to take was warranted. He was furiously angry, but he tried to be just, and he knew that she would not go too far.

"It seems you do not approve!" she said.

Walthew felt a thrill. In a sense, she had admitted that his good opinion was worth something; but he saw that he must be careful. She was proud and had the fiery Spanish temperament. He might lose her by a hint of doubt.

"No," he said, "I don't approve; but I can conquer my prejudices, as you must have done. It is hateful to think of a woman's doing such work, but one must admire the courage that has helped you to undertake it. I dare say the cause demands the sacrifice."

The girl's expression softened, and she smiled as she turned to the priest.

"Do you not think Señor Walthew has answered well?"

"It is obvious that he has tact, and I think he has feeling," said Father Agustin. "But has he not some news for us, perhaps?"

"I have," said Walthew. "I want your help."

He began with the arrival of Evelyn's message, and Blanca started as if about to speak, but Father Agustin stopped her by a sign. Her face grew intent as Walthew told how they had driven the Enchantress before the gale, and her eyes sparkled when he deprecatingly related the struggle on the beach.

"I think you have no reason to apologize," she said. "They must have sent a strong guard, and you tried to rescue your friend alone. Miguel was right; there was nothing to be done by two or three men with knives." Then she paused with a thoughtful look. "It seems you do not know that Miss Cliffe is safe with us."

"It is a relief to learn that," Walthew said with feeling.

"Since she was at Rio Frio when she sent the note, it is plain that Gomez added the few lines that led you into the trap. But we must think how we can rescue Mr. Grahame. You suggest that the men who came with you from San Lucar have no plans?"

"No. They expected to gather a force on the way, but the peons had already gone off to join Don Martin. We meant to steal into Rio Frio and then see what could be done. All I know is that I'm not going back without my partner."

"We may find a way to set him free, but it will need some thought," Father Agustin remarked. "When a thing looks difficult, force is not always the best means."

"It doesn't seem likely to be of much use now," Walthew gloomily agreed. "I'd six of your countrymen with me until I lost them, and we were told that Gomez was filling Rio Frio with soldiers… But how did you come to take a part in this affair?"

Father Agustin's eyes twinkled.

"I came as duenna. You were surprised when you heard what the señorita had undertaken, but it appeared that my presence might be something of a protection and, perhaps, a guarantee. One concludes that this did not strike you."

Walthew looked embarrassed, but Father Agustin smiled.

"You look as if you need refreshment," he said. "We will have our supper now."

When the meal was finished, Father Agustin kept Walthew talking while Blanca leaned back silently in her chair. Her look was strained, and once Walthew surprised her cautious glance at the clock.

"I had forgotten the despatch-carrier," he said with some sharpness. "He doesn't seem to be coming."

"There is another road; longer and at present dangerous," explained Father Agustin. "We have had it watched, but this is the obvious way for a messenger to take."

"For all that," said Walthew steadily, "I hope the fellow will choose the other."

Neither of them answered. Blanca lay back in her chair; the priest sat with one elbow on the table, his cheek resting on his upturned palm. He was very tired.

Walthew studied him for a moment and then put his thoughts into words.

"It is curious, Father Agustin, that whenever I have met you things began to happen."

"It is possible. Perhaps a priest is most needed where there is trouble, and my mission is not always peace. One looks forward to the time when lust and greed and cruelty shall no longer rule the hearts of men, but it has not come yet."

Walthew lighted the cigarette his host passed over to him. Though Father Agustin had told him nothing new and his manner was by no means dramatic, he felt impressed. The quiet priest in his shabby cassock and clumsy, raw-hide shoes, had somehow a dominating personality. It was hard to tell what part he took in the revolution, but even if it were not directly active, Walthew thought him a moral force that must be reckoned with.

For a time nothing was said. There was no sound in the room except the ticking of the clock, and it seemed to Walthew that the house had a deserted feeling; he imagined that there was nobody in it except themselves. He grew angry and pitiful by turns as he glanced at Blanca. It was a hateful task she had been given, but he saw that she meant to carry it out. He wanted to get on, because Grahame might be in danger, but he could not leave until the despatch-carrier came. One could trust Father Agustin, but Walthew felt that he must be on hand.

It got cooler, and a faint, earthy smell crept in through the windows. Now and then the lamp flickered in a passing draught, and once or twice they forced themselves to talk, but the effort was obvious and the voices presently died away. After this the quietness became oppressive, and by degrees Walthew grew drowsy. Rousing himself, he felt ashamed as he glanced at the girl. She did not move, but her pose was tense, and he knew that she was watchful. He resented the craving for sleep when she was bearing a heavy strain, but he had traveled fast since he left the lagoon and his exhausted body demanded rest.

