The Dust of Conflict

Still, he limped on, dreaming, while each step cost him agony, of the brown woods at Northrop and the sheen of frost on the red brier leaves in the English lanes, for all that he had seen during that last eventful fortnight there flashed into his memory. He could recall the chill of the night air when he stood looking into the future from the face of the hill as he went to meet keeper Davidson; the sweep of velvet lawn, the song of the robin on the lime bough in the bracing cold of morning, and plainer than all the face of the woman he had made a promise to under the soft light in the conservatory. He did not know what that promise would cost him when he made it; but the woman had read his character, and was warranted in deciding that it would be kept.

No road, however, goes on interminably, and the white aldea of Arucas rose before them when the sun was low. They plodded into it, limping and stumbling over the slippery stones, and frightening the dark-eyed children with their grim faces; for there was a hum of life behind the lattices now, and a cooking of the comida in the patios and in front of the open doors. Harper sniffed hungrily – for the pungent odors of the dark green oil and garlic hung about the flat-topped houses – and finally halted before an archway leading into a shadowy patio. There was a legend above it.

“‘The Golden Fleece’!” he said. “Well, they’ll have some wine here, and I’ve got five pesetas.”

They went in, and when they limped into the guest chamber a man dressed in unstarched linen stared at them aghast.

“Madre de Dios!” he said.

He would apparently have backed away in consternation had not Harper, who slipped between him and the door, stood with his back to it; while Appleby spoke two words softly in Castilian. They were without connection and apparently meaningless, but they carried weight with those who had any hand in the insurrection, and the landlord sat down, evidently irresolute.

“Would you ruin me? The Sin Verguenza are scattered, and Espada Morales is not far away,” he said.

“Still,” said Appleby dryly, “they are not dead, my friend, and it is only those who are buried that never come back again.”

The innkeeper nodded, for the delicacy of the hint as well as the man’s accent were thoroughly Castilian.

“Well,” he said reflectively, “here one is ruined in any case, and what one gives to the friends of liberty Morales will not get. After all, it is but a handful of beans or an omelet, and it is golden onzas those others would have from me.”

“If eggs are not too dear here we can pay,” said Appleby, with a laugh, and turned to see that Harper was glancing at him reproachfully.

It was evident that the innkeeper saw him, too, for a little smile came into his eyes. “Then it is seldom so with the Sin Verguenza,” he said. “Doubtless your companion is one of them.”

“Silver is scarce with the Sin Verguenza,” said Appleby. “Still, there are debts they pay with lead.”

The innkeeper set food before them – beans and oil, an omelet, and a bottle of thin red wine from the Canaries. He also somewhat reluctantly produced a few cigars of a most excellent tobacco; and Harper sighed with pure content when he dropped into a big raw-hide chair when the meal was over.

“Now I could ’most be happy if I knew when we would strike another place like this,” he said. “Still, it’s quite plain to me that we can’t stay here. There are too many cazadores prowling up and down this carretera.”

It was equally evident to Appleby, but, crippled as he was he could find no answer to the question how he was to drag himself any farther, and he lay still, considering the chances of their being given a hidden bed in a forage loft, until there was a great clatter on the stones outside. Harper was on his feet in a moment, and sprang to the window grim in face, but once there he laughed.

“Only a carriage with a man and a woman in it,” he said, “You let me do the talking if old yellow-face wants to turn us out of here. Anyway, if I go, what’s left of the wine goes with me.”

To make sure of this he slipped the bottle into his pocket, and turned discreetly when the landlord came in.

“By permission, gentlemen, I will show you another room,” he said.

“This one will serve quite well,” said Harper in Castilian.

The landlord concealed his impatience by a gesture of deprecation. “Comes a rich American and a lady,” he said. “These people are, it seems, fastidious, but they pay me well.”

“An American,” said Harper condescendingly. “Well, we are equal there in my country, and I do not object to his company. You can show him in.”

It was too late for the innkeeper to expostulate, for a man in white duck and a girl in a long white dress came into the room, while Appleby set his lips when he recognized the latter. He was ragged, dirty, and unkempt, while one shoe was horribly crusted, and it was very much against his wishes to encounter Nettie Harding a second time in much the same condition. Harper, however, appeared in no way disconcerted, and stepped forward, a dilapidated scarecrow, with the bottle neck projecting suggestively from his pocket.

