A Bitter Heritage

But she did not know, as of course it was impossible that she should know, that drawing near to her was another woman who would bring her such information of what had recently taken place at Desolada as would put all surmises and speculations as to why Sebastian Ritherdon's letter had been written-the lying letter, as she had accurately described it-into the shade. A woman who would tell her that if murder had not yet been done in the remote and melancholy house, it was intended to be done, was brewing; would be done ere long, if Julian Ritherdon did not succumb to the injuries inflicted on him by Madame Carmaux. One who would give her such information that she would be justified in calling upon the authorities of Belize to instantly take steps to proceed to Desolada, and (then and there) to render Sebastian and his accomplice incapable of further crimes.

A woman-Zara-who almost from daybreak had set out from the lonely hacienda with the determination of reaching Belize somehow and of warning Beatrix, the Englishman's friend, of the danger that threatened that Englishman; above all, and this the principal reason, with the determination of saving Sebastian from the commission of a crime which, once accomplished, could never be undone. Yet, also, in her scheming, half-Indian brain, there had arisen other thoughts, other hopes.

"She loves him; this cold, pale-faced English girl loves Sebastian," she thought, still cherishing that delusion as she made her way sometimes along the dusty road, sometimes through copses and groves and thickets, all the paths of which she knew. "She loves him. But," and as this reflection rose in her mind her scarlet lips parted with a bitter smile, and her little pearl-like teeth glistened, "when she knows, when I show her how cruel, how wicked he has intended to be to that other man, so like him yet so different, then-then-ah! then, she will hate him." And again she smiled, even as she pursued her way.

"She will hate him-these English can hate, though they know not what real love means-and then when he finds he has lost her, he will-perhaps-love me. Ah!" And at the thought of the love she longed so for, her eyes gleamed more softly, more starlike, in the dim dawn of the forest glade.

"I shall save him-I shall save him from a crime-then-he-will-love me." And still the look upon her face was ecstatic. "Will marry me. My blood is Indian, not negro-'tis that alone with which these English will not mix theirs; the negro women alone with whom they will never wed. Ah! Sebastian," she murmured, "I must save you from a crime and-from her."

And so she went on and on, seeing the daffodil light of the coming day spreading itself all around; feeling the rays of the swift-rising sun striking through the forests, and parching everything with their fierceness, but heeding nothing of her surroundings. For she thought only of making the "cold, pale-faced English girl" despise the man whom she hungered for herself, and of one other thing-the means whereby to prevent him from doing that which might deprive him of his liberty-of his life and-also, deprive her of him.

CHAPTER XXVIII

"I LIVE TO KILL HIM."

Still she went on, unhalting and resolute, feeling neither fatigue nor heat, or, if she felt them, ignoring them. She was resolved to reach Belize, or to fall dead upon the road or in the forests while attempting to do so.

And thus she came at last to All Pines, seeing the white inn gleaming in the first rays of the sun, it being now past six o'clock; while although her thirst was great, she determined that she would not go near it. She was known too well there as the girl, Zara, from Desolada, and also as she who acted as croupier for all the dissipated young planters who assembled at the inn to gamble, she doing so especially for Sebastian when he held the bank. She would be recognized at once and her presence commented on.

Yet she must pass near it, go through the village street to get forward on her way to Belize; she could only pray in her half-savage way that there might be none about who would see her, while, even as she did so, she knew that her chances of escaping observation were of the smallest. In such broiling lands as those of which Honduras formed one, the earliest and the latest hours of the day are the hours which are the most utilized because of their comparative coolness and consequently few are asleep after sunrise.

Yet, she told herself, perhaps after all it was not of extreme importance whether she was recognised or not. By to-night, if all went well, and if the pale-faced English girl and her father had any spirit in them, they would have taken some steps to prevent that which was meditated at Desolada on this very night. And, if they had not that spirit, then she herself would utter some warning, would herself see the "old judge man," and tell him her story. Perhaps he would listen to it and believe her even though she was but half-breed trash, as those of her race were termed contemptuously as often as not.

