The Buccaneer Farmer - Harold Bindloss
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"If I'd taken that drink at a wineshop, I'd have deserved all I got," he
said. "I allowed I was safe at the presidio."
"It is a stain on my hospitality for which somebody shall pay."
"That's all right," said Adam; "you're not accountable. Looks as if the
other fellow was too smart for both of us; but I had a feeling I'd better
stick to _tinto_ and _siphon_. You can generally taste anything
suspicious in that mixture and I've been doped before. But, as I'm an
American citizen and American influence is powerful, I didn't expect
they'd be bold enough to get after me."
Alvarez smiled. "Our climate is unhealthy, but if you had died and
suspicion was excited, your countrymen would have made the
president responsible. That would have been another embarrassment
and I have enough."
"Galdar's friends are a cunning lot," Adam replied. "Well, I think your
doctor has fixed me up for a time. What about your plans?"
"I had some talk with my supporters last night and we agreed to strike
when the _Rio Negro's_ cargo arrives. We need the guns and money to pay
my troops, and when we get them we will arrest the leading conspirators.
This will start the revolution, but it will fail if my blow is struck
before Galdar is ready."
"Yes," said Adam. "We can trust Mayne; he knows he's got to hustle. I've
fixed it for him to get the Spanish money at Havana and that will mean
losing a day or two, but the old _Rio Negro_ can hit up a pretty good
pace and Mayne won't spare his coal. I reckon we'll hear from him soon."
Adam stopped and Kit, seeing that it cost him an effort to talk, took
the president away. They met the doctor on the stairs and Kit waited at
the bottom until he came down. Senor Martin was a fat, dark-skinned,
Spanish Creole.
"Your uncle is an obstinate man and will not take a hint," he remarked.
"I had some trouble to save him and he may not escape next time."
"Then you imagine there will be another time?"
Senor Martin shrugged expressively, "I am a doctor not a politician, but
in this country much depends upon the risk of being found out. Senor
Askew is old and not strong. One must pay for leading a strenuous life
and he has had malaria for some years. He ought to remain in the North.
It is your business to persuade him, but do not disturb him yet."
"I will try," Kit said doubtfully. "You think it needful?"
"If he does not go soon, he will not go at all," the doctor replied in a
meaning tone.
He went away and some time afterwards Kit returned to his uncle's room.
The shutters were pushed back from the balcony window and the strong
light, reflected by the white wall, showed the thinness of Adam's figure
and the deep lines on his face. His skin was a curious yellow color and
his eyes were dull.
"You haven't been well for some time and the stuff you got last night has
shaken you rather badly," Kit remarked with a touch of embarrassment. "I
think you ought to go back with Mayne."
"You imagine you can manage things better without me?" Adam rejoined.
"No," said Kit, coloring. "It's a big and awkward job, but perhaps I can
manage. I feel you ought to go."
"It looks as if the doctor had put you on my track. He's been arguing
with me. What did he say?"
Kit hesitated and Adam smiled. "I can guess, partner, and perhaps he was
right. Well, I'm getting old and have a notion I won't live long, anyway.
Don't see that it matters much if I go or stay, and I've a reason for
staying you don't know yet. Besides, I hate to be beaten and mean to put
over my last job." He paused and gave Kit a steady look. "There's one
drawback; putting it over may cost you something."
"That doesn't count," Kit said quietly. "What you have is yours; I expect
you earned it hard."
"I certainly did," Adam agreed. "I earned part of what I've got by jobs
that cost me more than my health. I'd wipe out some of my early deals, if
I could. Well, I don't know if playing a straight game on a losing hand
will cancel past mistakes, but I feel I've got to play it out. My wad and
yours are in the pool."
"It's not my wad," Kit objected. "You have treated me generously."
"Oh, well!" said Adam. "Perhaps I'll ask you to remember that by and by.
In the meantime, I've no use for arguing and am going to stop. We'll say
no more about it, but if I'm too sick to handle things, you'll take
control. You know my plans, and that's enough; I don't need your promises
that you won't let me down. Now you can get out. I'm going to sleep."
Kit went away, feeling moved, but anxious. His uncle trusted him and he
had got strangely fond of the Buccaneer. Adam had his faults and his
career had been marked by incidents that were hard to justify, but he was
staunch to his friends. Kit did not know how far Alvarez deserved his
staunch support, and suspected that Adam was, to some extent, moved by
pride. He meant to make good before he let things go. Kit resolved that
when the old man's hands lost the grip he would take firm hold.
