Gomez once more apologized. The señor Cliffe had not yet arrived from Villa Paz, he explained, but was expected in the morning. In the meantime the good señora Garcia would look after the señorita's comfort.
Evelyn had to be content with that. Indeed, she was too tired to feel much disturbed. On getting up the next morning, however, she was troubled by unpleasant suspicions. It had been a shock to find Cliffe absent, and she began to review the misadventures which had marked her journey. To begin with, it now seemed curious that her father had not written instead of sending a message; then, the señora Herrero had not kept her promise to overtake them, and Luisa Romanez had unexpectedly gone back. While she wondered whether all this had any sinister meaning, Evelyn felt for a packet of paper currency which she had, at her father's advice, sewn into her dress. She found that it was gone. A hurried search showed that the stitches had been neatly cut.
For a few moments she felt unnerved, and then resolutely pulled herself together. This was no time for hysteria. It was obvious that she had been duped. The lost sum was not large, but with the exception ofa few coins it was all she had, and it had not been stolen by a common thief. Somebody had searched her clothes while she slept and taken the money with the object of embarrassing her.
Going to the window, she looked out at the town. It had a mean, dilapidated air; the few inhabitants she saw slowly moving about looked poverty-stricken and furtive. Their harsh voices jarred; one could expect no sympathy or help from these foreigners. Hitherto she had been indulged and carefully protected, but she was now alone and in danger, and the novel experience was daunting. Still, she saw that it was unwise to give her imagination rein. She must keep her head and try to grapple with the situation.
She finished dressing and without waiting for the morning chocolate found her way to the room in which she had been received on the previous evening. It stretched across one end of the house on the second floor and was furnished in rather barbarous taste. Although there was a profusion of colored silk and a hint of sensual luxury, it was obviously a man's room, and Evelyn studied the woman who joined her when the majordomo brought in breakfast.
Señora Garcia was coarsely handsome, but she had not the easy manners of a lady of rank and her dark color hinted at Indian blood. Her expression was arrogant, and Evelyn felt that she was hostile. Besides, she spoke an uncouth Spanish that the girl could not understand at all. Breakfast was a trial of nerve, but Evelyn knew that she must eat and hide her fears. When breakfast was over she would have a talk with Gomez.
He soon came in, and dismissed the señora Garciawith a commanding glance. Her servile obedience was significant.
"Buenos días, señorita," he greeted Evelyn smilingly.
"When do you expect my father?" she asked bluntly.
"I regret that I cannot answer positively. It may be a week before he comes—perhaps longer."
"But you brought me here to meet him!"
Gomez smiled, and spread out his hands in a way that always irritated Evelyn.
"It now appears that the señor Cliffe's business with the President is not finished," he said.
"It would not prevent his coming to meet me if he had promised."
"You should know best," Gomez answered with a shrug. "Still, it looks as if the señor Cliffe put his business first and is not very anxious about you."
"That is not true!" Evelyn said vehemently. "If he had any cause to be anxious, he would let no business stand in the way!"
"Ah! I admit I find this interesting."
Gomez looked so satisfied that Evelyn feared she had blundered, though she could not see how. Her heart beat fast and her nerves were tensely strung, but she knew that she must be calm. The man was her antagonist and she was fighting in the dark.
"Well," she said, "since my father has not arrived, I will go to him."
"I am afraid that is impossible. It is a long way to Villa Paz and the country is disturbed."
"Do you mean to prevent my going?"
"Far from it, señorita. You are at liberty to do what you wish; but unfortunately, I cannot providemules and an escort. There are some dangerous revolutionaries among the hills. Then, I must remind you that our people dislike foreigners, and a lady cannot travel alone and without money."
Evelyn felt trapped.
"How do youknowI haven't money? Because it was stolen in this house! You must lend me some—my father will repay it."
"Your pardon, señorita, but you are mistaken; I can answer for the honesty of my servants. I would lend you money, only that I cannot permit you to make a journey I know is dangerous."
The girl sat still and there was silence for a few moments while she tried to brace herself. She felt that she was at the man's mercy, for there was something threatening behind his suave politeness, and his smile indicated that he was amused by her futile struggles. For all that, she must keep up the fight.
"Then what is to be done?" she asked.
"I suggest that you write to the señor Cliffe and tell him where you are. If you add that you do not feel safe, he will, no doubt, join you as soon as possible. Although it may reflect upon our care of you, we will see that he gets the letter."
It seemed a simple course, but Evelyn was on her guard. She must match her wits against the man's, and he had shown a hint of eagerness that she thought suspicious. Having brought her to Rio Frio by trickery, why did he wish her father to know that she felt alarmed?
"I should be glad to write to him, but I do not see why I should make him uneasy on my account," she said.
There was something in Gomez's expression which indicated that he felt baffled, and she knew it might be dangerous to provoke him; but he exercised self-control.
"That is for you to judge, but are you not inconsistent, señorita? You show some anger and alarm when you do not find your father here, and now when I suggest an easy way of bringing him, you will not take it."
"Do you want him to come here?" Evelyn asked bluntly.
Gomez gave her a steady, thoughtful look.
"On the whole, that would suit us." He paused and added in a meaning tone: "It would facilitate your return to the coast."
Evelyn knew she had been given a hint that was half a threat and it cost her something to refuse it, although she felt that to do what the man wished might not be the safest plan.
"After all, it might interfere with his business if I made him leave Villa Paz before he is ready."
Watching Gomez closely she thought his calm was forced, but he bowed.
"As you wish, señorita, but you will think over it. And now I must leave you."
For some minutes after he had gone Evelyn sat with relaxed muscles and vacant mind, for the strain had told; then by degrees her courage came back. She was an American and must show no weakness to an antagonist of alien and, she felt, baser blood. Besides, it looked as if she had won the first encounter and she had resources which should prove useful. She had inherited her father's intelligence, and her socialtraining had given her restraint and the power to conceal her thoughts, while a woman's quick, instinctive perception was an advantage.
