It was about four o'clock in the afternoon and Kit Askew lounged in a chair on the bridge-deck as theRio Negrosteamed slowly across the long swell of the Caribbean. The wrinkled undulations sparkled with reflected light in a dazzling pattern of blue and silver, and then faded to green and purple in the shadow of the ship. A wave of snowy foam curled up as the bows went down and the throb of the propeller quickened as the poop swung against the sky. Then the lurching hull steadied and the clang of engines resumed its measured beat.
TheRio Negrowas old and ugly, with short iron masts from which clumsy derricks hung, tall, upright funnel, and blistered, gray paint. Her boats were dirty and stained by soot, and a belt of rust at her waterline hinted at neglect, but no barnacles and weed marred the smoothness of the plates below. Her antifouling paint was clean, and her lines beneath the swell of quarter and bows were fine. In fact, theRio Negrowas faster than she looked when she carried her regular load of two thousand tons and her under-water body was hidden. She traded in the Gulf of Mexico and the Caribbean, and at certain ports Customs officials carefully scrutinized her papers. At others, they smiled and allowed her captain privileges that strangers did not get.
Kit wore spotless white clothes, a black-silk belt, and a Panama hat of the expensive kind the Indians weave, holding the fine material under water. A glass occupied a socket in his chair, and when theRio Negrorolled a lump of ice tinkled against its rim; a box of choice cigars lay on the deck. Kit, however, was not smoking, but drowsily pondered the life he had led for the last three years. He was thinner and looked older than when he left Ashness. He had lost something of his frankness and his raw enthusiasm had gone. His face was quieter and his mouth set in a firm line.
He remembered his surprise when he first met his uncle at a luxurious Florida hotel. Adam Askew wore loose white clothes, a well-cut Tuxedo jacket, a diamond ring, and another big diamond in his scarf. His skin was a curious yellowish brown and his eyes were very black; he rather looked like a Spanish Creole than an Englishman. He had nothing of his brother's quiet manner. Although he was getting old, he walked with a jaunty step; he had a humorous twinkle, and his laugh was careless. In fact, he had an exotic, romantic look that harmonized with Kit's notions of the pirates who once haunted the Gulf of Mexico. When Kit afterwards learned why Adam's friends called him the "buccaneer," he saw that his first impression was not extravagant.
Now he remembered that when they sat behind the imitation Moorish arches on the hotel veranda Adam studied him and laughed.
"You're certainly Peter's son," he remarked. "I can imagine I'd just left him at the end of the Ashness lonning thirty years since. Except that he's got older, I reckon he hasn't changed, and for that matter, Peter was never young. Well, you are surely like him, but if you stop in this country we'll put a move on you."
"If I'm like my father, I am satisfied," Kit rejoined.
Adam's black eyes twinkled. "Now I see a difference; there's red blood in you. But don't take me wrong. Peter's a white man, straight as a plumb-line, one of the best; he's a year the younger of us, but when the old man died he brought me up. There are two kinds of Askews and I belong to the other lot. I don't know why they called you after roystering Kit."
It was obvious that Adam knew the family history, for Christopher Askew was a turbulent Jacobite who lost the most part of his estate when he joined Prince Charlie's starving Highlanders in the rearguard fight at Clifton Moor. Afterwards the sober quietness at Ashness had now and then been disturbed by an Askew who inherited the first Kit's reckless temperament.
Three years had gone since Kit met Adam, and he had learned much. To begin with, Adam sent him to an American business school, and made him study Castilian and French. Then he sent him to Mexico and countries farther south, where he studied human nature of strangely varied kinds. He met and traded with men of many colors: French and Spanish Creoles, negroes, Indians, and half-breeds with some of the blood of all. He knew the American gulf ports and their cosmopolitan hotels and gambling saloons, but Adam noted with half-amused approval that while he was not at all a prig he developed Peter's character and not Kit the Jacobite's. Now they were going south across the Caribbean on a business venture.
By and by Adam came slowly along the bridge-deck. The three years had marked a change in him and Kit thought he did not look well. Adam suffered now and then from malarial ague, caught in the mangrove swamps. He was thin, his yellow face was haggard, and his shoulders were bent. Sitting down close by, he lighted a cigar and turned to Kit.
"We ought to raise the coast before it's dark and I reckon Mayne will get his bearings," he remarked. "The lagoon's a blamed awkward place to enter and I'd have waited until to-morrow only that Don Hernando is expecting us."
"It will save us a day if we can get in, since you want to land the B. F. cargo in the dark," Kit said thoughtfully. "We pay high wages and theRio Negrois an expensive boat to run."
"That's so," Adam agreed with a smile. "You talk like a Cumberland flock-master. Counting every cent you spend is a safe plan, but I don't know that this trip will pan out much of a business proposition."
"Do you feel better for your sleep?" Kit asked.
"Some, though I've got a headache and a pain in my back. Guess they'll shake off when I get to work."
"I was surprised when you said you meant to sail with us."
"So I imagined," Adam rejoined dryly. "You wondered why I didn't, as usual, trust you to deliver the goods? Well, there's rather more to this job than that, and I meant to put you wise before we landed. You have heard me called a pirate, but I don't reckon on taking home much plunder now."
Kit mused while Adam beckoned a mulatto steward, who brought him a glass and some ice. His uncle's character was complex. Sometimes he was hard and exacted all that was his; sometimes he was rashly generous. Ostensibly, he was a merchant, shipping tools and machines, particularly supplies for sugar mills, to the countries round the Caribbean, and taking payment in native produce. Kit, however, knew the cases landed from theRio Negrodid not always hold the goods the labels stated, and that Adam's money sometimes helped to float an unpopular government over a crisis and sometimes to turn another out. It was a risky business, carried on with people who had a talent for dark revolutionary intrigue.
"Since Don Hernando Alvarez is president of the republic, I don't quite see why we need smuggle in his machine-guns," Kit remarked.
"On the surface, the reason isn't very obvious. Alvarez is president now, but mayn't be very long. It depends on whether he or his rival, Galdar, gets his blow in first. I reckon the chances are against Alvarez if Galdar puts up a fight, but the latter's not ready yet and Alvarez means to arm his troops before the fellow knows. I imagine about half the citizens are plotters and spies."
"Alvarez has been honest so far. I suppose if he wins he'll pay?"
"That's so," said Adam dryly. "If he goes down, we get nothing. Although I don't know much about his ancestors and suspect that one was an Indian, Alvarez is white, but the other fellow's a blamed poor sample of the half-breed nigger. Well, when Alvarez found things were going wrong, he sent for me."