“Come right in, Mr. Harding,” he said. “It’s quite pleasant to meet a countryman in this forlorn land.”

Harding smiled dryly, but his daughter turned to Appleby with a gleam of compassion in her eyes and held out her hand.

“We are very glad to meet you, Mr. Broughton,” she said.

Appleby felt grateful for the tactful kindness which restrained any sign of astonishment, but Harding laughed.

“I never go back upon anything my daughter says, but I don’t know that I’m sorry we shall not be honored with the company of any more of the Sin Verguenza,” he said. “We have ordered comida, and should be pleased if you will sit down with us.”

Appleby would have excused himself, but Harper broke in, “The Sin Verguenza have gone, and it’s not going to worry me if they never come back again. As to the other question, I can generally find a use for a dinner, and if my company’s any pleasure be glad to throw it in.”

Appleby would have offered an explanation, but Harper silenced him by a gesture, and the landlord came in with the viands.

“Bring more plates. These gentlemen will eat with me,” said Harding.

The landlord appeared astonished, and stared at Harper with bewildered incredulity, until Nettie Harding, who was quick-witted, laughed, and the bronze grew deeper in Appleby’s cheeks. Harper, however, was by no means disconcerted.

“Well,” he said naively, “out of compliment to your father I’ll worry through another one. You see, it may be quite a long while before we get a meal again.”

They sat down, and while Appleby said very little Harding talked tactfully of England and America, and made no allusion to anything that concerned Cuba. Harper seconded him ably, for there was, as usual with his countrymen, no diffidence in him; and Appleby wondered whether there was any reason for Miss Harding’s curious little smile. Then when the fruit was removed Harding closed the door and took out his cigar case.

“Take a smoke. Miss Harding does not mind!” he said.

Appleby made excuses, but Harper laid the cigars the landlord had supplied them with on the table.

“You’ll try one of these,” he said. “I think they’re good.”

Harding lighted a cigar, and then it seemed to Appleby that a change came over his attitude, though he also fancied that Miss Harding had expected it.

“They are,” he said. “You got them cheap?”

There was no mistaking the significance of his tone, and Appleby straightened himself a trifle. Still, he felt he could not well rebuke the man whose dinner he had just eaten.

“Isn’t that a little beyond the question, sir?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t quite know that it is. I’m going to talk now, and it may save time and worry if I put it straight. What’s the matter with the Sin Verguenza?”

“Busted!” said Harper. “Smashed up a company of cazadores, and lit out. Nobody’s going to worry over them.”

“Which is why you are here?”

“You’ve hit it right off,” said Harper.

“If you feel inclined to tell me anything more I’ll listen.”

Appleby, who resented the man’s tone as much as he was astonished at it, was about to observe that he felt no inclination to trespass further on his host’s patience, but he fancied there was a warning in Nettie Harding’s eyes, and Harper did not wait for him. He at once launched into an ornate account of the affray, and discreetly mentioned their present difficulties. Harding listened gravely, and then turned to Appleby.

“I have a Spanish sugar grower to visit, and you will excuse me, but I would like to see you again before you leave the hotel,” he said. “Anyway, it wouldn’t be quite safe for you to take the road just now.”

He went out with his daughter, and when they were in the patio the girl looked at him. “You have got to do something for them,” she said quietly.

“Yes,” said Harding, with a little nod, “I am going to. As it happens, it will suit me.”

It was an hour later when they came back, and as the light was fading Harding bade the landlord bring a lamp before he sat down, and turned to Appleby and Harper, who were somewhat anxiously waiting him.

“You are scarcely likely to know anything about growing or crushing sugar, Mr. Broughton?” he said.

“No, sir. Nothing whatever.”

“Thank you!” said Harding, and glanced with a little smile at Harper. “I guess it’s not necessary to ask you.”

“No,” said Harper tranquilly. “I know a little about anything there’s money in, and what I don’t I can learn. Bernardino’s going to show himself ’most as quick as me. It’s only modesty that’s wrong with him.”

