It was blowing hard, and the deluge which had blotted out the dingy daylight and beaten flat the white spouting along the hammered beach had just ceased suddenly when Desmond lay upon a settee at the head of thePalestrina's companion stairway. Though the long, sandy point to the north of her afforded a partial shelter, she was rolling savagely with a half-steam ready and two anchors down. Desmond had wedged himself fast with his feet against the balustrade, but he found it somewhat difficult to remain where he was, and the little room was uncomfortably hot, though one door and the lee ports were open. The two that looked forward were swept by spray that beat on them like a shot, and overhead funnel-guy and wire rigging screamed in wild arpeggios under the impact of the muggy gale.
ThePalestrina's owner was, however, used to that. It rains and blows somewhat hard on that coast at certain seasons, and he had lain there several weeks growling at the heat and the weather, for he was also one of the men who can keep a promise. Just then he had an unlighted pipe and a letter which he had received from Las Palmas a month earlier in one hand. It was from an Englishman he had broughtout to Grand Canary, and though its contents did not directly concern him he had given it a good deal of thought once or twice already. His forehead grew a trifle furrowed as he opened it again.
"We have been wondering what Lister came back for, and the general notion is that you had had enough of him," said his friend. "In any case, he seems quite content with Las Palmas, and the British colony are watching his proceedings with quiet interest. After cleaning out several Spaniards at the casino he has apparently devoted himself to Miss Ratcliffe's service. It is not evident that he receives a great deal of encouragement from the lady herself, but her mother is ostentatiously gracious to him. She may have a purpose in this."
Desmond crumpled the letter in one hand. "Crosbie always was a—tattler, but it's more than possible that he's right," he said. Then he sighed. "And I put Lister on board the mail-boat and sent him there! If I'd only known what the result would be I'd have drowned him."
He lay still for another few moments filling his pipe, and then flung the tobacco pouch across the room, for a sojourn off those beaches would probably try the temper of most white men, and the Hibernian nature now and then came uppermost in him.
"Damp," he said. "Reeking, dripping, putrid, like everything else on this forlorn coast! It would be a boon to humanity if somebody bought the besotted continent and scuttled it."
He rose to his feet as a man in bedraggled white uniform appeared in the doorway.
"You were speaking, sir?" he said.
"I was," said Desmond. "I suggested that it was a pity somebody couldn't torpedo this benighted continent. Any word from the men you sent ashore?"
"They've signaled from the rise," said thePalestrina's mate. "No sign of him yet. I don't expect them off until to-morrow. The surf's running steep." Desmond made a gesture of concurrence as he glanced at the filmy spray-cloud that drove like smoke up the wet and glistening beach. It was flung aloft by a wild white welter of crumbling seas, and he realized that the boat's crew who had gone ashore could not rejoin thePalestrinabefore the morning, at least. They went every day to watch for a lumbering ox team or a band of carriers plodding seaward across the littoral, and it seemed they had once more signaled that there was no sign of either. Then he moved towards the door bareheaded, with only an unbuttoned duck jacket over his thin singlet, and the mate ventured a deprecatory protest.
"She's throwing it over her in sheets forward," he said.
Desmond disregarded him, and staggering clear of the deck-house stood with feet spread well apart gazing at the stretch of leaden sea while, as thePalestrina's bows went up, the spray that whirled in over her weather rail wet him to the skin. He saw the livid tops of the combers that rolled by the point andheard the jarring cables ring, and then turned his eyes shorewards and gazed across the waste of misty littoral.
"It's a cheerful place, but now and then you feel you might get to like it," he said. "Perhaps it's the uncertainty as to when the fever will get you that gives living here a zest. When you come to think of it, some of us have curious notions."
He appeared to be considering the point as they edged back under the lee of the deck-house, and the mate grinned.
"The men don't take kindly to it, sir," he said. "They've been worrying me lately as to how long we're stopping here."
"A week," said Desmond. "Ormsgill's time is running out, and he'll be here or send us word by then. He said he would, and what that man says you can count on being done."
Something in his tone suggested that the question might be considered as closed, and they discussed other matters while the deck heaved and slanted under them until a man forward flung up an arm and turned towards them with a cry which the wind swept away. In another moment Desmond scrambled half-way up the bridge ladder, and clung there with the mate close beneath him gazing at the white welter where the seas swept by the point. There was a sail just outshore of it, a little strip of gray canvas that appeared and vanished amidst the serried ranks of tumbling combers. It drew out of them and drove furiously towards thePalestrina, and when a strip of white hull grew intovisibility beneath it Desmond looked down at his mate.
"A big surf-boat. It's Ormsgill," he said.
There was certainty in his tone, as well as a little ring of satisfaction which was, perhaps, warranted, for it is, after all, something to be the friend of a man who does just what he has promised and never arrives too late. In the meanwhile the object they were watching had grown into a bellying lug-sail that reeled to lee and to weather with the sea streaming from the foot of it, and a patch of foam-swept hull. The boat came on furiously, and when the mate sprang from the ladder roaring orders Desmond could see three or four black figures through the spray that whirled over her. There was also another man in white garments standing upright in her stern, and Desmond was wholly sure of his identity. Then she was lost for awhile, and only swept into sight again abreast of thePalestrina's dipping bows, hove high with half her length lifted out of the crest of a breaking sea.
She drove forward with it, the foam standing half a man's height above her stern and the foot of the slanted lug-sail washing in the brine, while a bent white figure struggled with the great steering oar. She swooped like a toboggan plunging down an icy slide when she was level with thePalestrina's bridge, and some of the men who watched her from the latter's rail held their breath as the smoking sea passed on and another gathered itself together astern of her. The helmsman, they knew, must bring the dripping, half-swamped boat on the wind to reach the strip of leebeneath the steamer's stern, and when he did it there was every prospect of her rolling over.
In another moment several black objects rose and grappled with the lug-sail sheet, and the big boat tilted until all one side of her was in the air. Then she went up in the midst of a white spouting as the slope of water behind fell upon her. Still, the slanted lug-sail rose out of it, and then came down thrashing furiously while naked black figures half-seen in the spray bent from her gunwale with swinging paddles as she drove towards thePalestrina's quarter. After that there was a hoarse shouting, and the lines flew from the reeling taffrail as she slid under the steamer's stern.
In another minute or two Ormsgill swung himself on board through the gangway. He had no hat, and the water ran from him, but he shook hands with Desmond unconcernedly.
"Ask them to hand that fellow up," he said pointing to a man who sat huddled in the water that swirled up and down inside the plunging boat. "We took rather a heavy one over two or three hours ago, and he brought up on the after thwart when the big oar jumped its crutch. As he's the only Kroo among them, I took the helm myself after that. I don't fancy he has broken anything."