He would not give in, and at last he started as a faint throbbing sound reached him from outside. It came from a long way off, but grew plainer, and he saw Father Agustin lean forward. Then Blanca stood up with a tinge of color in her face and a tightening of her lips. Somebody was riding hard down the road. There was a shout and a sharp answer.

For a few moments the three stood waiting with forced calm, and then a man hurriedly entered.

"Pepe is here, señor," he announced.

"Ah!" said Father Agustin quietly. "Bring him in." He turned to Walthew. "It is one of our men who watched the other road. Something has gone wrong."

Walthew saw Blanca's expression change. Although she had meant to get the despatches, he knew she felt relieved.

Pepe entered. His face was wet with perspiration and he spoke with a breathless quickness that prevented Walthew's following what he said. Still, it was plain that his news was bad, for his manner was apologetic, and Father Agustin looked thoughtful.

"Wait outside; we may want you," he said and turned to Walthew after dismissing the fellow. "The messenger must have been suspicious and our men have blundered. It was very dark and he came upon them suddenly. One was shot as he seized the mule and the messenger escaped before they could mount, but he was forced to turn back."

"Could he pass them by making a round?"

"It is not likely. There is this road and the other, with thick forest between, and both are guarded. The man must wait for daylight, and I do not think he will reach Rio Frio. We may turn this to your advantage, but it needs thought."

He sat down and lighted a cigarette, and Walthew waited in silence until he looked up.

"It is possible that Gomez will offer your comrade his liberty in exchange for information he can use against Don Martin."

"Grahame will give him none," Walthew answered emphatically.

"Then I imagine he is in some danger. You would take a risk to rescue him?"

"Of course!"

"Very well. Gomez is waiting for instructions and probably knows that the messenger is a foreigner. I suggest that you impersonate him. The guards will let you pass, and Gomez will, no doubt, receive you alone. Then you must try to extort an order for your friend's release."

"I'm a pretty good shot," said Walthew meaningly. "I might get him covered before I begin."

Father Agustin made a sign of impatience.

"Your best argument will be this – if you are detained for more than a few minutes, there will be a tumult in the town. Gomez will hesitate about forcing a rising before he gets his orders. Then as soon as you enter the house some of our people will find an excuse for loitering about the door. The soldiers are not well drilled; it might not be difficult to surprise and disarm the sentry, and then the house could be seized. For all that, there is a risk. Success will depend upon your nerve and coolness."

"I can't think of any better plan," said Walthew.

Blanca gave him a quick glance, and he thrilled as he saw a hint of trouble in her face. He thought she was unwilling that he should run into danger, but the next moment her eyes sparkled.

"It will work!" she said. "I am coming to help!"

Walthew made a sign of protest, but she would not let him speak.

"I promised to get the despatches, and the messenger may arrive while you are with Gomez. Then somebody must make arrangements for the door to be watched, and I am known in Rio Frio. I can find trustworthy men." She raised her hand imperiously. "You need not object, señor. I am going!"

Walthew was forced to acquiesce, and an hour afterward they left the hacienda and rode through the dark bush with two well-armed men behind them.

CHAPTER XXIX

THE PRESIDIO

The sun hung low in the western sky, with a peak of the black cordillera cutting its lower edge, and Rio Frio shone in the glaring light. Seen from the road across the valley, the town had an ethereal look, for the tiers of square, white houses rose from a gulf of shadow and clustered upon the hillside, glimmering with a pearly luster, picked out by clumps of green. Behind were barren slopes, deepening in color to dusky purple as they ran back to the foot of the mountain wall.

Walthew pulled up his mule and sat gazing at the town. He had been riding beside Blanca, while Father Agustin and two others followed at some distance.

"Five minutes ago you could hardly see the place against the background and now it glows as if it were lighted up inside," he remarked. "Looks more like an enchanted palace than a collection of adobe houses. One could imagine that some magician had suddenly conjured it up."

"I'm afraid there's not much enchantment in Rio Frio," Blanca answered. "It's very prosaic and rather dirty."

"Well, I don't know," said Walthew, looking boldly at her. "I'm not given to romantic sentiment, but something very strange happened to me one night in your town. Must have been glamour in the air, for I've been a changed man ever since. You wouldn't expect a matter-of-fact American, who was on the hunt for money, to trail round the country trying to act like Garibaldi, unless he was bewitched."