"Ah," said Kit in a thoughtful voice, "I begin to understand."
He did understand, although he would not have done so when he met his uncle first. He had known Adam play the part of a merciless creditor, and thought few men could beat him at a bargain, but he kept his bargain when it was made, and now and then risked his money on lost causes. It looked as if he had inherited something from Christopher the Jacobite.
"You have known Alvarez long, haven't you?" Kit resumed.
"When I met him first, he was a customs officer with some perquisites and a salary that paid for liquor and tobacco. Vanhuyten and I ran the oldMercedesthen, and Van made a mistake that put us at the fellow's mercy. There was a good case for confiscating the schooner, which would have given Alvarez a lift while we went broke. In fact, the night of the crisis, I dropped Van's pistol overboard; he'd got malaria badly and was feeling desperate. Well, all we had given Alvarez didn't cover that kind of a job, but he'd promised to stand our friend and kept his word like a gentleman. Guess it needed some nerve and judgment to work things the way he did, and when we stole out to sea at daybreak past the port guard, I knew there was one man in the rotten country I could trust with my life. Now he's in a tight place, he knows he can trust me."
Adam got up and crossing the deck leaned against the rails. In the distance, where the glitter faded, there was a long gray smear that seemed to float like a smoke-trail above the water. Higher up, a vague blue line ran across the dazzling sky. The first was a fringe of mangrove forest; the other lofty mountains. A minute or two later, the fat, brown-faced captain came down from his bridge.
"Looks like the Punta; we've hit her first time," he remarked. "In about an hour I ought to get my marks. When d'you want her taken in?"
"Soon as it's dark," Adam replied. "You'll have to trust your lead and compass. Can't have you whistling for a pilot, and I'd sooner you put out your lights."
"It's your risk and not the first time I've broken rules. I guess I can keep her off the ground. We'll get busy presently and heave the hatches off. The B.F. cases are right on top."
Adam nodded, and beckoned Kit when the captain went away. "You haven't been in the Santa Marta lagoon yet. Stand by and watch the soundings and compass while Mayne takes her across the shoals. You may find it useful to know the channel."
Kit understood. Malaria and other fevers are common on low-lying belts of the Caribbean coast and skippers and mates fall sick. Moreover, theRio Negrodid not always load at the regular ports. Sometimes she crept into mangrove-fringed lagoons, and sometimes stopped at lonely beaches and sent loaded boats ashore when her captain saw the gleam of signal lights.
When it was getting dark, Kit and Adam went to the bridge and the former noted that his uncle breathed rather hard and seized the rails firmly as he climbed the ladder. The red glow of sunset had faded behind the high land and a gray haze spread across the swampy shore, but the water shone with pale reflections. On one side, a long, dingy smear floated across the sky. It did not move and Kit thought it had come from the funnel of a steamer whose engineer had afterwards cleaned his fires. Captain Mayne studied the fleecy trail with his glasses.
"I don't know if that's a coffee-boat going north; I can't make out her hull against the land," he said. "Sometimes there's aguarda-costahanging round the point."
"Better take no chances," Adam replied, glancing at theRio Negro'sfunnel, from which a faint plume of vapor floated.
Mayne signed to the quartermaster in the pilot house and the bows swung round. Half an hour afterwards, he rang his telegraph and the clang of engines died away while the throb of the propeller stopped. In what seemed an unnatural silence, a few barefooted deck-hands began to move about, and one stood on the forecastle, where his dark figure cut against the shining sea. The rest went aft with a line the other held, and when Mayne raised his hand there was a splash as the deep-sea lead plunged. A man aft called the depth while he gathered up the line, and Mayne beckoned another, who climbed to a little platform outside the bridge and fastened a strap round his waist.
"We're on the Santa Marta shelf, but I'm four miles off the course I set," Mayne remarked. "I want to work out the angle from the first bearing I got."
Kit went with him into the chart-room, for he knew something about navigation. They had taught him the principles of land-surveying at the agricultural college, and this had made his studies easier. When he came back the moon was getting bright, but the haze had thickened on the low ground and the heights behind had faded to a vague, formless blur. The trail of smoke had vanished, there was no wind, and the smooth swell broke against the bows with a monotonous dull roar as theRio Negrowent on. She was alone on the heaving water and steaming slowly, but the noise of her progress carried far. By and by a light twinkled ahead, leaped up into a steady glow that lasted for some minutes, and then went out.
"That's a relief," remarked Adam, who had struck a match and studied his watch. "The ground's clear and Don Hernando has somebody he can trust waiting at the lagoon. You can let her go ahead, Captain."
Mayne rang his telegraph and Kit went into the pilot house. The dim light of the binnacle lamp touched the compass, but everything else was dark and the windows were down. Kit could see the quartermaster's dark form behind the wheel, and the silver shining of the sea. There was a splash as the man on the platform released the whirling hand-lead. When he called the depth Mayne gave an order and the quartermaster pulled round the wheel. The swell was not so smooth now. It ran in steep undulations and in one place to starboard a broad, foaming patch appeared between the rollers. Kit knew the water was shoaling fast as theRio Negrosteamed across the inclined shelf. It was risky work to take her in, because the fire had vanished and there were no marks to steer for. Mayne must trust his compass and his rough calculations.
"Tide's running flood," he said to Adam. "She'd have steered handier if we'd gone in against the ebb; but there's a better chance of coming off if she touches ground."
"You don't want to touch ground and stop there with the B.F. goods on board," Adam replied.
After this, there was silence except when Mayne gave an order. White upheavals broke the passing swell on both sides of the ship. She rolled with violent jerks and at regular intervals the bows swung up. When they sank, a dark mass with a ragged top cut off the view from the pilot-house, and Kit knew it was a mangrove forest. He could see no break in the wall of trees that grew out of the water, but they were not far off when there was a heavy jar, and the Rio Negro stopped. The floor of the pilot-house slanted and Kit and the quartermaster fell against the wheel. Then there was a roar as a white-topped roller came up astern and broke about the vessel's rail in boiling foam. She lifted, struck again, and went on with an awkward lurch.
"Port; hard over!" Mayne shouted hoarsely, and Kit helped the quartermaster to pull round the wheel.
The order disturbed him, since it looked as if Mayne was off his course. The swell broke angrily ahead, but in one place, some distance to one side, the wall of forest looked less solid than the rest. A roar came out of the mist and Kit knew it was the beat of surf on a hidden beach. This told him where he was, because a sandy key protected the mouth of the lagoon; but he doubted if Mayne could get round the point. The tide was carrying the vessel on and there was broken water all about.