Next day Adam was obviously worse and when two or three more had passed
the doctor looked anxious. Then, one hot evening, the president brought
Kit a letter addressed to his uncle.
"Don Adam is asleep and must not be disturbed," he said. "Perhaps you had
better read this. It may be about the _Rio Negro_."
Kit opened the envelope and frowned. The letter was from Mayne, who
stated that he had met bad weather soon after leaving port and the racing
of the engines in a heavy sea had caused some damage. He had, however,
reached Havana, where he had received the Spanish money, and did not know
what to do. Some time would be required to repair the damage, but it
would be risky to resume the voyage with disabled engines. Kit gave the
letter to the president, whose dark face flushed, and for a few moments
he stormed with Spanish fury.
"This dog of a sailor has been bought!" he cried, clenching his hands
as he walked about the floor. "If the money does not arrive soon, it
will be too late; my soldiers will not take our notes. Galdar has paid
him to ruin me."
Kit, knowing the emotional character of the half-breeds, let him rage.
Alvarez did not often lose his self-control and he had some grounds for
feeling disturbed. When he stopped, Kit said quietly, "The captain is
honest, but if he loses his ship with the guns and money on board, it
will not help us much. If my uncle is better in the morning, I will see
what he thinks; if not, I will decide about the orders to send."
When Alvarez left him he went into the town and after walking about the
alameda sat down at a table in front of the cafe and ordered some wine.
This was safer than the black coffee and scented cordials the citizens
drank, but he tasted it carefully and gave himself up to anxious thought
without draining his glass. The insurance on the _Rio Negro_ did not
cover all the risks Mayne would run if he left port with disabled
engines, and the coast was dangerous. The loss of the ship would be a
blow, but if Mayne did not leave Havana soon the freight might arrive
after the president's fall. Kit, feeling his responsibility, shrank from
the momentous choice, and while he pondered Olsen came up and occupied a
chair opposite.
"Drinking _tinto_!" he remarked. "Well, I guess that's prudent. But how's
the Buccaneer? He's been looking shaky and I heard he was ill."
Kit wondered how much Olsen knew. He said Adam's fever came and went and
he would, no doubt, be better soon. Olsen smiled and shook his head.
"There's no use in giving me that stuff; I know the climate! Askew's
going under fast and will never be fit again. I reckon the old man
knows he's got to let up, if you don't. What are you going to do when
he pulls out?"
"It will need some thought," Kit answered cautiously, since he had
grounds for believing the other imagined he was Adam's clerk.
Olsen ordered some vermouth, and then remarked in a meaning tone: "I
don't have to be careful about my drinks. There's an advantage in taking
the popular side."
"Are you sure yours is the popular side?"
"Wait and see," Olsen rejoined, "though that plan's expensive, because
it may be too late when you find out. My employers don't often back
the wrong man and I trust their judgment now. If you'll listen, I'll
show you."
Kit signed him to go on and Olsen resumed: "The Buccaneer will drop out
soon and you'll be left to do the best you can for yourself. Well, I
don't suppose you'll get another chance like this; we'll pay you ten
thousand dollars if you can keep the _Rio Negro_ back for a week."
"That doesn't indicate that you're sure of winning," Kit remarked dryly.
"Besides, I wouldn't trust Galdar to put up the money."
"I don't ask you to trust Galdar; my people will find the money. In a
sense, it doesn't matter to us who is president, except that we want the
concessions Galdar promised, and they're worth an extra two thousand
pounds. We'll give you American bills for the sum if your steamer lands
her cargo too late to be of use."
Kit thought hard. It looked as if Olsen knew the _Rio Negro_ had broken
down. If so, he was obviously well informed and his employers were
persuaded that the probability of the president's downfall was strong
enough to justify the bribe. Two thousand pounds would go some way to
making Ashness a model farm, while it was plain that Adam might lose the
money he had hinted he meant to leave Kit. Kit, however, did not feel
tempted, although he wanted to find out something about Olsen's plans.
"You seem to take my agreement for granted," he remarked. "You must see
that I could embarrass you by telling Alvarez."
Olsen laughed. "You could put him wise; but you couldn't embarrass us.
The president knows whom he's up against. The trouble is he isn't strong
enough to get after us."
"Well, suppose I refuse?"
"You'll be a blame fool. That's all there is to it."
