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He crushed her against his pounding heart. He ached with the joy of it. But with the relief from the heavy burden of fear which had for so long weighed him down, nature asserted herself and forced down his leaden eyelids. She felt him sinking in her arms and freed herself. With her hands upon his shoulders she drew back and looked hungrily at him. His sandy hair was tangled and frowsy, his eyes shot with tiny threads of red, his cheeks bronzed and covered with a shaggy light beard. His clothes were tattered, and about his waist there dangled a circle of leather bags. He was an odd enough looking figure. By some strange chance she had never seen him in other than some uncouth garb; drenched with rain, draped in an Oriental lounging robe, with a cartridge belt about his waist, and covered with sweat and powder grime, and now in this.
Both were brought back to the world about them by a shot from Stubbs. He had fired at the Priest and missed. It was as though the man led a charmed life. The girl raised her hand as Stubbs was about to fire again.
“Don’t! Don’t! You are making a terrible mistake. This isn’t the Priest––he is my father.”
The phrase awoke even the sleeping sense of these men.
“Your father!” exclaimed Wilson.
But the man was coming towards them––steadily, and yet as if in a sort of daze.
“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.
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The eyes, the high cheek-bones, the thin lips, were those of the Priest, but the voice was different. It had lost something of its harshness––something, too, of its decisiveness. The girl interrupted,
“This is no time for explanations. Come into the hut. We must rest first.”
She led the way, keeping a tight grip upon Wilson’s arm, steadying him. Stubbs and he whom they had known as the Priest followed.
Within the hut Flores and his wife, still bewildered by the sudden conversion of the Priest from an enemy to a friend (understanding nothing of what had happened), crouched far into the rear overcome with genuine awe and reverence for the guardian of their god in his new character. Threats had driven them to rebellion while kindliness now made of them abject slaves. They stood ready to obey his slightest wish––not with cravenness, but with quick reversion to the faith of their ancestors. But he acted as though he did not see them––as though, in fact, he saw nothing of anything about him save the girl. He followed her with his eyes with almost childlike eagerness and greeted a glance from her with almost pathetic joy. He spoke little, apparently finding difficulty in expressing himself––in forming his scattered thoughts into correct sentences. His whole appearance was that of a man freed after a long imprisonment. The only thing of his present surroundings which he now grasped perfectly was his relationship with the girl. He was reviving old-time joys in his daughter.
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But Jo herself, even in the freshness of her happiness over the unexpected success of her long journey, had found an even greater interest in this newer passion. She spread a blanket for Wilson in a corner of the hut and forced him to lie down here and give himself up to sleep. Stubbs sank to the ground in the sun where he stood outside and fell into a stupor.
Hour after hour the girl sat at Wilson’s side as though guarding his rest, and in this gentle task she found a new conception of happiness. Near her, during the long vigil, sat her father, while in and out, softly as two shadows, moved Flores and his wife.
Wilson awoke long before Stubbs and insisted upon getting up. There were many things to be learned and many things to be done. He realized that they were still in the heart of a hostile country and that if they were to get out safely, time could not be wasted in sleep. What part this man whom he still thought of as the Priest would play, he had no idea.
The girl told him as much of the odd story as she had gathered, beginning with her own arrival in the hut. Manning’s memory dated from the blow on the raft. Back of this he skipped an interval of fifteen years. Even there his memory was cloudy. He recalled vaguely having joined an expedition which had for its object prospecting in these mountains, but who the others of the party were he did not know. He remembered hazily the trip over the mountains and a battle with a party of natives. He was injured and317after this was sick a long while. As far as he was concerned he had been unconscious ever since that time. Of his recovery, of the strange sequence of events which caused him to take up a life among the Chibcas, who elevated him finally into the position of high priest, of the fanatical devotion to his trust which had driven him across the continent and then across an ocean to recover the image, he recalled nothing. He did not know of the existence of an idol or of any superstition in connection with it.