She went on, with engines thumping steadily; the hollow in the forest opened up until it became a gap and Kit could not see trees behind it. Mayne gave another sharp order, and Kit and the quartermaster pulled at the wheel. The dark bows swung, the speed quickened, and the rolling stopped. The throb of the screw and thump of engines echoed across misty woods and there was a curious gurgling noise that Kit thought was made by the tide rippling among the mangrove roots. The air got damp and steamy and a sour smell filled the pilot-house. Kit knew the odors of rotting leaves, spices, and warm mud.
In the meantime, he was kept occupied at the wheel for Mayne changed his course as the trees rolled past, until the telegraph rang and the engines stopped. Then there was silence until he heard the splash of the anchor and the roar of running chain. As theRio Negroslowly swung round, the winches rattled and her boats were hoisted out. Kit got into one with Adam and landed on a muddy beach. Dark figures came down to meet them, horses were waiting at the edge of the forest, and a few minutes later they mounted and plunged into the gloom.
Dazzling sunshine flooded the belt of sand where the shadows of dusty palmettos quivered beyond the Moorish arch; the old presidio smelt like a brick-kiln and the heat outside was nearly intolerable. In the middle of the dirty patio a fountain splashed in a broken marble basin, and it was dim, and by contrast cool, under the arcade where Kit sat among the crumbling pillars. The presidio was a relic of Spanish dominion and its founders had built it well, copying, with such materials as they could get, stately models the Moors had left in the distant Peninsula. A part had fallen and blocks of sun-baked mud lay about in piles, but the long, white front, with its battlemented top and narrow, barred windows stood firm. In spite of the ruinous patio, the presidio was the finest building in the town.
The others, so far as Kit could see, were squares of mud, for the most part whitewashed, although some were colored pink and cream. The glare they reflected was dazzling, but a row of limp palmettos ran between them and the space in front of the presidio, and here and there Kit noted rounded masses of vivid green. Except for the splash of the fountain, all was very quiet, and although the shadows had lengthened it looked as if the half-breed citizens were still enjoying their afternoon sleep. Now and then a barefooted sentry noiselessly passed the arch. He wore a dirty white uniform and ragged palm-leaf hat, but carried a good modern rifle, and Kit knew where the latter had come from. The country was rich with coffee, rubber, sugar, and dyewoods. Its inhabitants, however, for the most part, preferred political intrigue to cultivation; its government was corrupt, and prosperity had vanished with the Spaniards' firm rule.
A table carrying some very small glasses and coffee-cups stood in the arcade. Don Hernando Alvarez occupied the other side, and Kit imagined it was not by accident he sat with his back to a whitewashed pillar, since he was in the shadow and as he wore white clothes could not be seen a short distance off. Don Hernando's hair was coarse and his skin dark. His face was well molded, although the cheek-bones were prominent; his black eyes were keen and his thin lips firm. He wore a plain red sash, with no other touch of color except a bit of riband on his breast. It was obvious that he was not a Peninsular, as pure-blooded Spaniards call themselves, but he looked like a man who must be reckoned on. Just then his dark face was moody.
"You have come in good time," he said to Adam Askew, in Castilian. "I think the curtain will soon go up for the last act of the drama, but the plot is obscure and I do not know the end."
"I imagine the action will be rapid," Adam replied. "Unless you have changed much, you are cut out for your part."
"Ah," said Alvarez, "one gets cautious as one gets old. One loses the young man's quick, sure touch."
"That is so, to some extent," Adam agreed, and indicated Kit. "It explains why I have a partner; my brother's son. Still, perhaps one sees farther when one is old."
Alvarez bowed to Kit. "You have a good model, señor; a man who seldom hesitates and whose word goes. A rare thing in this country; I do not know about yours." Then he turned to Adam with a hint of anxiety. "How far do you see now?"
"I see what I have to do and that is enough. The consequences come afterwards."
Alvarez's face cleared. "You were always a gambler, but you run some risk if you bet on me." He was silent for a moment and then resumed: "In a sense, I envy you; you have a partner you can trust, but I stand alone. My son was found in the plaza with a knife in his back, and the man who killed him goes unpunished."
"Galdar was somewhere behind that deed, although I do not see his object yet," Adam remarked.
"The people liked Maccario and his removal cleared the ground. My enemy is cunning and, I think, did not mean to force a conflict until my friends had gone. Now there are not many left and the time has come. Morales died of poison, Diaz of snake-bite, and Vinoles was shot by a curious accident. So far, I have escaped; perhaps because I was lucky, and perhaps because it was not certain the people would choose Galdar if I followed my friends."
"I have wondered why you hold on. For a president of this country, you have had a good run. I think I would have left after a few prosperous years and located at Havana, for example."
Alvarez smiled. "There was a time when we had money in the treasury and I might have gone; but it was too late afterwards. Part of the revenue stopped in Galdar's hands—that was one way of embarrassing me—and I was forced to use the rest to undermine his plots. Now I am drawing on my small private estate."
"But why didn't you go while there was something left? You are not extravagant and do not need much."
Kit thought Adam's remark was justified. Alvarez lived with Indian frugality and looked ascetic; besides he had been long in power and had no doubt had opportunities for enriching himself at his country's expense. Kit liked Alvarez, but did not think him much honester than other Spanish-American rulers he had met.
"It was partly for my daughter's sake I remained," Alvarez replied. "She is at a Spanish convent and I would not leave her poor. Then I had my son's death to avenge." He paused and added with a deprecatory smile: "Moreover I have thought I can rule this country better than my rival."
"That's a sure thing," Adam agreed, in English. "Well, you had better tell me how you think matters are going. If I'm to help you properly I want to know."
Alvarez looked about. All was very quiet; there was nobody in the patio, and it was some distance to the nearest window in the wall that faced the pillars. For all that, he lowered his voice and answered in hesitating English with an American accent.
"It is hard to tell; a gamble in which one takes steep chances! Perhaps half the people with an object are for Galdar, and half for me. Those who have none will wait and back the man they think will win. So far, I have the soldiers, but their pay is behind and they are badly armed and drilled. They will stand by me if I can give them machine-guns and pay off arrears. But this must be done soon, without Galdar knowing. The next president will be the man who strikes before the other is ready."
"What will the thing cost altogether?" Adam asked.
He looked thoughtful when Alvarez told him, and then nodded. "All right. You'll get some of the guns to-morrow and another lot is on the way. Go ahead; I'll help you put the business over."