All this, however, was not directly to the point. She had been decoyed to Rio Frio for some purpose. She shrank as she remembered Luisa Romanez's hints; still, she did not think Gomez was in love with her. The fellow was a sensualist, but he had some advantage in view, and she had already suspected what it was. Now she began to understand the matter more clearly. Gomez and the President meant to use her as a means of getting her father into their power. She did not think his personal safety was threatened, but they would insist on his agreeing to their terms as the price of restoring her to him, and it was plain that she would play into their hands by writing a letter that would cause him anxiety. Evelyn determined that they should not have her help, but although she sat for some time with brows knitted and hands clenched, she could make no better plan than to remain quietly obstinate.
It was impossible to reach Villa Paz without money, and although she shrank from being left in the power of a man like Gomez, she thought his self-interest would secure her safety. She might, perhaps, get some one to carry a message to Grahame if he were on the coast, but she was reluctant to do so unless the need were urgent.
After a while she got up and went out into the plaza. People gazed at her curiously; some smiled at one another as she passed, and a number of the women looked suspicious and hostile. For all that, she was neither molested nor followed, and when the sun got hot shereturned to the house, where she spent the day drearily improving her knowledge of Castilian. It promised to become useful, but the fine language jarred her long afterward.
The week that followed tried her courage. She was, in reality, a prisoner, though subject to no open restraint and treated well, except that the señora Garcia regarded her with badly disguised hatred. Now and then she saw Gomez, but he was suavely courteous and said nothing of importance. She got nervous and lost her color and her appetite, but there was nothing to do but wait until Gomez, who apparently meant to wear her out, made some fresh demand.
One evening he came into the room where she sat and after a ceremonious greeting stood with his head slightly bent in an attitude of respect. He was dressed in a white uniform which emphasized his stoutness and the dark color of his greasy skin.
"You look tired, señorita," he remarked.
"I am very tired of Rio Frio. Have you come to tell me that I can go away?"
"That you should be eager to do so grieves me, but I can, perhaps, make it possible. There is a proposal I wish to make."
"Yes?" Evelyn answered as carelessly as she could.
"You may find what I propose surprising; but I must beg you to think over it and you will see that it is not so strange as it seems. I have the honor to ask you to be my wife."
Evelyn shrank back in horror, as if he had struck her, and then with an effort recovered her self-control.
"This is impossible, señor; indeed, it is absurd."
"Your pardon," he said with ominous grimness; "Icannot agree. It is, I think, the best way out of an embarrassing situation, but this is an argument I do not wish to use. I would rather speak of the charm you exercise and my respectful admiration."
"We can leave that out. I do not value nor desire it."
The man's dark eyes flashed, and Evelyn knew the danger of rousing him. His Spanish polish was only skin-deep, and the savage lurked beneath. For all that, she was desperate and meant to force the conflict.
"Very well," he said; "I must take another course. To begin with, it looks as if your father did not care what became of you. It is now some time since he left you at Valverde and he has not troubled to inquire if you are safe."
"I do not believe that!"
"Well, we will let it go. The rest is more important. It is known in Valverde that you did me the honor to run away with me."
Evelyn jumped up, with the color rushing to her face and her hands clenched. The prudence she tried to exercise had given place to imperious anger.
"You scoundrel!" she cried. "Do you think it matters to me what your black-blooded countrymen and women think! Your Moorish customs may be necessary for them, but I am an American!"
Gomez chuckled.
"There were two Americancomisionistasat Valverde and they must have heard the story in the cafés. It is, you understand, a romantic episode: the daughter of a well-known financier elopes with a foreign soldier. Thecomisionistastalk about it when they return and your newspapers make the most of the tale. Someof them are not reserved or fastidious. It is possible they print your portrait. One can imagine the astonishment of your friends, but the story would be incomplete if it did not end with a romantic wedding."
The girl drew back in horror. If the tale reached home, the shock would break her mother down; but it was possible that Gomez was lying. She had heard of no American drummers in the town.
He gave her no time to recover.
"Then I must show you how what followed our flight from Valverde fits in. We arrive together at Rio Frio after dark; you find shelter in my house."
Evelyn started, for this was worse.
"Your house!" she exclaimed. "Then who is Señora Garcia?"
Gomez smirked in an ugly manner.
"A woman of the town who comes at my bidding."
The jealous hatred of the coarse but handsome woman was now explained and Evelyn grew hot with humiliation as she saw that the señora Garcia regarded her as a favored rival. It was unendurable; but in spite of her anger she was getting calm. Besides, there was some hope in the thought that Gomez could not be moved by passion. He was a sensual brute, and her beauty had perhaps caught his roving eye, but it was some material advantage he sought.
"It was a clever plot; one that only a mind like yours could conceive," she said with quiet scorn.
"The important thing is that it succeeded. But may I ask why you object to me? I am a man of influence—in reality, the second in power. The country is disturbed and discontented; before long I may be first."
"Your hopes would probably come to a sudden end,if your master guessed them," Evelyn answered with a mocking smile.
She saw that she had touched him, for he cast a quick glance at the door, as if to make sure that nobody had heard his boast. As he did so, Evelyn thought she heard a faint movement outside, but she knew she might be mistaken, and Gomez did not seem to notice anything. To distract his attention, she flung another jibe at him.
"Señor," she said, "though you think I am in your power, I will never marry you. It is an insult to suggest it. Even if you were not repulsive in person and character, you are not a white man."
The blood rushed to his face and his eyes flashed.
"You are rash, señorita, in trying to provoke me, but you may take a wiser course before I have finished with you. It pains me deeply to be compelled to remind you that you are in my house, in my power. I repeat to you my offer, señorita; I give you one more chance to marry meof your own free will. And now I leave you to think it over."
Before Evelyn could more than gasp he was gone. She fell limply into a chair and dropped her head into her hands. She must think,think; but the strain had been unbearable and the reaction threatened to overwhelm her.
When she was able to think calmly, Evelyn found herself confronted by familiar troubles. She was not a prisoner and yet she could not run away, because she had no money and could not understand the barbarous Castilian spoken among the hills. Moreover, she could not appeal, even by signs, for help, for it was generally believed that she had eloped with Gomez. His friends would, no doubt, send her back to him. His enemies would treat her with rude contempt. Sooner than be forced to marry him, she would steal away and starve; but she had a conviction that things would not come to the worst. It would suit Gomez best to break down her resistance by moral pressure.