Desmond hustled him into the deck-house when the negro had been brought on deck and the dripping boat rode astern, and an hour later he sat at dinner with his comrade in the little white saloon. Darkness had closed down in the meanwhile, and the lamp that swung above their heads flung a soft light across thetable, where dainty glassware and silver glittered on the snowy cloth. Ormsgill smiled as he glanced at it and the glowing blotch of color in his wine glass.
"After all, this kind of thing has its advantages, especially when one has been accustomed to squatting in the wood smoke over a calabash of palm oil or some other unhallowed nigger compound," he said. "It's a trifle pleasant to wear clothes that fit you, too. Father Tiebout's and those Dom Clemente lent me didn't. I had to cut the wrists off the latter's jacket."
Desmond looked at him reflectively over his cigar, for he had something to say, and was a trifle uncertain as to how he should set about it.
"Well," he said, "I suppose it is nice for a while, especially, as you say, when it's a change. The point is, would it satisfy you long?"
"A dinner like this one is generally acceptable."
"We'll admit it. The trouble is that these civilized comforts are apt to cost you something. I mean one has usually to give up something else for the sake of them. You begin to understand?"
"I'm not sure that I do," said Ormsgill. "I'll ask you to go on."
Desmond laughed, though he did not feel quite at ease. He remembered the letter in his pocket, and felt that there was a responsibility on him, and that was a thing which, inconsequent as he was, he seldom shrank from. This was not a man who talked about his duty; in fact, any reference to the subject usually roused in him a sense of opposition. He contented himself with doing it when he recognized it, and sincesingleness of purpose is not invariably an efficient substitute for mental ability, it was not altogether his fault when at times he did it clumsily. There was also a subtle bond between him and the man who sat opposite him. Affection was not the right term, and it was more thancamaraderie, an elusive something that could not be defined and was yet in their case a compelling force.
"Well," he said, "those quagmires and forests up yonder appeal to you. It's a little difficult for any reasonable person to see why they should, but they certainly do. So does the sea. The love of it's in both of us."
He stopped with a lifted hand, and, for the ports were open, Ormsgill heard the deep rumble of the eternal surf on the hammered beach. He also heard the onward march of the white hosts of tumbling seas, and the shrill scream of the wire rigging singing to the gale. It was the turmoil of the elemental conflict that must rage in one form or another by sea and in the wilderness while the world endures, and there is a theme in its clashing harmonies that stirs the hearts of men. Ormsgill felt the thrill of it, and Desmond's eyes glistened.
"Lord," he said, "we're curiously made. What in the name of wonder is it that appeals to us in driving a swamping surf-boat over those combers, or standing on the bridge ramming her full speed into it with the green seas going over her forward and everything battened down? Still, there is something. While we can do that kind of thing we can't stay at home."
Ormsgill smiled curiously. He was acquainted with some of the characteristics of the wild Celtic strain, and knew that his comrade now and then let himself go. "I think," he said, "considering where you come from, you should understand it more readily than I can do."
"You're not exempt," said Desmond, "you cold-blooded Saxons. What did you run that boat down the coast under the whole lug-sail for when she'd have gone nearly dry with two reefs tied down?"
"I don't know. Still, she lost the wind in the hollows. One had to keep her ahead of the seas."
Desmond laughed scornfully. "Is that it? When the boy went down with the breath knocked out of him as she took in a green sea, something came over you as you grabbed the steering oar. You went suddenly crazy, fighting crazy. You'd have rolled her over or run her under before you tied a reef in."
He stopped a moment, and made a little gesture as of one throwing something away. "Still, you'll have to give all that up when you marry and settle down, though it's a little difficult to imagine you going round in a frock coat and tight patent boots, growing fat, and overfeeding yourself like a—Strasburg goose. I suppose it is your intention to be married some day?"
"I believe it is," said Ormsgill quietly.
Desmond laid down his cigar and looked at him. "Well, I may be on dangerous ground, but when I get steam up I seldom allow a thing like that to influence me. Anyway, I've been worrying over you lately.The question is—are you going to marry the right girl, one who would take you as you are and encourage you to be more so? It isn't every woman who could put up with a man of your kind, but there are a few."
His comrade's expression might have warned another man, but Desmond went on.
"I don't know if my views are worth anything, and some of my friends doubt it, but you shall have them. After all, the matter's rather an important one. The wife for you is one who would sympathize with your notions even if she knew they were crazy ones, because they were yours, and when they led you into lumber, as such notions generally do, stand beside you smiling to face the world and the devil. There are such women. I've met one or two."
There was silence for a moment or two when he stopped, and Ormsgill, gazing straight before him with vacant eyes, saw a dark-eyed girl with dusky hair and a face of the pale ivory tint sitting where the moonlight streamed in between a colonnade of slender pillars. As it happened, Desmond saw her, too, and sighed. Then Ormsgill seemed to rouse himself.
"I am," he said, "going to marry Miss Ratcliffe, as I think you must be quite aware."
Desmond could have laughed. He fancied that it would have been almost warranted, but he laid a restraint upon himself. "Then," he said, "if you have both made up your minds and the thing is settled what in the name of wonder are you wandering about Africa for? The fact that you like it doesn't count.Why don't you go back—now—to her? It would be considerably wiser."
Ormsgill looked at him with half-closed eyes. "I'll have to ask you to speak plainly."
"I'll try," and Desmond made a little deprecatory gesture. "There are women it isn't wise to leave too long alone. They were not made to live that way, and if they find it insupportable you can't blame them. How many years is it since Miss Ratcliffe has had more than a few weeks of your company, and is it natural that a young woman should be quietly content while the man she is to marry wanders through these forests endeavoring to throw his life away? Besides that, the thing might very possibly not commend itself to her mother."
The lines grew a trifle deeper on Ormsgill's forehead, and his eyes were grave. "I have," he said, "been a little afraid of what her mother might do myself."
"Then why don't you go across to Grand Canary and make sure she doesn't try to influence the girl? Isn't it only reasonable that she should expect you to be there and save her all unpleasantness in case of anything of that kind happening?"
Ormsgill said nothing for several minutes, but it was borne in upon his comrade that his efforts had been thrown away. He had, however, after all, not expected them to be successful. At length Ormsgill spoke quietly.
"I can't go," he said. "Domingo has carried those boys away into the interior and I pledged myself thatthey should go home when their time was up. As it is, unless I can take them from him they will be driven to death in a few years. For that, I think, I should be held responsible."