Blanca smiled prettily.

"You have, at least, chosen to follow a great example, señor."

"I don't think I chose him," Walthew returned dryly. "I'd have looked for somebody easier."

"But you were free to give up the part if you found it too hard for you."

"No; that's the trouble. I wasn't free."

The girl knew that he was not talking at random to hide nervousness. There was an underlying gravity in his manner and she secretly thrilled to it. Although he still wore the dirty bandage and was dusty and unkempt, she thought he had a very gallant air. His eyes were bright and intent, and his thin face was very resolute. The faint smile with which he regarded her somehow emphasized his determined, highstrung look.

"Señor," she said, "it is better to aim high. Achievement is not everything; the effort counts, and it is a generous errand you go upon to-night. But we will talk of something else. Look; there is the house where I spent the only happy years I can remember, until my father heard the call of duty once more and obeyed. Higher up, you can see the green gap of the alameda; beyond it the church of San Sebastian." She paused for a moment with a shiver. "The white line beneath it is the top of the presidio, where Gomez lives. But the light fades quickly, and now, see – everything has gone."

The sun had sunk behind the cordillera, and the white town, changing suddenly to gray, melted out of sight as the shadows rolled up the hillside.

"You must see that it's enchanted," Walthew remarked. "The magician has waved his wand and blotted it out."

"It will shine again to-morrow," Blanca answered in a quiet voice. "The shadows have long rested on this country of ours, but one looks for the dawn."

The others were close behind them, but the party was smaller than it had been. Ragged men with dark, determined faces had been picked up on the way, but it would excite suspicion if they entered Rio Frio in a body, and they had separated during the last hour. Walthew did not know what their orders were, but he thought they would act upon some plan already made if he failed to secure Grahame's release; and Blanca presently bore this conclusion out.

"You will not be left unsupported, but it will be better if you can make Gomez set your comrade free without our help," she said. "We do not wish to strike the first blow to-night, but if it is needful, the presidio will be attacked. Gomez's position is like ours: he is not quite ready to force a conflict. You see how that strengthens your hand. He cannot altogether trust his soldiers, and a shot would rouse the town." Her voice sounded rather strained as she concluded: "But if you are careful, the shot will not be fired. Gomez is cruel, but he is a coward, and will give way if you use moral force."

"It's a big thing," Walthew answered thoughtfully. "Still, I must put it over somehow. I have to get my partner out."

Darkness fell before they reached Rio Frio, and Blanca stopped her mule on the outskirts of the town.

"We must separate here," she said. "I do not think the entrance is carefully guarded, because it is not Gomez's policy to admit that an attack is possible, but there may be spies, and a rural or two on watch." She paused and held out her hand. "I wish you good fortune, señor, and I do not think your nerve will fail, but if the worst comes, we will not leave you in Gomez's power."

Walthew, bending down, kissed her hand and then lifted his hat.

"Until I see you again, señorita," he said and quietly rode on.

There was no moon and the air was still. The town rose before him, vague and shadowy, with a faint musky smell drifting out from it. As he reached the first of the houses, a wave of heat, rising from the rough pavement, surrounded him. The walls looked blank, for there were no lights behind the lattices, but a ray of brightness fell across the street a short distance in front. As he crossed the illuminated strip a man in white uniform stepped forward and seized his bridle.

"Who comes?" he asked, looking hard at Walthew's face.

"A messenger for the secretario."

"Pass, friend," said the other, letting go the bridle.

Walthew rode on, but checked the mule as soon as he was out of sight. It looked as if he had been expected, but he had been warned that he must give the revolutionaries time to communicate with their friends in the city. They might have some trouble in entering it, although he believed they meant to do so through the house of some sympathizer on the outskirts. When he turned a corner he stopped to listen, but heard nothing behind him, and the street in front was quiet. It seemed that nobody had been sent to announce his arrival, and he could proceed slowly without rousing suspicion.

Leaving the direct line, he wound in and out through narrow streets, the mule's shoes clanging on the hot stones. He passed one or two dimly lighted cafés where men, roused by the clatter, looked up, their figures showing indistinct about the small tables between the pillars. Farther on, shadowy groups were sitting close together on the pavement, and though their voices were quiet they had somehow an air of excitement. Men appeared and vanished in the gloom, moving softly and quickly, as if afraid of loitering. There was a mysterious hint of tension about all that Walthew saw, and he felt his heart beat as he rode on.