She was young, but not altogether inexperienced, and during the past week her mental powers had suddenly developed; besides, she was supported by a deep-rooted national pride. It was a privilege to be an American, or, as her countrymen sometimes expressed it, to be white. The sentiment might not be quite free from prejudice, but it was founded on truth and carried an obligation. One must respect one's birthright and never submit to be trampled on by a foreigner.
It was, however, obvious that she must seek outside help, and in her need she thought of Grahame. He would come if she sent for him, and she knew now that he would be welcome if he came as her lover. He was a white man; it was an unspeakable relief to dwell upon his fine, athletic symmetry and his strong, brown face with its stamp of semi-ascetic restraint, after the tainted grossness of her persecutor. She had thought of him often, and had indeed found it hard not to do so oftener, but the turning-point had come and, flinging aside ambition, she opened her heart to the love that had been waiting. This was not because she was in danger, although danger had hastened the crisis.
For a time she forgot Gomez, and listened vacantly to the patter of feet in the hot streets while she sat quietly in a corner of the shaded room, lost in alluring dreams. Then she roused herself, and going to her apartment wrote a short message, stating that she needed help. She could not find an envelope and dare not ask for one, so she folded the note and wrote across it the address Grahame had given her. Then she stole from the house.
No one interfered with her as she went up a street that led to the outskirts of the town, where she was less likely to be watched. The unsealed note could not be posted, because it would no doubt be given to Gomez, but she might find somebody who would arrange for its conveyance by hand. It would be better if the person were a revolutionary, but she imagined that the President's enemies would not make themselves conspicuous. Some risk must be taken, but, after all, very few people could read English.
After a time she met a peon and showed him the note. He seemed surprised to see the Spanish name on the back, and at first vigorously shook his head, but when Evelyn held out two or three coins he began to ponder, and presently made a sign of understanding and took the note. Evelyn felt reckless as he moved away, for she had given him all her money and had no resource left.
Returning by a different way, she entered the house. Gomez did not seem to be about, but the building was large and she seldom saw him except when he paid her a formal visit. The man was a ruffian, but it was her money he wanted, and he would act discreetly. His boast had thrown some light upon his treacherous schemes: he meant to make himself President, if he could compel her father to provide the necessary funds.
The peon carrying the note set out on foot for the next village, where he had a friend who sometimes went to the coast. The friend, however, was not at home, and Evelyn's messenger, being tired and in possession of more money than usual, entered a little wine-shop and ordered refreshment. Thecañawas strong and after drinking more than was good for him he forgot his caution when one of the villagers asked what had brought him there. To satisfy the fellow's curiosity, he produced the note, and the loungers in the wine-shop grew interested, for the man to whom it was addressed was known as an enemy of the Government.
One tried to take it from the peon, another interfered, and as both political parties were represented, a tumult broke out. It was stopped by the arrival of two rural guards, the note was seized, and one of theguards set off for Rio Frio at dawn the next morning.
Gomez started when he was given the note, for Evelyn had made an unexpected move; but he saw the importance of what it implied and lighted a cigarette while he thought the matter out. He had suspected theEnchantressfor some time and knew that Grahame was her owner. Since theyanquiwas in communication with a dangerous revolutionist, he must be engaged in smuggling arms, and if he had landed many, the rebels would be ready to fight. For all that, Gomez was puzzled. Grahame was a friend of the señorita Cliffe's—perhaps even her lover—and he was helping the rebels, while her father had spent a good deal of money to support the President. This suggested that Cliffe might be playing a crooked game, and bore out some suspicions Gomez had entertained. The President must be informed at once; but in the meantime Gomez saw how the note could be made use of.
After some thought, he summoned a confidential clerk who had learned English in the United States, and gave him the note.
"It seems that the señorita does not like Rio Frio and means to leave us," he remarked.
The clerk discreetly contented himself with a sign of agreement.
"Well," Gomez resumed, "I think we will let her message go."
"Would that be wise?" the other ventured. "We do not know when and which way the Englishman will come, and he may be joined by some of Sarmiento's followers."
Gomez smiled.
"The señorita Cliffe is artless and has made a mistake. Her note covers only half the paper and leaves room for something to be added underneath."
"Ah!" The clerk was a skillful penman and had once or twice successfully imitated the signatures of hostile politicians.
"You understand!" said Gomez. "The writing must not look different and you must use the same kind of pencil. Now give me some paper."
He smoked a cigarette before he began to write, for the space at the foot of Evelyn's note was limited. Grahame probably knew the girl's hand, but would be deceived by a clever imitation of it in the form of a postscript under her signature. The note was dated at Rio Frio and left it to be understood that Evelyn expected him there, but the postscript directed him to land on the beach near Valverde, where a guide would look out for him for several nights.
"There are two words we had better alter; the Americans do not often use them," said the clerk cautiously, and Gomez agreed to the change.
"You will have it sent off and make arrangements for the Englishman to be met," he added with a smile. "And now I must start for Villa Paz to tell the President."
Half an hour later he mounted in thepatio, and Evelyn, hearing the clatter of hoofs, looked out through the half-opened lattice and watched him ride away. As he had an armed escort and a spare mule, she imagined he meant to make a long journey, and Grahame might arrive before he returned.
Soon after the party had gone, the señora Garcia came in and stood looking at the girl as if she hadsomething to say. Her air of sullen dislike was less marked than usual, and Evelyn, remembering the sound she had heard during her interview with Gomez, suspected that she had listened at the door. Now the woman looked anxious and embarrassed, and while she hesitated Evelyn studied her. The señora must have possessed unusual beauty and was handsome yet, although she was getting stout and losing her freshness, as women of Spanish blood do at an early age in hot climates. Her skin had been spoiled by cosmetics and her face was clumsily touched with paint and powder. Evelyn felt a half contemptuous pity; there was something pathetic in her crude attempts to preserve her vanishing charm.
The señora made signs which Evelyn supposed to mean that Gomez had gone away, and then she took out some silver and paper currency. Putting it into the girl's hand, she pointed to the door.
