It was dark and the mud village was strangely quiet. Thin mist drifted about the house Don Felix had occupied, and Wyndhams' new agent leaned forward slackly with his arm on the table. He was a young French creole, but his face was pinched and careworn.
Marston, sitting in a corner, studied the man. When he last saw Lucien Moreau he was vigorous and marked by a careless confidence. Now his glance was furtive and sometimes he fixed it on the window. There was no glass and the shutters had been left open because the night was hot. Marston remembered Don Felix's disconcerting habit of looking at the window when it was dark. The miasma from the swamps had obviously undermined Moreau's health; but Marston doubted if this accounted for all.
Moreau had been talking for two or three minutes when Wyndham stopped him.
"I understand you want to give up your post?" he said.
"That is so," the other agreed. "For one thing, you do not need an agent when you are closing down your business." He paused and gave Wyndham a sullen look. "Besides, I have had enough."
"Your pay is good."
"Good pay is of no use if one dies before one can spend it," Moreau rejoined.
"Very well," said Wyndham. "If you have hadenough, we must try to let you go. However, since your engagement runs for some time, you must stay a month."
Moreau agreed unwillingly and Wyndham asked: "Have you sent for the fellow who gave us our last load?"
"He is coming to-night. You will stay until he goes?"
"Of course," said Wyndham, smiling. "I don't want to put too much strain on you. It looks as if you were afraid of your customers."
"I am afraid. One is always afraid here," Moreau admitted. "It has been worse since you did not send the goods you promised."
"We will send no more," said Marston firmly and they talked about something else until they heard steps outside and a man came in.
He was a big, dark-skinned fellow and carried a thick blanket folded across his shoulder. His feet and the most part of his thin legs were bare, his chest and arms were powerful, and he looked truculent. He glanced at Marston curiously and then turned to Wyndham.
"Have you brought payment for my goods?" he asked in uncouth Castilian.
"We have," said Wyndham. "Señor Moreau has a list of the cargo and we will begin to unload in the morning. Tell him what we have brought, Don Lucien."
Moreau did so and the other frowned. "These things are of no use to me."
"They are standard trade goods that count as money," Wyndham replied.
"You know what we wanted," said the other and added, meaningly:
"In this country, it is not prudent for a stranger to disown his debts."
"We are not cheats," Marston rejoined. "The stuff is all good, but we are willing to pay in money."
Wyndham stopped him and turned to the mulatto. "If you are not satisfied, send your master. We do not dispute with servants."
Moreau looked alarmed, as if he thought the reply would provoke the other, but Wyndham gave him a peremptory glance, and he said a few words in Castilian. The mulatto smiled, a rather cruel, knowing smile.
"One needs courage to dispute with the Bat. It is not often people in his debt want to see him."
"All the same, we want to see him."
"I doubt if he will come. The custom is to send a present and ask leave to visit the Bat; but I will take your message."
"And what about the goods?" Wyndham asked.
"I can do nothing until I get an order."
"Then we'll send them up the creek and put them in the store. You can let them remain or take them, as you like. We have paid our debt."
"I doubt," said the other grimly and with an ironical salutation went off.
Marston felt relieved when he had gone, and soon afterwards he and Wyndham walked through the silent village to the creek. There were no lights, the quietness and gloom were disturbing and Marston noted that the negroes had not left the boat. He thoughtthey were glad when Wyndham told them to shove off.
"We have made our first move. I expect you don't see the next," he said.
"Not yet," Wyndham agreed. "It depends on our antagonist. I think he'll understand our challenge, but it's going to be an intricate game."
Marston lighted his pipe and tried to think about something else. He hated intrigue and liked to see his path. It was a relief whenColumbine's lights began to twinkle in the mist, and he went to the cabin when they got on board. The little room was very hot and no air seemed to pass the gauze beneath the skylight, but the glow of the brass lamp was comforting. He owned that he had begun to fear the dark.
Next day they unloaded cargo and when they stopped in the evening Marston took his gun and went off in the dinghy. The tide was near its lowest ebb, the uncovered mud banks gave off a sickly smell, and for a time Marston pulled languidly down the channel. Then he saw a strip of firmer bank, where a little path came out. A creek flowed through the wet forest not far off, and he thought he might find his way across; the ducks fed at twilight in the pools in the swamps. Pulling up the dinghy, he looked at his watch. The tide had not turned, there was a moon, and it would not be very dark. One got cramped on board the yacht and he wanted exercise.
The path was faint and the ground wet, but it bore his foot. Here and there a huge cottonwood towered above the jungle, which was choked by fallen branches and fresh growth that sprang from the tangled ruin of the old. Knotted creepers strangledslender trees and pulled each other down to the corruption that covered the boggy soil. Green things rotted as they grew; parasitic plants drained the sap from drooping boughs. One sensed the pitiless savageness of the struggle for life, in which the beaten were devoured by the survivors before they were dead.
Dark water that smelt horribly oozed through the jungle, the mosquitoes had come out, and Marston pulled down the veil fastened to his double felt hat. The forest daunted him, there was something about it that one felt in a nightmare, but he was tired of loafing, and pushed on. If he could reach the creek, he might get a shot. By and by, however, the path bent back towards the lagoon, and he stopped at the edge of a channel that crossed his path. It was not wide, but looked deep and the banks were very soft. The creek he meant to reach was farther on.
Marston considered. The channel marked the edge of the forest, which it followed for some distance and then, turning, ran obliquely to the lagoon. There was a muddy flat on the other side where he thought ducks might feed, and he did not want to turn back. All the same, he did not like the bridge that spanned the channel. Somebody had thrown a small trunk across and stayed it, as a suspension-bridge is stayed, by creepers partly pulled down from neighboring trees. The log looked rotten and the rounded top was wet with slime. The water obviously covered it when the tide was full. Marston, however, was sure footed and steadying himself by the bent creepers, went cautiously across.
When he reached the flat the sand and mud were soft and his step got labored, but the light was going,he heard ducks, and thought he might get near them in the gloom. They flew off, and he followed some curlews that led him on for a time and then vanished with a mournful cry. Marston stopped and looked about. He had gone far enough, the tide had turned, and it was getting dark. Dark came quickly at the lagoon.
Across the little channel, mangroves rose from sloppy mud. Their roots were five or six feet high, and mudfish splashed in the holes beneath. Crabs crawled about the roots, for he heard their claws scratch on the smooth bark. He knew the noise; one heard it on board the schooner when the tide was low, and Marston hated the hideous mangrove-crabs that swarmed about the lagoon. They were savage and not afraid. If one sat on the sand, they crawled over one's body and their bite was sharp. A curlew's wild cry pierced the gloom and then all was quiet.