Crossing the plaza, he dismounted at the hotel he had previously visited, and sent for the majordomo when the hostler grumbled something about the stable's being full.

"You will remember me," he said. "I want to leave my mule here and perhaps spend the night."

"I am sorry, but we have no room; there are a number of strangers in the town. They are not so full at the Golden Fleece."

"I'd rather stay here if I have to wait until to-morrow," Walthew answered. "You take care of the mules well, and I may have a long ride. Then one puts up at a place one knows, with more – confidence."

The majordomo looked hard at him.

"We must try to make room, señor, since you have – confidence."

"Exactly," said Walthew, smiling. "Now I want the mule fed but not unsaddled. I may perhaps need it in an hour, and it would be an advantage if you could find me another."

"It might be possible," the majordomo replied in a thoughtful tone. "Still, there are spies about and they may watch this house. With permission, I will send the mule to Ramon Silva in the calle Pinastro. He is a carrier, and it is known that he buys pack-animals; he will have both mules ready, if you ask for them with confidence."

Walthew thanked the man and set off for the presidio. It was a long, square-fronted building with a sentry-box at the entrance, and an untidy soldier sat smoking outside. Another stood a little farther on in a slouching attitude, a rifle raking across his shoulder and his kepis tilted to one side. Discipline is seldom marked among Spanish-American soldiers, but Walthew was somewhat surprised to note that the fellow was bantering a group of loiterers. They were dressed like peons, and one carried a tray of sweetmeats and another a quantity of cigarettes, apparently for sale. As Walthew passed, the former hurriedly moved his tray, as if to prevent its being upset.

"Be careful, señor!" he exclaimed, giving Walthew a warning glance.

Walthew understood it. The men were not there by accident, and he saw that one was within leaping distance of the sentry. He knew that the Spanish knife is almost as dangerous as the rifle at close quarters; and can, moreover, be thrown a short distance with effect.

"I have a message for the secretario," he told the sentry with a careless air.

The man let him pass, and he saw that he was expected when a dusky steward met him at the door. Since the despatch-carrier was known to be a foreigner, it was easy to enter the presidio, but he wondered what would happen before he left. Now that the dangerous game was about to begin, he clearly recognized the risk he ran. For all that, it looked as if he held the trump cards, and he hoped that he had nerve enough to play them well. Pulling himself together, he followed his guide across the patio and up an outer stair, until the man stopped and knocked at a door.

"The messenger, señor," he announced.

Walthew held his breath until he heard the door shut behind him; then he turned to Gomez, who had risen from his seat at a table. It was a small room and the table stood between the men. Walthew felt his nerves tingle and his skin grow damp with perspiration as Gomez looked at him. There was surprise in the secretary's face and he seemed puzzled, as if he were trying to revive a memory.

"You are not the man we were told would come, but I think I have seen you somewhere," he said.

Walthew stood still, his hand in his jacket pocket, as if about to take the despatches from it.

"The other messenger was detained, but we have met. I once dined at your table at the International, in Havana."

Gomez gave him a quick, suspicious glance.

"Then there is something I do not understand, but it is not important now. You bring the President's orders?"

"No; I bring this."

He took his hand from his pocket and the barrel of an automatic pistol glinted in the light.

Gomez flinched, but recovered his calm with a quickness that showed Walthew he had a dangerous antagonist.

"Push your chair back from that open drawer and then keep still!" he ordered.

Gomez obeyed, and Walthew sat down on the edge of the table, where, if necessary, he could spring up more quickly than from a chair. Besides, the position helped him to keep both Gomez and the door in sight.

"You are uselessly dramatic, señor," Gomez remarked with a forced sneer. "You dare not use the pistol, and I am not to be frightened by so cheap a trick."

Walthew did not put down the weapon.

"Rather stale, but it has served its purpose by stopping you from calling out, and that's all I wanted to begin with. Now I'm going to show you how we stand."

"Your position strikes me as very weak."

"Well," said Walthew coolly, "I don't know. There are some chances in my favor."

"Not many, I think. A shot or a call from me would lead to your immediate arrest."

Walthew lowered the pistol.

"I'm not going to shoot and you won't call. One of your sentries is smoking cigarettes, with a wiry liberator ready to put his knife into him, and something would happen to the other before he could throw up his rifle. Then, a number of my friends are waiting to seize the gate."