The Buccaneer Farmer - Harold Bindloss
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"You have been burning the presidio," he remarked.
"We have got rid of a tyrant," the waiter replied.
"You may get another worse," said Kit, as coolly as he could. "What
happened to the president?"
Somebody shouted "_Mozo_" and when the waiter went away Kit rested his
arms on the table. He was very tired, and it was obvious that he had come
too late. Since the president was overthrown, he had lost a large sum of
money and wasted the efforts he had made to carry out Adam's engagements.
He must get back to the lagoon as soon as possible, but he needed food
and wanted to find out if Alvarez had escaped. There was, however, some
risk in asking questions, because the cafe seemed to be occupied by
triumphant rebels.
Presently the men at the next table got up and their place was taken by
another group, among which Kit noted Francisca Sarmiento and her
relations. He thought they looked surprised, but they saluted him
politely, and soon afterwards the girl, who was nearest, looked round.
"You have courage, senor," she remarked in a meaning tone.
"I do not know if courage is needed," Kit replied, forcing a smile. "It
looks as if I could no longer meddle with politics."
"Then, since you could not help Alvarez, why did you come?"
"I imagined I could help him, until I saw the presidio was burnt," Kit
replied. "In fact, I haven't found out what has happened yet."
The girl studied him with some curiosity, but Kit felt that he had
nothing to fear from her.
"If one did not know that you were incorruptible, one could understand
your rashness," she said, in a mocking tone. "I suppose your steamer is
in the lagoon?"
Kit looked round. The cafe was crowded, but the people were talking
excitedly, and nobody seemed to notice him and the girl. The noise would
prevent their talk being heard.
"There is no use in denying it, because Galdar's spies have, no doubt,
seen her. I would be glad if you can tell me what has become of the
president."
Francisca gave him a keen glance. "You do not know Alvarez is dead?"
"Ah!" said Kit. "I did not know. Was he killed?"
"He died soon after the fighting began. The doctors say it was apoplexy;
he had been hurrying about in the burning sun."
"I wonder--He was a strong man and used to the sun."
Francisca smiled. "One does not ask questions at a time like this. It is
prudent to believe what one is told. When the soldiers lost their leader
they ran away."
Kit was silent for a few minutes. He had had a faint hope that the
president might rally his supporters and begin the fight again, but the
hope was gone. He knew all he wanted, and must leave the town as soon as
he had had some food.
"Alvarez was a friend of mine, and the news you have given me is
something of a shock," he said. "I think the country will feel its loss,
but that is not my business, and since there is nothing to keep me here,
I shall be glad to get away."
"It would be prudent to go soon," Francisca remarked in a low voice.
"I do not see why. I am no longer important enough for your friends to
meddle with me."
"You are very modest, senor, if you are not rather dull. You have goods
that would be useful to the new president, who has a rival he did not
expect. Don Felix Munez has turned traitor, and there are people who
support him in the coast province."
"Another president!" Kit exclaimed with a soft laugh, and then bowed to
the girl. "I think you mean well. You have given me a useful hint and you
have my thanks. I will be rash and tell you that Galdar shall not have
the goods I brought."
Franciscans eyes got soft and a touch of color crept into her olive skin.
"One does not often meet a man who puts honor before money. _Adios,
senor!_ I wish you well."
Then she turned to her companions, who presently left the table and soon
afterwards Kit's omelette was brought. While he ate, Olsen came in and
sitting down opposite, lighted a cigarette.
"You'll allow that the Buccaneer backed the wrong man," he said. "I
warned you and reckon your obstinacy has cost you something."
"That is so," Kit agreed. "One must run risks in a business like this,
but I don't expect you to sympathize."
Olsen smiled. "I don't pretend I'm not satisfied, but I can show you how
to get some of your money back. I've learned much about you and Askew
since we had our last talk, and am willing to buy part of the _Rio
Negro's_ cargo."
"You seem to know she has arrived?"
"Oh, yes; I knew some hours since. I've been looking out for you."
"To whom do you mean to sell the goods?" Kit asked.
"Does that matter?"
"Yes; it's rather important."
"The important thing is you'll get paid," Olsen rejoined.
