The Buccaneer Farmer - Harold Bindloss
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"You'll have to hustle, boys," he said. "The sooner we make the mission,
the sooner we'll get back, and I reckon nobody wants to stop in these
swamps. There's something beside your wages coming to you."
"That's all right, boss," one replied. "The old man drove hard, but he
paid well and he was white. You can go ahead; we'll put the job over."
The peons took up the stretcher-poles lashed to the coffin, a relief
party went behind and they set off. Nobody spoke and the _Meztisos'_ bare
feet fell silently on the hot sand, although Kit heard the dragging tramp
of the sailors' muddy boots. In the open space round the village, the sun
burned their skin and they pushed on as fast as possible for the twilight
of the woods.
Here and there a bright gleam pierced the gloom, but for the most part
deep shadow filled the gaps between the trunks. Creepers laced the great
cottonwoods, tangled vines crawled about their tall, buttressed roots,
and hung in festoons from the giant branches. Some of the trees were
rotten and orchids covered their decay with fantastic bloom. The forest
smelt like a hothouse, but the smell had an unwholesome sourness. Growth
ran riot; green things shot up, choked each other, and sank in fermenting
corruption.
Kit did not know if it was a relief to escape from the glare of the
clearing or not. The sun no longer burned him, but he could hardly
breathe the humid air, and effort was almost impossible.
All the same, he pushed on, floundering in muddy pools and sinking in
belts of mire. The road had been made long since, by slave labor, when
the Spaniards ruled, and had fallen into ruin, like the country, when
their yoke was broken. Kit could trace the ancient causeway across the
swamps and wondered when another strong race would put their stamp on the
land. The descendants of the conquerors had sunk into apathetic sloth;
the blood of the dark-skinned peoples that ran in their veins had
quenched the old Castilian fire.
When the light was fading, the porters declared the swamps in front were
dangerous and put down their load, and after some trouble the white men
lighted a fire. A heavy dew began to drip from the leaves and the blaze
was comforting in the gloom that swiftly settled down. Kit had brought a
piece of tarpaulin and spread it between the roots of a cottonwood. He
did not mean to go to sleep, but his head ached and he was worn out by
physical effort and anxious watching. By and by his eyes got heavy and he
sank down in a corner of the great roots.
The fire had burned low when he looked up and a bright beam that touched
a neighboring trunk indicated that the moon was high. All was very quiet
but for the splash of the falling dew; the glade was a little brighter,
and rousing himself with an effort, he glanced about. He saw the white
men's figures, stretched in ungainly attitudes on a piece of old canvas.
They were all there, but he could not see the _Meztisos_. Getting up, he
walked into the gloom and then stopped with something of a shock. There
was nobody about.
For a few moments, Kit thought hard. To begin with, he had been rash to
pay half the porters' wages before they started. The money was a large
sum for them and they had stolen away; perhaps because they were
satisfied and afraid of meeting the president's soldiers, or perhaps to
betray the party to the rebels for another reward. If the latter
supposition were correct, Kit thought he ran some risk. Galdar's friends
knew he could not be bribed and that Adam was ill, although it was hardly
possible they knew he was dead. They would see that Kit had now control
and since his help was valuable to the president might try to kill him.
His best plan was to push on.
He wakened the sailors, who grumbled, but picked up the coffin when he
tersely explained the situation. Wet bushes brushed against them,
soaking their thin clothes, trailers caught their heads, and the road
got wetter and rougher until they came to a creek. Kit could not tell
how deep it was; the forest was very dark and only a faint reflection
marked the water.
"We must get across, boys," he said, and the others agreed. They were
hard men, but the dark and silence weighed them down and excited vague
superstitious fears. It was a gruesome business in which they were
engaged and they did not like their load.
They plunged in and one called out hoarsely when he stumbled and the
lurching coffin struck his head. Another gasped, as if he were choking,
while he struggled to balance the poles. The current rippled round
their legs; it was hard to pull their feet out of the mud, and when
there was a splash in the dark they stopped, dripping with sweat that
was not altogether caused by effort. One swore at the others in a
breathless voice.
"Shove on, you slobs!" he said. "The old man's getting heavier while
you stop. I want to dump him and be done with the job. Guess I've
had enough."