Wilson, listening, marveled, but he quickly associated this with similar cases of dual identity brought about by brain trouble following an accident to the skull. The psychology of the case, however, did not at present so much interest him as the possible consequences to them all which might follow this dénouement. It instantly occurred to him that it was doubtful if Manning in his present condition was anything but an added menace to the party. A half hour’s questioning convinced Wilson that it was literally true that the last fifteen years were a blank to the man and that his mental condition at present was scarcely superior to that of a child. Consequently, in the event of an attack by the aroused natives either Manning would be thought to have been captured by the party, which would bring down swift vengeance, or he would be thought to have deserted them, which was equally sure to bring about the annihilation of them all. The only thing to do seemed to be to keep the man out of sight as much as possible on the journey and in the event of318trouble to hide him altogether. It seemed to him wisest not to allow them to rest even that night but to push on. Flores, eager to do anything for the Priest, agreed to guide them. He aroused Stubbs, and after a good meal the party started and without incident made eight miles before they stopped.
They found a good camping place––a sort of crude cave near a brook and just off the trail. They built a fire and cooked a portion of the leg of mutton which Flores had brought for them before returning. So far they had not caught a glimpse of a native. This fact and the excitement of actually being upon the home path banished them completely from their minds. But that night both men agreed that each had better take his turn at watching.
“I’ll take the first watch,” insisted Wilson to Stubbs. “I wouldn’t trust you to wake me up.”
With a good-natured grin Stubbs submitted and threw his tired body on the turf, making a pillow of the bags of jewels. He slept as heartily as though snug in the bunk of a safe ship. But both the girl and her father refused to take Wilson’s advice and do likewise. Both insisted upon sharing his watch with him. The father sat on the other side of his daughter staring, as though still wondering, into the shadows of the silent wood kingdom about him. He spoke but little and seemed to be still trying to clear his thoughts.
At their backs rose the towering summits which still stood between them and the ocean; above those the stars which from the first had seemed to watch their319lives; before them the heavy, silent shadows which bade them be ever alert.
Wilson sat upright with his rifle over his knees. The girl nestled against his shoulder. All was well with the world.
CHAPTER XXVIIDangerous Shadows
Inthe narration of what had befallen her while in the care of Sorez, Wilson came to have a new conception of the man. With the exception of the fact that Sorez had considered his own interest alone in bringing the girl down here, and that he had lured her on by what he knew to be a deliberate lie, Sorez had been as kind and as thoughtful of her as her own father could have been. After their imprisonment in Bogova and while in hiding from Wilson he had supplied the girl with the best of nurses and physicians. Furthermore, in order to make what recompense he could to her in case of an accident to him or in the event of the failure of their mission, he had, before leaving Bogova, made his will, bequeathing to her every cent of his real and personal property. The chief item of this was the house in Boston which he had purchased as a home for himself and niece, a few months before the latter’s death. In addition to this he had in the end made the supreme sacrifice––he had given his life.
Sitting there in the starlight she told Wilson these things, with a sob in her voice.
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“And so he kept his word after all––didn’t he? He brought me to him.”
The older man by her side looked up at her.
“My daughter,” he murmured. “My daughter.”
She placed her arm over his shoulder scarcely able to believe the good fortune which had at once placed her here between her father and her lover.
“The golden idol did some good after all,” she whispered.
“The idol?” asked her father. “What idol?”
“You remember nothing of an image?” broke in Wilson.
“An image? An idol? I have seen them. I have seen them, but––but I can’t remember where.”
He spoke with a sort of childlike, apologetic whine. Wilson hesitated a moment. He had brought the idol with him after finding it in the hut where Manning had carried it from the raft––apparently unconsciously––and had taken it, fearing to leave it with Flores. He had intended to throw it away in the mountains in some inaccessible place where it could never again curse human lives. This image ought to be final proof as to whether or not Manning could recall anything of his life as a priest of the Sun God or not. If the sight of this failed to arouse his dead memory, then nothing ever could. Of all the things in this life among these mountains no one thing had ever figured so prominently or so vitally in his life as this. About this had centered all his fanatical worship––all his power.
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As Wilson rose to get the image from where he had hidden it near Stubbs, the girl seized his arm and, bending far forward, gasped:
“The shadow––did you see it?”
Wilson turned with his weapon cocked.
“Where?” he demanded.
But underneath the trees where she had thought she saw a movement all was quiet again––all was silent. With a laugh at her fears, Wilson secured the image and brought it back. He thrust it towards Manning. It was clearly visible in the moonlight. The girl shrank a little away from it.