Kit frowned. He imagined he could demand a high price, and now Alvarez
was dead, there was perhaps no reason for refusing to bargain; but he did
not mean to let Galdar have the goods. He thought Adam would not have
done so, and he held the new president, to some extent, accountable for
Adam's last illness.
"The cargo is not for sale," he said.
"Oh, shucks!" Olsen exclaimed. "I reckon you want to put up the price."
"No," said Kit, rather grimly, "I don't want to sell."
"Don't be a fool. The man you backed is dead. You carried out your
contract, and it doesn't matter to him now who gets the truck."
"That's true," Kit replied. "But I won't help his rival."
Olsen looked hard at him and saw he was resolute. "Oh, well! If you're
determined, there's no use in arguing! You're something of a curiosity; I
haven't met a man like you before."
He went away and Kit ordered more wine, for he was thirsty after his long
ride and had borne some strain. He had to wait for the wine, but had
expected this since the cafe was crowded, and in the meantime he got up
and looked across the street. Nobody had meddled with the mule, which
stood quietly by the railings with drooping head. Kit wondered where he
could get it some food and if he could hire a fresh animal.
Then a waiter brought the wine and when he had drunk some and lighted a
cigarette Kit, listening to the talk of the men at the next table, got a
hint that threw some light on Olsen's offer. Alvarez had used the vaults
under the presidio for a munition store, and when he was dead the
mayor-domo had blown up the building as the rebels forced their way in.
Now there was a new president in the field, it was obvious why Galdar
wanted fresh supplies. This, however, was not important, and Kit drained
his glass and then tried to rouse himself. He must look after the mule
and if it was not fit for the journey get another animal.
He felt strangely reluctant to move; the fatigue he had for a time shaken
off returned with puzzling suddenness and threatened to overpower him.
His head was very heavy, he could hardly hear the people talk, and every
now and then his eyes shut. He could not keep them open, but after a few
minutes he straightened his bent shoulders with a resolute jerk and
clenched his fist. It was not fatigue that was mastering him; the wine
was drugged. He had not noted a suspicious taste, but he was thirsty and
the omelette was strongly flavored with garlic and red pepper.
Holding himself stiffly upright, he tried to think. Olsen had, no
doubt, ordered the wine to be drugged, and his object was plain. He
meant to prevent Kit reaching the lagoon until he had removed the cargo
on the beach and tried to persuade Mayne to land the rest. Well, the
plot would fail, and with an effort Kit got up and crossed the street.
He suspected that he was watched, but nobody tried to stop him and he
mounted the mule.
The animal moved off at a better pace than he had hoped and he tried to
brace himself. His head ached and his brain was very dull, but somehow he
stuck to the saddle, and although he could hardly guide the mule the
animal avoided the people in its way. After a time, the street became
empty, the noise behind was fainter, and the houses were dark. Nobody
seemed to follow him and Kit began to hope he might be able to leave the
town. He did not know what he would do then, and hardly imagined he could
keep up the effort much longer. Perhaps, when he got away from the houses
he could tie up the mule in a quiet place and rest.
When he rode down a rough track into open country he rocked in the saddle
and would have fallen but for the high peak and big stirrups. The
hillside was blurred; distorted objects that he thought were rocks and
cactus lurched about in the elusive moonlight, and the sweat ran down his
face as he fought against the drug. He knew it would conquer him, but he
was going on as long as possible.
At length the mule stepped into a hole, Kit's foot came out of the
stirrup and he fell. For a moment or two, the mule dragged him along;
then he got his other foot loose and for a time knew nothing more.
The moonlight was fading when he opened his eyes and saw that he was
lying beside a clump of cactus. Indistinct objects moved along the road
not far off and he heard the click of hoofs on stones. A mule train was
passing and was, no doubt, going to the lagoon. He could not get up and
was glad he was in dark shadow. The muleteers had probably been told to
look out for him and a blow from a heavy stone would prevent his
interfering with the rebels' plans. The indistinct figures, however, went
on and Kit relapsed into unconsciousness.
It was daylight when he wakened and saw a man bending over him. Kit was
cold and wet with dew; his head ached horribly and he did not try to get
up. His pistol was underneath him and if the fellow meant to kill him he
could not resist.
"What do you want?" he asked.
The man said he had seen him lying there and imagined he was ill. Then
he held out his hand and asked if Kit could get up. Kit was surprised
when he found himself on his feet, although he swayed as he tried to
keep his balance.