Marston frowned. Now the light was going, the forest looked sinister. Perhaps he was imaginative, but his half-conscious shrinking had some grounds. In the tropics the woods were hostile and sheltered man's enemies, of which the insect tribes were perhaps the worst. They attacked in hosts, with poisoned jaws. Then a pale glimmer caught Marston's wandering glance. The tide was creeping across the mud.
He went back and stopped at the bridge. Dark had fallen, but the moon was above the jungle and its light touched the channel. The log ran across like a thin black bar, a few feet above the slime. It looked frailer than when he had come. He braced himself, and balancing carefully, went a yard or two along the trunk. Then he heard a crack and seized the creeperas the log dropped under his feet. He held fast, although the strain on his arm was sharp. There was a splash, the creeper broke, and swinging back with one end, he dropped in the mud. It rose to his knee and for a minute or two he splashed and struggled furiously. Somehow he got out and floundered back to the bank he had left. He was breathless and rather surprised to find he had not dropped the gun, but the arm by which he had hung was horribly sore.
Then it dawned on him that he was on the wrong side of the channel and could not get across. When he fell into the mud he was not far from the bank, but he had gone deep and it was unthinkable that he should venture farther out. The half-liquid mire would suck him down. Still the tide was rising and he could not stop on the flat. After a few moments, another thing struck him; when he crossed, the bridge, although narrow and slippery, was firm, but now it had given way as soon as it bore his weight. The log had slipped down, or broken, suddenly. He wondered whether it had been meant to break. A few strokes with the cutlass the half-breeds carried would be enough, and he could not have struggled out had he dropped where the mud was deep.
Marston clenched his fist and raged with helpless fury. He was persuaded somebody, with devilish cunning, had set the trap for him. When the tide rose the dinghy would drift up the lagoon and in the morning the yacht's crew would find her stuck among the mangrove roots. It would look as if he had landed on a mud bank and had stopped too long. Then, with an effort, Marston pulled himself together. He must search for a place where the bottom was not so soft.
He ran across the flat, heading for the lagoon and hoping he might find a belt of firm sand that would enable him to wade across, but there was none, and by and by he came to the main channel. It was wider and he saw clumps of weed and flakes of foam drift past. The tide was rising and would presently cover the flat. He went back as near as he could get to the jungle, and sitting down with the gun across his knees, took off his shoes. He had sometimes gone wild-fowling on the English coast and knew one can pull one's naked foot out of mud where one's boot would stick. The gun might be an embarrassment, but he meant to keep it to the last, because the fellow who had cut the bridge might be lurking about.
Treading very cautiously, Marston tried the bank again, but began to sink and had some trouble to regain the flat. It was obvious that he could not cross, and he doubted if he would be much better off if he reached the mangroves some distance from the path. The tide flowed back among them, their trunks were slender, and they were haunted by poisonous insects and the horrible crabs. If the crabs attacked him when the tide rose and he was forced to cling to the trees, he could not beat them off. All the same, he could not swim to the schooner.
For a time he wandered up and down the flat. Although he saw no way of escape, he could not keep still. In the end, he must swim, but he meant to wait until the tide drove him off the flat. There was not much use in swimming when one could not find a spot to land. The rising water presently forced him back to the small channel, where he stopped. The moon had got bright and although, for the most part, themangroves on the other side rose like a dark wall, the silver beams touched their branches here and there. Marston searched them keenly, because he had a strange feeling that somebody was about. Perhaps the fellow who had cut the bridge had stopped to watch him drown.
He thought he heard a soft rustle, leaves moved, and throwing the gun to his shoulder, he pulled the trigger. The barrel jerked, the sharp report rolled across the woods, and leaves and twigs came down; but that was all, and Marston, swinging the gun, pulled the other trigger. Then as the echoes died away he thought he heard a distant shout and a regular throbbing noise. He paused as he pushed in fresh cartridges, and listened hard. The noise was like the splash of oars and got louder. It was the splash of oars, and a shout came across the water again. Marston fired another shot and then waited, trembling with the reaction. Wyndham was coming for him on board the gig and the crew were pulling hard. They would reach him before the tide covered the flat.
When the sand was all but covered, the boat grounded close by and Marston got on board. Wyndham gave him a nod and Marston noted that he was hot and breathless. A heavy oar he had thrown down lay in the sculling notch.
"The boys went out to make fast a warp and saw the dinghy drifting up," Wyndham remarked. "We reckoned we had better start."
"Thanks!" said Marston, who imagined his comrade did not want to talk just then. "Have you got a cigarette?"
They shoved off and when they reachedColumbinewent to the cabin. Marston mixed a cocktail.
"There's enough for two," he said. "I expect you sculled pretty hard."
"I did," Wyndham admitted. "The boys shoved her along handsomely; looks as if they liked you, but the tide was rising fast. Well? What were you shooting at?"
"I imagined it was at the man who sent the dinghy adrift."
"Ah," said Wyndham, "I wondered—didn't think you'd carelessly stop too long. In fact, I was pretty anxious until I heard the gun. But do you reckon somebody did push off the dinghy?"
Marston stated his grounds for believing this, and Wyndham, after pondering for a few moments, looked hard at him.
"Well, I suppose you see what it implies?"
"I'm in the way. Somebody meant to get rid of me."
"Yes; but that's not all," said Wyndham, with a dry smile. "It looks as if I'm not thought dangerous; the man we're up against is not persuaded my reform's sincere. On the whole, this may be an advantage. To puzzle your antagonist is good strategy."
He drained his glass and lighted his pipe. "In the meantime, we'll let it go. What about the new running gear? Have we enough manilla rope for the peak-halyards?"
The moon had not risen and thick mist drifted past the schooner before the hot land-breeze. Marston was talking to Wyndham in the cabin, but stopped when something bumped against the vessel's side.
"What's that?" he asked sharply.
"A canoe, I think," said Wyndham, and both listened.
Marston wanted to run up on deck, but did not. Since his adventure on the flat had rather shaken his nerve, he meant to use some control. For a few moments they heard nothing and then the sliding hatch rattled, as if somebody pulled it back. Marston thought it significant that none of the crew had challenged the stranger. The hatch opened and the old mulatto came down. He did not squat on the deck, as he had done before, but sat, like a white man, on the side locker.
"Give me a drink; you know my taste," he said, and Marston noticed that he spoke good English.
Wyndham gave him some old brandy and he drank with leisurely enjoyment. Although he wore ragged and dirty cotton and his legs were bare, it was obvious that Rupert Wyndham had now done with pretense.