“Ugh!” she shuddered. “I don’t like to look at it to-night.”
In the dull silver light it appeared heavier and more somber than in the firelight. It still sat cross-legged with the same cynical smile about its cruel mouth, the same bestial expression about the brow, the same low-burning fires in the spider-like eyes. As Wilson and her father bent over it she turned away her head. Once again she seized Wilson’s arm and bade him look beyond the thicket in front of them.
“I saw something move. I am sure of it.”
“You are a bit nervous, I’m afraid,” he said tenderly. “If only you would lie down for the rest of the night.”
“No, no, David. I am sure this time.”
“Only a shadow. There is a light breeze.”
“I couldn’t see anything but––it didn’tfeellike a shadow, David.”
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“You felt it? Has the image–––” he asked a bit anxiously.
“No––oh, I can’t make you understand, but I’m sure something moved in the bushes.”
“Stay close to me then,” he laughed quietly.
He turned back to Manning who was turning the image over and over in his hands with indifferent interest. To him it was nothing more than a curio––a metal doll. But when he caught the glint of a moonbeam on the jeweled eyes, he bent over it with keener concern. He raised it in his hands and stared steadily back into the cold eyes. This stare soon became fixed and Manning began to grow slightly rigid. Wilson snatched the object from his hands. For a moment the man remained immovable; then he rubbed his hand over his brow, muttering incoherently to himself. This nervous symptom disappeared and Manning apparently instantly forgot the idol again. He called for his daughter. She came closer to his side and he rested his head against her shoulder.
“Dear father,” she murmured affectionately.
“I––I can’t think,” he said.
“Don’t try, Daddy. Wait until we get out of here and you are all well again.”
“If I could reach my ship,” he muttered.
“What ship, Daddy?”
“Why, my own––the ‘Jo Manning.’”
That took her back to the time she was a very little girl. She remembered now that he had named the ship after her,––the last ship which he had sailed out324of Newburyport. Poor old daddy! What a different man he was this moment from him who had held her in his arms and kissed her with tears rolling down his bronzed cheeks. It wrenched her heart to watch him sitting there so listlessly––so weakly––so little himself. The fear was growing in her heart that he never would be the same again. Almost––almost it was better to remember him as he was then than to know him as he sat there now. Had it not been for the comfort, for the joy of another order, for the safety she felt in this younger man by her side, her heart would have broken at the sight. If only she could have found him during those few days he was in Boston––when the crystals had first shown him to her––when he must have passed within a few feet of her, it might not then have been so difficult to rouse him. But at that time he would not have known his own.
A bedlam of raucous, clamorous shrieks settling into a crude sort of war cry brought all four of them to their feet. Wilson thrust the girl back of him towards the cave-like formation behind them. This effectually protected them in the rear and partly from two sides. Stubbs swept the bags of jewels into his arms and carried them to one corner of this natural excavation. Then he took his position by the side of Wilson and Manning, who was unarmed. The three waited the approach of the unseen demons. Not a light, not the glint of a weapon could be seen. But before their eyes, in and out among the trees making up the dense growth, shadows flitted back and325forth in a sort of ghost dance. In addition to the hoarse shouting, the air was rent from time to time by the sound of a blast as from a large horn.
The effect of this upon Manning, who had been thrust behind them by Wilson, was peculiar. At each blast he threw back his head and sniffed at the air as a war horse does at sound of the bugle. His eyes brightened, his lean frame quivered with emotion, his hands closed into tight knots. The girl, observing this, crept closer to him in alarm. She seized his arm and called to him, but he made no response.
“Father! Father!” she shouted above the din.
He started forward a pace, but she drew him back. Seeing her he came to himself again for a moment. She scarcely knew him; the old look of intensity which strained almost every feature out of the normal had transformed him. He stood now as it were between two personalities. He partially realized this, for he stepped forward behind Wilson and shouted:
“They come! They come! I––I think I can stop them––for a little. If––if I do, don’t delay––don’t wait for me.”
Wilson thought he rambled.
“Do you hear? Quick––tell me?”
“Yes,” shouted Wilson.