Splashing and stumbling, they went forward and when they struggled up the
bank Kit wiped his wet face. For a moment or two he had thought the men
would drop their load and as it jolted, vague and black, on their
shoulders, the creaking of the poles had jarred his nerves. He was going
to keep his promise, but he sympathized with the man who had had enough.
After they left the creek, the road got very bad and in places vanished
in belts of swamp. They sank in mud and stagnant water and no light
pierced the daunting gloom, but it was not hard to keep the proper line,
because one could not enter the jungle without a cutlass to clear a path.
At length, when the men were exhausted, the trees got thinner and the
moonlight shining through touched the front of a ruined building. The
rest was indistinct, but the building was large and had evidently
belonged to a sugar or coffee planter. The sailors stopped and Kit
studied a gap in the wall.
The gap did not look inviting and there were, no doubt, snakes and
poisonous spiders inside, but he could go no farther and the broken walls
offered some protection. Perhaps Kit was moved by an atavistic fear of
the dark forest, and he owned that he was influenced by the civilized
man's longing for the shelter of a house. They went in, and after putting
down the coffin in a room where vines crawled about the ruined wall, the
sailors entered the next. One frankly stated that they wanted to get away
from the coffin; Kit could stop and watch it if he liked, but it bothered
them to have the thing about.
Kit let them go, and sitting down in a corner among the rubbish lighted a
cigar. A moonbeam rested on the opposite wall and the room was not dark.
Some light came in through holes, although there was impenetrable gloom
beyond the door by which the men had gone. He could see the wet leaves of
the vines, and the black coffin, covered by the flag. But he was not
afraid of it; the man who lay there had been his friend and claimed the
fulfilment of his promise.
At the same time, it was soothing to hear the sailors' voices, until they
got faint and stopped. Afterwards the silence was burdensome, although a
small creature began to rustle in the wall. Kit did not know if it was a
snake or a spider, and was too tired to feel disturbed. By and by his
cigar fell from his mouth. He picked it up, but it fell again and his
head drooped.
The moonbeam had moved some distance when he opened his eyes and
straightened his body with a jerk. The room was nearly dark, and when he
thought about it afterwards, he imagined he was only half awake, for his
heart beat and he was conscious of an enervating fear. A dark object,
indistinct but like a man, stood beside the coffin.
With something of an effort, Kit recovered his self-control as the figure
turned and came towards him. It moved with a curious stealthy gait,
making no noise, and this was enough for Kit. He had no grounds for
distrusting the sailors, and they wore heavy boots. Trying not to change
his position, he felt for his automatic pistol. The butt caught a fold of
his sash and he was forced to bend his elbow in order to get it out. It
looked as if he would be too late, and he slipped as the movement
dislodged the rubbish on which he sat. Then, as he shrank with an
instinctive quiver from the prick of the knife, the figure swerved and
leaped back.
Kit threw up the pistol and pulled the trigger. There was a flash that
dazzled his eyes and a little smoke curled up, but when he leaned forward
his antagonist had gone. He heard no movement when he sprang to his feet
and almost imagined he had been dreaming, until the sailors shouted and
their boots rattled on the broken floor. They ran in and when Kit told
them what had happened went to the hole in the wall.
The moonlight touched the front of the building and part of the road was
bright, but the shadow of the forest had crept across the rest. All was
very quiet; there was no sound in the gloom. Then a flake of plaster fell
close behind Kit's head and a sharp report rolled across the trees. One
of the men shot at a venture and two of his companions ran savagely along
the road, until Kit called them back.
"Come in," he said when they returned. "You're a plain mark in the
moonlight and can't see the other fellow among the trees."
"Looks as if it was you he wanted," one replied. "Well, I guess we have
no use for being left without a boss, and since we don't like our
camping ground, you have got to come with us. We'll draw cuts for who's
to watch."
Kit went with them. He felt shaken, for the man who had brought down the
plaster was obviously a good shot. He imagined it was another who had
intended to stab him; in fact, a number of his enemies might be lurking
about. He was not, as a rule, vindictive, but the stealthy attack had
induced a dangerous mood and he was sorry he had missed the man. It was
hard to see why he had done so, but he had, perhaps, been half asleep.
Now, however, he resolved to watch until day broke.