He rose with a little sigh. "Dick," he said, "I have this thing to do, and even if it costs me a good deal it must be done. I am going back inland, and may be three or four months away. You can't stay here. After all, I don't know that I shall have much difficulty in getting the boys out of the country when I come down again."
Desmond smiled. "I may go to Las Palmas or Madeira, but I'll be here when you want me. We can fix that later. It seems to me I've said quite enough to-night."
Then they went up the companion, and Ormsgill talked of other matters as they sat under the lee of the deck-house, and watched the white seas sweep out of the darkness and vanish into it again.
Desmond's informant had, as it happened, been quite warranted in mentioning that Lister's proceedings had aroused the interest of the English colony in Las Palmas. He provided those who belonged to it with something to talk about as they lounged on the hotel verandas, which was a cause for gratification, since a good many of them had no more profitable occupation. That dusty city has, like others in the south, distractions to offer the idler with liberal views, though a certain proportion of them are of distinctly doubtful character. There are also in it gentlemen of easy morality who are willing to act as cicerone to the stranger with means, that is, provided he possesses a generous disposition. Spaniards of the old régime call them theSin Verguenza, "men without shame," and there are one or two coarsely forceful Anglo-Saxon terms that might be aptly applied to them. It is, unfortunately, a fact that there are Englishmen among them.
Lister, who was young, and had never imposed much restraint upon himself, profited by the opportunities they provided him. He had the command of more money than was, perhaps, desirable, and for several weeks the pace he made was hot. He was naturally preyed upon and victimized, though, after all, the latter happened less frequently than those who watched his proceedings supposed. The lad was careless and generous, but there was a certain shrewdness in him as well as a vein of cold British stubbornness which made him a trifle difficult to handle when once his dislike was aroused. Indeed, one or two of his acquaintances fancied he had not gone so very deep in the mire, after all. How much Mrs. Ratcliffe knew about his doings did not appear. One desires to be charitable, and since Major Chillingham had gone back to England, it is possible, though far from likely, that she had not heard of them at all. In any case, she took him up, and was gracious to him in a motherly fashion, and there was suddenly a change in him.
Lister henceforward spent his evenings at the hotel, generally near the piano when Ada Ratcliffe sang. He also planned excursions for her and her mother to little palm-shrouded villages among the volcanic hills, and, since there was nobody who understood exactly how Miss Ratcliffe stood with regard to the man who had gone to Africa, the onlookers chuckled, and said that the girl's mother was a clever woman. She said that Lister was a very likable young man, who had no mother of his own, which was always a misfortune, and that it was almost a duty to look after him.
It was, in any case, one she discharged efficiently, and for a time his former companions had very little of Lister's company. Several of them were alsosorry he had, apparently, as the result of their persistent efforts to undermine her authority, flung off the restraints Mrs. Ratcliffe had gradually imposed on him when at last he spent a night with them again.
They had reasonable cause for dissatisfaction when they sat in a certaincaffeewhich stood near the cathedral. The latter fact has a significance for those acquainted with Spanish cities, but, after all, the Church is needed most where sinners abound. Thecaffeehad wide unglazed windows, and clear moonlight streamed down into the hot, unsavory street, which under that pure radiance looked for once curiously clean and white. Tall limewashed walls rose above it, and, for the flat roofs lay beneath their crests, cut against the strip of velvety indigo, while a little cool breeze swept between them with a welcome freshness. There was no gleam of light behind any of the green lattices that broke their flat monotony and, save for the deep rumble of the surf, the city was very still. Once a measured tramp of feet rang across the flat roofs and indicated that two of the armedcivileswere patroling a neighboringcallewhere the principal shops stand, but their business would not take them near thecaffee. It is, in fact, not often that authority obtrudes itself unadvisedly into certain parts of most Spanish towns.
The moonlight also streamed into thecaffeewhere a big lamp in which the oil was running low burned dimly. The table beneath it was stained with cheap red wine, and a good many bottles stood upon it among a litter of Spanish cards. Four men sat about it,and two more lounged upon the settee which ran along the discolored wall. The place was filled with tobacco smoke and the sickly odor of anisado, which was, however, no great disadvantage, since the natural reek of a Spanish Alsatia is more unpleasant still. The men had been there four or five hours when Lister flung down a card and noisily pushed back his chair. His face was a trifle flushed, and his hands were not quite steady, but his half-closed eyes were, as one or two of the others noticed, almost unpleasantly calm. There was a pile of silver at his side on the table, for he had, as the red-faced English skipper opposite him had once or twice observed, been favored with an astonishing run of luck. It is, however, possible that the skipper did not go quite far enough. Lister had certainly been fortunate, but he had also a nice judgment in such matters, and his nerve was unusually good. He looked round at his companions with a little dry smile.
"You should have left me alone," he said. "I didn't want to come here, but when you insisted I did it to oblige you. As you pointed out, considering what I took out of some of you on another occasion, it seemed the fair thing. Now I hope you're satisfied."
He indicated the pile of silver with a little wave of his hand, and the others, among whom there were two Englishmen beside the skipper, waited in some astonishment, with very little sign of content in their faces, until he went on again.
"Well," he said, "I'm still willing to do the fairthing, though, while I don't wish to be unduly personal, that is a point which has evidently not caused one or two of you any undue anxiety. You can explain that, Walters, to the Spanish gentlemen, though I don't altogether confine my remarks to them."
An Englishman straightened himself suddenly, and one of the Spaniard's eyes flashed when the man Lister turned to did his bidding. Lister, however, grinned at them.
"The question," he said, "is simply do you feel I owe you any further satisfaction, or have you had enough? I want you to understand that I'm never coming here again, and if you care to double the stakes I'll play you another round."
There was no doubt that they had had enough, and while three of them might have taken another hand with a view to getting back the pile of silver by certain means they were acquainted with they refrained, perhaps because they felt that the man called Walters and the burly steamboat skipper would in case of necessity stand by Lister. The silence that lasted a moment or two grew uncomfortable, but it did not seem to trouble Lister, who sat still looking at them with a little sardonic smile.
"Well," he said, "it's evident that you don't expect anything more from me. Will you and Captain Wilson come with me, Walters?"
He rose when the men addressed reached out for their hats, and then clapped his hands until a girl came in. She was very young, and looked jaded, which was not particularly astonishing consideringthat she had been keeping the party supplied with refreshment for more than half the night. The smudgy patches of powder on it emphasized the weariness of her olive-tinted face, but there was for all that a certain suggestion of daintiness and freshness about her which was not what one would have expected in such surroundings.
Lister stood looking at her with half-closed eyes, while the others watched them both until he made a little abrupt gesture.