Kit doubted. He knew what had happened to Adam, and, in spite of Olsen's
statement, imagined Galdar's friends would not let him warn the
president.
"Anyhow, you must give me until the morning. I want to think about it,"
he said, in order to test his suspicions.
"We can't wait; the thing must be put over now. There's no use in trying
to raise my offer. You know our limit."
"Oh, well!" said Kit, "I'm afraid I'll have to let it go. There are
difficulties, and if you can't wait--"
Olsen looked at him with surprise, and Kit saw he had not expected his
offer to be refused. The fellow had a cynical distrust of human nature
that had persuaded him Kit could not resist the temptation; his shallow
cleverness sometimes misled him and had done so when he took it for
granted that Kit was Adam's clerk.
"You don't mean you're going to turn my offer down?" Olsen said sharply.
"You force me. I can't decide just yet."
Olsen hesitated, knitting his brows. "Oh!" he exclaimed, "that's
ridiculous! The thing will cost you nothing, and I'll come up a thousand
dollars. You ought to see you must accept."
"I don't see," Kit replied as carelessly as he could, and got up. "Since
you can't wait, I understand the matter's off."
He went away, and glancing back as he crossed the street, saw that
Olsen's pose was curiously fixed and he seemed to be gazing straight in
front. Some of the customers now left the cafe and Kit lost sight of him.
The moon was high and clear, but the black shadows of the trees fell upon
the walk through the alameda and there were not many people about. Kit
would sooner not have crossed the alameda, although this was his nearest
way, but thought he had better do so. Olsen might be watching, and Kit
did not want the fellow to imagine he was afraid, since it would indicate
that he knew the importance of his refusal. Yet he was afraid, and it
cost him something of an effort to plunge into the gloom.
CHAPTER VI
THE PRESIDENT'S WATCHERS
When Kit was half way across the alameda he stopped and looked about.
Dark trees rose against the sky; he could smell the eucalyptus and their
thin shadows covered the ground with a quivering, open pattern. There was
a pool of moonlight, and farther on the solid, fan-shaped reflections of
palms. Nobody was near him, although he heard voices across the alameda,
and he stood for a few moments, thinking, while his heart beat.
Since he had refused Olsen's offer, caution was advisable, because Kit
felt sure the fellow had expected him to agree, and it was obvious that
he knew enough to make him dangerous. He distrusted Olsen, who was not a
native American, and probably not a Norwegian, as he pretended. There was
a mystery about his employers, but Kit suspected that they were Germans,
and as a rule the latters' commercial intrigues were marked by an
unscrupulous cunning of which few of their rivals seemed capable. This
was admitting much, since the foreign adventurers did not claim high
principles.
On the surface, it was obviously prudent to take the shortest line to the
presidio, but Kit reflected that Olsen would expect him to do so. It
might be better to put him off the track by going another way and Kit was
anxious to know if he had left the cafe. Stepping back into the shadow,
he made for another path and a few minutes afterwards returned to the
street. He glanced at the cafe as he walked past and saw that Olsen was
not there. He thought this ominous, since it indicated that the fellow
had gone to consult his revolutionary friends and Kit imagined they would
try to prevent his reaching the presidio. He seldom carried a pistol,
which was difficult to hide when one wore thin white clothes. On the
whole, he had found a suspicious bulge in one's pocket rather apt to
provoke than to save one from attack; but he was sorry he had not a
pistol now.
Kit went back across the alameda, hoping he had put Olsen's friends off
the track. If so, he would be safe until he got near the presidio, when
he must be cautious. He passed two or three groups of people, and now and
then heard steps behind, but the steps were followed by voices that
relieved his anxiety. For all that, he was glad to leave the alameda and
turn up a street.
The street was narrow, hot, and dirty. There was a smell of decaying
rubbish and the rancid oil used in cooking. One side was in shadow, and
almost unbroken walls rose from the rough pavement. For the most part,
the outside windows were narrow slits, since the houses got light from
the central patio. Here and there an oil-lamp marked a corner, but that
was all, and Kit kept in the moonlight and looked about keenly when he
passed a shadowy door. Perspiration trickled down his face and he felt an
unpleasant nervous tension. Yet nobody came near him and when he
cautiously glanced round nobody was lurking in the gloom. He began to
think he had cheated Olsen, but admitted that it was too soon to slacken
his watchfulness.
At one corner, he saw two figures in shabby white uniform, and hesitated.