Evelyn started, for the hint was plain; the señora was anxious to get rid of her rival. Evelyn grasped at the chance to go. The money could be repaid; it might be some time before Grahame arrived, and the woman could be trusted to convey a note to him, because she could not give it to Gomez without betraying her complicity in the girl's escape.
For a time they struggled to grasp each other's meaning, but at last the señora Garcia showed she understood that she was to deliver a note to an Englishman who would come in search of the girl. Evelyn was to find a peon who lived outside the town and would put her on the way to Villa Paz. It would, no doubt, prove a difficult journey, but she was determined to make it.
She was soon ready, and walked carelessly across the plaza as if she had no object. The townspeople knew her, and she met with no troublesome curiosity. After a time, she entered a shady street, where she stopped once or twice to look into a shop. Leaving it at the other end, she came out into a hot, stony waste, dotted with tall aloes and clumps of cactus, and presently reached a dilapidated adobe hut.
As she stood, hesitating, before it a man came out to meet her and she felt her heart beat fast, for she was now confronted by her first danger. The fellow might rob her or perhaps take her back. His white clothes were threadbare, but they were clean, and on the whole she liked his look; and the sight of a woman peeping through the door was somehow reassuring.
It was not easy to make him understand what she wanted, but he looked thoughtful when she repeated a word the señora Garcia had taught her. Then he went in, apparently to consult the woman, and, returning, signified that he would do what she wished. She must, however, go on alone to a village some distance off; on the way he would overtake her with a mule. Evelyn thought it curious that he had not asked for money, but as he seemed anxious that she should not delay she set off. So far, her escape had proved easier than she had imagined.
The sun was at its highest, and it was very hot; the road was a rough track where loose stones lay among the heavy dust. Where water ran down the hillside in artificial channels, there were palms and belts of foliage; elsewhere outcropping rock and stones flung up a dazzling brightness. In the background, rugged peaksrose against a sky of intense blue, and far off on the opposite hand a misty gleam indicated the sea.
Evelyn soon began to get tired, and she found her thin shoes badly suited to the roughness of the ground. The dust that rose about her gathered on her skin; she got hot and thirsty; but the water she tried to drink was slimy and she toiled on. It seemed wiser to press forward while she could, for there was nobody at work in the scattered fields. Her eyes ached with the glare and her feet were sore, but the peon did not come, and when she looked back the road wound along the hillside, white and empty. Here and there tall trees filled the hollows among the rocks, but the country seemed deserted and she could not see a house anywhere.
At last, when the sun was low and the shadows were long and cool, she saw a cluster of small white patches shining amid a belt of green ahead, and supposed this was thealdeathe peon had meant. Limping on wearily, she came within half a mile of it, and then, finding a place where she was hidden by a clump of cactus, she sat down to watch the road. She might run some risk of being robbed or stopped if she entered the village alone, for it was obvious that a well-dressed foreigner traveling on foot could not hope to escape notice, and the hill peasants would probably not understand her few words of Castilian.
The shadows lengthened until they covered the hillside, and the air got cool, but her guide did not come, and Evelyn began to wonder what had delayed him. He had seemed willing to assist in her escape, and she suspected that he must sympathize with the revolutionaries; but, if so, it was strange that the señoraGarcia should have known the password which had apparently decided him. She had, however, been told that these people were fond of intrigue, and that a general plot was often accompanied by minor conspiracies, so to speak, one inside the other. The señora Garcia had perhaps some object of her own to serve; but this did not matter—it was more important that the peon did not arrive.
It began to get dark. The dew soaked Evelyn's thin dress, and she felt hungry and achingly tired. Then a light or two twinkled among the trees and some one began to sing to a guitar. The lights and the music, with their suggestions of home and rest after the day's toil, troubled the girl. She was alone and apparently deserted, with enemies behind her and the way ahead unknown. For a few minutes her courage failed and she was in danger of breaking down; then, with a determined effort, she recovered her calm and roused herself to listen.
The music had grown plainer, and she recognized an air she had heard when she sat with Grahame in thepatioof the International. The contrast was too great, and brought her poignant memories. She was no longer a person of consequence, indulged in every wish, but a homeless fugitive. Then she thought of Grahame, who had translated the song they were singing, for the plaintive refrain ofLas Aves Marinascarried clearly through the cooling air. Had the wild sea-hawk got her message, and was he already coming to her rescue? But even this was not of first consequence. What about the peon? Had he betrayed her?
Everything was silent upon the hillside, but a faint breeze was getting up and sighed among the stones.There was a splash of water in the distance, but no sound came from the road. It ran back, a dim white streak, into the deepening gloom, and then faded out of sight upon the shoulder of a hill. There was no movement on it as far as the girl could see.
She waited what seemed an interminable time, and then a faint drumming caught her attention, and grew into a welcome beat of hoofs. Some one was coming along the road. She watched eagerly, straining her eyes to catch a glimpse of the rider. At last an object emerged from the shadow, and as it drew nearer she could see that it was a man riding a mule.
With her nerves at high tension and her heart beating fast, Evelyn left her hiding place in the cacti and stepped out into the middle of the road. The man must see her now, and she had involved herself in fresh difficulties if he were not the peon she expected.
He came on fast; he had caught sight of her and was urging his mule. When he pulled up beside her and dropped from the animal, muttering exclamations in an unknown tongue, Evelyn staggered. It was an Indian from the hills.
Evelyn instinctively drew back a few paces. Through her brain was beating insistently the admonition that had helped her much in the past few days:
"Keep calm! Don't let him think you are afraid!"
Her first thought had been flight, to the village; but reason told her that was impossible. Here alone on the silent hillside, in the early night, a white woman with this strange Indian, there came over her again a pride in her American blood. She felt that she was a match for him, in wits if not in strength. And with the thought came courage.
She pointed to the mule, then to herself, then to the village; and explained in Spanish.
The Indian shook his head, and stood stolidly beside his mount. After his first exclamations he had remained silent, watching Evelyn intently; but she felt reassured when he made no move to approach her. As a matter of fact, his mind at that moment was a chaos of conjectures and possibilities; and while he hesitated Evelyn gasped with relief. Down the road, carrying distinctly over the night air, came the sound of furious riding—faint at first and then growing nearer,quickly nearer. Even if it were not the peon, at least two strangers would be safer than one.