“Well,” said Harding dryly, “he’s an Englishman. Now, Mr. Broughton, in one sense your friend is right. Adaptability is the quality we most appreciate; and a good many men in my country, including myself, have made quite a pile out of businesses they knew very little about when they took hold of them. Well, I want a straight man, with good nerves and a cool head, to run a sugar estate for me. I don’t want him to cut the cane or oil the machinery – that will be done for him; but he will have to hold my interests safe, and see I’m not unduly squeezed by the gentlemen who keep order here. If he robs me on his own account he will probably hear of it. Are you willing to take hold on a six months’ trial?”

“There is a difficulty.

“Your partner? That got over, you would be willing?”

“Yes,” said Appleby. “I should be devoutly thankful, too.”

Harding turned to Harper. “I have a kind of notion I have seen you before. I don’t mean in Santa Marta.”

“Oh yes,” said Harper, grinning. “You once had a deal with me. I ran you in a load of machinery without paying duty.”

“You did. I fancied you would have had reasons for preferring not to remember it.”

Harper laughed. “Now, it seems to me the fact that I came out ahead of Cyrus Harding ought to be a testimonial. I was fighting for my own hand then, but I never took anything I wasn’t entitled to from the man who hired me – at least, if I did I can’t remember it.”

“Don’t try it again,” said Harding, with a little grim smile. “In this case, I think it would be risky. Well, I guess I can find a use for you too, but the putting you together increases the steepness of the chances you are taking. Does that strike you?”

“Yes, sir,” said Appleby. “Still, I am afraid you must take both or neither.”

Harding laughed. “Then I’ll show you the place and what your business will be before we argue about the salary. In the meanwhile here are five dollars. Go out and buy hats, but no clothing yet. We’ll get that later. Then walk out of the village, and wait for me out of sight along the carretera. You needn’t be bashful about taking the dollars. They will be deducted from your salary.”

They went out and bought the hats, and had just time to spring clear of the road when two or three mounted officers trotted by. Five minutes later the officers pulled up at the hotel, and Harding, who met them in the patio, recognized Espada Morales in one who saluted him.

“You have had a pleasant drive?” he said. “The Señorita Harding I trust is well?”

Harding nodded, though he was not pleased to notice that the officer’s dark eyes wandered round the patio and as though in search of somebody.

“She will be gratified to hear of your inquiry,” he said. “We are going back now, and there is a kindness you could do me. I am taking two new servants to the San Cristoval sugar mill, and you may have troops or pickets who would stop us on the road.”

Morales tore a slip from a little pad he took from his pocket, scribbled across it, and handed it to Harding.

“If you are questioned show them that,” he said. “When you desire any other service I am at your command.”

Harding took the paper and told his driver to get the mules out, while ten minutes after he and his daughter left the hotel he bade the man pull up beside two figures standing in the road. They got into the carriage when he signed to them.

“If you had waited a little longer you might have met Morales face to face, Mr. Broughton, and that foot of yours would probably have convicted a more innocent man,” he said. “As it is, I have a pass from him that will prevent anybody worrying you until we reach San Cristoval.”

Then the driver flicked the mules, and they rolled swiftly forward into the soft darkness that now hid the cane and dimmed the long white road.

XI – THE ALCALDE’S BALL

CYRUS HARDING thoroughly understood the importance of trifles, and possessed a quick insight, which went far to insure the success of whatever he took in hand. It was because of this he picked Appleby and Harper up by the roadside in place of driving away with them from the “Golden Fleece,” and seized the opportunity of obtaining a pass from Colonel Morales. The driver was in his service, and Harding had discovered one or two facts concerning him which rendered a hint that his silence would be advisable tolerably effective. Thus no questions were asked them when they were twice stopped by a patrol, and skirting Santa Marta in the darkness they reached the San Cristoval hacienda without attracting undesirable attention.