Alvarez filled the little glasses with a liquor that had a strong spicy smell and when his guests lifted them touched theirs with his.
"It is what I had hoped, my friend. If I live, you will not lose."
He drank and then held his glass slackly poised while he mused. Kit, who was nearest the arch, turned and glanced out. He saw the reflected light quiver across the trampled sand and the dusty green of the limp palmettos. Then, below the latter, there was a pale-yellow flash and the president's glass fell with a tinkle. A pistol-shot rang out and Kit, swinging round, saw that a flake of plaster had dropped on the table. There was some dust on Alvarez' brown face and on his clothes, but he looked unmoved.
Next moment Adam leaned on the table, steadying a heavy automatic pistol, and three quick flashes streamed from the perking barrel. Three small puffs of dust leaped up about the roots of a palmetto and as the empty cartridges rattled on the floor Kit thought an indistinct figure stole through the shadow of the fan-shaped leaves. He was not certain, because the light was dazzling and thin smoke drifted about his head.
He threw his chair back and plunging through the arch ran across the sand and stopped at the top of a narrow street. Men and women of different shades of color came out of the doors and began to talk excitedly, but there was nobody who looked like a fugitive. Kit went back after he got his breath and met two or three untidy, barefooted soldiers who ran past. When he entered the arch Adam was coolly reloading his pistol while the president dusted his clothes.
"It is nothing—they have tried again," the latter remarked. "Still, it looks as if Galdar felt himself stronger than I thought. Now, with your permission, I will go and give some orders." He smiled as he added: "There will be some prisoners by and by, men my guards do not like, but the fellow who fired the shot will not be caught."
"What about the sentry?" Adam asked.
Alvarez shrugged. "It is hot, and perhaps he was half asleep. I think the man is faithful, and just now I am the soldier's friend."
He went off and Adam filled his glass and looked at Kit. "I feel I'm getting old and want another drink. I got the bead on the fellow's dark head and missed him by a yard. Well, I guess you can't expect to have steady fingers when you've got malarial ague. It's a dramatic kind of country, anyhow."
Kit lighted a maize-leaf cigarette and mused. He had been startled, but his nerve was good and he knew something about the dark-skinned, reckless people of the South. They were robbed by their rulers, who spent the most part of the revenue to keep themselves in power; and sometimes, when the vote was useless, assassination seemed the only remedy. But it was on his uncle's promise Kit's thoughts dwelt. Although Adam was rich, the sum Alvarez needed was large. The latter was honest, in a sense, and Kit thought would not rob his friend, but he might be unable to make repayment. In fact, he had warned Adam that there was a risk and the bullet that struck the pillar was a significant hint. The venture looked rash, but Adam had stated that it was not a business proposition. He and the president were friends and this counted for much. The old Buccaneer had a sentimental vein.
Then Kit's thoughts strayed and he wondered what Peter was doing in the north country dale. Kit had prospered since he joined Adam and the latter had hinted that he might be rich, but he was tired of intrigue and excitement and the glare of the South. He wanted the bracing winds, and the soft lights that chased the flying shadows across the English hills. He smiled as he reflected that he was like the Herdwicks that never forgot their native heaf; but while he longed for the red moors and straight-cut valleys he felt a stronger call. He was young and had seen the daughters of the South; Louisiana Creoles with a touch of old French grace; dark-haired Habaneras with languid eyes, whose movements were a delight to watch; octoroons ready to welcome a lover who was altogether white, and half-breed Indian girls. All had charm and some had shown him favors that meant much, but their charm had left Kit cold.
He thought about Grace Osborn, steady-eyed and marked by English calm. She was frank and sometimes impulsive, but even then one got a hint of proud reserve. There was no touch of southern coquetry about Grace, she was not the girl to attract a lover and let him go, but if he came and proved his worth, she would go forward with him steadfastly through the storms of life. Kit sighed and pulled himself up. Grace was not for him and he must not be a romantic fool. He looked round and saw that Adam was quietly studying him.
"What are you thinking about, partner?" he asked and Kit knew the epithet meant much. Adam had not called him partner at first.
"I was thinking about Ashness," he replied.
"Ah," said Adam softly, "I often think about it too; the old house among the ash trees, and the Herdwicks feeding on the long slope behind. The red heath on the fell-top and the beck bubbling in the ghyll. Everything's clean and cool in the quiet dale, and the folk are calm and Slow." He paused and resumed with a curious smile: "Once I reckoned I'd go back when I got rich and make things hum, but when I had the money I saw that plan wouldn't work. Those quiet folk would have beaten me with their unchanging ways, and Ashness is too good to spoil. For all that, I allowed I'd see it again before I died, but now I don't know."
His smile faded and he gave Kit a keen glance. "Why did you pull out? It wasn't for my money. You haven't told me yet."
"No," said Kit, with some embarrassment. "I hardly think it's much of a story, but if you like I'll tell you now."
After a few moments he stopped awkwardly, and Adam raised his hand.
"Go on. I want to get the girl properly fixed."
Kit was not skilled at sketching character, but he drew Grace's portrait well and when he stopped Adam made a sign of sympathy.
"You have helped me place her. Don't know I'd have trusted another man's judgment when he talked about his sweetheart, but you're not a fool. Well, it seems to me the girl's worth getting."
"Miss Osborn is not my sweetheart. It is possible I shall never see her again."
"But you can't forget her?"
"No," said Kit quietly; "I can't forget."
Adam was silent for some moments and then looked up.
"You're like Peter, slow and staunch, but that's one reason you're my partner. Well, I know Osborn's kind; folk we have no use for in the United States. White trash, we call them; men with no abilities, whose foolish pride makes them think it's mean to work. Reckon they've first claim on the soft jobs and don't belong to the world of fighting men. But I guess they listen when money talks."
Kit said nothing, although he thought Adam's concluding remark significant, and the old man went on:
"Don Hernando helped me on my feet when Vanhuyten and I first came along this coast, with about a thousand dollars and a worn-out schooner. He's been my friend ever since and now he's hard up against it I've got to see him out. Guess it's going to cost me high, but when the job's put over there ought to be some money left and I don't know that you need forget the girl if she hasn't forgotten you. Well, perhaps I've said enough, and now I'll go and see where Don Hernando is."
Adam got up and as he crossed the patio Kit noted that his shoulders were bent and his movement slack. Adam had changed much since their first meeting at the Florida hotel. He had some very obvious faults, but Kit knew what he owed him and felt disturbed.