But, now, as she drew nearer to the village street, and to where the inn stood, she started in dismay at what she saw outside the door. An animal that she recognised distinctly, not only by itself but by the saddle on its back and the long Mexican stirrups, and also by its colour and flowing mane.

She recognised the favourite horse of Sebastian, the one he always rode, standing at the inn door.

At first a sickening suspicion came to her mind; a fear which she gave utterance to in the muttered words:

"He has followed me. He knows that I have set out for Belize." Then she dismissed the suspicion as impossible. For she remembered that Sebastian had been absent from Desolada all the previous day, and had not returned by the time when the others had gone to rest; she thought now (and felt sure that she had guessed aright) that he had slept at the inn all night, and was about to return to Desolada in the cool of the morning.

Determined, however, to learn what the master of that horse-and of her-was about to do, and above all, which direction he went off in when he came outside, she crept on and on down the street until at last she was nearly in front of the inn door. Then, lithe and agile as a cat, she stole behind a great barn which stood facing the plaza, and so was enabled to watch the opposite house without any possibility of being herself seen from it.

That something of an exciting nature had been taking place within the house (even as Zara had sought the shelter behind which she was now ensconced) she had been made aware by the loud voices and cries she heard-voices, too, that were familiar to her, as she thought. And about one of those voices she had no doubt-could have no doubt-since it was that of the man she loved, Sebastian.

Then, presently, even as she watched the inn through a crack in the old and sun-baked barn-door, the turmoil increased; she heard a scuffling in the passage, more cries and shouts, Sebastian's objurgations rising above all, and, a moment later, the girl saw the latter dragging Paz out into the open space in front of the inn. And he was shaking him as a mastiff might shake a rat that had had the misfortune to find itself in his jaws.

"You hound!" he cried, even as he did so; "you will lurk about Desolada, will you, at light; prying and peering everywhere, as though there were something to find out. And because you are reproved, you endeavour to run away to Belize. What for, you treacherous dog? What for? Answer me, I say," and again he shook the half-caste with one hand, while with the other he rained down blows upon his almost grey head.

But, since the man was extremely lithe, in spite of his age, many of the blows missed their mark; while taking advantage of the twists and turns which he, eel-like, was making in his master's hands, he managed during one of them to wrench himself free from Sebastian. And then, then-Zara had to force her hands over her mouth to prevent herself from screaming out in terror. And she had to exercise supreme control over herself also so that she should not rush forth from her hiding-place and spring at Paz. For, freed from his tyrant's clutches, he had darted back from him, and a second later, with a swift movement of his hand to his back, had drawn forth a long knife that glistened in the morning sun.

What he said, what his wild words were, cannot be written down, since most of them were uttered in the Maya dialect; yet amid them were some that were well understood by Zara and Sebastian; perhaps also by the landlord of the inn and the two or three half-caste servants huddled near him, all of them giving signs of the most intense excitement and fear. And Zara, hearing those words, threw up her hands and covered her face, while Sebastian, his own face white as that of a corpse's in its shroud, staggered back trembling and shuddering.

"You know," the latter whispered, "you know that! You know?" And his hand stole into his open shirt. Yet he drew nothing forth; he did not produce that which Zara dreaded each instant to see. In truth the man was paralyzed, partly by Paz's words-yet, doubtless, even more so by the look upon his face-and by his actions.

For now Paz was creeping toward the other, even as the panther creeps through the jungle toward the victim it is about to spring upon; the knife clutched in his hand, upon his face a gleam of hate so hideous, a look in his topaz eyes so horrible, that Sebastian stood rooted to the ground. While from his white and foam-flecked lips, the man hissed:

"Shoot. Shoot, curse you! but shoot straight. Into either my heart or head-for if you miss me! – if you miss me-" and he sprang full on the other, the knife raised aloft. Sprang at him as the wild cat springs at the hunter who has tracked it to the tree it has taken refuge in, and when it recognises that for it there is no further shelter-his face a very hell of savage rage and spite; his scintillating, sparkling eyes the eyes of an infuriated devil.