Next morning Harding also drove back to Santa Marta and purchased clothing, apparently for himself, so that when his new assistants made their appearance there was nothing about them that was likely to excite anybody’s curiosity; while the doctor who dressed Appleby’s foot was allowed to surmise that it had been injured in the crushing mill. He had, it was suspected, liberationist sympathies, so that it was of no great importance that he was not quite convinced. Appleby, being installed as general manager, showed a facility of comprehension and an administrative ability that would probably have astonished any one who had not Harding’s talent for handling men; and when some little time had passed the latter left him in charge without misgivings while he made a business visit to New York. As he purposed to return promptly he also left his daughter with the wife of the Spanish banker at Santa Marta, and it was about that time the Alcalde of the latter place gave a ball to celebrate certain successes of the Spanish arms. The Sin Verguenza had disappeared, and there was at least every outward sign of tranquillity in that district.

That was how it came about that Appleby and Miss Harding, who had seen a good deal of each other in the meanwhile sat out in the moonlight on a veranda of the Alcalde’s house overlooking the patio. It was filled with flowers, and in place of the Sin Verguenza’s revelry the tinkle of guitars, swish of costly dresses, light patter of feet, and decorous laughter came out from the open windows that blazed with light. Nettie Harding was also now attired as became her station, and the soft shimmer of pearls emphasized the whiteness of her neck. Still, she remembered the last time she had entered that patio, and a faint tinge of color came into her cheek as her eyes rested for a moment on the veranda above them. As it happened, Appleby, without intending it, met her eyes a moment later, and each realized what the other’s thoughts were. The man turned his head suddenly, but he felt he could not gaze across the patio indefinitely, and when he looked round again he saw the girl had laid her fan upon her knee and was regarding him curiously.

“There is a difference, is there not?” she said.

Appleby sat still, feeling distinctly uncomfortable, and wondering what was expected of him, though he was not altogether astonished, because he knew Nettie Harding’s spirit.

“Yes,” he said. “The place is a good deal prettier now. These folks have quite an artistic taste, you know.”

The girl laughed softly. “Oh yes. Still, do you never come out of your shell? We, as you may have noticed, are rather fond of doing so, and at least occasionally say what we think.”

Appleby hoped he appeared unconcerned, for, though he knew Miss Harding could be daring, he could not quite decide whether she had quite understood the position on that eventful night, and hoped she had not.

“The difference you mention is at least to my advantage,” he said. “You may remember that I was a ragged outcast then.”

“And now, I think, you are on the way to prosperity. You have made a good friend – Mr. Appleby.”

Appleby started. He had felt it incumbent on him to give Harding an outline of his story, and had, at the latter’s recommendation, applied for a cedilla personale, or certificate of nationality, which it was desirable for aliens to possess just then in his own name; but it had not occurred to him that Harding might be communicative. Still, a curious friendship or camaraderie, of a kind that would have been scarcely possible in England, had sprung up between him and the girl, and he saw that she expected something of him.

“I hope I have made two,” he said. “Indeed, I fancy I owe the improvement in my affairs to the second one.”

“Wouldn’t it be more flattering to consider how much was due to your own abilities?”

Appleby laughed. “I was never considered clever, but I am not quite a fool. There is, one surmises, no scarcity of talented young Americans, and I fancy a good many of them would be glad to serve Cyrus Harding. Still, I don’t know anybody I would sooner take a kindness from.”

“You will have to deserve it, and that implies a question. The Sin Verguenza may come back again?”

“You want the question answered?” said Appleby.

“Yes,” said Nettie. “There are disadvantages in a divided allegiance.”

“Well,” said Appleby slowly, “I hope the decision I think you are alluding to will never be forced on me, for I have had sufficient of the Sin Verguenza. While I take Cyrus Harding’s money I accept the obligation that goes with it; but when I was starving, and did not know where I would be safe from the cazadores, the Sin Verguenza fed me, and I think I owe them something.”

Nettie Harding smiled and shook her head reproachfully, but there was a little gleam in her eyes. “They fed you!” she said. “Now, there are men in my country who would have expressed themselves much more artistically. Still, you would have felt ashamed, wouldn’t you, if you had given yourself away? Do you know there is one reason why you made a second friend? You are like Julian, and when you meet him you will have a third who will, though he may not tell you so eloquently, remember what you have done for him.”