In Spanish-American countries, the government generally maintains a force
of carefully picked men, entrusted with powers that are seldom given to
ordinary police. They patrol in couples, carry arms, and are sometimes
called _guardias civiles_ and sometimes _rurales_. Kit knew he could
trust the men, but doubted if they could leave their post; besides he did
not want Olsen to know he thought it needful to ask for protection. Now
he came to think of it, he had seen the _rurales_ outside the cafe and at
another corner. Perhaps this was why he had been left alone.
He went on, rather reluctantly, and by and by reached the broad square in
front of the presidio. The old building was clear in the moonlight; Kit
could see a sentry on the terrace and a faint glow in the slit in the
wall that marked Adam's room. It was hardly two-hundred yards off and he
would be safe before he reached the arch, but a grove of small palms and
shrubs ran between him and the square. There were rails behind the trees
and the nearest opening was some distance off. A high blank wall threw a
dark shadow that stretched across the road by the rails and met the gloom
of the trees.
Kit looked about, without stopping or turning his head much. There was
nobody in sight, but he somehow felt that he was not alone. It was a
disturbing, and apparently an illogical, feeling that he must not
indulge, and pulling himself together he went on, with his fist clenched.
He was not far from the gate, and although he listened hard could only
hear his own steps and voices in a neighboring street. Yet his nerves
tingled and his muscles got tense. In front, a thick, dark mass that
looked like a clump of euphorbia or cactus stood beside the path, and
just beyond it a bright beam of moonlight shone between the drooping
branches of the palms.
He thought the spot the beam touched was dangerous. As he crossed it his
figure would be strongly illuminated and he would have his back to the
dark bush. He wanted to move aside and go round the bush, but this might
give somebody time to spring out and get between him and the gate. The
gate was close by and he was strangely anxious to reach it. For all that,
he was not going to indulge his imagination.
He plunged into the gloom, without deviating from his path, and conquered
a nervous impulse that urged him to run. When he had nearly passed the
bush he thought he heard a movement and a thick stalk of the cactus
shook. Half instinctively, Kit leaped forward and felt something soft
brush against his shoulder. As he swung round, in the moonlight, with his
mouth set and his hand drawn back to strike, he saw a blanket on the
ground. There was nothing else and he breathed hard as he searched the
gloom. The blanket had not been there before.
Next moment, a dark figure sprang from the shadow and a knife flashed in
the moonlight; then he heard a heavy report and a puff of smoke blew
past his head. The figure swerved and, staggering awkwardly, fell with a
heavy thud. It did not move afterwards, and while Kit gazed at it dully
a man in white uniform ran past and stooped beside the fellow on the
ground. Kit vacantly noted that a little smoke curled from the muzzle of
his pistol.
"One cartridge is enough," he said coolly. "Your worship did not
escape by much."
Another _rural_ came out of the bushes and when they turned over the body
Kit saw a dark face and a long, thin knife clenched in a brown hand. He
understood now that the blanket had been meant to entangle his arm or
head; half-breed peons often carry a rolled-up blanket of good quality on
their shoulder.
"It is Gil Ortega," the _rural_ remarked. "A good shot that will save us
some trouble, comrade!"
"How did you come here when you were wanted?" Kit asked as calmly
as he could.
The _rural_ smiled. "By the president's order, senor. We were watching
the cafe."
"But it looks as if you had got in front of me."
"It is so, senor. We thought it best to follow this fellow. He lost you
when you turned back."
Kit nodded, for he remembered that he had instinctively avoided one or
two dark lanes that would have given him a shorter line than the streets.
Ortega and the _rurales_ had taken the shorter way. He thought it curious
the report had not drawn a crowd, but although he heard voices nobody
came near and he imagined the citizens were used to pistol shots. Giving
the _rurales_ some money, he crossed the square to the presidio and going
to his room lighted a cigarette. He thought a smoke might be soothing,
for he had got a jar.
After a time, he went to look for Alvarez and found him sitting in front
of a table in the patio. A soldier stood not far off, but the president
was alone and the light of a shaded lamp fell upon a bundle of letters
and documents. Alvarez worked hard and had inherited a rather austere
simplicity from his Indian ancestors. Kit thought his plain white clothes
and quiet calm gave him dignity.
"It looks as if my enemies meant to lose no time," he said, in English,
when Kit told him about his adventure.
"It's their third try in a few weeks," Kit agreed. "Don't you find the
uncertainty about where they'll strike next rather wearing?"