With a guttural grunt that might have meant anything, the Indian jumped upon his mule and started off toward the village, urging the animal along; and Evelyn stepped farther back into the shadow of the cacti. She felt that she had reached the breaking-point. Yet she must nerve herself this once more, for without her guide she could not go on.
The hoof-beats drew near; in a minute they would pass and the rider be swallowed up in the gloom beyond. Evelyn opened her mouth and tried to call to him; but her voice failed her. Her worn-out body and her overtaxed nerves were holding her powerless to move or cry. She could only stand, helpless, and watch him sweep past.
But the peon's keen eyes had caught sight of the white dress fluttering against the dark outline of the cacti, and even as he passed he reined in his mule. A few moments later he was beside her, holding his battered hat in his hand.
"Your servant, señorita," he said courteously.
Evelyn never could remember distinctly what happened after that. She had only a hazy recollection of climbing upon the mule and trying to cling there, while the man trotted beside her carrying a long, iron-pointed staff. Somewhere near the village they had turned off the main road and followed a rough path that led up into the hills. And there they had stopped at a smallhacienda, where Evelyn was hospitably received.
When she woke the next morning, in a clean little adobe room, and found a neat-looking Spanish woman smiling upon her, Evelyn smiled in return. Everymuscle in her body ached, and the soles of her feet were blistered, but, for the first time in many days, she felt a sense of perfect security. Still smiling, she murmured the password of the revolutionaries. It meant much to her now.
"Confianza!"
They had a hasty breakfast and started again, but rested for some time in a belt of forest during the heat of the day. In the early evening they approached a whitealdeaperched high upon the edge of a ravine. Evelyn's guide made her understand that they might not be allowed to pass. He implied that she was in no danger, but it was with some anxiety that she rode toward the village.
They skirted the side of the ravine, which was fretted with tumbling cataracts. Steep rocks ran up from the edge of the trail and were lost in climbing forest a hundred feet above, but after a time the chasm began to widen, and small, square houses straggled about its slopes. A barricade of logs, however, closed the road, and as Evelyn approached two men stepped out from behind it. They were ragged and unkempt, but they carried good modern rifles.
"Halt!" ordered one of them.
"Confianza!" the guide answered, smiling, and they let him pass.
Beyond the barricade, the guide stopped in front of an adobe building that seemed to be an inn, for a number of saddled mules were tied around it. Men were entering and leaving and a hum of voices came from the shadowy interior, but the peon motioned to Evelyn that she must get down and wait. Finding a stonebench where she was left undisturbed, she sat there for half an hour while it grew dark, and then a man came up and beckoned her to enter. She went with some misgivings, and was shown into a room with rough mud walls, where a man sat under a smoky lamp at a table upon which a map and a number of papers were spread. He wore plain, white clothes, with a wide red sash; and two others, dressed in the same way, stood near, as if awaiting his orders. Evelyn knew the man, for she had seen him at the International.
"Confianza!" she said. "I believe you are Don Martin Sarmiento."
He gave her a quick glance, and answered in good English:
"It is a surprise to receive a visit from Miss Cliffe. But I must ask who gave you the password?"
"Señora Garcia at Rio Frio."
"That sounds strange. But sit down. There is something we must talk about."
He waited until one of the men brought her a chair.
"I understand you were going to Villa Paz," he then said.
"Yes; I am anxious to join my father."
"I am not sure that will be possible; but we will speak of it again. First of all, I must know why you left Valverde." Sarmiento indicated the others. "These are officers of mine, but they do not speak English, and it is not necessary that you should know their names. You have nothing to fear from us, but I must urge you to be frank."
Evelyn tried to think calmly. She was in the man's power, and he wore the stamp of command, but sheliked his look and did not feel afraid of him. It might be wiser to be candid; but she had an embarrassing story to tell and she began with some hesitation. Sarmiento helped her, now with a nod of comprehension as she slurred over an awkward passage, and now with a look of sympathy, while the others stood silent with expressionless faces.
"Gomez is, of course, a scoundrel, and you were wise to run away," he commented when she stopped. "There are, however, matters I do not quite understand. For example, it would not be to the President's interest that he should quarrel with your father; nor do I think Altiera would approve of an alliance between his secretary and you."
Evelyn blushed and tried to meet the man's searching look.
"I cannot explain these things. I have told you what happened, and I came to you with—confidence."
Sarmiento bowed.
"We respect our password. You are safe with us; but you cannot continue your journey. The roads will be closed before you get through, and there will be fighting in the next few days. When it seems less dangerous, we must try to send you on, but in the meantime I must put you into my daughter's hands."
He gave one of the officers some instructions, and the man beckoned Evelyn, but she hesitated.
"I must pay my guide and send him back."
"We will give him the money, but he will not go back. We shall, no doubt, find a use for him." Sarmiento smiled meaningly as he added: "It looks as if he could be trusted."
Evelyn followed the officer to the back of the housewhere creepers trailed about a rude pergola. A sheet of cotton had been stretched among the poles, making a tent in which a light burned. Her companion, saying a few words in Castilian, motioned to Evelyn to go in. She did so, and then stopped abruptly.
The lamp was small and the light was dim; loops of vines falling about it cast puzzling shadows, but Evelyn knew the girl who rose to meet her. She had seen her talking confidentially to Grahame at the International, and was seized by jealous suspicion. A stout, elderly lady in a black dress, who was apparently the girl's duenna, sat farther back in the shadow. Blanca gave Evelyn a friendly smile of recognition, but it cost her an effort to respond. The Spanish girl seemed to understand that something was wrong, and there was an awkward silence while they stood with their eyes fixed on each other. Then Blanca said with a touch of haughtiness:
"I have been told to make you as comfortable as possible, but I am sorry there is not much comfort here. One cannot expect it in a camp."
She presented Evelyn to her duenna, and the señora Morales indicated a folding chair.
"You come at a bad time," she remarked in awkward French, languidly opening a fan. "It seems we are to have more fighting; it is the way of men."
"They must fight," said Blanca. "The cause is good."
The señora Morales waved her fan. She wore a black silk mantilla fastened tightly round her head like a cowl, and her dark, fleshy face was thickly smeared with powder. Her eyes were lazily contemptuous.