And Sebastian, cowed-struck dumb with apprehension of such a foe-a thing half-human and half a savage beast-forgot to draw his revolver from his breast and seemed mad with dismay and terror. Yet he must do something, he knew, or that long glittering blade would be through and through him, with probably his throat cut from ear to ear the moment he was down. He must do something to defend, to save himself.

Recognising this even in his mortal terror, he struck out blindly-whirling, too, his arms around in a manner that would have caused an English boxer to roar with derision, had he not also been paralyzed with the horror of Paz's face and actions. He struck out blindly, therefore, not knowing what he was doing, and dreading every instant that he would feel the hot bite of the steel in his flesh, and-so-saved himself.

For in one of those wild, uncalculated blows, his right fist alighted on Paz's jaw, and, because of his strength, which received accession from his maddened fury and fear, felled the half-caste to the earth, where he lay stunned and moaning; the deadly knife beneath him in the dust.

For an instant Sebastian paused, his trembling and bleeding hand again seeking his breast, and his fury prompting him to pistol the man as he lay there before him. But he paused only for a moment, while as he did so, he reflected that if he slew the man who was at his mercy now it would be murder-and that murder done before witnesses-then turned away to where his horse stood, and, flinging himself into the saddle, rode off swiftly to Desolada.

As he disappeared, Zara came forth from behind the door where she had been lurking, an observer of all that had taken place, and forgetting, or perhaps heedless, of whether she was now seen or not, ran toward Paz and lifted his head up in her arms.

"Paz, Paz," she whispered in their own jargon. "Paz, has he killed you? Answer."

From beneath her the man looked up bewildered still, and half-stunned by the blow; then, after a moment or so, he muttered, "No, no! I live-to-to kill him yet." And Zara hearing those words shuddered, for since they were both of the same half wild and savage blood, she knew that unless she could persuade him to forego his revenge, he would do just as he had said, even though he waited twenty years for its accomplishment.

"No," she said, "no. You must not. Not yet, at least, Paz, promise me you will not. I-I-you know-I love him. For my sake-mine, Paz, promise."

"I do worse," said Paz, "I ruin him-drive him away. Zara, I know his secret-now."

"What secret?"

"Who he is. Ah! – " for Zara had clapped her little brown hand over his mouth, as though she feared he was going to shout out that secret before the landlord of the inn and his servants, all of whom were still hovering near. "Ah, I not tell it now. But to the other-the cousin-I tell it. Because I-know it, Zara."

"So," she whispered, "do I. But not now. Do not tell it now. Paz, I go to Belize to fetch succour. He will kill him if it comes not soon."

"He will kill him to-night, perhaps. I, too, was going to Belize."

"Where is he now?" the girl asked; "where is the handsome cousin? Where have they put him?"

"In the room at end of corridor, with the steps outside to garden. Easy bring him down them."

"Will he die?"

"Not of wound," the man said, his eyes sparkling again, but this time with intelligence, with suggestion. "Not of wound-but-of-what-they-do-to-night."

"I must go," Zara cried, springing to her feet. "I must go. Every minute is gold, and-it is many miles."

"Take the mule," Paz said. "It is there. There," and he glanced towards the stables. "Take him. He go fast."

"I will take him," she replied, "but-but-promise me, Paz, that you will do nothing until I return. Nothing-no harm to him. Else I will not go."

"I will promise," the man said, rising now to his feet, and staggering a little from his giddiness. "I will promise-you. Yet, I look after him-I take care he do very little more harm now."

"Keep him but from evil till to-night-till to-morrow, let him not hurt Mr. Ritherdon, then all will be well." And accompanied by Paz, she went toward the stable where his mule was.

It took but little time for the girl to spring to its back, to ride it out at a sharp trot from the open plaza, and, having again extorted a promise from Paz, to be once more on her road toward Belize-she not heeding now the fierceness of the rays of the sun, which was by this time mounting high in the heavens.

And so at last she drew near to "Floresta," which she knew well enough was Mr. Spranger's abode; near to where the other girl was causing preparations to be made for reaching her father and telling him what she had learned through the arrival of the negro-she never dreaming of the further revelations that were so soon to be made to her. Revelations by the side of which the lying letter and the lying action of Sebastian in sending forward Julian's luggage would sink into insignificance.