Kit paused as he wound the long silk sash round his waist, and looked out of the window of his room at the presidio. Square blocks of houses, colored white and yellow, ran down the hill. Here and there a palm rose from an opening, and the dusty green of the alameda broke the monotony of the flat roofs and straight, blank walls that gave the town an Eastern look.
Kit noted the strength of the presidio's situation. The old building stood high, its battlemented roof commanded the narrow streets, and there was a broad open space all round. He thought a few machine-guns would make it impregnable, since a revolutionary mob was not likely to be provided with artillery.
Kit tucked the end of the sash under the neatly-arranged folds. Some time is required to put on a Spanishfajaand at first Kit had thought the trouble unnecessary, but had found it is prudent to protect the middle of the body in a hot climate. When he was satisfied, he turned and looked about the room. There were no curtains or carpets, and two very crude religious pictures were fixed to the wall. Although the air was not yet hot, it was not fresh and a smell of spices, decay, and burnt oil came in through the window that opened on the patio.
A sunbeam touched a small earthen jar, holding a bunch of feather flowers. The jar was harshly colored, but the outline was bold and graceful, and Kit knew no pottery like that had been made in the country since the Spaniards came. He had bought it with the flowers for a few dollars, and remembered that the shopkeeper had included its contents when he offered it to him. "Todo loque hay," he said in uncouth Castilian.
Kit, turning over the jar carelessly, took out the flowers and as he did so something inside rattled and a large coin fell into his hand. The coin was old and heavy; indeed, he thought it weighed about an ounce. Taking it to the window, he rubbed its dull face and when the metal began to shine sat down with a thoughtful look. Unless he was mistaken, the coin was gold and did weigh an ounce.
When he finished dressing he went to the little dark shop. The shopkeeper was making coffee with a handful of charcoal on the doorstep, for the sake of the draught, and took off his hat politely as Kit came up.
"I found a piece of money in the jar I bought from you," Kit said inCastilian.
"Then your worship is lucky," the other remarked.
"But the money was not mine."
The shopkeeper shrugged. "What matter? It is yours now. Was the coin worth much?"
"It was worth finding."
"Well," said the shopkeeper, "I do not know where the money came from, and it may have been there a very long time. The jar is old and I bought it from an Indian some years since." He paused and gave Kit a keen glance. "You will remember that I offered you the jar with all there was inside."
"You did; it held some feather flowers. Still, as you did know about the money—"
"Then you want to give it back, if the owner can be found!"
"Certainly," said Kit.
The shopkeeper bowed. "I will make enquiries. If you should need anythingI sell, señor, perhaps you will remember that I am an honest man."
Kit went away, feeling puzzled and somewhat surprised. It looked as if the fellow was honest, but Kit thought he had studied him and there was something curious about his manner. Besides, a remark he made implied that he knew the coin was old.
When he ate his eleven o'clock breakfast with Adam and the President in the arcade, he took out the coin and told them about the shopkeeper's refusal to take it back.
"A Spanish onza," Adam remarked. "Worth nearly five pounds in English money, but a collector might give you more if it's as old as it looks. One used to see onzas in Cuba, and native merchants in Central America, who hadn't much use for banks, liked to get them. Now, however, they're getting scarce."
"In this country, all gold coins are scarce," Alvarez said dryly. "I agree with the shopkeeper that Don Cristoval is fortunate, and expect he feels that my people are honester than he thought."
"I was puzzled—" said Kit and stopped, for he saw the president's smile and began to understand.
"You are shrewd, señor; but that was to be expected from my old friend's nephew. To begin with, the man who keeps the shop is not a supporter of the Government."
"Ah," said Kit, "I think I see!"
Alvarez bowed. "One can trust your intelligence, and you can keep the coin. It looks as if my antagonists were curious about your character—the honor of a man who would take money that does not belong to him is open to doubt. The experiment was cheap."
Kit said nothing and the president filled a little glass with scented liquor. "I know my friends, Don Cristoval, and your uncle has stood much harder tests."
He touched Kit's glass with his. "Well, I am lucky, because I may need friends soon."
He got up and when he went down the long arcade Adam looked at Kit with a smile.
"When I was your age I wouldn't have taken the onza back. I'd have kept the money and my faith with the president; in fact, in those days, I kept anything I could get. Now the other fellow knows what you're like, I reckon he'll find the owner of the coin."
Adam went off after the president, and Kit pondered. A few days later, he sat one evening at a small table outside the café Bolivar. The café was badly lighted, hot, and full of flies. There was no door or window, and a few wooden pillars divided the low room from the pavement, which was strewn with cigarette ends and cardboard matches. In front, small palms, and eucalyptus lined the dusty alameda, where groups of citizens walked up and down. Inside the café somebody sang a Spanish song and played a guitar. It was not cool on the pavement, although a faint breeze made the palms rustle. The air was heavy and a smell of aniseed and new rum hung about the spot.
Presently a man who had been playing dominos got up and came to Kit's table. He was a white man, with pale blue eyes and yellow hair, and although rather fat he carried himself well. Kit had met Olsen before, and he nodded when he sat down.
"Nothing doing at the casino and the place was very hot," he said. "Besides, I don't quite trust the man who runs the bank. Taking them all round, these folks are clever crooks."
Kit agreed languidly and noted the order Olsen gave the half-breed landlord. The fellow did not look as if he indulged much, but Kit thought a large glass of the strong liquor was not often asked for. As a rule, the Americans he had met on the Caribbean coast were abstemious, while the half-breeds and Spaniards were satisfied with smallcopitasof fiery spirits distilled from the sugar cane. The English, German, and Scandinavian adventurers consumed them freely, and perhaps the Germans drank the most.
"How do you like it here?" Olsen resumed when he put down his glass."It's a country that soon palls. Are you staying long?"
"I can't tell," said Kit, who decided not to state that he knew the country. "You see, I'm not in command."
"No," said Olsen. "I suppose you're a relation of the Buccaneer?"
"A poor relation. He gave me a lift when I needed it."
Olsen laughed. "Well, I guess he makes you hustle. A pretty lively old pirate, if all one hears is true! I reckon they don't call him the Buccaneer for nothing, but it's hinted that he's beginning to lose his grip. I see your copita's empty. Will you take another drink?"
"No, thanks; I've had enough," said Kit, who distrusted Olsen. He thought the fellow's careless remarks covered some curiosity and had tried to leave him in doubt. Olsen probably imagined he was Adam's clerk.