The din seemed to be approaching in an ever-narrowing circle. It came from all sides––a noise so deafening, so full of unusual sounds that it was in itself terrifying. Again came the blast, followed by another and another. Manning caught sight of the326image upon the ground. It acted like magic. He snatched it up. But the girl, regardless of danger, ran to his side.
“Don’t,” she cried in a panic. “What is the matter, father?”
He looked down at her with eyes which scarcely reflected any recognition.
“Don’t go, father. Don’t you know me? Don’t you know your daughter? See, I am Jo––Jo! Do you understand?”
Even in the midst of this other danger––the noise and imminent peril, the two men heard and turned away their heads at the sight with throats straining with emotion. Manning looked back with hardly a gleam of his true self showing in his eyes. And yet there was something left which made him pause––which in one flash brought him back for a second. He stooped and kissed her. Then he raised himself and facing the two men pointed towards the woods behind them.
“Go,” he commanded.
Another blast and he clutched the idol to his breast. He raised his eyes to the East and the three stood dumbfounded––from his throat there issued a cry so wild, so weird, that it checked their breathing. Instantly following there was silence from the shadows. One, two, three, four seconds passed––still that silence which was nerve-racking in its intensity. Then a cry rang out from among the trees so piercing that the girl put her arm up over her eyes as though to ward off a327blow. A hundred forms appeared from the trees. Stubbs and Wilson raised their rifles. But with a sweeping motion back with his hand, the Priest bade the two men pause. He disappeared into the shadows where he was greeted with a sort of pæan of joy. Then silence. Then a few sharp-spoken words. Then silence again.
Wilson, scarcely believing this was not some evil dream, gripped Stubbs’ arm.
“Come,” he gasped. “Let’s get out. This––this is hell.”
He took the half-swooning girl in his arms.
“Get a grip on yourself, Jo––just for a little. We must go––at once.”
“But Daddy––Daddy–––”
Wilson closed his eyes as though to shut out the sight he had last seen when looking into the face of that man.
“It is better––as it is.”
Stubbs, still with a care for the jewels, helped Wilson on with his belt and fastened his own into place. He had had a good rest and felt comparatively fresh, but the others tottered as they walked.
Into the dark among the trees they went, following the faint trail which led towards the big mountains which were still a barrier,––on––on––on until the girl dropped in her tracks from exhaustion and Wilson beside her.
For six hours Stubbs maintained a grim watch over the two, his rifle across his knees, hoping against hope328for one bit of good luck more––that if so be there was another attack, he might have at least one fair shot at the Priest. Whether the man was the girl’s father or not (and he privately doubted the story) he felt that this was the only thing which would ever take from his mouth the taste of rope.
But he was disappointed. The morning broke fair and peaceful with, so far as they could see, the birds and squirrels the only occupants of this forest besides themselves. In fact, the next three days save for the strain of being constantly alert were a sort of idyl for Wilson and Jo. They had little difficulty in shooting sufficient food for their needs, and water was plentiful. The trail led through a fair land gay, at this time of year, with many flowers.
The girl, to be sure, sobbed at first a good deal in the dark but the two men knew nothing of this. Soon, after the first acute pain of the personal loss, she was able to reason a little with herself. It seemed to her then, remembering how much a child he was when with her and how strong and powerful he looked as he stepped into the woods, that perhaps, after all, he would be happier with his many children than with her. Then always there was the opportunity of coming back to him,––coming under better auspices and with better opportunities for really bringing him to his own. It was this last thought that finally brought her real consolation.
“Perhaps,” she said to Wilson, hesitating a trifle in fear that he might not approve of the suggestion,329“perhaps some day we can come back here to him, David.”
“I had thought of it, dear. He saved our lives; if he had remained, not one of us would have got out of here. That in itself is enough to make us everlastingly beholden to him. But––” he paused, “I think, dear heart, that it is kinder to let him remain even among heathen people a strong man with power, than to bring him back, a child, to die.”
“He chose for himself, David.”
“Yes––and was able to realize and be glad that he had been given another chance to do for his daughter.”
The girl thought a moment. Then her face brightened.
“That––that alone makes the trip worth while.”
“That––and this,” he answered, drawing her to his side.
“Yes,” she whispered, “and in a way he gave me you––he gave me you.”