"It is not you, but your father, the patron, the man who owns this place, I want, but you can stop here and call him," he said in a half-intelligible muddle of Castilian and Portuguese.
Walters made it a little plainer, and the girl spread out her hands. "The patron does not live here," she said. "My father, he is only in charge."
"Call him!" said Lister.
The man came in, and his dark eyes as well as those of all the others were fixed expectantly on Lister when he once more turned to the girl.
"You like waiting on and singing for these pigs?" he asked.
Walters rendered the wordpuerco, which is not a complimentary term in Spain, but the men it was applied to forgot to resent it in their expectancy. A flicker of color swept into the girl's face, and it was evident that her task was not a congenial one. She was, however, about to retreat when Lister raised his hand in protest, and turned to the man.
"What do you mean," he said, "by keeping a girl of that kind in a place like this?"
Again Walters translated, and the little flicker of color grew a trifle plainer in the girl's olive-tinted cheek. One could have fancied that she had suddenly realized how others might regard her occupation and surroundings. The man, however, spread his hands out.
"It is certainly not what one would wish for her, and she would be a modista," he said. "But what would you—when one is very poor?"
Lister caught up a double handful of the silver which still lay upon the table and signed to the girl.
"That should make it a little easier. It's for you," he said. "If it is not enough you can let me know. You will go and learn to make hats and dresses to-morrow. If your father makes any more objections I'll send the little fat priest after him. You know the one I mean. He has a cross eye and likes a good dinner as well as any man. He is a friend of mine."
The others gazed at Lister in blank astonishment when Walters made this clear, until the Spaniard became suddenly profuse. Lister, however, disregarded him, and picking up the rest of the silver turned towards the door. He went out, and Walters looked at him curiously when he stopped and stood still a moment, apparently reflecting, with the moonlight on his face. The combativeness with which he had regarded his gaming companions had faded out of it, and left it, as it usually was, heavy and inanimate.Lister was skillful at games of chance, where his impassiveness served him well, but Walters fancied he was by no means likely to shine at anything else. He was a young man of no mental capacity, and his tastes were not refined, but there was hidden in his dull nature a germ of the rudimentary chivalry which now and then rouses such men as he was to deeds which astonish their friends. It had lain inert until the dew of a beneficent influence had rested on it, and then there was a sudden growth that was to result in the production of unlooked for fruit. Because of the love he bore one woman he had become compassionate, and, perhaps, it did not matter greatly that she was unworthy, since the gracious impulse was merely brought him by, and not born of, the reverence he had for her. After all, its source was higher than that. It was, however, not to be expected that he should realize such a fact, and he stood wrinkling his brows as though ruminating over his proceedings, until he became conscious that his companion was looking at him inquiringly.
"I don't know what made me do that," he said. "It's quite certain I wouldn't have thought of it a month or two ago."
"No," said Walters, a trifle drily, "one would not have expected it from you. Still, you have made a few changes lately. What has come over you?"
Lister did not answer him. "If that blamed ass of a skipper means to stop I'm not going to wait for him. He'll get a knife slipped into him some night and it will serve him right," he said. "We'll get out of thisplace. Once we strike the big calle it will be fresher."
They strode on down the hot, stale smelling street, and Lister appeared to draw in a deep breath of relief when they turned into the broad road that runs close by the surf-swept beach to the harbor. Though there were tall white stores and houses on its seaward side the night breeze swept down it exhilaratingly fresh and cool, and Lister bared his hot forehead to it.
"Well," he said, "I've been down among the swine in a number of places, and, though I suppose it sometimes falls out differently, I've scratched some of the bristles off a few of them. Now I want to forget the tricks they've taught me. You see, I'm never going back to any of the—stys again. It's a thing I owe myself and somebody else."
He had certainly consumed a good deal of wine, but it was clear that he was fully in command of his senses, and Walters endeavored to check his laugh as comprehension suddenly dawned upon him. Still, he was not quite successful, and his companion turned on him.
"I meant it," he said. "There'll probably be trouble between us if you attempt to work off any of your assinine witticisms."
Walters said nothing. He had seen his companion calmly insult four men whose dollars he had pocketed, and he did not consider it advisable to explain what he thought about Mrs. Ratcliffe and the interest she had taken in his friend. Still, like most of the English residents who had made her acquaintance, he had his views upon the subject. Lister was, at least, richenough to make a desirable son-in-law, and if he fancied it was essential that he should reform before he offered himself as a candidate there was nothing to be gained by undeceiving him.
They walked on until they left the tall white houses and little rows of flat-topped dwellings that replaced them behind, and the dim, dusty road stretched away before them with a filmy spray-cloud and glistening Atlantic heave on one side of it. Lister glanced at the fringe of crumbling combers with slow appreciation.
"In one way that's inspiriting," he said. "I might have sat and watched them half the evening from the veranda of the hotel. In that case I'd have had a clearer head and been considerably fresher to-morrow. Still, those hogs would have me out. It's a consolation to realize that it has cost them something."
Walters stopped when they reached the hotel and glanced at his companion. "Aren't you going in?" he said. "You could still get a little sleep before it's breakfast time."
"No," said Lister simply, "I'm going for a swim. It's no doubt an assinine notion, but the smell of the sty seems to cling to me."
Walters laughed. "Is that a custom you mean to adopt invariably after a night of this kind?"
"No," said Lister. "It won't be necessary. You see there will never be another one."
They went on, and Walters sat down on the little mole not far away while his comrade stripped off his thin attire. Then Lister stood a moment, gleamingwhite in the moonlight, a big, loose-limbed figure, on the head of the mole before he went down with flung-out hands and stiffened body into the cool Atlantic swell. It closed about him glittering, and he was well out in the harbor when he came up again and slid away down the blaze of radiance with left arm swinging. The chill of the deep sea water, at least, cooled his slightly fevered skin, and, perhaps, there was something in his half pagan fancy that it also washed a stain off him. In any case, the desire to escape from the most unusual sense of contamination was a wholesome one.
There is a certain aldea, a little straggling village of flat-topped houses, among the black volcanic hills of Grand Canary which has like one or two others of its kind a good deal to offer the discerning traveler who will take the trouble to visit it. It is certainly a trifle difficult to reach, which is, perhaps, in one sense not altogether a misfortune, since the Englishmen and Englishwomen who visit that island in the winter seldom leave such places exactly as they find them. One goes up by slippery bridle paths on horse or mule back over hot sand and wastes of dust and ashes into a rift between the hills, and when once the tremendous gateway of fire-rent rock has been passed discovers that it costs one an effort to go away again.