"You're cautious, but one soon gets reckless here," Olsen resumed. "We are all adventurers, out for what we can get, and the chances against our making good are pretty steep. My notion is to have the best time I can, pick up as much money as possible, and quit before fever, intrigue, or a revolution knocks me out."
"It's an exciting life," Kit agreed. "Money doesn't seem plentiful."
"You have got to hustle and back the right man. Since you're stopping at the presidio, it's obvious that Askew's on the president's side. Well, I suppose everybody knows my employers have put their money on Galdar."
"Then, I imagine you run some risk."
"Sure," said Olsen, smiling. "Alvarez doesn't like me, and if I wasn't anAmerican citizen, I'd feel scared. Showed his secretary my naturalizationpapers when I put up my shingle. Took them out as soon as I reached theUnited States from Norway."
Kit pondered. Olsen spoke English and Castilian Well, but his accent was not American, nor, Kit thought, Scandinavian. There were a number of Germans in the country, engaged in extensive but rather dark commercial schemes, whom the United States consuls watched with jealous eyes. Kit knew that no one could transact much business without to some extent meddling with native politics, but while the other adventurers were satisfied with the money they could get, it looked as if the Germans wanted something else. It was perhaps significant that Olsen had, so to speak, insisted that he was a naturalized American and came from Norway. Kit doubted.
"Askew's judgment is generally pretty good, but he's getting old," Olsen remarked. "I don't see why he's backing the president; my notion is, Galdar's surely going to win." He paused and looked at Kit thoughtfully. "In fact, if I was holding a clerk's job on the other side, I'd consider if it wouldn't pay me to change."
Kit imagined this was a cautious feeler, made to find out if he could be bought, but he smiled.
"If Galdar does win, he won't have much to give his friends."
"He certainly won't have much money," Olsen agreed. "It's going to cost him all he can raise to turn Alvarez out, but he'll have something to give at the country's expense; sugar and coffee concessions, and perhaps monopolies. If I can get my share, it will pay my employers well and I allow they're generous."
He stopped, as if he thought he had said enough, and after ordering another drink looked up with a grin. Two girls in light dresses had passed the café once or twice with a male companion and a fat old woman who wore black clothes. Kit had not noticed them particularly, because other groups were moving about, but he now remarked that the man had gone and thedueñawas a yard or two in front. One of the girls looked round and he thought her glance searched the café and then stopped at his table.
"The señorita's a looker," said Olsen. "I wonder which of us she fancies.She's been round this way before."
"I'm not remarkably handsome and there are other people in the café," Kit replied. "Anyhow, I don't want to get a jealous señorita's knife in my back."
"You're a blamed cautious fellow," Olsen rejoined in a meaning tone. "However, you'll find me at the casino evenings if you feel you'd like a talk, and now I'll get along."
He went off and Kit smoked another cigarette. He thought Olsen had, so to speak, been sounding him; the fellow had certainly given him some hints. Kit imagined he had taken a prudent line by keeping the other in the dark about his partnership with Adam and their plans.
When he had smoked his cigarette he crossed the street to the alameda and went up a broad walk beneath the trees. The sky had cleared, the moon was high, and in front of the openings pools of silver light lay upon the ground. By and by Kit saw the group he had noticed a few yards ahead. They were moving slowly and although he walked no faster he soon came up with them. The girl who had looked into the café was nearest and the moonlight touched her face as she turned her head.
Kit gave her a half curious glance and felt some surprise, for he could see her better now and thought her a pure-blooded Spaniard. ThePeninsulareswere aristocrats, the girl had a touch of dignity, and her dress was rich. It was strange if a girl like that was willing to defy conventions and risk an intrigue with a stranger. Yet he imagined he had seen her smile, and she carried a little bunch of purple flowers in the hand nearest him. He looked again and saw that she was beautiful and moved with the grace that generally marks thePeninsulareswhen they are young. The path was broad and he could keep level with the group without exciting curiosity, but he thought it curious that the fat old woman, who ought to have guarded the others, was in front.
He resolved to go past, and just before he did so the girl gave him a glance that he thought was half amused and half provocative. Then she turned her head and next moment he saw a flower near his feet. He noted a faint smell of heliotrope and knew she had dropped the flower for him. This meant something, although it would not have much significance unless he picked up the heliotrope. He did not, and walking past with a quicker step, heard a soft laugh.
When he reached the presidio he sat down on the balcony that overlooked the patio outside his room. There was nobody about and he began to muse. It was rash to take things for granted, but he thought he had been made the subject of three experiments. Somebody had put a gold onza in the Indian jar; Olsen had tried to find out if he was ambitious; and the girl in the alameda meant to learn if he could be moved by beauty. Well, they ought to know something about him now, but they were not very clever or they would have extended their experiments over a longer time. It looked as if they thought him something of a fool, and this was, perhaps, an advantage.
Kit smiled as he remembered that when Janet Bell tried to flirt with him he had been rather humiliated and felt himself a prig. He was older now and had not been much embarrassed in the alameda, although he nearly picked up the flower. His curiosity was excited and he wanted to find out the girl's object. Indeed, it was hard to see why he had left the flower alone, but he had a vague feeling that it was unfair to use a charming girl in a dark intrigue. Since he had known Grace Osborn, he had given women a higher place. For her sake, he would not try to gain an advantage against his and the president's antagonist by embarking on an adventure with the Spanish girl.
Then he began to wonder whether he would see Grace again, but presently got up with an impatient shrug. Grace, in all probability, had forgotten their friendship and married Thorn. Anyhow, she was not for him and it was futile to indulge a barren sentiment.
Breakfast was over and Alvarez, sitting at a table in the arcade, smiled as he indicated the transformed patio. The broken pavement had been swept, the fountain scrubbed until the marble showed white veins, and the old brass rails of the balconies gleamed with yellow reflections where the sunshine fell. Small palms and flowering plants in tubs stood among the pillars, flags hung from crumbling cornices, and barefooted peons were fastening up colored lamps.
"When the people are discontented they must be amused," the president remarked. "In Rome, they gave them circuses and I had thought of a bull-fight. There is a Spanish quadrilla in Cuba but I found it would cost too much to bring the company across. Besides, I do not know if strong excitement would be good for the citizens."
"A ball is safer," Adam agreed. "While they have the function to talk about they'll forget to plot."
"For a week, perhaps! Well, it ought to be some help, if your agents are prompt."
"They're hustlers and know they've got to get busy. I expect theRio Negroback in fourteen days, and then it will be your business to rush her cargo up. Mule transport's slow on your swamp tracks, and it's perhaps unfortunate you didn't give my friends the concession for the light railroad. You might have found it useful now."