She sat on in her garden, waiting now for the groom to come and tell her that the buggy was ready-sat on amid all the drowsy noontide heat, and then, when once more the parrots rustled their feathers, and the monkey opened its mournful eyes, she heard behind her a footstep on the grass; a footstep coming not from the house but behind her, from an entrance far down at the end of the tropical garden. And, looking around, she saw close to her the girl Zara, her face almost white now, and her clothes covered with dust.

"What is it?" Beatrix cried, springing to her feet. "What brings you here? I know you, you are Zara; you come from Desolada."

"Yes," the other answered, "I come from Desolada. From Desolada, where to-night murder will be done-if it is not prevented."

CHAPTER XXIX

THE WATCHING FIGURE

With a gasp, Beatrix took a step toward the other, while as she did so the latter almost uttered a moan herself; though her agitation proceeded from a different cause-from, in truth, her appreciation of how wide a gulf there was between them. Between them who both loved the same man! Between this dainty English girl, who looked so fresh and fair, and was dressed in so spotless and cool a garb, and her who was black and swarthy, her who was clad almost in rags, and covered with the dust and grime of a long journey made partly on foot and partly on the mule's back. What chance was there for her, what hope, she asked herself, that Sebastian should ever love her instead of this other?

"Murder will be done!" Beatrix exclaimed, repeating Zara's words, even while a faintness stole over her that she thought must be like the faintness of coming death. "Murder will be done. To whom? To Mr. – to Lieutenant Ritherdon?"

"Yes," Zara answered, standing there before the other, and feeling ashamed as she did so of the appearance she must present to her rival, as she deemed her. "Yes, murder. The murder of Lieutenant Ritherdon. But, if you have courage, if you have any power, it may be prevented. And-and-you love him! I know it. There must be no crime. You love him!" she repeated fiercely.

Astonished that the girl should know her secret, unable to understand how she could have learned it, unless for some reason, Lieutenant Ritherdon might have hinted that he hoped such was the case; abashed at the secret being known, Beatrix could but stammer: "Yes-yes-I love him."

"I love him, too!" Zara exclaimed fiercely, hotly; she neither stammering, nor appearing to be put to shame. "I love him too. There must be no crime-"

"You love him!" Beatrix repeated, startled.

"With my whole heart and soul. Do you think our hot blood is not as capable of love as the cold blood that runs in your veins?"

But Beatrix could only whisper again, amazed, "You love him too!"

"I have loved him all my life," Zara said. "I have always loved him. And I will save him."

Then Beatrix understood how they were at cross-purposes, and that this half-savage girl was here, not to save Julian from being murdered so much as to save Sebastian from becoming a murderer.

"Tell me all," she said faintly, sinking into her chair, while she motioned to Zara to seat herself in one of the others that stood close by. "Tell me all that has happened. Then I shall know perhaps what I am to do."

And Zara, smothering in her heart the hatred that she felt against this other girl so much more fair and attractive than she, she who was but a peasant, almost a slave, while her rival had wealth and bright surroundings-told her all she knew.

She narrated how she had watched by day and night to see that no harm was done to the stranger staying at Desolada: how, sometimes, she had slept on the upper veranda and sometimes in the grounds and gardens, being ever on the watch. And then she told the story of all that had happened, of how Madame Carmaux had tried to shoot Julian in the copse and had herself been struck in the arm by a bullet from Paz's rifle, but to avoid suspicion had, on her return to the house, commenced arranging flowers in a bowl with one hand, she keeping the other, which Zara knew she had hastily bandaged up, out of sight. She told, too, the whole story of the Amancay poison, and described the final scene in the lower room which she had witnessed from the garden where she stood hidden.

"And now," she cried, "now they will kill him to-night, get rid of him forever, if, before night comes, help does not reach him."