Alvarez shrugged. "One gets used to these affairs; a custom of the
country, and there is something to be said for it. If the plot succeeds,
it is an easy way of turning out a president and changing the government.
Perhaps it is better to kill a man or two than fight round barricades and
burn the town."
"In the North, we find it possible to change our government by vote."
"You are cold-blooded people and don't understand the passions of the
South," Alvarez rejoined with cynical humor. "We have tried your plan,
but one must be rich to buy the votes. Besides, if one is beaten at the
polls, there remains the last appeal to the knife. But you will let this
go. We have something else to talk about."
"That is so," said Kit. "To begin with, I must thank you for sending your
_rurales_ to look after me."
"It is nothing," Alvarez replied in a deprecatory tone. "You are my guest
and we try to take care of foreigners, because if they meet with
accidents their consuls ask embarrassing questions. Besides, watching
them serves two objects."
"Then, I expect you know I met Olsen at the cafe?" Kit suggested dryly.
Alvarez smiled. "Yes; I know. But I was not suspicious."
"After all, one doesn't generally conspire in a public place. In fact, I
don't understand why Olsen met me there."
"He may have meant to compromise you; to put doubts in my mind."
"It's possible, now I think of it," Kit assented. "I hope he didn't
succeed."
"I know my friends, Don Cristoval. But what did the fellow want? I do not
know all."
"Your spies are pretty smart, but I expect our colloquial English puzzled
them," Kit remarked, smiling. "However, I was going to tell you--"
He narrated what Olsen had said and Alvarez looked thoughtful.
"Galdar must be nearly ready; he has been quicker than I imagined. What
are you going to do about the steamer?"
"I'll wait until tomorrow. If my uncle is well enough, he must decide."
"But if he is no better?" Alvarez asked.
Kit gave him a level glance. "Then I will send Mayne orders to run all
risks and start, whether his engines are repaired or not."
"Ah," said Alvarez with a bow, "Olsen was foolish when he tried to bribe
you! I suppose this is your answer! Well, it is lucky that a fast
schooner sails to a port from which a telegram can be sent. When your
orders are ready I will see that they go."
Next morning Kit found Adam lying half awake after a night of delirium.
The old man's eyes were heavy, his brain was dull, and the doctor, who
came in, made Kit a sign not to disturb him. Kit went out and spent some
time writing a message to Mayne. It was necessary that the captain should
know what he must do, but Kit was anxious to give no hint about the
importance of speed that others would understand. He meant to guard
against his orders being read by spies in Olsen's pay.
When he had sealed the envelope and addressed it as the president had
told him, he went down to the patio and found a peon talking to a guard.
"This man is the mate of the Catalina and wants to see you," said
the guard, and when he went off Kit turned to the other, who looked
like a sailor.
"My wife lives in the town and I have been at home for a day or two,"
said the man. "I am going back to the schooner now and was told you had a
letter for the patron."
Kit put his hand in his pocket. Although he had expected the mayor-domo
would come for the message, there was not much formality at the presidio,
and the fellow was obviously a sailor. Yet Kit hesitated and as he stood
with his hand on the envelope thought the other's eyelids flickered. The
flicker was almost too slight to notice, but it hinted at nervousness and
Kit dropped the message back.
"Very well," he said. "Wait a few minutes."
He went along the arcade and stopping near the end looked back. The
sailor had sat down on a bench and was lighting a cigarette. This looked
as if he did not mind waiting, and Kit wondered whether it was worth
while to disturb the president, who was occupied. He went on, however,
and Alvarez signed him to sit down when he entered his room. After a
minute or two, he put down the document he was reading to his secretary.
"Well," he said, "have you written your message for Captain Mayne?"
"It is here. The _Catalina's_ mate is waiting."
Alvarez turned to the secretary. "My order was that the _patron_
should come."
"That is so, senor. I sent him word."
"The man told me his wife lived in the town and he was starting back,"
Kit interposed.
"The _patron_ has a house here," Alvarez replied. "We will see the man.
But first send an order to the guard to let nobody go out."
He waited for a minute after the secretary went off and then beckoned
Kit, who followed him downstairs and into the arcade. When they reached
it Kit stopped and Alvarez turned to him with a meaning smile. There was
nobody on the bench.
"It looks as if my order was sent too late," Alvarez remarked. "You had
better tell me exactly what happened?"
Kit complied and Alvarez sent for the guard and asked: "How did you know
the sailor was the _Catalina's_ mate?"