In the bottom of the barranco lie maize-fields and vines. Tall green palms fling streaks of shadow over them, and close beneath the black crags stands a little ancient church and odd cubes of lava houses tinted with delicate pink or ochre or whitewashed dazzlingly. They nestle among their fig trees shut in by tall aloes, and oleanders, and a drowsy quietness which is intensified by the murmur of running water pervades the rock-walled hollow. It is the stillness of a land where nothing matters greatly, and there is in it the essenceof the resignation which regards haste and effort and protest as futile, that is characteristic of old world Spain, for Spain was never until lately bounded by the confines of the Peninsula.
Las Palmas down beside the smoking beach is no longer Spanish. It is filled with bustle and a rampant commercialism, and English is spoken there; but the quietness of the ages lingers among the hills where the grapes of Moscatel are still trodden in the winepress by barelegged men in unstarched linen who live very much as one fancies the patriarchs did, plowing with oxen and wooden plows, and beating out their corn on wind-swept threshing floors. They also comport themselves, even towards the wandering Briton, who does not always deserve it, with an almost stately courtesy, and seldom trouble themselves about the morrow. All that is essentially Spanish is Eastern, too. The life in the hill pueblos is that portrayed in the Jewish scriptures, and the olive-skinned men whose forefathers once ruled half the world have also like the Hebrew the remembrance of their departed glory to sadden them.
It is, however, scarcely probable that any fancies of this kind occurred to Mrs. Ratcliffe as she lay in a somewhat rickety chair under a vine-draped pergola outside a pink-washed house in that aldea one afternoon. She was essentially modern, and usually practical, in which respects Ada, who sat not far away, was not unlike her. A man, at least, seldom expects to find the commercial instinct and a shrewd capacity for estimating and balancing worldly advantages in ayoung woman of prepossessing appearance with innocent eyes, which is, perhaps, a pity, since it now and then happens that the fact that she possesses a reasonable share of both of them is made clear to him in due time. Then it is apt to cause him pain, for man being vain prefers to believe that it is personal merit that counts for most where he is concerned.
Ada Ratcliffe was listening to the drowsy splash of falling water, and looking down through the rocky gateway over tall palms and creeping vines, blackened hillslopes, and gleaming sands, on the vast plain of the Atlantic which lay, a sheet of turquoise, very far below. Above her, tremendous fire-rent pinnacles ran up into the upper sweep of ethereal blue, but all this scarcely roused her interest. She had seen it already, and had said it was very pretty. Besides, she was thinking of other things which appealed to her considerably more, a London house, an acknowledged station in smart society, and the command of money. These were things she greatly desired to have, and it was evident that Thomas Ormsgill could only offer her them in a certain measure. It was, in some respects, only natural that her mother should set a high value on them too, and desire them for her daughter. She had made a long and gallant fight against adverse circumstances since her husband died, and there was in her face the hardness of one who has more than once been almost beaten. There were, she knew, women who would freely give themselves with all that had been given them to the man they loved, but Mrs. Ratcliffe had never had much sympathy withthem. It was, she felt, a much more sensible thing to make a bargain, and secure something in return.
Still, nobody would have fancied that Ada Ratcliffe had any such ideas just then. Her face was quietly tranquil, and the pose she had fallen into in the big basket chair was, if not quite unstudied, a singularly graceful one. In her hands lay a Spanish fan, a beautiful, costly thing of silk and feathers and fretted ebony which Lister had given her a few days earlier. He sat on a block of lava watching her with a little significant gleam that she was perfectly conscious of in his usually apathetic eyes. Still, though he had a heavy face of the kind one seldom associates with self-restraint, there was nothing in his expression which could have jarred upon a woman of the most sensitive temperament. There were not many things which Albert Lister had much reverence for, but during the last few weeks a change had been going on in him, and it was a blind, unreasoning devotion which none of his friends would have believed him capable of that he offered this girl.
His pleasures had been coarse ones, and there was much in him that she might have shrunk from, but he had, at least, of late fought with the desires of his lower nature, and, for the time being, trampled on one or two of them. Slow of thought, and of very moderate intelligence, as he was, he had yet endeavored to purge himself of grossness before he ventured into her presence. He had not spoken for awhile when Mrs. Ratcliffe turned to him.
"You were not in the drawing-room last night,"she said, and her manner subtly conveyed the impression that she had expected him. "No doubt you had something more interesting on hand?"
"No," said Lister slowly, "I don't think I had. In fact, I was playing cards!"
Mrs. Ratcliffe was a trifle perplexed, for she had now and then ventured to express her disapproval of one or two of his favorite distractions in a motherly fashion, and she could not quite understand his candor. It was, perhaps, natural that she should not credit him with a simple desire for honesty, since this was a motive which would not have had much weight with her.
"Ah," she said, with an air of playful reproach, "everybody plays cards nowadays, and I suppose one must not be too hard on you. Still, I think you know what my views are upon that subject."
They were scarcely likely to be very charitable ones, since she owed her own long struggle to the fact that there were few forms of gaming her husband had not unsuccessfully experimented with, and she continued feelingly, "If one had no graver objections, it is apt to prove expensive."
Lister laughed a little. "It proved so—to the other people—last night, but I think you are right. In fact, it's scarcely likely I'll touch a card again. In one way,"—and he appeared to reflect laboriously, "it's a waste of life."
His companions were both a trifle astonished. They had scarcely expected a sentiment of this kind from him, and though the elder lady would probably nothave admitted it, gaming did not appear to her so objectionable a thing provided that one won and had the sense to leave off when that was the case. Ada Ratcliffe, however, smiled.
"To be candid, one would hardly have fancied you would look at it in that light," she said. "Still, you seem to have been changing your views lately."
"I have," said the man slowly, with a faint flush in his heavy face. "After all, one comes to look at these things differently, and I dare say those fellows are right who lay it down that one ought to do something for his country or his living. Once I had the opportunity, but I let it go, or rather I flung it away. I often wish I hadn't, but I'm not quite sure it's altogether too late now."
He spoke with an awkward diffidence, for though he was very young, ideas of this kind were quite new to him. The love of the girl he looked at appealingly had stirred his slow coarse nature, and something that had sprung up in its depths was growing towards the light. It might have grown to grace and beauty had the light been a benignant one, for, after all, it is not upon the soil alone that growth of any kind depends. Ada Ratcliffe, however, did not recognize in the least that this laid upon her a heavy responsibility.
"No," she said with an encouraging smile, "there is no reason why you shouldn't make a career yet. I almost think you could if you wanted to."
It was a bold assertion, but she made it unblushingly, and Lister appeared to consider.