Appleby sat silent, as he usually did when in doubt. He was not a vain man or apt to lose his head, while the one woman he might have fallen in love with was far away in England; but he knew who Julian was, and wondered whether Miss Harding had meant to supply him with a useful hint. In the meanwhile the swish of dresses, patter of feet, and tinkle of guitars grew louder, and drowned the soft splashing of the fountain among the flowers.

“That sounds very pretty,” he said. “Have you noticed that there is something curious but alluring in Spanish music? They got it from the East, I think.”

Nettie laughed. “The shell fits you very close. Still, you told me you had made a second friend, and that implies a good deal, I think. That is why I am going to ask you a question. What brought you out from the old country? I want to know more than my father does.”

She looked him steadily in the eyes, and though Appleby was never quite sure why he did so he told her. Once or twice she asked an apposite question, and there was something in her close attention and unexpressed sympathy that wiled from him more than he had ever meant to communicate to any one, for Nettie Harding knew her influence and could direct it well. She sat thoughtfully silent for at least a minute when he had finished, and then once more looked at him.

“I don’t know if you expect appreciation – but I think you were very foolish,” she said.

“No,” said Appleby slowly. “Not in this case. You see, he was very fond of her.”

Again the little gleam showed in the girl’s eyes, but she shook her head. “I have paid you too many indirect compliments, though you naturally did not notice them, to waste any more on you, and I am going to talk straight,” she said. “The Deus ex machina is quite too big a part for you. To put it differently – why did you meddle with affairs altogether beyond your comprehension?”

“I think I told you she was very fond of him.”

“You didn’t,” said Nettie. “Still, we are getting considerably nearer the truth now. Do you know you hit off that girl’s character with an insight I never suspected you had in you? You made me understand her. And you had seen her for just fourteen days.”

“One can come to a conclusion about a man or woman in even a shorter time.”

“Of course! In a good deal less. In one fateful moment – some folks believe!”

Appleby saw the little mocking smile fade from the girl’s lips and something he could not quite fathom in her eyes, though it in a fashion suggested comprehension and sympathy. If he was right, Miss Harding’s penetration appeared astonishing. He would not, however, betray himself, and his voice was even when he said, “You have not shown me yet where I was mistaken.”

“In trying to bring folks together who were best apart; and when you thought she was fond of him you were wrong.”

“No,” said Appleby doggedly.

Nettie laughed in a curious fashion. “She does not know your friend as you do, for you gave him away by the excuses you made for him. The girl you have pictured to me could never be fond of that kind of man. She is in love with the man she thinks he is. You can appreciate the difference, but she will find him out sooner or later.”

Appleby started. “No,” he said. “I think he will tell her, and she will forgive him; though he did nothing very wrong.”

“That man will never tell her – or speak a word to clear you. Still, I think you can do without friends of that kind. You have good ones in this country.”

Appleby was glad that he was relieved of the necessity of answering, because the banker’s wife waddled out, clad in black from heel to crown – for she wore a lace mantilla there – with powdered face, into the veranda; and since the camaraderie that existed between him and the girl was not likely to be understood or appreciated by a lady of Castilian extraction he went away. He also wanted to think, and descending to a nook of the patio where there was a seat lighted a cigar.

If Miss Harding was right, and he had seen already that she was a young woman of singular penetration, he had made his sacrifice – which had, however, not cost him very much – in vain; but what disconcerted him was the fact that she had forced the truth he had strenuously striven to close his eyes to upon him. Still, even that, he told himself, did not count for very much just then. Even if she did not love Tony, Violet Wayne was patrician to her finger tips and he an outcast adventurer. That was a very convincing reason why he should think no more of her, and yet even then her face rose up before his fancy and would not be driven away. It was almost a relief when he heard a step behind him, and turning sharply saw a little olive-faced officer in tight green uniform smiling at him.

“You do not find the women of this country sympathetic – though you dance our dances well?” he said.

Appleby was on his guard, and regretted he had figured in the many-stepped dances he had been taught at Algeciras at all, for he had hitherto deemed it wise to evince no close acquaintance with Castilian customs; and Espada Morales had very keen eyes.