CHAPTER XXVIIIA Dash for Port
TheQueen of Carlina, after a restless night, rose one fair morning early in October and dressed herself long before the appearance of her maids. There had been much to disturb her sleep, rumor upon rumor and arrest after arrest during the last few days, and last night a long conference with her advisers. Before she retired she had turned wearily to Otaballo, who remained a few minutes after the others departed.
“My General,” she said, “I’m tired of it all. Let them do as they will.”
“Not so long as there is a loyal man to carry a gun,” he answered stubbornly.
“You are old, General; it is time you had peace.”
“I am as young as my queen.”
“She is very old to-night,” she answered, with a weary smile. “I fear I am not a real queen,––just a woman. And women grow old quickly––without love.”
The General bit his moustache. He had long seen that it was more this than the plotting of the Revolutionists which was undermining his power. He did not know how to answer.
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“You have the love of your people.”
“Not even that. The sentiment of love for their queen is dead. That is the root of the whole matter. There is but one thing, then, for me to do: to retire gracefully––to anticipate their wishes––to listen to their cry and declare a republic. Then you and I will go back to the cottage together and drink our tea in peace.”
“You are wrong. That is not the wish of the people; it is the wish only of a few hundred blackguards led on by those devils brought here from over the sea.”
“You mean Dick’s men?”
“The devil’s men. If you give me authority, I’ll have every mother’s son of them shot before morning.”
She shook her head.
“Not even to please my bloodthirsty general. They have played us false but––still they are countrymen of his.”
“You insult him. They belong to no country.”
“Why,” she asked thoughtfully, “why should I expect them to fight for me? Perhaps they think I played Dicky false. They have reason––he is not here where he won his right to be.”
“Then for the love of God, bring him here,” he answered, forgetting himself. She started at that.
“No! No!” she cried hastily, as though fearing he might make the attempt to find him; “not to save the kingdom. You should listen to me to-night, General; I am very wise. The reports which have come in are332without exception bad. You arrest here, you arrest there, but still the people gather and still they state their wishes. I know how it is; at first they were amused to have their queen,––it was like a holiday. Especially when Dicky talked to them. But freedom is in the blood and it is as foolish to fight against it as against the foreign ships we once tried to keep out of our harbor. Carlina––the old Carlina, your Carlina and mine, is no more.”
She paused at the look of horror which had crept over his withered face. She dropped her hand to his arm.
“Do I sound disloyal? It is only because the kingdom remains as it used to be in your dear heart and yours alone. I am your queen, General, because you are still in the past. But the others are not. They are of the present and to them I am only a tradition. If they were all like you, my heart and soul, my life and love would all be theirs. It is to save what is left of the former things––to save you and the few others of that old kingdom––to have our dear Carlina as we used to have it out there in the sunshine of the garden––that I would leave this turmoil before it is too late.”
The white head drooped as she spoke,––drooped low over the wrinkled hands clasped upon the jeweled sword handle. Dreams––dreams that had seemed about to come true in these his later years now faded before his misty eyes. He had thought to see, before he died, the glory of the former times returned; and now his queen was the first to call them dead. For the moment he felt himself as solitary as one returned from333the grave. But, as she had said, if there were more like Otaballo, the kingdom would still be, without all this strife.His stubborn thoughts refused to march into the present. He raised his head again, still a general of Carlina.
“Your Majesty,” he said, “there is but one way in which a servant of the house of Montferaldo may save himself.”
And clicking his heels together, he had turned with military precision and left her. Then she had tossed the night long, dreaming horrible things. Now she sat in her private apartments staring with troubled eyes over the sunlit grounds. So an hour passed, when without warning, the door snapped open, closed, and she looked up, startled, to see Danbury himself.
Her breath was cut off as though her heart had been stopped, as when one thrusts in a finger and halts a clock. There was the same dead silence that closes in upon the cessation of the long-continued ticking––a silence as though the whole world paused a moment to listen. He limped across the room to her side. She saw that his hair was dishevelled, his coat torn, as though he had been in a struggle. Then his arms closed about her and she felt a great sense of safety, of relief, as though everything had suddenly been settled for her. There was no kingdom, no throne, no Otaballo, no cityful of malcontents,––nothing but Dicky. She felt as much at peace as when they used to sit in the garden together. All this other confusion had been only some334story which he had told her. But in a minute he drew back from her and thrust the present in again.