"I'm your guest," he said to Wyndham. "Perhaps it's not good manners, but I'd sooner Mr. Marston left us alone."
"Bob's my partner; I think we'll let him stay," Wyndham replied. "All that interests me interests him."
Rupert shrugged. "It looks as if you had given him your confidence."
"He knows who you are."
"Oh, well!" said Rupert. "You sent for me. I don't know if I approve the form of the invitation you gave my servant."
"Something likelè Majesté?" Wyndham suggested.
"Something like that," said Rupert with a touch of dryness. "After all, I'm kingde factoin the bush."
"Then I think you ought to be content," Wyndham rejoined. "The republic is forced to challenge a kingde jure."
Rupert looked at him with half-closed, bloodshot eyes, and Marston thought his face was now like a negro's. After all, his civilized talk and manners were a mask; the fellow was a negro underneath.
"We'll talk about this again," he said in a careless voice. "You seem to have got scrupulous since you went home. Is it a prudish girl's influence or your partner's?"
"My wife's, for the most part. If you take it for granted that I agree, it will clear the ground."
"Ah,"—said Rupert, frowning, "it looks as if I were foolish when I helped you to marry. Perhaps I forgot—it's long since I studied things from the white man's point of view and women don't count inthe bush. They are toys and don't make rules for their lovers."
"Unless human nature's different in the jungle, I expect some do so," Marston remarked.
"Their end is generally sudden," said Rupert, with grim humor. Then he turned to Wyndham. "I promised to make you rich. Have I cheated you?"
"No. In a sense, you have kept your promise; but, for all that, I was cheated. My reward vanished when I got it."
Rupert gave him a mocking smile. "Sometimes it happens so, but this is your affair and we will not philosophize. You made a bargain and got the goods, for which you must pay."
"I'm willing to pay. We have brought a load of stuff that has a standard value in the bush. If this won't satisfy you, I've paid a sum to your account at my bank. You can draw it when you like."
"Neither plan will do. I don't want trade rubbish and money is not much use. I need the goods I expected you to bring. If you refuse to supply me, you miss a chance you will not get again."
"I'm not sure that to seize the chance would be a very sound speculation," Wyndham rejoined in a thoughtful voice.
Marston looked hard at him. Harry's manner almost hinted that he was hesitating, but this was unthinkable. Rupert, however, smiled.
"You are a tactful fellow! You want me to state things plainly in order to persuade you? Well, I will be frank, and if I can banish your scruples, so much the better. We are relations and ought not to be enemies——"
Rupert paused for a moment or two and then went on: "I sent you rare goods—that sell for high prices in England, but so far I have not sent you the best. There are plants in the swamps for which doctors and chemists would give very much. A few of my people know where they can be found, but I am perhaps the only man who knows how the essences can be distilled. After all, I am not a magician for nothing."
"There is not much modern chemists do not know," Marston interposed.
"Your manufacturing chemists have not got the plants," said Rupert dryly. "The finished product is scarce and valuable; I have the knowledge that can bring the raw material to the distilling retorts. Well, if I use this knowledge, I make my charge, and I have offered my nephew a generous share."
"On some conditions, to which I can't agree," Wyndham rejoined. "Your secret is worth money, but you can use it in one of two ways. You mean to smuggle the stuff into England in small quantities at a monopoly price; I think the other line would pay you better. Ship all you can, develop the trade openly, and although the price will drop and you may have rivals, the sums paid will be large and you will be first on the ground."
Rupert gave him an ironical smile. "You are rather obvious, Harry. You want me to come out of my seclusion and engage in conventional trade. I see drawbacks. In six months, English, American, and German buyers would overrun the country, touting for business. The country's mine and my people will not let white men get control. We are satisfied withthe old rules and don't want tram-roads, clearings, and factories. In fact, we don't mean to be exploited for the advantage of Larrinaga's greedy politicians, who'd sell the foreigners trading privileges for bribes."
He stopped and drained his glass, and there was silence for a minute or two. Wyndham understood his uncle and rather sympathized. Independence and liberty to follow one's bent were worth much; one would not change them carelessly for the commercialism that gave a man no choice but to work by rule or starve. Marston, however, was puzzled and presently remarked:
"Clearings would let in some light, which the country needs."
"The light your industrial civilization gives is dim. I and the others would sooner have the dark. You hate the shadowy world because you do not know it; I have lived in it long."
"How have you lived?" Marston asked. "You are a white man and it's plain you have unusual gifts. Yet you're satisfied to skulk about the swamps in dirt and rags, cheating superstitious brutes by conjuring tricks! The thing's unthinkable."
Rupert looked at him with the smile Marston hated. It was malevolent and mocked his philosophy.
"Some of the tricks are clever; they have puzzled you. We will not argue whether all are tricks or not. Anyhow, the clever impostor is a common type. Men who claim magic power direct your company-floating and manipulate your politics; but perhaps it's among primitive people the fakir has most influence. In the bush, I'm high-priest, and something of a prophet."
"You claim to be king," said Wyndham, very dryly."Prophecy's not difficult when you rather trust to knowledge your disciples haven't got than inspiration. No doubt, you make lucky shots, but royalty's another job. An unacknowledged king must fight for his crown. I want you to think if you hadn't better give it up."
Marston, looking from one to the other, felt the crisis had come. Both were calm, but he thought Harry was highly strung. Their glances were strangely keen; they looked like fencers about to engage. Marston reflected that Rupert did not know Harry's new plans; nor did he know Peters meant to meddle.
"Well," said Rupert, "suppose I agree? What have you to offer?"
"Much, I think. Your return to civilized life and the place where you properly belong. However, we'll be practical. You can resume the partnership in Wyndhams' that is really yours. I'll give you any just share to which Bob will consent, and we'll use your knowledge as far as we can do so lawfully. Our business could be extended and the house ought to prosper in our joint control."
Rupert laughed. "You offer money! In England, it would buy no power I have not got, and the things I like I have. We'll let this go. You are my nephew and perhaps you feel you must be generous; but don't you think you're rash? Have you forgotten the years I've lived in the dark? Habits stick. It would be embarrassing if your relation used the manners of a savage, and I have idiosyncrasies that would give fastidious people a nasty jolt. Then, since you havemarried, what about your wife? Women are rather strict about conventional niceties."
"My wife agrees," Wyndham replied, incautiously.
"To your plans for my reform? Then, you have some plans. You are, so to speak, missionaries. Well, I imagine Marston is fitter for the job. His confidence can't be shaken, and he doesn't bother about the other fellow's point of view. The successful missionary is a fanatic."
"Give the thing up," said Marston, with some sternness. "You're white, you're English! Come out of the mud!"