Alvarez shrugged. "A railroad can be cut, and locomotives break down at awkward times when their drivers are bribed. Then, I have granted so many concessions that there is not much that foreigners think worth getting left in the country. One must keep something to bargain with."
"Governing a people like yours is an expensive job. However, since they make it expensive, they oughtn't to grumble if you tax them high."
"They do not always pay the taxes," Alvarez rejoined with a twinkle. "If they run me out, they will probably disown their debts, and then there will be trouble with the foreigners. Still, that is not very important, because I shall be gone and the Americans will not let the others' consuls use much pressure. The speculators understand the risks."
"That's so," said Adam and added meaningly: "Some of the speculators areAmerican."
Alvarez put his finely-shaped hand on Adam's arm. "My friend, if it is possible, you will be paid. If not, it will be because I am dead."
"I know," said Adam. "I'm not scared to take chances and when they go against me I don't grumble. Anyhow, time is important and if you work this ball properly it ought to give us another week. You'll get the money for your soldiers shortly afterwards and Mayne will land your guns."
The president's dark face softened and he smiled.
"I know whom I can trust," he said and went away.
"If it's possible for a half-breed to be an honest man, Don Hernando meets the bill," Adam remarked. "Anyhow, he's a better president than these folks deserve, and they'll be blamed fools if they turn him down." He was silent for a few moments and then resumed: "I gave you a share in my business, Kit, and now, if you are willing, I'll buy you out."
"But I'm quite satisfied; I'd much sooner stick to our agreement," Kit said with surprise.
"Well, I guess you're rash. Your share isn't large but it would go some way to buy an English farm. Raising Herdwick sheep is a pretty tame occupation, but I reckon it's safer than backing Alvarez."
Kit thought hard and imagined he saw Adam's object. "Of course," he said, "if you want to get rid of me—"
"I don't know that I'm keen. You're some help, but you came out to forget the girl in England, and not to stay. Well, if you mean to go, now's your time."
"The trouble is I haven't forgotten her," Kit answered quietly.
Adam's eyes twinkled. "If you go home, you may get her, and I allow she's probably worth the effort, but you're not going to side-track me like that. If you quit now, I can buy you out and you'll have something to help you make another start; afterwards I mayn't be able. You needn't hesitate about taking the money; I guess you've earned it."
"I suspected where you were leading. Still you see, I'd sooner stay. For one thing, I hate leaving an awkward job half finished. You're beginning to feel the job is bigger than you thought it was when you undertook it?"
"It certainly is," Adam agreed. "However, since you insist, I'll talk plain. Alvarez has no claim on you, although he has a claim on me, and I pay my debts. The last to fall due is going to strain my finances, but it must be paid, a hundred cents for every dollar. All the same, the liability is not yours. There's no reason why you shouldn't pull out while you're safe."
Kit shook his head. "I see a reason. I don't know if it's sound, but after all one's self-respect is worth something."
"Oh, well!" said Adam, "we won't quarrel. You're very like Peter and he's the staunchest man I know."
He got up and when he went off, Kit, feeling somewhat moved, lighted a cigarette and smoked thoughtfully. It looked as if Adam did not think the president would win, but for all that meant to stand by him. Although not fastidious about his business methods, Adam had his code and was not afraid, when friendship demanded it, to fight for a lost cause. Moreover, Kit meant to fight with him. Then he got up and smiled. Adam meant well, but he was clumsy; if he had wanted to save Kit from sharing his risk, he might have made a better plan.
When evening came Kit entered the arcade and sat down in a quiet spot to look about. The moon was nearly full and flooded half the patio with silver light; the rest was in shadow and rows of colored lamps twinkled in the gloom. A band played behind the pillars, the rattle of castanets breaking in on the tinkle of the guitars when the beat was sharply marked. The music was seductive, unlike any Kit had heard in England, and he thought it tinged by the melancholy the Moors had brought, long since, from the East to Spain.
At one end of the patio, groups of young men and women moved through the changing figures of an old Spanish dance. Their poses were strangely graceful, and some had a touch of stateliness. This vanished when the music changed and the well-balanced figures, raising bent arms, danced with riotous abandon. In a minute or two the melancholy note was struck again and the movements were marked by dignified reserve. Kit got a hint of Southern passion and, by contrast, of the austerity that often goes with Indian blood.
In the meantime, he noted the play of moving color, for the women wore white and pink and yellow. Some had flowers in their dark hair and some covered their heads with a lace mantilla. The men's clothes were varied, for a number wore shabby uniforms, and others white linen with red silk sashes, while a few had chosen the plain black, and wide sombrero, of the Spanish don.
At the other end of the patio, portly señoras with powdered faces sat among the pillars, and grave, dark-skinned citizens moved about the pavement in talking groups. A heavily-built man with a very swarthy color and thick lips went to and fro among them, bowing and smiling, and Kit knew this was Galdar, the president's rival. Kit did not like the fellow and thought his negro strain was marked. He looked sensual, cruel, and cunning. For the most part, the president stood outside the crowd, although now and then a group formed about him. He was tall and thin, his face was inscrutable, and Kit thought he looked lonely and austere.
By and by an officer Kit had met told him he must dance and took him along the arcade. The officer stopped where two girls sat under a string of lamps, with a man in black clothes and a fat old woman behind. At first, Kit could not see them well, but when they got up he started as he recognized the girl who had dropped the flower. Then he tried to hide his embarrassment as he was presented to Señorita Francisca Sarmiento. She was handsomer than he had thought and as she made him a stately curtsey her eyes twinkled.
Kit imagined the other girl studied him carefully and wondered whether she knew about the flower. It was, however, his duty to ask the señorita to dance, and after a few moments they crossed the pavement. Kit had some misgivings, because the dance was involved and one used a number of different steps, but the girl guided him through its intricacies and when he took her back signed him to sit down. He obeyed, for Francisca Sarmiento had an imperious air. Other young men came up when the music began again, but passed on, and Kit imagined the girl had made them understand they were to do so since one or two frowned at him.
"Well," she said, looking at him across her fan, "how do you like this country?"
"It has many attractions," Kit replied.
"But some drawbacks?"
"The drawbacks are not very obvious now."
"Ah," she said, giving him a mocking glance, "for an Englishman, you are polite, but it looks as if you were as cautious as I thought."
"I'm flattered that you thought about me at all." Kit rejoined.
She laughed and played with her fan. "Oh, well; we are curious about strangers, particularly when they are friends of the president's. One wonders why they come."
"I imagine most of us come to get money."