"There are two causes,niña, and it is hard to seehow both can be right. But, since men quarrel about them, it is not impossible that both may be wrong."
Evelyn smiled. The duenna's remarks saved the situation from becoming strained; the woman was obviously shrewd in spite of her heavy face.
"They are always quarreling in this country," the señora continued. "Those who will not pay their taxes call themselves Liberators; those who expect favors from the President are Patriots. If he does not give them enough, they conspire with the others to turn him out. Since everybody cannot be satisfied, there is always trouble."
"But our friends are not fighting for rewards!" Blanca objected indignantly.
"A few are disinterested," the señora conceded. She paused, and turned to Evelyn with an authoritative air. "You must tell me why you ran away from Rio Frio. I can guess something, but want to know the rest."
After a moment's hesitation, Evelyn thought it prudent to comply, and the señora seemed to listen with sympathy.
"To run away was the simplest plan, but sometimes the simplest plan is not the best," she said. "Did you think of nothing else?"
"I sent a message to Mr. Grahame of theEnchantress, telling him I was in difficulties," Evelyn replied, watching Blanca.
The girl looked up with quick interest, but there was no hint of jealousy in her expression.
"You thought he would come to help you?"
"I knew he would come if it was possible," Evelyn answered.
Blanca looked her in the face with a smile of understanding, and Evelyn saw that her suspicions had been unfounded. Grahame was nothing to the girl.
"My father must know this at once!" she said, and hurried away.
Don Martin came back with her and questioned Evelyn, and then he stood thoughtfully silent for some moments.
"It is fortunate I heard this news," he said. "Your message may be intercepted, and we must try to warn Grahame that you are in our hands." He gave Evelyn a steady look. "I believe he will be satisfied with that."
"You can tell him that I feel safe," Evelyn answered.
Don Martin left her with a bow, and shortly afterward they heard somebody riding hard along the edge of the ravine. When the beat of hoofs died away Blanca touched Evelyn's arm.
"There will be some supper after a while, but let us walk a little way up the path."
They went out into the dark, passing slowly between shadowy rows of bushes which Evelyn thought were young coffee plants. She waited, believing that her companion meant to take her into her confidence.
"You were rash in sending for Mr. Grahame," Blanca began. "We must hope our messenger arrives in time to stop him, but for all that——"
"Do you wish him to come?" Evelyn asked.
Blanca smiled.
"In a sense, it does not matter to me whether he comes or not, though I would not wish him to run into danger. But he would not come alone."
Evelyn started. It was not Grahame, but Walthew,in whom Blanca was interested. Somehow she had not thought of that.
"Of course, you met Mr. Walthew in Havana," she said.
"And at Rio Frio!" There was a hint of triumphant coquetry and something deeper in Blanca's voice. "Indeed, Mr. Grahame should be grateful to me, because it was I who kept him his companion. Mr. Walthew had been dangerously ill, and was thinking of going home—though of course he did not tell me this——"
"But if he did not tell you!"
"How did I know?" Blanca laughed. "Cariña mia, how do we know such things? Is a man's face a mask? Have we no guide except what he says?"
Evelyn thought of Carmen, for Blanca had something of the great coquette's allurement and power. It was not an unconscious attraction she exercised, but the skill with which it was directed was primitive and instinctive rather than intelligent.
"And you persuaded Mr. Walthew to stay!" she said. "Did you find it hard?"
"Hard? Oh, no! It is not hard to persuade a young man, unless one is a fool. A word or two is enough, and I told him he might become a greatlibertadorlike Bolívar and Garibaldi."
Evelyn laughed. She liked Walthew, but he was a very modern American, and the thought of his emulating Garibaldi tickled her. Then, although it was dark, she was aware of a change in her companion's mood. Blanca's pose was different, it had somehow hardened, and her head was lifted high.
"You find this amusing?" she asked in a haughty tone.
"I suppose I do, in a way," Evelyn admitted deprecatingly. "You see, I know my countrymen, and we're not romantic, as a rule."
"Then it is clear you do not know Mr. Walthew. He is young, but he has the spirit of these others, the greatlibertadores."
"I've no doubt that's true," Evelyn agreed, putting her hand on Blanca's arm. "Indeed, I like and admire him very much."
They turned back to the house presently, on friendly terms, for the Spaniard's anger flares up quickly but soon burns down. Evelyn, however, saw that matters had gone farther than she thought, and she imagined that Walthew would have some trouble with his relatives when he went home.
"But how did you and your father come to meet Mr. Walthew, and what is theEnchantressdoing on the coast?" she asked.
"You do not know?" There was a hint of gratified superiority in the girl's tone. "She is bringing us the rifles that we need."
Evelyn asked no more questions, because her talk with Blanca had given her much to think about, and when supper was over she sat outside the tent alone. The moon was rising above the tall sierra that ran in a rugged line across the sky. The air was warm and still, and she could hear water splashing down in the bottom of the ravine. Now and then there was a clatter of hoofs as a messenger rode up, and sometimes an order was followed by a patter of feet. Then for a time everything was silent except for a murmur of voices in the inn.
The girl noticed this vacantly, for her mind wasbusy, and she was filled with a strange excitement. For the last week or two she had borne a heavy strain, and her thoughts had been concentrated on finding a means of escape. Now they were free to dwell upon a greater matter. The struggle that began when she boarded theEnchantresswas ended, and she could rejoice in her own defeat, as she had not been quite able to do when, on first surrendering, she had written her note at Rio Frio. Prudence, ambition, and self-interest were driven from the field; love had utterly routed them. She loved Grahame, and she knew that he loved her, though he had not avowed it yet. Blanca had spoken truly: words were not needed: it was easy to read a man's heart.
Evelyn knew what he thought. He was a poor adventurer, and she was rich. She blushed with shame, remembering how this had once weighed with her. Now it did not matter at all. Nothing mattered except that he belonged to her; but while this had never been so plain, it had not dawned on her with a sudden flash. The light had been steadily creeping in for a long time, while she stubbornly tried to shut it out, until she abandoned her futile efforts and let the warming brightness flood her.