CHAPTER XI
KIT KEEPS HIS PROMISE
It was getting light when the man on watch called Kit, who went to the
gap in the wall. Thin mist drifted about the trees and trailed across the
road. There was some open ground in front of the building, but behind
this the forest loomed in a blurred, shadowy mass.
"I reckon I saw something move where the fog's on the road," the
man remarked.
Kit saw nothing. His eyes were keen, for he had searched the hillsides
for sheep, but it looked as if they were not as keen as the sailor's, and
standing in the shadow he watched the indicated spot. After a minute or
two, a figure came out of the fog and signaled with a lifted hand.
"More of them around!" said the sailor grimly. "There's trouble coming to
them if they mean to corral us. Jake's at the side window, and he had to
get out of Mobile because he was too handy with his gun. Not often had to
pull mine, but I can shoot some."
"Quit talking!" Kit rejoined, and his mouth set firm when the
figure vanished.
He thought the rebels meant to surround the building. If so, they were
probably numerous, and the rifle shot some hours before justified the
supposition. They had first tried to kill him quietly and, finding this
impossible, had resolved to seize the party. Well, there was good cover
behind the broken walls, his men were a reckless lot, and he meant to
fight. He wished the others would begin, for standing, highly-strung, in
the dew was nervous work.
The light had got clearer when he noted a movement in a festoon of
trailing vines. The wet leaves shook as if somebody were cautiously
pulling them back, and Kit stiffened his muscles. It was a comfort to
feel his hand was steady, and although he had not used a pistol much he
was a good shot with a gun. He thought he could send a bullet through the
moving leaves, but wanted his lurking enemy to begin the fight.
A face appeared at an opening and an arm pushed through. The man was
coming out and Kit felt his nerves tingle. Then, as the fellow's
body followed his arm, the sailor said quietly, "Don't move, boss.
I'll fix him."
Next moment, Kit swung round, for the man who stepped out into the road
wore a white uniform. The sailor leaned against the wall to steady his
aim, and his tense pose and rigid hand indicated that he was pressing
the trigger.
"Hold on!" Kit shouted. "Don't shoot!"
The sailor lowered his pistol and Kit, springing out of the shadow,
waved his hat.
"Come forward. We are friends."
The _rural_ turned and called to somebody, and then joining Kit glanced
at the sailor's pistol with a dry smile.
"It looks as if I had run some risk. You did not mean to be surprised."
"No," said Kit; "one takes precautions. I came very near being surprised
last night."
"So the _Galdareros_ are about? We suspected something like this."
"I suppose it was why you meant to search the _hacienda_. But did
you see us?"
The _rural_ indicated a plume of smoke that curled up from behind the
ruined wall.
"We saw _that_. When one takes precautions it is prudent to see they are
complete."
Kit nodded. There was no use in getting angry; his men were rash and
careless, but, to some extent, this was why he had chosen them. They had,
no doubt, lighted the fire to cook breakfast.
"Where is your companion?" he asked.
"There are three of us; you will see the others in a few moments. They
watch the road farther on. It is usual for us to patrol in twos, but of
late some have not returned. A revolution is a bad time for _rurales;_
one pays old reckonings then."
Kit smiled. "I imagine it would have been bad for any _Galdarero_ who had
tried to steal away down the road. But I expect you know me?"
"We have orders about you, senor; you see a servant of yours," the
_rural_ answered with a bow. "But it might be better if you told us
your plans."
After giving him a cigarette, Kit sent the sailor to tell the others and
when the _rurales_ came up offered them a share of the breakfast his men
had cooked. While they ate he told them what had brought him there and
where he was going.
"So the American is dead? I have seen him at the presidio," one remarked.
"Well, senor, it would be prudent to finish your business at Salinas
to-night. After that, I do not know. There has been fighting and some of
the president's soldiers have been killed in the swamps."
"I must finish the business," Kit replied. "It does not matter what
happens afterwards."
The _rural_ nodded. "The American talked like that. Quick and short,
but what he said went. However, we will go to Salinas with you when you
are ready."
Kit got up and gave his men an order. "I am ready now."
They set off soon afterwards and reached the mission as the light was
fading. Two small, mud buildings and a little church stood among some
ruins in an opening, and a frail old man met the party at the gate. He
took off his hat when the sailors put down the coffin, and then listened
to Kit's quiet narrative.