"In this country, one gets nothing unless one runs some risk, and you are cautious," Francisca remarked.
Kit noted her insistence on this trait of his. He thought her remarks had a meaning that did not appear on the surface.
"I wonder what grounds you have for thinking so," he said.
"Are they not obvious?" she answered. "Not long since you hesitated to pick up a sprig of heliotrope."
"I durst not think the compliment was meant for me."
Francisca glanced at him with quiet amusement. "You are modest, señor; it looks as if you had a number of virtues. For one thing, I imagine you are honest, and honesty is not very common here." She paused and resumed in a meaning tone: "It is a drawback, if one wants to get rich."
"I don't know that my character is worth your study," Kit replied carelessly.
"You are of some importance, señor. Although I have admitted that you are modest, it is strange you do not know."
"Why should I know?" Kit asked.
Francisca studied him over her ebony fan, which hid half her face and emphasized the curious glow of her black eyes. "I do not think you are as dull as you pretend. Have you not been experimented on recently?"
"I think I have," said Kit. "After all, a gold onza is not a great temptation. I found another—a spray of heliotrope—harder to resist."
"But you did resist!" she replied in a quiet voice.
"Yes," said Kit, fixing his eyes on her face. "I am an adventurer like the rest, but it is rather a shabby thing to try to gain an advantage in a battle with a woman. Besides, as I'm not clever, I might have failed."
With a languid movement of her head Francisca looked round and Kit imagined she saw the others were too far off to hear. Then she made him a half mocking bow.
"We need not quarrel, señor, and I will give you a hint. Since you are incorruptible, this town is not the place for you. Strangers from the North sometimes get fever. And I would not like you to suffer because you are honest, and have chosen the losing side."
"Ah," said Kit, "you think our side will lose?"
Francisca moved her fan, as if to indicate Galdar, who stood in the moonlight near the fountain. He was smiling urbanely and a number of men and women had gathered about him. Kit knew they were people of importance. At the end of the patio, the president stood alone in the advancing gloom.
"You see!" she said. "Well, I am engaged for the next dance. You have my leave to go."
Kit left her and sat down in a quiet spot. On the whole, he thought the president's antagonists had been foolish when they tried to use the girl; she was, so to speak, too good, and perhaps too proud, for the part they expected her to play. This, however, was not important; he imagined she had meant well when she gave him a hint, although the hint was not worth much, because Kit thought Adam saw how things were going. Then he reflected with some amusement that he need not bother much about deceiving the enemy, since Galdar's friends would not suspect that Buccaneer Askew had knowingly chosen the losing side.
Presently Kit joined Adam, who sat near a lamp. His face was damp and looked pinched.
"Let's go and get a drink," he said. "I'm thirsty; got a dose of intermittent fever again."
Some tables behind the pillars were laid out with wine and fruit, andAdam beckoned a mulatto waiter.
"Tinto and siphon. Bring some ice."
"There is nosiphon, señor. We have sherry, vermouth, and some very good anisado."
"You have plentysiphon" Adam declared. "Go and look."
The waiter went away and Adam frowned. "I can't stand for their scented liquors; I want a long, cool drink."
After a few minutes, the waiter came back with a large glass, in which a lump of ice floated in red wine and mineral water. Adam, sending him away, remarked: "That's a stupid fellow. I wanted to mix the stuff myself."
He drank thirstily and put down the glass.
"Tastes bitter; too much resin in the wine, or perhaps it's imagination."He lifted the glass but stopped and threw the rest of the liquor on thepavement. "Reckon I've had enough. About the meanest drink I've struck.Give me a cigar. The taste stops in my mouth."
Kit gave him a cigar, but after a few minutes he threw it away.
"I don't feel much better and think I'll go to my room. You might come along; the stairs are steep."
He got up awkwardly and leaned upon the table, breathing rather hard while big drops of sweat started from his forehead. "This confounded ague grips me tight. Don't know when I've felt so shaky. Better give me your arm."
They started, and keeping in the shadow, reached the outside stairs without exciting much curiosity, but Kit felt disturbed. Adam went up slowly, stopping now and then, and stumbled across the balcony at the top. Bright moonlight shone into the bare room, where a small lamp burned, and Kit saw that Adam's face was wet.
"Leave me alone," he said. "You can come back by and by and see how I'm getting on."
Kit did not want to go, but gave way when Adam insisted. He met the president soon afterwards.
"Where is Don Adam?" the latter asked.
Kit told him and added that his uncle had seemed to get worse after drinking some wine.
"Ah," said Alvarez thoughtfully. "Fresh lime-juice is better when one is feverish. Did he drink anything else?"
"No," said Kit. "The waiter wanted to bring some anisado, but he insisted on the wine."
Alvarez took him to the table where the refreshments were served and clapped his hands. A waiter came up, but Kit said, "That is not the boy."
"Where are your companions?" the president asked.
"One is washing the glasses, señor. I do not know where the other has gone."
Alvarez opened a door and Kit saw a man putting smallcopitasinto a pail.
"It was another fellow who brought the wine," he said, and Alvarez beckoned the waiter.
"Call the mayor-domo."
A man dressed in plain black clothes came in, and Alvarez asked: "How many of these fellows did you send to serve the wine?"
"Two, señor. It was enough."
"Three came. It will be your business to find the third," said the president sternly and turned to Kit. "What was the fellow like?"
Kit described the waiter and Alvarez said to the mayor-domo, "You will be held accountable if the man has got away. Send Doctor Martin to the bottom of the stairs."
The mayor-domo went away and Alvarez knitted his brows.
"Galdar's friends are bold, but I had not expected this. However, DonAdam's drinking wine may have balked them and Martin is a good doctor."
Kit asked no questions, for he could trust the president and thought there was no time to lose. They crossed the patio and found a man waiting in the shadow at the bottom of the steps. Alvarez said a word or two and they went up. When they entered the room Adam glanced up from the bed.
"I see you have brought the doctor," he said with an effort.
"In this country, one takes precautions," Alvarez replied. "You look ill, my friend."
"I'd have looked worse if I'd drunk anisado," Adam remarked. "Anyhow, you had better light out and let Señor Martin get to work."
The doctor, who felt Adam's pulse, made a sign of agreement, and then writing on a leaf of his pocketbook gave it to the president.
"Will you send that to my house? I need the things at once."
Alvarez moved away and Adam looked at Kit with a forced smile. "You needn't be anxious, partner. I didn't drink all the wine; reckon they haven't got me yet."
Then they went out and left Adam with the doctor.