"I suppose you are a liberator?" he said dully.
The other clenched his dark fist. "No, senor! Those dogs, the
_Galdareros_, are no friends of mine! But you were for the president; it
was known in the town."
Kit admitted it. The fellow's scornful denial was comforting and after
some talk, walking with a painful effort, he went with him down the hill
to a small mud house. A few minutes after he got there he went to sleep,
but in the meantime the man had promised to help him to reach the lagoon.
He kept his promise, and before it was light next morning Kit dismounted
on the sandy beach. There was no moon and mist drifted about the trees,
but the water shone faintly and the tide was nearly full. The steamer
loomed in the gloom and when Kit shouted there was a rattle of pulley
blocks and a splash of oars. Ten minutes afterwards Mayne met him at the
gangway and gave him his hand.
"It's some relief to see you back," he said. "Finlay has his fires banked
and can get steam to take us out in an hour or two."
Kit went with him to his room and sat down limply. He was covered with
dust and wet with dew; his face was haggard and his eyes were dull.
"I'll tell you about my adventures later," he said. "What about
the cargo?"
"Some dagos came along with a mule train and loaded up part of the truck
on the beach. They had an order that looked as if it had been signed by
you, and as they were a pretty tough crowd and had their knives loose, I
let them take the goods. When I studied the order I wasn't sure about the
hand and brought off all they had left. By and by another gang came
along, but I refused to send a boat until I'd seen you."
"You were prudent," Kit remarked. "The order was forged. Let me see the
mate's cargo-lists."
He studied the book Mayne gave him and then pondered. Olsen had, no
doubt, forged the order and Kit imagined he would have some trouble to
get payment for the goods. The manufacturers might be persuaded to take
back the rest of the cargo at something less than its proper price, but
Kit thought the value of the munitions supplied to Alvarez would be lost.
The new president would certainly try to disown the debt. Kit, however,
had known that Adam's staunchness might cost him much, and something
might, perhaps, be saved. He had had enough of the country, and as soon
as he could straighten out the tangle in which the revolution had
involved Adam's business he was going back to Ashness.
"Heave your anchor when you're ready," he said to Mayne. "We'll call at
Havana and then steam for New Orleans."
At high-water he stood on the bridge, watching the mangroves fade into
the mist. Ahead, the sun was rising out of a smooth sea, the air was
fresh, and Kit's heart was lighter. He had done with plots and intrigue
and was going back to Ashness and the quiet hills. At the same time, he
felt a tender melancholy as he thought about the little church at Salinas
and the marble cross in the sandy yard. Then he lifted his head and the
melancholy vanished as he looked across the sparkling water. The clang of
engines rose and fell with a measured beat and there was a noisy
splashing at the bows. Bright streaks of foam eddied about the _Rio
Negro's_ side, and a long smoke cloud trailed astern as she steamed to
the North.
PART III--KIT'S RETURN
CHAPTER I
KIT'S WELCOME
Kit was comfortably tired when he sat down by the beck at the head of the
dale. He had been at Ashness for a week, and finding much to be done had
occupied himself with characteristic energy. It was a relief to feel that
the heat of the tropics had not relaxed his muscles as much as he had
thought, and that the languidness he had sometimes fought against was
vanishing before the bracing winds that swept his native hills. The ache
in his arms had come from using the draining spade and his knees were
stiff after a long walk through the heather to examine the Herdwick
sheep. His vigor was coming back and he was conscious of a keen but
tranquil satisfaction with the quiet dale.
Filling his pipe lazily, he looked about. The sun was near the summit of
the fells and the long slopes were turning gray in the shadow. The yellow
light touched the other side of the valley, and the narrow bottom,
through which shining water ran, was a belt of cool dark-green. A faint
bleating of sheep came down the hill, and the beck splashed softly among
the stones.
Kit found the quiet soothing. He had had enough excitement and adventure,
and had half-consciously recognized that the life he had led in the
tropics was not for him. On the whole, he thought he had made good. One
did one's best at the work one found, but intrigue was not his proper
job. For all that, he did not mean to philosophize and had something to
think about.
