CHAPTER II.
PERHAPS A FOOL’S ERRAND.
Curiosity may have had something to do with my leaning over Robbins’ shoulder as he unfolded the paper. I, too, was an American, and had as much right as he to enter into the spirit of the game; besides, if it proved to be a begging epistle, cunningly contrived, as I suspected was the case, I was better able to stand the racket than poor Robbins, just rescued from the sea.
When he had straightened out the paper and held it so that the light from neighboring lamps fell upon its face, I was surprised at two things—the writing was plain English, and it was in a decidedly feminine hand. My eyes read the heading: “To any American in Bolivar,” and somehow it seemed to strike me as an appeal quite out of the ordinary.
Further down I found this idea strengthened and in a manner calculated to touch whatever of manliness there might be in a fellow.
Here, then, is what I read. I write it verbatim, for I have preserved the original as a precious link in the wonderful chain of events that had so much to do with my whole existence, that bound me to the past with its keen pleasure and pain, and connected me with a future:
“I am an American lady in trouble, kept a prisoner against my will by those who conspire to rob me of my liberty and my fortune. I charge you, in the name of high Heaven, you into whose hands this note may chanceto fall, to either take this child to the house of the American Consul, and let her tell him where I am, or else endeavor to save me at once. If money is any object, I will pay ten thousand dollars to be placed on board any English or American steamer. I dare not sign my name, but you can trust the child, who is as true as steel. May God deal with you as you listen to the appeal of“One in Distress.”
“I am an American lady in trouble, kept a prisoner against my will by those who conspire to rob me of my liberty and my fortune. I charge you, in the name of high Heaven, you into whose hands this note may chanceto fall, to either take this child to the house of the American Consul, and let her tell him where I am, or else endeavor to save me at once. If money is any object, I will pay ten thousand dollars to be placed on board any English or American steamer. I dare not sign my name, but you can trust the child, who is as true as steel. May God deal with you as you listen to the appeal of
“One in Distress.”
That was a remarkable document, surely.
Robbins looked around at me when he had finished, and I could see that not a single doubt occurred to him.
On my part, more suspicious, I had even wondered what sort of a mantrap might be back of this note, for the possession of wealth makes a man more cautious than when he was a penniless voyager on life’s ocean.
Robbins whistled his astonishment.
“Did you ever know such a thing?” he demanded of me.
“Yes; on the stage, an old story. Sometimes the poor fool escaped, but as often he was sandbagged and robbed.”
“You don’t believe it, then?”
“Oh, I won’t say that I’m willing to go as far as any man to test it,” carelessly.
“That’s more like your old self, Morgan, my boy,” he said, heartily; and I wondered whether he would continue to address me in that delightful old familiar way when he learned what a mighty nabob I had become since the hurricane that separated us at Samoa.
I looked at the girl.
She was still watching his face with an eagerness that baffled description.
There could be no doubt that she was wholly devoted to the cause of the author of that wonderful appeal, whether trickery lay back of it or not.
“Come, you know where the consul lives—we’ll take the child to him,” he cried, eager to dip into the adventure.
“Softly there; the thing’s impossible,” I said.
“Why do you say that?”
“It happens the consul is away on a junketing trip. I was invited, but lacked the nerve to try the awful conveyances to the interior of this healthy young republic.”
Robbins was never cast down; no matter when the masts went by the board, and the gigantic billows swept everything movable from the deck, his cheery voice was wont to bellow out words of hope, and with him there was always another chance.
“Well, then, it devolves on us, sure enough,” was what he said, lightly.
“You seem to count me in,” I said, with a smile.
“Because I know you too well to believe you could ever refuse to respond to such an appeal for help. Am I right, Morgan?”
“I guess you are—at least I’m quite fool enough to risk a broken head in such a mad adventure. There’s something in the air that urges one on; this is the land of romance and strange happenings, and I’m in a humor for anything to-night. Oh, yes, if you intend going with the girl, I’m at your side, though I rather imagine we may have a brawl of it before we finish the game.”
“Well, what of it? We are two, and in a good cause able to hold our own against a legion of these miserable Greasers. But—if you feel doubtful about it, Morgan, I hope what I’ve said won’t move you to take up arms against your good judgment. If it’s a fool’s errand, better that only one head be broken.”
“Nonsense. Don’t you understand that I’m in a humor to do anything to-night—that I even welcome this adventure as something calculated to break the horrid monotonyof my existence? Besides, something draws me on, and I don’t believe I could hold back now, no matter if I were sure of hard knocks.”
He looked relieved.
“Well, that ought to settle it. But see here, didn’t you say you talked Spanish?”
I confessed that I could manage to fairly hold up my end of a conversation, provided the other party were something of a mind reader.
“Suppose you question her, then?”
That appeared to be a bright thought, and I proceeded to carry it out; but my success was hardly flattering, since the child either would not or could not understand my fearfully constructed sentences, and made answer always in about the same vein, her stock of English being as limited as was my supply of Spanish.
“You come—good lady—she cry mucho—me love lady—show Amer-i-cano casa—bueno—you come—me glad.”
At length I desisted.
“We must take our chances, Robbins. The girl is here to lead us. Shall we make a start?” I asked, for since I was in the game, the sooner I saw what I had to face the better.
“Immediately. You won’t reconsider, Morgan?” he said; perhaps a little lingering doubt assailing him.
“Reconsider! No, indeed! Just remember this is my funeral as well as yours. So trot along, my hearty, and keep one eye out for breakers ahead.”
Robbins laughed at my warning, said something in his kindly voice to the dark-faced littlepeongirl, who at once took hold of his big fist and walked at his side.
So we threaded the crowded, noisy thoroughfares of Bolivar, like knights of old, in quest of adventure; indeed, it struck me there was something very Quixotic in our astonishing mission, but Robbins seemed to be so deeplyin earnest, I dismissed all idea of laughing at the matter, and resolved to see it through, no matter where the caprice of fortune might drift me.
Once I allowed my hand to rest lightly on the faithful little revolver I made it a point to always carry, though before this treasure trove had fallen to my share I had scorned to go armed save with nature’s weapons. Reassured by its presence, I transferred it to a side pocket of my blouse, and then felt better able to face a sudden emergency.
Everywhere the scene was pretty nearly the same; houses were illuminated, and crowds jostled us on the narrow pave; but we were in no hurry, and avoided the crush as much as possible.
One thing pleased me—we were not as yet headed for the meaner portion of the capital, but rather sought the better part, where the mansions of the wealthy lay. So my faith began to take root, and I even dared to mentally picture the poor American lady so far from her native land, who had evidently fallen into some trap, perhaps betrayed by those she trusted.
In and out we wound our way, attracting as little attention as possible, and finally the small guide drew up in front of a large building, the like of which was not to be found in all Bolivar.
“What! not thiscasa?” I exclaimed, aghast.
“Si, SeñorAmer-i-cano, this casa,” she said with a serious nod.
I think I muttered something under my breath, something that implied disgust, for I knew that remarkable building was the residence of the august alcalde, the high and mighty mayor of Bolivar.