"What will they do?" asked Beatrix, white to the lips, and trembling all over as she had trembled from the first. "Poison him with that hateful Amancay-or-or-"

"I know not, but they will kill him. They will not keep him there. Instead, perhaps, carry him to one of the lagoons where the alligators are, or to the sea where the white sharks are, or-"

"Come, come!" cried Beatrix, with a shriek of horror. "Come at once to my father in the city. Oh! in mercy, come-there is not an hour, not a moment, to be lost!"

She had seen, almost directly after Zara had made her appearance, the groom come out from the house, and understood that he was approaching to tell her that the buggy was prepared, but by a motion of her hand she had made the man understand that she was not ready. But, now, she must go at once, and she must take this girl with her-that was all important. For surely, when some of the legal authorities in Belize had heard the tale which Zara could tell, they would instantly send assistance to Julian.

"Come!" she cried again. "Come! we must go to the city at once."

"It will save-him?" Zara asked, her thoughts still upon the man who must be prevented at all hazards from committing a horrible crime, and supposing in her ignorance that it was also the desire to prevent that man from committing this crime which made Beatrix so anxious. "It will save-him?"

"Yes," Beatrix answered. "Yes. It will save him."

The night had come, suddenly, swiftly, as it always does in Southern lands. Half an hour earlier a band of twenty people had been riding as swiftly as the heat would permit along the dusty white thread, which was the road that led past All Pines on toward Desolada-now the same band was progressing beneath the swift-appearing stars overhead. The breeze, too, which, not long before, had burnt them with its fiery sun-struck breath, came cool and fresh and grateful at this time, since it was no longer laden with heat; while from all the wealth of vegetation around, there were, distilled by the night dews, the luscious scents and odours that the flowers of the region possess.

A band of twenty people-of eighteen men and two women-who, now that night had fallen, rode more swiftly than they had done before, the trot of the horses being accompanied by the clang of scabbard against boot and spur, of jangling bridle and bridle-chain. For among them was a small troop of constabulary headed by an officer, as well as a handful of the police. Also, Mr. Spranger formed one of the number. The two women were Beatrix and Zara, the former having insisted on her father allowing her to accompany the force.

When Beatrix had caused Zara to go with her to Mr. Spranger's offices, and then to tell him her tale-a tale supplemented by the former's own account of the letter from Sebastian accompanied by Julian's luggage-that gentleman had at once agreed that there was no time to be lost if Julian was to be saved from any further designs against him. Of course, he and all the Government officials were well acquainted with each other, the Governor included, but it was to the Chief Justice that he at once made his way, accompanied by Zara, who had to tell her tale for a second time to that representative of authority and law.

Then the rest was easy-instructions were given to the Commandant of Constabulary and the Superintendent of Police, and the force set out. Meanwhile, the latter was provided with a warrant (although neither Beatrix nor Zara was aware that such was the case) for the arrest of both Sebastian Ritherdon and Madame Carmaux on a charge of attempted murder.

And now as the little band passed All Pines, Zara, who rode close by Beatrix's side, whispered in the latter's ear that she was about to quit them; she knew, she said, bypaths that she could thread which the others could not do, or in doing, would only make very slow progress.

"But," she concluded, still in a whisper, and with her dark face as close to the fair one of the English girl as she could place it-"I shall be there when you all arrive. And by then I shall know what has been done, or what is to be done. He must not kill him; we must stop that. We love him too well for that."

And, ere Beatrix could answer, the other had disappeared into the denseness of the forest, it seeming as though she had power to impart to the beast which she bestrode her own mysterious and subtle methods of movement.

At first, she was not missed by any of the others, Mr. Spranger being the earliest to do so; but by the time he had observed that she was gone, they had drawn so near to the object of their visit that, even if her absence was noticed, very little remark was made. For now they were, as most in the band knew, on the outskirts of the plantations around Desolada; soon they would be within those plantations and threading their way toward the house itself. What was noticed, however, as now their horses trod on the soft luxurious grass beneath their feet-so gently that the thud of their hoofs became entirely deadened-was that a man, who had certainly not accompanied them from Belize, was doing so at this moment, and that, as they wended their way slowly, this man, who was on foot, walked side by side with them.