When he sold the _Rio Negro_ and paid his debts he found a larger
surplus than he had hoped. Moreover, his agents had not yet enforced all
business claims and might be able to send him a fresh sum. The money he
brought home would not have made him a rich man in America, but it would
go a long way in the dale, and the soil and flocks at Ashness could be
improved by modern methods and carefully spent capital. Kit had begun at
once and found his task engrossing, but when the day's work was over he
felt a gentle melancholy and a sense of loneliness. Adam and Peter had
gone and he had loved them both; he knew he would not meet their like
again. Yet he had not lost them altogether. They had, so to speak, blazed
the trail for him, and he must try to follow, fronting obstacles with
their fearless calm.
Then he took his pipe from his mouth and his heart beat as a figure came
round a bend of the road. The girl was some distance off and he could
not see her face, but he knew her and braced himself. He had known the
meeting must come and much depended on her attitude. Grace was no longer
a romantic girl, and though he had not forgotten her, she might have
been persuaded that she had nothing to do with him. Now she must choose
her line, and he sat still, half prepared for her to pass him with a
bow. While he waited, his dog got up and ran along the road. Old Bob
knew Grace, and it looked as if she had spoken to, and perhaps petted,
him while his master was away.
She stopped, and Kit felt ashamed when he got up, for she gave him her
hand with a friendly look and he saw she had not changed as much as he
had thought. The proud calm he approved was perhaps more marked, but he
imagined the generous rashness he had liked as well still lurked beneath
the surface. He had met attractive girls in the tropics who knew they
were beautiful and added by art to their physical charm. Grace, however,
used hers unconsciously; he thought she was too proud to care if she had
such charm or not.
"I am glad to see you back," she said and stroked the dog that
leaped upon her. "Bob and I are friends. He knew me when I came
round the corner."
"So did I," Kit rejoined quietly.
He thought he noted a touch of color in her face, but she smiled.
"You did not get up. Perhaps you were not sure, like Bob?"
"I think I was sure. But I have been away some time and it was not my
part to force you to acknowledge me."
"If I didn't want to?" Grace suggested. "Well, I do not forget my
friends, and now, if you are satisfied, we can let that go." She
paused and resumed when he went on with her: "The dalesfolk have
missed you, particularly since your father died. It must have been a
shock--I felt it, too, because I saw him now and then. We were friends
in spite of all."
Kit was grateful for her frank sympathy, and felt he could talk to her
about his father.
"He did not tell me this, but he liked you."
"He was just," Grace replied. "People knew, and trusted him. He had none
of the rancor that often leads us wrong. When he was firm he did not get
angry. That kind of attitude is hard, but it makes things easier. But you
were in America with his brother, were you not?"
"I was in the United States, and afterwards in some of the countries on
the Caribbean."
"Ah," said Grace with curiosity, "that must have been interesting! One
understands that is a beautiful and romantic coast, with its memories of
the great Elizabethan sailors and the pirates."
"It is romantic, and dangerous in parts. You can land at some of the
towns from modern mail-boats and find smart shops and cafes; others have
fallen into ruin and lie, half-hidden by the forest, beside
malaria-haunted lagoons. You steal in through the mist at the top of a
high tide, much as the old pirates did, and when you land, find hints of
a vanished civilization and the Spaniards' broken power. But you seem to
know something about the coast."
Grace smiled. "You look surprised! There is a library at Tarnside,
although it is not often used, and we have books about the voyages of the
buccaneers. One book is rather fascinating. But what were you doing in
the lagoons?"
"Sometimes we loaded dyewoods and rubber; sometimes we lent money to
ambitious politicians in return for unlawful trading privileges, and now
and then engaged in business that was something like that of the old
adventurers."
"After that, you must find the dale very tame," Grace remarked, and
quietly studied Kit.
She had liked his honesty and resolution before he went abroad, but he
had gained something she had not noted then. Although he wore rough
working clothes and had obviously been digging, he had an elusive touch
of distinction, and there was a hint of command in his quiet look. He had
seen the world, confronted dangers, and used power, and this had put a
stamp on him.
"It is hard to imagine you a pirate," she remarked with a twinkle. "You
don't look the part, and, no doubt, like other occupations, it requires
some study."
Kit laughed. "One does the best one can! I rather think taking trouble
and a determination to make good are as useful as specialized training."