"There are not many things I'm good at—that is, useful ones," he said. "You have to be able to talk sensibly, anyway, before you can make your mark at politics, and some of them don't do it under twenty years."
He stopped for a moment with a little sigh. "Still, I suppose there must be something worth while for one to do, even if it's not exactly what one would like."
"One's duty is usually made clear to one," said Mrs. Ratcliffe encouragingly.
"Well," said Lister, "I'm not sure it is, though it's probably his own fault if he doesn't want to recognize it. As I mentioned, you can look at the same thing differently. There was Desmond's friend Ormsgill. A little while ago I thought he was a trifle crazy. Now I begin to see it's a big thing he's doing, something to look back on afterwards even if he never does anything worth while again."
He saw the faint flush of color in Ada Ratcliffe's face, though he did not in the least understand it. There was a good deal this man could give her, and she knew that he would in due time press it upon her, but she was naturally aware that his mental capacity was painfully small. This made the fact that he should look upon Ormsgill's errand as one a man could take pride in a reproach to her. Mrs. Ratcliffe's face was, however, if anything, expressive of anxiety, for she had asked herself frequently if Lister could by any chance have heard that the girl's pledge to Ormsgill had never been retracted. She did not thinkhe had, but this was a point it was well to be sure upon.
"I didn't think you had met him," she said.
"I haven't. You see, I stayed behind in Madeira while thePalestrinacame on, and when I got here Ormsgill had gone. Desmond told me about him. I understood he was to marry somebody when he had done his errand, though, if he knew, Desmond never mentioned who she was."
He stopped, and Mrs. Ratcliffe sighed with sheer relief when he turned and looked eastwards towards Africa across the vast stretch of sea with a vague longing in his eyes.
"Well," he said, "when he comes back again he will have done something that should make the girl look up to him."
Again the flicker of color crept into Ada Ratcliffe's cheek, for she was conscious just then of a curious resentment against the man who had gone to Africa for an idea. It was singularly galling that a man of Lister's caliber should make her ashamed. Still, she smiled at him.
"I believe we have all more than one opportunity, and another one will no doubt present itself," she said.
Lister sat still looking at her in a fashion she found almost embarrassing, and for a moment or two none of them spoke. Then there were footsteps on the lava blocks outside the pergola, and a man appeared in an opening between the vines. He was dressed in white duck, and his face was bronzed by wind and spray,while Mrs. Ratcliffe found it difficult to refrain from starting at the sight of him. He stood where he was for a moment looking at the group with grave inquiry, and Ada Ratcliffe felt that she hated him for the little smile of comprehension that crept into his eyes. Then he moved quietly forward, and Lister rose with a faint flush in his face.
"I'm glad to see you, Desmond. I mean it, in spite of what passed the night you packed me off," he said.
It was an awkward meeting, though Lister was the only one whose embarrassment was noticeable. His companions were watching Desmond quietly, though Mrs. Ratcliffe was sensible that this was the last man she would have desired to see. He had come back from Africa and might spoil everything, for at the back of her mind she was not quite sure of her daughter. Still, though it cost her an effort, she asked him a few questions.
"Ormsgill didn't want me for some time and I ran across for coal and other things. That coast isn't one it's judicious to stay on," he said, and looked at Ada steadily. "You will be pleased to hear that he was in excellent health—though he was still bent on carrying out his purpose—when he left me."
The girl's gesture was apparently expressive of relief, and Desmond who sat down on the lava parapet proceeded to relate what he knew of Ormsgill's projects and adventures. He felt the constraint that was upon all of them except Lister, whose embarrassment was rapidly disappearing, and though it afforded himcertain grim satisfaction he talked to dissipate it.
"We ran in this morning, and as the folks at the hotel told me you were here I came on," he said at length.
They asked him a few more questions, and it said a good deal for Mrs. Ratcliffe's courage that she invited him to stay there for comida and then to ride back to their hotel with them. Still it would, as she recognized, be useless to separate the men, since they would come across each other continually in Las Palmas, and she was one who knew that the boldest course is now and then the wisest. Desmond stayed, and it was some little time later when he sat alone with Lister among the tumbled lava by the watercourse. Feathery palm tufts drooped above them, and looking out between the fringed and fretted greenery they could see the blue expanse of sea. Beyond its sharp-cut eastern rim, as both of them were conscious, lay the shadowy land. Desmond turned from its contemplation and regarded his companion with a little smile.
"I heard a good deal about you in the hotel smoking room," he said. "I suppose I ought to compliment you on the possession of a certain amount of sense. Presumably you have now a motive for going steady?"
Lister flushed, but he met his companion's gaze without wavering. "As a matter of fact you are quite correct," he said. "Anyway, the motive is a sufficient one."
"Ah," said Desmond dryly, "it is in that case alady, Miss Ratcliffe most probably? You no doubt recognize that she is several years older than you, and that it is more than possible her affections have been engaged before?"
His companion resolutely straightened himself. "It isn't as a rule advisable to go too far, but I don't mind informing you that they are not engaged now."
"You seem sure," said Desmond with more than a trace of his former dryness. "She has presumably told you so?"
"She has not," said Lister. "That is, however, quite sufficient in itself, because if there had been anyone else with the slightest claim on her she and her mother would certainly have found means of making it clear to me."
Desmond saw the glint in the lad's eyes, and could not quite repress a little sardonic smile. What he had heard in the hotel had at first been almost incomprehensible to him, but, as he listened to what the men he met there had to tell, it became clear that Lister had in reality turned from his former courses. Then came his own admission that it was Ada Ratcliffe who had inspired him. Desmond could have found it a relief to laugh. The woman who, it seemed, was willing to throw over his comrade and break her pledge to him that she might be free to marry a richer man was the one who had stirred the lad to what was probably a stern and valiant encounter with his baser nature. It seemed that she could not even be honest with him.
"Am I to understand that you have made up your mind to marry Miss Ratcliffe?" he asked.
"Yes," said Lister slowly, "I have; that is, if she will have me, which is doubtful. It is, however, in no sense your business, and you needn't trouble to remind me that it would be a very indifferent match for her."
Desmond sat still for several minutes, and thought as hard as he had in all probability ever done in his life. He had given Ormsgill a hint which had not been taken, and now he found it had been fully warranted, he had ventured on giving Lister another which had also been disregarded. The lad's faith in the woman who was deceiving both of them was evidently sincere and generous, as well as in one respect pitiable, and under the circumstances Desmond could not tell what course he ought to take. He was aware that the man who rashly meddles in his friends' affairs seldom either confers any real benefit upon them or earns their thanks, and he doubted if Lister would listen to any advice or information he might offer him. To say nothing meant that he must leave Mrs. Ratcliffe a free hand, but he had sufficient knowledge of that lady's capabilities to feel reasonably sure that she would succeed in marrying the girl to one of the men in spite of him. That being so, it seemed to him preferable that the one in question should not be his friend. Then he looked at Lister gravely.