Rupert shrugged and turned to Wyndham. "Your partner's staunch, but does not use much tact. Can you see me ordering smart young clerks, talking at an old men's club, and amusing your wife's friends in a conventional drawing-room? If so, your imagination's vivid. I can't see myself." He laughed, a harsh laugh. "In the bush I rule with power that nobody challenges."
Wyndham made a sign of resignation, and Marston owned defeat. After all, he had not expected to persuade the Bat. Then the latter resumed:
"You refuse to supply the goods I need?"
"Yes."
"Then why do you stay and keep your agent at the village?"
"Moreau will not stay long," said Wyndham, and Marston, seeing where Rupert's question led, wondered how Harry would account for their haunting the lagoon.
"We came to trade," Wyndham went on. "Although I now see it won't pay to keep an agent, we must clear off our stock of goods."
"You can't do so without my leave."
"I doubt this," said Wyndham. "Anyhow, we're going to try. It's obvious you have some power, but a firm rule generally provokes opposition and we may do some business with the dissatisfied."
Rupert looked hard at him. "You may find the experiment dangerous. On the whole, my servants are staunch and know the advantage of keeping out foreigners. Well, this is your affair, and since it's plain we can't agree, I won't stay."
He got up and while Marston studied him with a touch of horror he seemed to change, as if he shook off the superficial civilization he had worn. His lips got thick and stuck out; they looked strangely red and sensual. His eyes got dull and the colored veins were plainer, and he rubbed one bare foot with the other's flexible toes. Marston felt he had reverted to the old mulatto.
"You go dash me them bottle?" he said with a grin.
They let him pick up the bottle of brandy, he climbed the ladder, and the hatch slid back. There was no noise on deck and they did not hear a paddle splash, but they knew he had gone. Marston drained his glass and looked at Wyndham, whose face was rather white. He saw Harry had got a jar, and said nothing.
After a few moments Wyndham broke out: "At the last, he looked a half-breed. A trick of pushing out his lips and stretching his nostrils, perhaps; but one feels he is a half-breed. I think he will never really be a white man again. He gave no hint of regret forall that he has lost; it was rather horrible to see he was content."
"He is content, he has done with civilization," said Marston quietly. "We must remember this."
Wyndham nodded. "From now, we have not to deal with Rupert Wyndham, but with the Bat. To some extent, it makes the job easier. All the same, we can't give him up to Larrinaga. It's unlucky we could not have kept him on board."
"That was impossible. Your asking him to come implied that he was safe. Besides, we were forced to try persuasion first. Well, we have tried. What's the next plan?"
"I have none. We must wait."
"Do you think he was satisfied with the grounds we gave for stopping? I mean, do you imagine he believes we merely want to trade?"
"I don't know," said Wyndham moodily. "Perhaps I made a lucky shot when I talked about our trading with the opposition. I imagine it touched him; looks as if there was an opposition. Then I don't suppose he knows Peters is on our track and his. Well, in the meantime we must use patience and trust our luck."
He went up on deck and Marston went to bed. For a time he heard Wyndham's restless tread on the planks above him, and then he went to sleep.
A few days after Rupert's visit to the schooner, a quantity of cargo arrived. The goods were not valuable, but the owners were satisfied with the payment Wyndham told his agent to offer and Marston was surprised they had got a load at all.
"It's strange," said Wyndham thoughtfully when they lounged under the awning while the negroes unloaded the canoes. "Of course, the Bat may have allowed the stuff to come down, for reasons that are not very plain. On the other hand, it's possible some of the half-breeds don't yet own his rule. Since this might be important, I'd rather like to know, but don't see much chance of our finding out."
Marston noted that Harry called Rupert the Bat, but he agreed. Rupert was no longer a white man. All the same he was Harry's relation.
"I imagine our chance of finding out anything useful here is very small," he rejoined.
"Then suppose we take the cargo across for transshipment and see if we can pick up a clew at the other end?" Wyndham suggested. "If we knew something about Larrinaga's plans, it might help."
Although the schooner was not half-loaded, Marston agreed. Any excuse was good that took him away from the lagoon, and at noon next dayColumbinewent to sea. The voyage to the white town was short andon the evening of their arrival Marston lounged contentedly on the arcade in front of his hotel. A full moon shone above the flat roofs, the hotel was lighted, and the glow from the windows touched the pavement beyond the pillars. Citizens, enjoying the cool of the evening, crowded the streets, and sometimes stopped at the small tables to drink a glass of wine. On the opposite side of the street, the straight-fronted houses threw a dark shadow. The band of thecazadoresregiment played on the plaza.
Wyndham was talking to a gentleman from whom his agent bought goods. Don Luis came to town to gamble at the casino, and Marston had met him before.
"You must come and see myfinca," he said. "There are ducks on the marsh and you English are fond of sport."
Marston said he would be pleased to go if they stopped long enough; and then letting Wyndham carry on the talk, watched the passers-by. After a few minutes, a big muscular negro entered the belt of light, and Marston glanced at him with some surprise.
"There's Pepe!" he exclaimed.
He doubted if the negro heard him through the clink of glasses and hum of talk, but it looked as if he saw his quick movement, for he turned his head and went behind a group at a table.
"Somebody like him," said Wyndham carelessly, and when Marston looked back across the street the negro had vanished.
People moved about and Marston imagined he had retired into the gloom, where one could not distinguish him from the others. Pepe was the pilot at the lagoon, a good-humored fellow whom they had generally givena small present besides his pay. As a rule, he did not wear much clothes on board, but he was now rather neatly dressed in white cotton and his hat was good. On the Caribbean coast, men spend large sums on their hats. It looked as if Pepe was getting rich, but Marston could not imagine why he did not want to be seen. He was going to talk about this when he caught Wyndham's eye and he lighted a cigarette.
"My partner is a good shot," Wyndham said to their companion. "We will be occupied for two or three days, but perhaps after that——"
Don Luis fixed a day for their visit, and when he went off Marston turned to Wyndham.
"It was Pepe," he declared.
"Yes; I saw him. I think he was with the officer of the port-guard."
"But what is he doing here? And why did he step back when I turned to you?"
"I don't know," said Wyndham. "The thing's interesting."
Marston agreed, but he could suggest no explanation and they talked about Don Luis. In the morning, when the narrow streets got hot, they went to themarinawhere the sea breeze blew among the pepper-trees and palms. After lounging for a time on a shady bench, Wyndham indicated some carpenters at work behind the mole.
"It's too early to meet our agent. Let's see what those fellows are doing," he proposed.