“Come,” he whispered, “we must hurry.”
“But Dicky––what is it?”
“The city is up in arms. We haven’t a second to spare.”
“And Otaballo––my general?”
He clenched his fists at the memory.
“Dead. They killed him and a handful of men at his side.”
“Dead––my general dead?”
“Like the brave general he was.”
She put her hands to her face. He drew her to his shoulder where he let her weep a moment, his own throat big.
“Oh, but they shall answer for it!” he cried. “Hush, dear. I’m coming back with a thousand men and make ’em sweat for that.”
His quick senses caught a sound without.
“Come,” he commanded, “we shall be cut off here.” He took her arm and hurried her along. They scurried down the stairs and across the palace grounds to a small gate in the rear. Here a carriage was waiting for them. Danbury helped her in and stooped to kiss her lips before he jumped up beside the driver.
“Now drive for your life!” he commanded.
The whip fell across the quivering flanks of the nervous animals and they leaped forward. The driver kept to the deserted side streets where they raced along unchallenged, but soon it became necessary to turn into335the main thoroughfare in order to reach the water front and the boat. In the four minutes it would require to go those dozen blocks their fate would be decided. If the army had not yet advanced that far, they would be safe; otherwise he must depend upon a dash for it, covering the mob with the two revolvers he had. Eight shots to ward off the attack of a thousand men!
Danbury leaned far out over the box as the horses took the turn at a speed which almost swung the rear wheels clear of the ground. The animals had become panic-stricken now and were bolting madly ahead like horses from a burning stable.
But though the road looked clear they had not advanced a block before men sprang up as though from the ground. The populace had heard of the advancing column and such as had not already joined it prepared to meet it here. In order to avoid immediate suspicion, they were forced to steady the horses down to something like a walk. To Danbury it seemed as though they had stopped stock-still. He was not a good man in such a position as this; he was all for dashing action. He could hardly sit still. They received many side glances from the excited groups, but they passed merely as a carriage full of nervous foreigners. Danbury himself was not recognized. So they crept along and Danbury gained hope, until they were within two hundred yards of the turn which would take them out of the line of march. Then with hoarse shouting, the advance line of the revolutionists swept around a corner and directly towards them.
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They were a yelling horde of half-drunken maniacs,––a disordered horde eager for the noisy excitement their Southern blood craved. With half of them it was more the frenzied love of flags and noise that had brought them out than any deep-seated conviction of right. But the thing that brought Danbury to attention was the sight of Splinter with forty of his fellows from the boat leading the crowd. In an instant he was off the box and inside the carriage. He realized what it would mean to be recognized by him. He had but one thought––to guard the safety of her within.
The driver advanced at a walk, keeping as close as possible to the curbing. There was just one chance in a thousand that the crowd might be too intent upon their goal to bother with passing vehicles. They were not after the Queen herself, for they looked upon her as a mere girl influenced by Otaballo. Should they chance upon her, undoubtedly they would feel obliged to arrest her, but she was not at the moment of such supreme importance as to make them alert to prevent her escape. Danbury knew this. The danger lay in the impudent curiosity of some one of the soldiers. Each felt the license of the law breaker. It was the spirit that led them to destroy property for the sheer joy of destroying that he had to fear. He held his weapon ready, sitting far back. The girl was white and calm. They watched the first few stragglers pass in dead silence; they heard the clattering confusion yet to pass.
Then a soldier thrust his musket through the glass337with a coarse laugh. He peered within, but the girl’s face was shielded so that the most he saw was that she was a girl. The muzzle of Danbury’s revolver was within a foot of his head and a finger trembled upon the hair trigger. Still he forced himself to wait a second longer.
“Get out, my pretty lady––get out an’ join us,” he shouted.
“What have you there?” shouted his comrade.
Then someone started the cry:
“The Queen! It may be the Queen!”
There was a rush towards the carriage. Danbury fired through the bottom––a signal to the driver to dash for it. The horses sprang but were brought back upon their haunches. Beatrice spoke to Danbury.
“Wait. Not yet,” she pleaded as he raised his weapon.