"Well," he said, "I almost think she'll have you, and I'm not sure that you need worry yourself too much about not being good enough for her. That'sa point you could be content with her mother's opinion on."
He left the lad, and five minutes later came upon Ada Ratcliffe in the patio of the adjacent house. "You will make my excuses to your mother," he said. "After all, I think I had better ride back to Las Palmas alone."
The girl met his eyes, but for a moment her face flushed crimson. She said nothing, and he quietly turned away, while in another few minutes she heard his horse stumbling down the slippery path beside the watercourse. When they reached the hotel that evening they were also told that he did not intend to live ashore while the yacht was in the harbor, which was a piece of information that afforded Mrs. Ratcliffe considerable relief.
Though it was, at least, as hot as it usually is at San Roque and the heavy, stagnant atmosphere made exertion of any kind impossible to a white man, Dom Erminio had not gone to sleep that afternoon, as he generally did. He had, after all, some shadowy notions of duty, and would now and then rouse himself to carry them out; that is, at least, when he stood to obtain some advantage by doing so. In this he was, perhaps, not altogether singular, since it is possible that there are other men who recognize a duty most clearly under similar circumstances. He lay in a low hung hammock where the veranda roof flung a grateful shadow over him, with a cigar in his hand, meditatively watching a row of half-naked negroes toiling in the burning sun, and the fashion in which he did so suggested that it afforded him a certain quiet satisfaction. He had grave objections to physical exertion personally, and as a rule succeeded in avoiding it, for there are, as he recognized, advantages in being a white man, in that country, at least. Dom Erminio invariably made the most of them.
It must be admitted that the negro is by no means addicted to toiling assiduously under scorching heat, especially when, as sometimes happens, he works for awhite man who requisitions his services without any intention of rewarding him for them, but though the baked and trampled soil of the compound flung back an intolerable heat and glare, the half-naked men were diligent that afternoon. Dom Erminio had his shifty black eyes on them, and certain dusky men with sticks stood ready to spur the laggards to fresh endeavor. So while the sweat of strenuous effort dripped from them some trotted to and fro with baskets of soil upon their woolly heads and the rest plied saw and hammer persistently. They were strengthening the fort stockade and digging a ditch, and incidentally riveting the shackles of the white man's bondage more firmly on their limbs. The Commandant, or Chefe as he was usually called, appeared to recognize that fact, for he smiled a little as he watched them.
By and by he turned and blinked at the forest which hemmed in the stockaded compound as with an impenetrable wall. It was dim and shadowy, even under that burning glare suggestively so, and he was aware that just then whispers of a coming rising were flying through its unlifting gloom, though the fact caused him no great concern. A few white friends of his were playing a game that has been played before in other regions, and he was quite willing to gain fresh renown as an administrator by the suppression of a futile rebellion. It is also possible that his friends looked for more tangible advantages, and would have been willing to offer him a certain share of them. That, however, is not quite a matter of certainty, andthere were, at least, men in that country who said they regarded Dom Erminio as all an administrator ought to be. Perhaps he was, from their point of view.
The Lieutenant Luiz, who had just come back from a native village with a handful of dusky soldiers and a band of carriers loaded with fresh provisions, sat in a basket chair close by, also regarding the stockade builders with a little smile. The natural reluctance of certain negroes to part with their possessions had occasioned him a good deal of trouble during the last few days. A negro who served as messenger stood waiting a few paces behind him.
"It is an advantage when one can teach the trek-ox to harness himself," he said reflectively. "I do not think those men like what they are doing. Every pile that they are driving makes our rule a little surer. It is not astonishing that some of them should be a trifle mutinous now and then."
"You had a difficulty about those provisions?" said Dom Erminio.
His companion laughed. "One would scarcely call it that. It was merely advisable to use the stick, and a hut or two was burnt. In times like the present one profits by a little judicious firmness."
"I think one could even go a trifle further than that."
Lieutenant Luiz made a little gesture. He had a certain shrewdness, and the Chefe was only cunning, which is, after all, a different thing from being clever. It seemed that Dom Erminio failed to recognize thatit is always somewhat dangerous to play with fire. One can as a rule start a conflagration without much difficulty, but it is now and then quite another matter to put it out.
"I am not sure," he said. "There are men in this country who seem to enjoy scattering sparks, and they are rather busy just now. It is, perhaps, not very hazardous when it is done judiciously and one knows there is only a little tinder here and there, but when one flings them broadcast it is possible that two or three may fall on powder." He turned and stretched out a dainty, olive-tinted hand towards the forest. "After all, we do not know much about what goes on there."
"Bah!" said Dom Erminio, who had courage, at least, "if the blaze is a little larger than one expected what does it matter? The stockade will be a strong one."
His companion glanced at the gap in the row of well stiffened piles. "It would certainly be difficult to storm that gate, but these bushmen who are building the stockade will have the sense to realize it and tell their friends. If there is an attack it will not be made that way."
"Exactly!" and the Chefe's eyes twinkled as he waved a yellow hand. "It is a little idea that occurred to me while you were away. The bushmen would come by the rear of the stockade which we leave lower, and when they do I think we shall also be ready for them there. There are certain defenseswhich will be substituted when their friends have gone away again."
They both laughed at this and neither of them said anything further for awhile until a negro swathed in white cotton strode out of the forest with a little stick in his hand. He was challenged by a sentry who sent him on, and presently stood on the veranda holding out the stick. Dom Erminio glanced at it languidly.
"Our injudicious friend Herrero has some word for us," he said. "He is a man who lets his dislikes run away with him, and he is not always wise in his messages." He stopped a moment with a little reflective smile. "Still, a message is always a difficulty in this part of Africa. If one teaches the messenger what he is to say he may tell it to somebody else, and it happens now and then that to write is not advisable. One must choose, however, and I wonder which our friend has done."
The man decided the question by holding out a strip of paper, and the Chefe who took it from him nodded as he read.
"It appears that Herrero is not pleased with the doings of the Englishman who is now in the bush country," he said. "Herrero seems to consider that he and a few others are capable of rousing all the ill will against us among the natives that is desirable, and I am almost tempted to believe that he is right in this. He is, however, imprudent enough to supply me with a few particulars which might with advantage havebeen made less explicit. He fancies we shall have a rebellion, and if we do not I almost think it will be no fault of his."