They crossed a belt of shingle and found the carpenters mending a big open boat. Two or three other boats were drawn up close by and planks lay about. When Marston stopped, a man who had been sittingin the shade got up and turned to him with a careless smile. It was Pepe, the negro pilot.
"Hallo!" said Marston. "Have you given up your job?"
"Not for long. One likes a change," the other replied.
In the meantime, Wyndham examined the boats. He knew the type, which was used for taking off cargo to vessels that did not come into the harbor. For their length, they carried a big load and were generally propelled by four men who pulled the heavy oars double-banked. Their flat bottom adapted them for use in shallow water.
"Are you going to buy thecandrays?" Wyndham asked.
Pepe grinned. "One does not get rich by fishing and piloting. It is cool here in the shade and I have not much to do."
"Oh, well," said Wyndham, "No doubt you have seen the schooner. I expect we'll sail in about a week and we can give you a passage, if you are going back."
Pepe said he did not mean to return yet, and Marston and Wyndham went away.
"I wonder what he is doing about the boats, although I don't know if it matters," Marston remarked.
"He was rather obviously loafing."
"I'd have expected to find him loafing about a second-class wine shop."
"With a hat like his and new yellow boots?" said Wyndham dryly.
"They may have cost him all he's got. These fellows are vain. All the same, there's something strange about his being here and trying to pass without ourseeing him last night. He's frank enough this morning."
"He may have been making the best of it because he could not steal off before we came up."
"It's possible, although I don't see why he should want to dodge us," Marston replied, and added thoughtfully: "Since he's allowed to pilot vessels at the lagoon, I expect he's the Bat's man."
"Looks like that," said Wyndham. "I imagine he has been in Africa. Although his Castilian is not remarkably bad, the English he uses on board has the true West-coast twang. You might hear the words at Kingston, but the accent's goodSar Leone. However, if he's a friend of the Bat's, why was he going about with one of the President's port-guard?"
"Perhaps he met him at a wine-shop; they're both sailors," Marston suggested. "I thought you rather went out of your way to tell him we would sail in a week."
"An example of instinctive caution. It's possible we may sail before. In the meantime, we won't bother about the thing."
They went to the agent's office, and after transshipping their cargo set out one morning for Don Luis'finca. The road was bad, their horses were poor, and when they reached the big whitewashed, mud house their host persuaded them to stop the night. Dinner was served at four o'clock and soon afterwards Don Luis gave them fresh horses and they started for the marsh. It got dark while they floundered through the mud and reeds, but they shot some ducks as the light was going and stayed until the mosquitoes drove them off.
Going back, they took a road that crossed a steep hillside. Trees in dark masses rolled down the slope and thin hot mist drifted about the trunks. The moon, however, was full, and where there was an opening in the wet leaves bright beams pierced the gloom and made pools of silver light on the ground. A cloud of mosquitoes followed them and Marston's horse was fresh. He was not used to the big stirrups and wide Spanish saddle, and now and then found it hard to hold the animal. By and by, a regular throbbing noise came up the hill and he turned to Don Luis.
"It sounds like soldiers marching," he said.
Don Luis pulled up. "It is soldiers. A battalion ofcazadoresoccupies the old mission. If we could go another way, it would be better, but there is no road up the hill."
The road was bad and narrow. There would not be much room for the soldiers to pass, and Marston imagined this accounted for Don Luis' wanting to turn off.
"They keep the troops a long way from the town," he said.
"The old mission makes a good barracks," Don Luis replied. "Besides, this is the President's own battalion. They are very loyal while their pay is regular, and made disturbances in the town, wrecking the wine shops where there was revolutionary talk."
They rode on and when the tramp of feet got louder, Marston asked: "Do thecazadoresoften drill in the dark?"
"Once they scarcely drilled at all," said Don Luis, laughing. "However, since Ramon Larrinaga became the President's friend they drill them much, withGerman officers in command. Recently the drilling has got harder and one wonders why this is and whether it means something. All the same, I am a supporter of the President's and if he is satisfied—"
The measured tramp was now very close, and the creak of leather and rattle of straps and slings came out of the gloom. Marston thought he could hear the labored breath of men toiling up hill. Then a hoarse challenge rang out and his horse plunged across the road.
"Hold him!" said Wyndham sharply, and two or three men with glittering bayonets came into the moonlight that shone between the trees.
"A picket, or advance guard!" Wyndham resumed. "Get down, Bob. You mustn't let the brute go!"
Marston's horse reared and tried to turn from the shining steel, but he got his foot out of the awkward stirrup and swung himself from the saddle. The others dismounted and the soldiers led them off the road and then stood on guard.
"I do not know if we are arrested," Don Luis remarked with a shrug. "One must use patience; but I am not without some influence and expect apologies when the officers arrive."
When he had quieted his horse Marston lighted a cigarette and leaned against a tree. For a few yards the moonlight shone upon the road and when the first fours of the leading platoon crossed the illuminated belt he was surprised. Thecazadoreswere short, dark-skinned men. Their sloped rifles wavered at different angles, and their march was slouching, but they carried complete field equipment; pouches, mess-tins, tools and bandoliers. It was the first time hehad seen the republican soldiers in regular marching order.
"Your government has been extravagant," he said to Don Luis.
Don Luis spread out his hands. "It is these Germans! Somebody will have to pay and the country is poor. Perhaps it is well to pay the soldiers, but one need not spend money on equipment until there is risk of war."
"Then there is no risk of war just now?" Wyndham interposed.
"I know of none. I cannot see why we should quarrel with our neighbors and although the negroes are turbulent in the back country, one leaves them alone. The Germans have led us into extravagance, señor. All must be efficient and worked on a plan! They do not understand us. We are not machines like them!"
He stopped, for one of the guards roughly ordered the party farther back into the wood. From their new position they could not see much. Sloped rifles tossed and wavered across the opening in the trees; steel bands and swivels shone in the moon, and one distinguished shadowy figures going by. After a time the measured tramp got fainter and rolled up the hill, and the beat of horses' feet came out of the gloom. The soldier who had driven the party back went to the road and his voice reached the others. Then he ordered them to advance and they saw two or three mounted officers in the moonlight. One sat stiff and motionless and asked a few sharp questions in uncouth Castilian, after which he turned to a companion.
"They say they are sportsmen and the fellow in thecloak claims to be well known. The others look like foreigners. I will leave you to talk to them, Don Maccario."
"Ah," said Don Luis, "now the thing resolves itself!"
The other officer pushed his horse forward, and then laughed. "It is you, my friend! Well, perhaps we ought to make our apologies, but we are being trained on the German model and you are not as discreet as usual."