"This poor place is yours; it was a prosperous mission long since," he
said. "In this country, men no longer build, but plot and destroy--it is
easier than the other. Now we will put the coffin in the church and then
I will give you food."
Father Herman drew back an old leather curtain and the smell of incense
met Kit as he stood at the door while the sailors went forward with their
load. The church was nearly dark, but Kit saw it had some beauty and
there were objects that hinted at more prosperous days. At the other end,
a ruby lamp glimmered and a wax candle burned with a clear flame before a
statue of the Virgin. Kit knew whence the candle came and that Hattie
Askew had knelt on the stones, beneath it, praying that her husband might
get well. Then he looked at Father Herman, with a doubt in his mind.
The other met his glance and smiled. "The greatest of these is charity,"
he said in Latin, and resumed in fine Castilian: "He was our benefactor,
a man who kept his word, and with such a wife I think our faith was his.
It is a gracious sentiment that they should not be parted."
"In a sense," Kit said quietly, "I think they have not been parted yet.
At the last he said, with confidence, he was going to meet his wife."
"Who knows?" said Father Herman. "There is much that is dark; but one
felt that his spirit reached out after hers. Well, I knew he would come
back; I have long expected him."
He went forward and lighted more candles when the sailors put down the
coffin, and the noise their boots made jarred Kit's nerves as they came
back. The light spread, touching the bare walls and tawdry decorations
about the shrines. It was a poor little church, falling into ruin, and
the beauty its pious builders had given it was vanishing. Yet something
redeemed it from being commonplace, and Kit felt a strange emotional
stirring as his eyes rested on the dim ruby lamp and the rude black
coffin. He thought the light of love could not be quenched and knew the
tender romance that had burned in the heart of the old Buccaneer. It was
with something of an effort he turned away, and followed Father Herman
across the corral.
Two hours later, red torches flared in the dark as they laid Adam in his
grave, and Kit, worn by anxiety and physical strain, listened dully to
the solemn Latin office. Then, when the old priest's voice died away, he
went back to the mission, where he fell asleep and slept twelve hours.
In the morning, he sat beneath a broken arch that had once formed part of
a cloister. Outside the patch of shadow, the sun beat upon dazzling sand,
and a few vivid green palm-fronds hung over a ruined wall. Beyond this
the forest rose, dark and forbidding, against the glaring sky. Although
the rest had refreshed Kit, he felt as if he had got older in the last
few days and now the strain had slackened he was lonely. So far, he had
obeyed orders and when doubtful looked to Adam for a lead, but Adam had
gone and left him control. All that belonged to his youth had vanished;
he was a man, with a man's responsibilities, and a man's problems to
solve. Presently Father Herman came up and sat down opposite. Although he
looked feeble, his glance was clear and kind.
"This house is yours, senor, and I am your servant," he said. "Yet I
cannot hope that you will remain long and the times are disturbed. If I
can help--"
"Since the rebels know I am here, it would not be safe to stay, but I
cannot reach Salinas Point before the steamer sails," Kit replied. "I
must get to Havana as soon as possible."
Father Herman thought for a few minutes and then resumed: "A small
schooner is loading at a beach not far off and I know the _patron_. He
would take you to Arenas, where the president has supporters and you
might get a ship. I think he sails to-night, but I will send a message."
Kit thanked him and went on: "You were my uncle's friend, and now I have
taken his place, you are mine. As you let him send you things the mission
needed, perhaps you will not refuse me."
"I had not hoped for this," Father Herman answered with a grateful look.
"The generous gifts meant much to us, for we are very poor."
"Friendship has privileges. Besides, it was my uncle's wish, and will be
something I can do for his sake."
Father Herman's worn face got very soft and he gave Kit an approving
glance. "You are his kinsman, senor; one cannot doubt that. Like him, you
are staunch and do not forget, but in some ways you are different. I will
take your gifts and pray that yours may be a less stormy life."
"Thank you," Kit said gently and went off to look after his men.
In the afternoon he left the mission, and a week later reached Havana,
where he found a cablegram waiting. He got a shock when he opened it, and
stood for a time with the message crumpled in his hand, for it told him
that Peter Askew was dying at Ashness. Then he sat down on the long,
arcaded veranda of the hotel, with a poignant sense of loss, for the last
blow was heavier than the first. It would be too late when he got home;
Andrew, his English relative, would not have sent the message had there
been any hope.