It was almost like Providence; a shout from across the street which grew in volume until it drowned out all other cries. Then a rush in that direction which was followed blindly by every man of them. In a few seconds the carriage was deserted. Danbury rose to his feet and looked out. He almost lost his breath as he saw Stubbs, Wilson, and a girl, the center of a thousand excited men. The girl, white-cheeked, turned a moment in his direction. He was dumbfounded. Then he caught the cry, “Down with the traitors!”
The cry was taken up and voiced by a hundred throats. He saw Stubbs thrust his fists in the faces of the crowding men,––saw him fight them back until338his own blood boiled with the desire to stand by his side. But the driver had whipped up the horses again and the carriage was taking him away––out of danger to her. In spite of the look of quick relief he saw in the face of Beatrice, he felt almost like a deserter.
It was what Stubbs took to be a return of the bad luck which had pursued him from childhood––this chance which led the three into the city at such a time as this. They had thought of nothing when they rose early that morning but of pushing through as soon as possible to Bogova. Wilson felt that it was high time that the girl reached civilization even as crude as it was in that city, with some of its comforts. The hardships were beginning to show in her thin cheeks and in dark rings below her eyes. The outskirts of the city told them nothing and so they trudged along with joyous hearts intent only upon finding decent lodgings. They had not even the warning of a shout for what was awaiting them. The upper street had been empty and they had turned sharply into this riot as though it were a trap set to await them.
Both men were quick to understand the situation and both realized that it meant danger. But Stubbs was the first to shake himself free. He recognized the crew at the head of the motley army. It roused his ire as nothing else could. Instantly he felt himself again their master. They were still only so many mutinous sailors. He turned upon them with the same fierceness which once had sent them cowering into the hold.
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“Ye yaller dogs,” he roared. “Get back! Get back!”
They obeyed––even though they stood at the head of a thousand men, they obeyed. Once these fellows admitted a man their master, he remained so for all time. They shrank before his fists and dodged the muzzle of his revolver as though they were once again within the confines of a ship. In a minute he had cleared a circle.
“Now,” shouted Stubbs, “tell ’em we’re through with their two-cent revolution. Tell ’em we’re ’Mericans––jus’ plain ’Mericans. Tell ’em thet and thet I’ll put a bullet through the first man that lays a hand on one of us. Splinter, ye blackguard,––tell ’em that! Tell ’em that!”
Through a Carlinian lieutenant who understood English, Splinter made the leaders understand something of what Stubbs had said. They demurred and growled and shouted their protests. But Splinter added a few words of his own and they became quieter.
“Huh?” exploded Stubbs, impatiently; “perhaps some of ’em ’members me. Tell ’em we’re goin’ home, an’ tell ’em thet when a ’Merican is bound fer home it don’t pay fer ter try ter stop him. Tell ’em we ain’t goneter wait––we’re goin’ now.”
He turned to Wilson.
“Come on,” he commanded. Throwing up his arms he pressed back the men before him as a policeman brushes aside so many small boys. Whether it was the sheer assurance of the man, whether it was his evident340control over their allies, or whether it was all over before they had time to think, they retreated and left a clear path for him.
“You boys guard our rear,” he shouted back to Splinter, “and when we’re outer sight ye can go ter hell.”
Obedient to the command, the small band of mercenaries took their place behind the three retreating figures. The latter made their way across the street without hurrying and without sign of fear. They turned a corner and so disappeared from sight. The army paused a moment. Then someone raised a new cry and it moved on, in three minutes forgetting the episode.
Stubbs at the corner found himself in the arms of an excited man, who, revolver in hand, had run back to meet him.
“Lord!” exclaimed Danbury, “I was afraid I was too late.”
Without further parley he hurried the girl into the closed carriage and with a yell over his shoulder for the two men to follow, clambered back upon the box.
“The boat’s at the dock,” he shouted. “Steam all up. Get on behind!”
The two men had their hands full to keep pace on foot with those wild horses, but the distance was short. In less than an hour the group was all on board the yacht which had her nose pointed straight for the open sea.
CHAPTER XXIXThe Open Door Closes
Itwas an excited but happy group of people who sat down that night in the cozy cabin of the yacht after a good day’s rest. Each of them had more than he could tell, for no one would allow the other to omit any details of these last adventurous weeks. Each had been held in the clutch of a widely differing set of circumstances and each had been forced to make something of a lone fight of it. Here in the calm and luxury of this cabin their lives, by the grace of God, had come to a focus. First Danbury, as the host, was forced to begin from the time he was lost at the gate to the palace.