"Is one forbidden to look at the soldiers for whom, one must pay?" Don Luis asked.
"One is not encouraged, when they marched at night," the other rejoined dryly.
"I and my friends come back from shooting and there is no other road. What must we do? It is well known that I am a staunch supporter of the President's and a friend of Don Ramon's. However, you can see the ducks and our guns."
"It is not necessary. Do you know Don Ramon is at the mission? I think he means to breakfast with you to-morrow. But who are your friends?"
Don Luis presented Wyndham and Marston, and after greeting them politely the officer let the party go. They rode on down the hill and Don Luis grumbled.
"I am staunchly for the Government; the thing was ridiculous. I do not see why they hide our soldiers. It is some German plan. We will talk about it to Don Ramon if he comes in the morning."
When they reached thefincaand Wyndham and Marston were alone for a few minutes the former said, "Perhaps it's lucky we came here, because I think I have found a clew. I expect you noted they tried tokeep the drilling and equipping of the President's battalion a secret."
"It looks like that," said Marston. "Still I don't see what it implies."
"For one thing, it implies they want a small, highly-efficient, striking force. The force is obviously to be used. These fellows don't study efficiency for its own sake."
"But why don't they want people to know?"
"I think that's rather plain. There's an advantage in striking before your antagonist is ready, and the citizens of this country have some talent for political intrigue; plot and counter plot are always going on. I don't imagine the President altogether trusts his friends."
"Ah," said Marston, "I begin to see——"
He stopped, and when Don Luis came up talked about the shooting.
One got up early at the Finca Buenavista, and when they had been given some black coffee and a small hard roll, Wyndham and Marston went to a bench in the patio. The house was built in a hollow square and its occupants used the patio when the rooms were hot. One wall was pierced by arches opening to the kitchen and stable; outside stairs, balconies, and windows with green shutters, broke the straight front of the others. In places, purple masses of Bougainvillea glowed against the ochre wash, and beyond the flat roof a steep hill, darkly green with foliage, rolled up against a background of distant mountains. In the middle of the square a pepper tree stretched its thin branches across a marble fountain, in which shining water splashed. Thefincadated back to days when the country prospered under Spanish rule.
Wyndham lighted his pipe and looked thoughtful when he began to smoke.
"If Larrinaga is curious about us, he will come to breakfast," he said. "Since I think we can take this for granted, we had better choose our line."
"Why do you think he is curious?" Marston asked.
"To begin with, I doubt if he's persuaded our object for stopping at the lagoon is to carry on an ordinary, lawful trade. We have some grounds for imagining Peters has not told him the Bat is my relation; but I expect he knows we could not get much cargo without the Bat's consent. Then it's possible he has heard about our examining the boats, and now we are found watching the secret maneuvers of his troops. It's pretty obvious whom they are to be used against."
Marston nodded. "I've been pondering this. They could put three or four platoons ofcazadoreson board the old gunboat and land them where they are wanted in the cargo lighters. In fact, if it was fine weather, the Government's tug could tow them all the way. That's why Larrinaga brought the pilot over. The question is: what ought we to do about it? Do you mean to warn the Bat?"
"Not yet," said Wyndham, thoughtfully. "If he got warning soon enough, he would probably be able to make a good fight. Although I don't imagine he could win, a number of the soldiers would be killed. We don't want this."
Marston agreed. Their business was not to take a side. Indeed, it was unthinkable that they should help either party. All the same, he was puzzled, because since they could not allow the Bat to be captured and shot, something must be done. After a moment or two, Wyndham resumed:
"I have a half-formed plan. We must find out where the soldiers will land and when they'll start. Then we must get across before them and take the Bat the news while they are marching through the bush. It will not matter if his spies bring him word a few hours sooner. This will bear out our tale; but our arrival must be carefully timed."
"Yes," said Marston and pondered.
Harry's plan was vague, but on the whole it wasgood. The Bat must be taken by surprise, without time being given him to organize a defense. Then he might be forced to surrender, not to the soldiers but to his relation, and they must try to smuggle him on board the yacht. The scheme, however, needed to be carefully worked out.
"You are reckoning on his not being ready to fight," he said.
Wyndham gave him a curious smile. "That is so. You ought to see why he is not ready, because, to some extent, you are accountable. Negroes and half-breeds, armed with cutlasses and a few old guns, can't stand up against well-drilled troops. The Bat has been embarrassed by not getting the material he expected us to bring."
"Of course," said Marston awkwardly. "Well, how are we to find out when the troops will sail?"
"I don't know. So far, we have been lucky; we must trust our luck again."
"Suppose all goes as you expect, and the Bat sees a struggle would be useless and gives himself up to us? What are we going to do with him?"
"That's perhaps the worst puzzle," said Wyndham dryly. "We must try to solve it when it comes. It's possible, however, the Bat may solve it for us."
Marston smoked for a time, glancing sympathetically at Wyndham, who knitted his brows. Then Bob said, "To begin with, we have got to bluff Larrinaga and he is not a fool. How do you mean to satisfy him?"
"On the whole, I think I'll leave the job to you," Wyndham replied and his eyes twinkled when he saw Marston's surprise. "Don Ramon's a good judge of character and would think a little embarrassment onyour part rather natural. You're not the stuff romantic conspirators are made of, and our being partners will imply much. However, there's a drawback; he mustn't think I have cheated and am using you."
"Then, I'm to look simple and trustful, but not altogether a fool. You give me a hard part. I doubt if I can play it," Marston grumbled.
"You mustn't try to play a part," said Wyndham firmly. "Be frank where you can, but don't talk too much. There's a thing may help us; Don Ramon will be careful not to hint our seeing the boats and the soldiers in field equipment is important."
"Oh, well," said Marston gloomily, "I'll be glad when breakfast's over."
About eleven o'clock two servants began to spread a table under the pepper tree, where the shadow of a projecting balcony stretched across the broken flags. Soon afterwards, Don Luis, looking hot and slightly disturbed, entered the patio with Larrinaga and a thin, dark-faced gentleman who wore plain white clothes. Marston, however, noted that his hat and silk belt were remarkably good, and thought he had somewhere seen his portrait, only the man had then worn a handsome uniform. Bob got up as the strangers advanced and Wyndham, taking off his hat, gave him a quick glance. Marston felt he was warned to brace himself.
"My poor house is honored to-day," Don Luis remarked. "Our illustrious President will breakfast with us."
The President smiled urbanely and Don Luis presented his guests. Wyndham saw and frankly returned Larrinaga's twinkle, but he felt some strain and hoped Bob would take the proper line. If, as hethought, he understood Don Ramon, the latter had, perhaps, hinted they would sooner breakfast unceremoniously in the patio; Wyndham afterwards found this supposition correct. The stage was, so to speak, properly set. The light was strong and a row of windows commanded the table. Nothing indicated plot or secrecy. The party would meet without reserve and engage in careless talk.