Then she thought of Grahame's danger. Don Martin had not received the note. Suppose it had fallen into Gomez's hands. What use might not that half-breed make of it!
Evelyn shuddered, and breathed a half-conscious prayer that Don Martin's messenger might reach her lover in time.
Night was falling over the troubled water, and there were threats of a tropical storm. TheEnchantress, with her anchor down, rolled uneasily on the broken swell. A sandy point ran out to windward, but the combers that beat upon its seaward side with a thunderous roar swirled in a white turmoil round its end and filled the lagoon with an angry heave. The palms on the landward shore bent in the wind and the dense green jungle behind them rolled in tossing waves of green. To the north, the sky was barred by leaden clouds and the sea-tops cut against it, lividly white.
A trail of smoke whirled about the funnel, now streaming out to lee, now eddying down, for a quantity of ammunition and contraband material had just been landed, and Grahame was ready to go to sea again. There was some danger in remaining, but the weather was bad, and he half expected fresh instructions from Don Martin.
While he sat smoking in the lee of the deck-house and Walthew leaned against the rail, Macallister looked out of the engine-room door.
"I can give ye steam enough to take her out at half an hour's notice, but if ye're no' likely to need it, I'll bank my fires," he said.
"We won't heave anchor unless we're forced to; it's not an enticing night," Grahame replied, and Walthew nodded, as in the pause that followed he heard the rumble of the surf upon the shoals.
"What do you reckon has been going on inland?" he asked. "The fellows who took the guns ashore didn't seem to have much news, but they believed you were right in thinking this might be the last important cargo we'd have to run."
"The Government has arrested Castillo, and no doubt brought pretty strong pressure to bear on him. I'm afraid he couldn't stand up against it, and has given his fellow conspirators away. The President seems no fool, and Gomez is a cunning rascal, but I'm not sure they could keep their plans dark because the opposition have their spies and sympathizers everywhere. The consequence is that both parties may be driven into prompt action instead of quietly finishing their preparations."
"I expect that's so," said Walthew thoughtfully. "I wish I knew, because I must see Don Martin and make a trip to Rio Frio before we leave the coast for good."
"You know best; but I imagine it means trouble with your people when you go home."
"It may, for a time," Walthew answered with a dogged look. "Still, they'll come round, and I'm glad to think that, considering this job as a business proposition, we have done pretty well. That will appeal to the old man. Gun-running's not the line he wanted me to take, but he'll be tickled when he sees that I've made good at it."
"I wouldna' say but he might like Miss Sarmientoas weel as yin o' they hussies at the Florida hotel," Macallister remarked encouragingly. "There was yin in blue, but no' much o' it, with a flagpole in her hat, that gave me what I've heard ye call the googly eye——"
Walthew chuckled.
"That girl has roomsful of money."
"Then she might hae bought some clothes," the Scotsman retorted.
They were silent for a few minutes, and through the quietness they heard the splash of canoe paddles.
"We may get some news," Walthew said.
The canoe ran alongside, and a half-breed handed up a dirty note. Grahame opened it, and his jaws set and a curious glint came into his eyes when he read Evelyn's message.
"Where did this come from?" he called sharply to the waiting half-breed. In his anxiety he had spoken in English.
The messenger shook his head.
"No entiendo."
Grahame repeated the question in Spanish, and added: "Tell me quickly!"
"A man brought it down from the hills a half-hour ago. That's all I know," the half-breed explained.
"All right; you may go."
Grahame turned to Walthew and Macallister and showed them the crumpled note.
"I don't think our partnership agreement covers a risky private undertaking of this kind, and you can turn me out, if you like, but I'm going," he said.
"And I'm coming with you," Walthew repliedcheerfully. "I've some business of my own at Rio Frio."
"You can't come! How is Mack to run the boat alone?"
"Weel," said Macallister, "I'm thinking that's no' impossible. Onyway, ye'll take him. We'll quarrel about who's to command her if ye leave him on board."
Grahame saw they were both determined; his comrades meant to stand by him, if it cost them the vessel. He was touched, but there was no time to indulge in sentiment.
"We'll talk of it later. Start the windlass and stir the fires. I'll want all the steam you can give me."
"Ye'll get it," Macallister replied, and vanished below, while Grahame went forward when the windlass began to clank and the cable tightened.
Speed was urgently needed. It was several days since the note had been written, and he dared not speculate about what might have happened in the meanwhile. Evelyn was not easily frightened; she would not have sent for him unless the danger was imminent. Then, the postscript stated that a guide would look out for him between midnight and three o'clock in the morning, at a place mentioned, and theEnchantressmust be driven hard to get there in time. If she arrived too late, he must steam out to sea before dawn broke and wait for another night.
The windlass rattled faster, the chain ran in as the anchor left the ground, and, seeing Miguel ready with the tackle at the cathead, Grahame went aft to the wheel. The gong clanged the signal "Full ahead," and the screw began to throb. There was a crash forwardas the swinging anchor struck the bow, but Miguel had men enough to stow it, and Grahame fixed his eyes ahead as he turned his wheel. Rolling across the broken swell, theEnchantressstemmed the strong flood-tide; bending palms and shadowy beach were sliding past, and the turmoil on the shoals drew nearer. Ahead was a narrow channel with about a fathom of water to the good, but the leading marks were obscured and Grahame doubted if he could find it. If the boat struck, she would be washed up, badly damaged, among the sands; but the tide was rising, and before long Macallister would have raised full steam. It was unthinkable that they should lose time, and Grahame meant to take his chance.
Spray flew about her forward; as the swell got steeper she dipped to the knightheads, and Miguel, running aft, began to use the lead. Grahame did not stop him, although sounding was a matter of form, because she would drive aground before he could bring her head round if he missed the narrow deep.
She crept past the point, rolling wildly and lifting out her screw, while the air got thick with spray and the thud of engines was drowned by the turmoil of the sea. Some distance off, white ridges leaped out of the gathering dark, but nearer at hand they were broken by the shoals and raged in foaming confusion. TheEnchantressmust cross this belt without much steam to help her, but it was obvious that Macallister was hard at work below, for thick smoke with fiery sparks in it poured from the funnel.