After a time, Kit began to pull himself together. He felt dull and half
stunned, but saw that he must brace up. Although one duty was denied him,
another was left. He could not bid his father good-by, but he could keep
his promise to Adam, and there was much to be done. Getting up with a
resolute movement, he went to the telegraph office.
Although Peter had not hinted that he was ill, Kit felt he ought to have
gone home before, and now blamed Alvarez for keeping him. He knew this
was not logical, but he hated the country, with its turmoils and plots.
It was not worth helping, and in very truth he did not know if by
supporting the president he were helping it or not. After all, however,
this was not important; Alvarez needed a last supply of munitions that
Adam had agreed to send. Kit doubted if they would be paid for, but the
doubt did not count for much. Adam knew the risk when he agreed and his
engagements bound his nephew. The goods must be delivered and then Kit
would let the business go. When he reached the office he wrote a
cablegram to Andrew at Ashness and another to Mayne, who had left Havana
before Kit arrived.
CHAPTER XII
THE LAST CARGO
Dusk was falling and Kit urged his tired mule up the winding road. His
skin was grimed with dust, for he had ridden hard in scorching heat, and
was anxious and impatient to get on. The _Rio Negro_ was in the lagoon
and some cargo had been landed, but Kit stopped the work when nobody came
to take the goods. It looked as if the message he had sent through a
secret channel had not reached the president, and this was ominous.
He had heard rumors of fighting when he was in Cuba and the United
States, but the newspapers gave him little information and he had driven
the _Rio Negro_ across at full speed in order to finish the contract
before the revolution spread, which was all he wanted. Adam's staunch
loyalty had cost him his life, but the president had no claim on Kit.
Besides, his stopping in the country had kept him away from Ashness when
he was needed there. He smiled as he admitted that he was hardly logical,
since he was stubbornly pushing on when almost exhausted in order that
Alvarez might get the goods he required; but after all, this was for
Adam's sake.
As he rode up the hill the sky got brighter and a flickering illumination
was reflected on the clouds that hung about the mountains. It looked as
if the town were lighted up and Kit wondered whether this was to
celebrate a victory. He struck the mule, but the tired animal came near
throwing him when it stumbled and he let it choose its pace. The jolt had
shaken him and he was very tired.
For a time he skirted a belt of trees, and when he came out on the open
hillside the illumination was ominously bright. Now he was getting
nearer, the clouds looked different from the mist that rolled down the
mountains in the evening; they were dark and trailed away from the range.
Still, he could go no faster and he waited with growing anxiety until he
reached a narrow tableland. It commanded a wider view and he raised
himself in the stirrups as he saw that the light was the reflection of a
large fire.
He sank back and pulling up the mule let the bridle fall on its drooping
neck. It looked as if a number of houses were burning in the town, which
indicated that there had been a fight. The trouble was he did not know
who had won and this was important. If the president were badly beaten,
he would not need the supplies at the lagoon, although they might be
useful to the rebels. Kit imagined it would be prudent to turn back, but
he must find out what had happened and sent the mule forward.
Half an hour afterwards he rode into the town. The small square houses
were dark and there was nobody in the narrow street, but he heard a
confused uproar farther on. Although the glare in the sky was fainter, it
leaped up now and then and a cloud of smoke floated across the roofs. A
red glow shone down the next street and he saw the pavement was torn up.
Broken furniture lay among piles of stones, the walls were chipped, and
when Kit got down he had some trouble to lead the mule across the ruined
barricade. Although he saw nobody yet, the shouts that came from the
neighborhood of the presidio were ominous.
Kit remounted and rode slowly up to the edge of the sandy square where
the palms grew along the rails. The square was occupied by an excited
crowd, but the presidio had gone. A great pile of smoking rubbish and a
wall, broken by wide cracks, marked where it had stood. Flames played
about the ruin and Kit turned his mule. He thought the crowd was waiting
to search for plunder, and did not expect to find anybody calm enough to
answer his questions. Besides, he needed food and drink and might learn
what had happened at the cafe.
The small tables stretched across the street and were all occupied, but
when Kit had tied the mule to the alameda railings opposite he found a
chair and ordered an omelette and wine. The waiter looked at him with
some surprise and Kit wondered whether it was prudent for him to stay.