"I did not know his Excellency was at the mission, or I might have ventured to offer him hospitality," Don Luis remarked when the President was served.
"Nobody knows," said the latter, smiling. "Now and then I neglect my duties and steal away from town. I can trust my officers, when they do not know I have gone. A President has some cares and perhaps deserves a holiday. Besides, I like to watch my soldiers' drill."
Wyndham imagined the President had thought it prudent to account for his visit to the mission, and admitted that the statement was plausible. He said that so far as he could judge, thecazadoreswere excellently drilled.
"I understand it was dark when you saw them," the President replied. "However, if soldiers interest you and I am not recalled to town, you and Señor Marston must come and see them at the morning parade."
"I hope we did not break your rules last night," said Marston. "Perhaps I ought to have pulled up sooner, but my horse was fresh and got out of control. Then I was not used to the saddle and stirrups. I do not ride much."
"Señor Marston is a sailor, what the English call a yachts-man," Larrinaga interposed. "For him,sport means the sea. His taste is strange, but some of his countrymen are like that. If I were rich, I would sooner amuse myself at the casino."
"Then our friend is rich?" the President remarked. "But I remember—these gentlemen paid some duties our officers neglected to collect. It is a thing that does not often happen in this country. Since Señor Marston is both rich and honest, he has my felicitations. However, we owe him and Don Luis some apologies." He turned to the others. "I hope you were not treated roughly, but our new officers are very strict and use all military caution."
Wyndham laughed. "We make no complaint. But surely even a German officer could not imagine three or four men with shot-guns meant to attack a battalion of soldiers as brave and disciplined as yours? We would much like to see them in the daylight."
"If I am allowed to stop at the mission, we will fix a time," the President said graciously.
"Is not the mission an awkward spot for a barracks?" Wyndham asked. "It is a long way from the town and the road is bad."
"It is lonely and quiet. Ours is a small country and we have jealous neighbors. One must take precautions, but, since spies are numerous, it is not prudent to display our readiness to fight. When one wants peace, one does not go about with a fine new pistol in one's belt."
Wyndham agreed. The President's explanation was plausible and his humorous frankness calculated to banish doubt, but Wyndham was not deceived. Moreover, he thought Larrinaga was watching him. Larrinaga's object for bringing the President wasplain; he wanted his master to see the men he had allowed to trade at a spot where the Bat would try to get supplies. Wyndham felt that he and Marston were being closely examined. Then the President turned to Marston.
"Since I am told you came from Africa in your little ship, it looks as if you are a keen sailor."
"I love the sea," said Marston, simply. "There is no other sport like sailing."
The President shrugged, and pushing back his plate, gave Marston a cigar.
"It is a love that needs cultivation. When I go to sea I am very ill. Then one understands you others have comfortable yachts. To go to sea in a trading boat is another thing."
"All the same, one is at sea," Marston replied. "Besides, in a sense, a yacht is a toy, and when you have sailed about for a time you begin to feel it is playing and does not lead to much." He paused and resumed apologetically: "Yachting is not serious, if you understood. I expect my Castilian is very bad."
The President smiled and Wyndham thought his look of puzzled amusement was well done. He was satisfied with his comrade's reply. Bob was not playing up; he was sincere. The others would recognize this.
"The English are a serious people," the President remarked. "But go on, my friend. I am not bored."
"Well," said Marston, "when I got tired of playing, I saw how I could make my yachting useful. I thought I could earn some money. Then Harry, I mean Señor Wyndham—" He stopped and gave Wyndham an apologetic glance.
"He means he wanted to help me," Wyndham interposed.
"To earn money is certainly useful," the President observed and turned to Wyndham. "Your partner is a very scrupulous gentleman; he would not rob me and feels that he must use his talents. But you do not go to sea altogether because you like it?"
"I am a merchant and live by trade. I am forced to earn money."
"Then I hope you will earn enough to pay us our duties and I expect Don Ramon will help you when he can," said the President. "I am sorry we have no ships to show Señor Marston, because we are too poor to build a navy yet. We have an old gunboat and a big new tug. I do not know why we bought the tug, but the captain of the port-guards uses her to travel about the coast."
He paused and got up. "Now I must go back to the mission. If it is possible, you shall see our soldiers, and if not, I may perhaps come to see your ship."
Larrinaga and Don Luis went off with him and Marston drained his glass.
"That's done with!" he remarked with keen relief. "After all, it was easier than I thought, but I got a knock when I saw the fellow was the President. Don Luis is a staunch supporter of his and perhaps he imagined breakfasting with him would be a cheap reward. Presidents and such people do things like that."
"It's possible, but I doubt," said Wyndham dryly.
"Then suppose he came to study us? Do you think he feels we might be dangerous?"
"I imagined he feels he needn't bother about you. I'd much like to know what he thinks about me."
"Oh, well," said Marston, "he didn't push me hard and I got a part I could play. I'm on firm ground so long as I can talk about boats. All the same, when you come to think of it, if the fellow wanted to study us, the thing's ominous. The country's not big, but he's its head and I don't know if Presidents are often polite to traders."
"Exactly!" said Wyndham. "We must be careful. Anyhow, we have found out something. They don't want us to think they suspect us, or that their drilling the soldiers is important. They're clever, but their frankness was overdone. However, we must start for the port when Don Luis returns."
Columbine's gig rubbed against the landing steps and Wyndham and Marston lounged about the end of the mole. The sun had sunk behind a high, black range and the land-breeze had begun to blow in gentle gusts that crisped the greasy water and dropped again. When the crew were trimming ballast in the hold, a man shouted that some chain Wyndham had ordered had arrived, and he and Marston pulled the gig to the steps. After putting the chain on board, they strolled to the town, where they drank a glass of wine and bought a newspaper; and then went back to the mole. For the last few nights they had slept on board, but it was early in the evening and the top of the wall was cooler than the deck of the yacht. Besides, a Spanish liner was steering for the port and they waited to watch her passengers land.
Presently Wyndham looked up from the newspaper. "It's lucky we bought theDiario. It declares the report that the Sta Catalina mission was recently plundered is not confirmed."
"Isn't that Father Sebastian's station?" Marston asked.
Wyndham nodded. "A few mud huts, and a small, thatched church! Still, it belongs to a famous Order and pious folk no doubt sent gifts, because theDiario's remarks indicate that the Virgin's jewels were supposedto have been stolen. If this is true, the thing's significant. The most part of the people here are pretty staunch Catholics."