He told of how he awoke in a certain house and found himself under the care of the best nurse in the world. But that didn’t last long, for the next thing he knew he was on board his yacht and fifty miles out at sea with a mutinous captain––a captain who refused to put back to port when ordered to do so at once. Instead of that, the fellow ran him into a strange port, took on board a surgeon (shanghaied him, in fact) and refused to obey orders until three weeks later Danbury was himself again plus a limp. Then he had come back to Bogova only to be refused permission to anchor in the342harbor. He had come ashore one night in a dory, been arrested and carried before Otaballo who refused to recognize him and gave him the alternative of going to jail or leaving the coast at once. It had all been an incomprehensible mystery to him; the only explanation he could think of being that the Queen was seized by the General who had usurped the throne. He tried once more to land and this time learned of the movement afoot by the Republican party. He had made a dash for the palace, forced his way through the guards, and reached the Queen. Now he’d like an explanation from her Majesty of the unfair advantage she had taken of a wounded prisoner.
Her Majesty with an excited, happy laugh said that if boys would get excited and act foolishly, the only thing to do was to keep them out of trouble by force. It was true that she had conspired to have him transported and kept safe aboard his ship, because she knew that if he came back, he would resent a great many things she was forced to bear as a matter of diplomacy, and would end by getting stabbed in the back. She thought it was better to have a live lover, even though he were a hundred miles away, than a dead soldier. He scowled in disgust, but she reached his hand under the table. She had given orders to Otaballo and then she had lain awake all night crying because he had carried them out. Her plan had been to get the kingdom all straightened out and at peace, and then to abdicate. But things had gone wrong and she told them a story of plots and counterplots, of strange men arrested at343her very door with knives in their hands, of a bomb found in the palace, that held them breathless. Danbury fairly boiled over with excitement.
“And you had me tied up while those things were going on? Trix––I’ll never forgive you. I might have been a regular story-book hero.”
“Not in Carlina; you’d have been killed before night.”
“Rot! Don’t you think I’m old enough to take care of myself?”
“No,” she answered. “And that’s why I’ve come with you.”
“I’d have cleared up that trouble in a week,” he exploded. “And as for those beggars of mine––do you know I risked my life to get their pay to them through an agent? And then they turned against us.”
“Still for pay,” she said.
“Well, their life will be a short one and a merry in that crowd. Once the darned republic is running again, they will be got rid of.”
If Danbury squirmed at having missed the excitement at Bogova, he fairly writhed with envy of Stubbs and Wilson. As he listened he hitched back and forth in his chair, leaned over the table until he threatened to sprawl among the glasses, and groaned jealously at every crisis. Wilson told his story as simply as possible from its beginning; the scenes at the house, his finding the map, his adventures in Bogova, the long trip to the cave, his danger there, and their dash back with the treasure, omitting, however, the story of the Priest’s344relation to the girl as of too personal a nature. At this point the black coffee was brought on, the steward dismissed, and as a climax to the narrative the contents of the twenty bags of jewels poured out upon the table. They made a living, sparkling heap that held everyone of them in silent wonder. Beneath the electric lights, they took on their brightest hues, darting rays in all directions, a dazzling collection which in value and beauty was greater than any which has ever been gathered at one time. To-day they are scattered all over the world. There is not a collection in Europe which is not the richer for one or more of them. They flash upon the fingers of royalty, they sparkle upon the bosom of our own richest, they are locked tight in the heavy safes of London Jews, and at least four of them the Rajah of Lamar ranks among the choicest of what is called the most magnificent collection in the world. But the two finest of them all, neither the money of Jews nor the influence of royalty was powerful enough to secure; one came as a wedding gift to Mrs. Danbury, and the other was a gift from Stubbs to Jo.
For a few minutes they lay there together, as for so long they had lain in the cave––a coruscating fortune of many millions.
“Well,” gasped Danbury, “you fellows certainly got all the fun and a good share of the profit out of this trip. But––did you say you left a pile behind?”
“In gold. Twenty times what these are worth,” said Wilson.