Miguel's white-clad figure, swaying in the channels, cut against the gloom, but Grahame could not hear his hail. Though he glanced at the compass now andthen, he was feeling his way rather by instinct than definite guidance, and so far the upward sweep of the bows showed there was sufficient water under the vessel. Sometimes a sea came on board and poured aft in a frothing flood, but she was steadily forging ahead, and a few minutes would take her across the worst of the shoals.
Suddenly she stopped with a crash, lurched sideways, and lay still while a foam-tipped mass of water rolled up ahead. It broke on board, burying her forward half, and the next moment Grahame was wet to the waist; but she lifted as the roller surged by; and then struck the shoal again. A few more blows of that kind would crush in her bilge, but Grahame set his teeth and clung grimly to his wheel. There was nothing to be done but wait; the crash would warn Macallister what was required of him, and if he could not drive her off, they must cut the boats adrift and leave her to her fate.
Another sea came tumbling in, but while its crest broke across the rail it picked her up and she moved on slowly with the water sluicing aft down her inclined deck. For a few seconds Grahame held his breath, waiting for the shock; but she went on, and lifted her head buoyantly as the next comber rolled up. When she had lurched over it and the spray had blown away, he saw that the sea was more regular and the worst of the turmoil lay astern. Five minutes afterward, she reeled out into open water, and Macallister came on deck.
"We've started the bilge-pump, but it's no' drawing much," he said. "I dinna think she's the waur for the knocks she got."
"That's satisfactory. You know what you have to do."
Macallister smiled with quiet enjoyment.
"We've no' had the need to drive her yet, but noo I'll let ye see."
He went below, and Grahame gave Miguel an order, for in swinging round after leaving the lagoon theEnchantresshad brought the wind on her quarter, and she carried a good spread of sail. He would not, however, luff her off her course to make the work easier; the crew must hoist the canvas as best they could, and there was a furious banging and clatter of flying blocks as fore-staysail, foresail, and mainsail went up. Then she listed down with her rail in the white surges that boiled up to lee, while tall, hollow-fronted combers ranged up astern and sped after her.
Wire shrouds, strung to the breaking-point, shrieked in wild harmonies as the blasts struck them; chain funnel-guys roared in deeper tones, and there was a confused groaning of masts and booms. Spray swept her, lashing Grahame's back and blowing past his head in clouds, and now and then a sea-top broke on board; but she drove on furiously before the wind.
After a while Grahame called Miguel to the helm and stood in the lee of the deckhouse, pipe in mouth, for he had now time to think. He could make no plans until he landed, but it was plain that he must go to Rio Frio; and, if possible, he must leave Walthew behind. He could not allow the lad to run the risk, and Macallister would need him. Some help might be had from the revolutionaries, and he must try to find Don Martin. If he failed to do so, much would have to be left to chance.
Grahame looked at another side of the matter. Suppose he rescued Miss Cliffe, what then? Though the gun-running had been profitable, he was an adventurer with very limited means. He could not trade upon Cliffe's gratitude, though he loved the girl. He did not know when he began to love her, but he had for some time made stern efforts to drive the thought of her out of his mind. Perhaps he might have succeeded had nothing unusual happened, for he knew his disadvantages; but now his determination suddenly had been swept away. Evelyn was in danger; somehow this made clear the strength of the feelings with which he had grappled. The future was clouded; there were difficulties to be faced; but he felt that if she had any love for him he could not give her up.
The gale freshened; but Grahame would not shorten sail. There was not much time to spare, and the gear was standing well. He could trust the helm to Miguel and might have slept, but, although he imagined his strength might be severely taxed during the next few days, it was impossible for him to rest. In spite of his anxiety, he was sensible of an exultant excitement. The girl he loved was in danger, but she had sent for him. Then, the adventure he was embarking on had a fascination of its own, and he smiled as he remembered that his ancestors had often in past days ridden across the dark marches, leading the Border Spears. It was not for nothing the hot blood of the old mosstroopers ran in his veins.
Swept by the seas on her quarter, theEnchantressdrove on, and Grahame lurched about the slanted deck and stood amidst the spray that whirled across her stern. She was going fast; his glances at the recordinglog astonished him, for he had not believed her capable of the speed it showed. His fierce impatience seemed to have inspired thudding engines and quivering hull, and he thrilled when a great, white-topped comber rolled up and swept her on. Flame blew from the funnel, wet canvas, straining in black curves, reeled through the dark, and the sea sped back, snowy white, toward the plunging bows.
At last, however, lights shone in the gloom, and Grahame ordered the canvas to be lowered. It cost the crew an arduous struggle, but they made all fast, and Grahame, ringing for half-speed, took the wheel. There was a point a short distance from the town that would break the sea, and by steaming in behind it he might get a boat away. Landing would be difficult, and it was important that he should find the right spot.
He watched the beach with his glasses as theEnchantressswung inshore, and when presently the combers changed to a steep, troubled swell that ended in a white band of surf, he stopped the engines and told Miguel to hoist out the gig. The navigation lights had been extinguished, but he thought that anybody carefully watching for the steamer could see her. The men had some trouble in lowering the boat, but as soon as she was in the water Grahame jumped on board and told the men to push off. Then, as they got out their oars, a dark figure leaped from the steamer's rail and Walthew, alighting in the sternsheets, turned to his comrade with a grin.
"I'm here, and you'll smash the boat if you try to send me back," he said. "You see, I suspected what you were getting after when you put me at a job it was awkward to leave."
"Well, I did my best, anyway," Grahame laughed.
Walthew took an oar, for the swell was high enough to make progress difficult, but they found smoother water near the land, and stopped pulling just outside the fringe of surf. Waiting for a slacker interval in the shoreward rush of hissing rollers, they drove her in as fast as she could go, and jumped overboard when she touched the sand. A wave broke into her, but they ran her up safely, and Grahame turned to Walthew after they had emptied the water out.
"I don't think I'm straining my authority by telling you to go off with Miguel," he said.
"Anyhow, I'm not going," Walthew replied doggedly. "Our association is a partnership, and I mean to come along. I don't know that I'll be of much help to you, but the job you've undertaken is too big for one."
Grahame saw that objections would be useless, and, feeling that his pistol was loose, he walked up the beach, with Walthew following a few yards behind.