"But the newspaper states the report isnotconfirmed."
"It is not denied," said Wyndham, meaningly. "I imagine the Government had given the editor a hint. You see, the desecration of a church by negroes would rouse the citizens' feelings and lead to a popular demand for swift punishment. If the President complied, the Bat would know about it, and the republicans would lose the advantage of surprise. All the same, they must strike soon, because the Bat will now get ready."
"Then, why do you think he let his people rob the mission?"
"I don't think he did so. Perhaps some were too keen and got out of control; perhaps some meant to force Larrinaga to put him down. They're a treacherous lot and given to intrigue. However, there's another bit of news. The gunboat,Campeador, has gone into Anagas, damaged, after stranding, and will need extensive repairs. I expect this is true, because folks at Anagas could see the boat."
"It's important," Marston declared. "If the gunboat's damaged, Don Ramon can't use her to carry his troops. Still I suppose the Government tug could tow them along the coast on board the lighters. They are overhauling her at San Cristobal. Looks as if we had better find out when they'll finish the job."
Wyndham nodded. San Cristobal was some distance off; a small town with a good harbor, where there was a foundry and a coaling wharf. Yet it would bedangerous to make open inquiries about the tug or to visit the place, because Wyndham had grounds for imagining they were watched. Indeed, one of the port-guards was lounging near them. When a whistle screamed he looked up and saw the liner circle outside the mole. Foam broke about her side as the screw turned astern, a row of lights flashed into brightness, and big electric hatch lamps blazed up on deck. She stopped, the anchor splashed, and the doctor's noisy launch went off. Then the yellow flag came down and shore boats crowded about the ship.
It was nearly dark when the returning boats pulled towards the mole. A steamer was anchored near the entrance, andColumbinerode between her and the wall, leaving a narrow channel through which the boats must pass. When the first was close by Wyndham glanced carelessly at the passengers, but after a few moments his glance got fixed. Among the row of faces there was one he thought he knew and as the boat drew level with him he clenched his fist.
"Look at the third man in the stern-sheets, Bob," he said.
Marston looked and started. "It's Peters! This is going to make things awkward. The brute has lost no time. D'you think he knows we're here?"
"He knowsColumbine," said Wyndham. "I imagine he sees her." Peters turned his head and his movements indicated that he was talking to the sailor who rowed on the thwart in front.
"That is enough," Marston remarked. "He'll try us again in the morning, and if we're firm, he'll see what he can do with Larrinaga. We are going to be firm. I won't buy off the brute."
"Then we had better get to sea, but we must find out about the tug before we start. On the whole, I think we'll get about it now."
Marston was surprised. "San Cristobal's a long way off, and I don't know if we could hire horses. Then I doubt if we could return by noon to-morrow, and one of the port-guards might boardColumbinein the morning. Larrinaga would guess our object if he found out where we'd gone."
"Exactly," said Wyndham. "We can't go by road, but the gig is here and we'd shorten the distance by sailing across the bay. In fact, if we're lucky, we ought to have an hour or two to look about and then get back by daybreak. The land-breeze will soon blow fresh; a fair wind both ways."
"By George!" said Marston. "The thing can be done!"
Running down the steps, they pushed off the gig. She was a well-built boat, twenty feet long, and on the African coast Marston had got a Fanti carpenter to fit her with a centerboard. She carried a big sail when she had a crew on board, and now the heavy chain would make good ballast. When they had got a compass, a lantern, and some food fromColumbine, they pulled off among some shore boats going to the liner, and vanished into the darkness round her stern.
"If the port-guard saw us, he'd reckon we meant to board the mailboat, but it's possible he didn't pick us out from the others," Wyndham remarked. "Well, the breeze is freshening. Let's put up the mast."
They were occupied for some minutes, and then Wyndham sat down at the tiller and the gig, leaning over, gathered speed. Marston had had the lugsailand jib made in England by a famous yacht-chandler, and the boat was fast. Foam piled up at her lee bow, lapped the gunwale at her waist, and boiled round her stern. The breeze came down in gusts from the high land, and now and then the boat, listing sharply, shipped some water. Wyndham might have avoided this by slackening the sheet, but he held on to the rope and kept his course. Although the night was dark, he could see the hills against the sky and for a time he followed the coast. Then, when the shore curved back in a wide bay, he told Marston to put the compass on the thwart and light the lantern.
"Get out the baler and bucket, afterwards," he said. "There's room enough for the wind to knock up the sea, and she'll take some water on board as we reach across. Time's valuable and we must hold her to it, without shortening sail."
Marston crouched behind the lifted weather gunwale and lighted the lantern; then he saw that halyards and sheets were clear, and afterwards pulled up the well-board in the stern flooring. Sitting down with the baler in his hand by the hole, he waited and looked about. The sea began to break as they drew out from the land. Showers of spray beat into the hollow of the jib and the splashes that blew across the weather bow got heavier. The wind was not, as they had hoped, abeam, but a point or two ahead, and Marston lowered the centerboard, which jolted in its trunk when she plunged. She was not shipping much water yet and he wondered whether he could light his pipe. Then Wyndham said, "Look out!"
A white comber rose to windward, there was a thud, and jib and short bowsprit vanished. A white cloudhid the mainsail and foaming water flooded aft. As he used the baler Marston heard the sheet-blocks rattle. Wyndham was easing her while he threw the water out. It was hard to fill the bucket because the flood washed to and fro, but he knew the job was urgent. He was wet and breathless when he looked up.
"A nasty one!" he gasped.
"Here's another," said Wyndham, and flying water whipped Marston's face.
After this he was kept occupied. Sometimes he used the bucket and sometimes the baler, for water came on board fast. Now and then he imagined Wyndham slackened the sheet to ease a plunge that might swamp the boat, but this was Harry's business and he must not neglect his. Balancing himself against the lurching, he scooped up the splashing flood. When a gust heeled the boat over it gained on him, and then as the pressure slackened he held his own, but while he used his best efforts he could not bale her dry. At length, when his arms ached and he was very wet, he stopped for a few moments.
"Don't know if I can keep it up for long; I'm horribly cramped," he said. "Can't we drop the lug and tie in a reef?"
"I doubt if she'd hold her course with sail shortened," Wyndham replied. "The breeze has drawn another point ahead and we'll lose time we can't spare if we're forced to tack. Stick it out, Bob. We'll get smoother water when we pick up the land again."
He stopped and jerked the tiller, a moment too late, for a sea came over the bow. The water foamed aboutMarston's knees, the lantern went out, and he thought he felt the compass strike his legs.