"There is no doubt a little more," observed Lieutenant Luiz. "When that man writes a letter he has something to ask for."
The Commandant nodded. "It is in this case a thing we can oblige him in," he said. "It seems the crazy Englishman Ormsgill is causing trouble up yonder and inciting the natives to mutiny. Further, it is evidently his intention to deprive Domingo of some of the boys who have engaged themselves under him. The man is one who could, I think, be called dangerous. It is not a favor to Herrero, but a duty to place some check on him."
They looked at one another, and Dom Luiz grinned. "Ah," he said, "our imprudent friend no doubt mentions how it could most readily be done."
The Commandant raised one hand. "The thing is simple. You will start, we will say the day after to-morrow, with several men, and you will come upon Ormsgill in a village in Cavalho's country. Domingo, it seems, is there now, and it is expected that Ormsgill will attempt to take the boys from him, but this will cause no difficulty. The Headman, who is a friend of Domingo's will, if it appears advisable, disarm Ormsgill. The latter will no doubt not permit this to be done quietly, and it is possible that there will be a disturbance in the village, as the result of which you will arrest him for raiding natives under our protection. We shall know what to do when you bring him here."
They had, after sending Herrero's messenger away, spoken in Portuguese of which the negro who remained on the veranda understood no more than a word or two. He stood still, statuesque, with his white draperies flowing about his dusky limbs, and as disregarded by the white men as the native girl with the big bedizened fan who crouched in the shadowy doorway just behind them. Yet both had intelligence, and noticed that the Chefe instead of destroying the letter laid it carelessly on the edge of his hammock, from which it dropped when he raised himself a little. The girl's eyes glistened, but she said nothing, and the man moved slightly as though his pose had grown irksome. It was unfortunate that Dom Erminio had considered it advisable to keep him there waiting his pleasure, for when he stood still again he was a foot or two nearer the strip of paper than he had been a few moments earlier.
Then the girl in the doorway rose, and the Chefe turned sharply in his hammock as a little haggard man in plain white duck walked quietly out of the house. He saw the question in the glance Dom Erminio flashed at his Lieutenant, and smiled as he seated himself in the nearest chair. Father Tiebout was always unobtrusive, and what he did was as a rule done very quietly, but he was quite aware that neither of the two white men were exactly pleased to see him.
"I came in from the east by the rear of the stockade where they are mending it," he said. "It was a little nearer. One would suppose that you did not see me."
The residency veranda, as is usual in that country, ran round the building, which had several doors and two stairways, and it was therefore perfectly natural that the priest should have arrived unnoticed, but the fact that he had done so was disconcerting just then, and it left the question how long he might have been in the house. Still, there were reasons why the Chefe could not ask it or treat his guest with any discourtesy.
"In any case you are welcome," he said. "There is presumably something I can do for you?"
Father Tiebout nodded. "A little matter," he said. "I was going to San Thome, and as my road led near the fort I thought I would mention it. My people have a complaint against the soldiers you lately sent into our neighborhood under the Sergeant Orticho. Some of them have been beaten."
"Dom Luiz will go over and look into it," said the Chefe. "That is, presently."
"Ah," said Father Tiebout, "then Dom Luiz is busy now? He will, no doubt, be at liberty in a day or two?"
It was not a question Dom Erminio wished to answer, and he waved his hand. "At the moment one cannot say. In the meanwhile you will make your complaint a little more definite."
He had apparently forgotten the messenger, but Father Tiebout had been quietly watching him, and now saw him stretch out a dusky foot towards the strip of paper which lay not far away. He touched it with a prehensile toe, and in another moment it had vanished altogether, though the man did not standexactly where he had stood before. Lieutenant Luiz, as it happened, sat with his back to him, and Dom Erminio lay in his hammock where he could not see, but two people had noticed every motion, and though neither of them made any sign the dusky man was quite aware that the girl who had retired to one of the windows was watching him. About Father Tiebout he was far from certain, but he was a bold man, and turning a little away from him he stooped and apparently touched a scratch a thorn or broken grass stalk had made on his foot. When he straightened himself again there was, however, something in his hand. Then the Chefe appeared to remember him.
"You will go back to the Lieutenant Castro," he said. "You can tell him there is no answer. Start to-morrow."
"It is a long journey," said the man. "I go back now."
Dom Erminio made a little gesture which seemed to indicate that it was a matter of indifference to him, and Father Tiebout put a check on his impatience. He had, as it happened, been in the house at least a minute before any one had noticed him, and was anxious for reasons of his own to discover what was in the letter. He did not know what the messenger meant to do with it, but he was aware that those entrusted with authority in that country were frequently at variance and spied on one another. It was possible that the man who could not read the note might expect to sell it.
Still, the missionary was one who seldom spoiledanything by undue haste, and he reflected that while he had traveled in a hammock leisurely the man was probably worn by a long journey, since San Roque lay at some distance from the camp where the officer the Chefe had mentioned was stationed then. So he supplied his hosts with particulars concerning his complaint, and then talked of other matters for an hour or more, and it was not until the comida was laid out that he set out on his journey. This was a somewhat unusual course in the case of a guest who had a long march still in front of him, but although the messenger, who might also have been expected to spend the night there, had evinced the same desire to get on his way, it never occurred to Dom Erminio to put the two facts together. There are, however, other cunning men who now and then fail to see a very obvious thing.
Still, Father Tiebout did not go by the nearest way to San Thome, though he urged his hammock boys through the bush all night at their utmost speed. The path was smoothly trodden, and they had no great difficulty in following it through the drifting steam, while when the red sun leapt up and here and there a ray of brightness streamed down, they came upon a weary man who turned and stood still when he saw them. He made a little gesture of comprehension when the priest dropped from his hammock and looked at him.
Father Tiebout touched his shoulder and led him back a few paces into the bush. The man was big and muscular, as well as a pagan, but the priest hadthe letter when they came out again. He did not tell any one how he induced the messenger to part with it, but, as he now and then admitted, he was one who did not hesitate to use the means available. It was, in fact, a favorite expression of his, and, though he usually left the latter point an open question, in his case, at least, the results generally justified the means. He spoke a word or two sharply to the hammock boys, and they left the man sitting wearily beside the trail when they went on again.
It was three weeks later when the priest in charge of the San Thome Mission, who was a privileged person, sent on the letter to Dom Clemente Figuera by the hands of a Government messenger, but Father Tiebout, who requested him to do so, had made one or two other arrangements in connection with it in the meanwhile. Ormsgill, as he had once said, had a few good friends in Africa.