"Perhaps that's true. It's curious, in a way, but I expect a good farmer,
for example, might make a successful buccaneer. One understands, though,
that the last pirate was hanged a hundred years since."
"There are a few left, although their methods have changed with the
times. Some day I would like to tell you about my uncle. He was, so to
speak, a survival, and I think you would appreciate him. But how have
things been going in the dale?"
Grace's twinkle vanished, her look became serious, and Kit thought he
noted signs of strain. After all, she had changed since he left Ashness.
It was not that she looked older, although she was now a rather stately
woman and not an impulsive girl; he felt that she had known care.
"On the whole," she said, "things have not gone very well. We have had
wet summers and heavy snow in spring. The flocks are poor and rents have
come down. Bell has gone; he quarreled with Hayes about some new
machinery for the mill. All is much the same at Tarnside, though my
father is not so active. Gerald left Woolwich--perhaps you knew--and is
in a London bank."
Kit hid his surprise. Gerald was not the stuff of which good bank clerks
are made, although Osborn's influence with the local manager had, no
doubt, got him the post. Kit imagined the lad had been forced to leave
Woolwich, but money must be scarce at Tarnside, since he had gone into
business. This threw some light on the hint of weariness he had noted
about Grace. If fresh economy was needful, she and Mrs. Osborn must
carry the load.
"Hayes is still your agent. I met him yesterday and he gave me a sour
nod," Kit remarked.
"Yes," said Grace, and added quietly: "I sometimes wish he were not!"
"Well, I never liked the man. All the same, he's a very good agent, from
the landlord's point of view, and your father's interests ought to be
safe with him."
"I suppose so," Grace agreed, but her look was doubtful, and they
reached the Ashness lonning a few minutes later. When Kit stopped she
gave him her hand. "I hear you are going to make a number of
improvements, and wish you good luck!"
Kit went up the lonning and sitting down in the porch lighted his pipe.
Grace had not forgotten; she had given him his real welcome home and he
thrilled as he thought about her quiet friendliness. Perhaps the meeting
was awkward for her, but she had struck the right note, with the
dignified simplicity he had expected. It said something for her pluck
that she had met him as if the interview at Ashness, when Osborn had
driven him away, had never taken place. All this was comforting, but Kit
was vaguely disturbed on her account.
He had noted a hint of anxiety and she had implied that things were not
going well for the Osborns. He meant to marry Grace; his longing for her
was keener than he had felt it yet, but it was not altogether selfish.
She must be removed from surroundings in which she could not thrive.
Tarnside, with its rash extravagance, pretense, and stern private
economy, was not the place for her. But he felt he must be patient and
cautious; there were numerous obstacles in his way.
In the meantime, Grace met Thorn farther along the road and tried to hide
her annoyance as he advanced. Perhaps it was the contrast between him and
Kit, whose thin, brown face had a half-ascetic look, for Alan was fat and
getting coarse. Grace had noted this before, but not so plainly as she
did now. His manners were urbane and he belonged to her circle; to some
extent, his code was hers and she had his prejudices and tastes. All the
same, she did not like him; for one thing, he was a type her father
approved, a man of local importance and strictly local ideas, and Osborn
had forced her into rebellion. Alan managed the otter hounds well and
knew much about farming, but he was satisfied with this. Although he
belonged to a smart London club, Grace imagined he only went there
because he thought he ought. Yet he was cunning and patient, and knowing
why he bore with Osborn, she was sometimes afraid.
"Was that Askew?" he inquired when he turned and went on with her.
Grace said it was and he gave her a careless look.
"I heard he had come back. Might have been better if he had stayed away.
A fellow like that is rather disturbing."
"I don't think he could do much harm, when you and Hayes are on your
guard," Grace rejoined.
"That is so," Thorn agreed and she could not tell if he knew she had
meant to be ironical. "Anyhow, I don't suppose he wants to do much harm;
I was thinking about his example."
"Is it a dangerous example to improve one's land? I thought you advocated
scientific farming?"
"So I do. I don't mean that, although I don't know if Askew's farming is
scientific or not. One can't judge yet. His independence and habit of
taking his own line might be dangerous."
"Mr. Askew's independence is justified. Ashness is his."
"Yes," said Thorn thoughtfully, "that's the trouble. If he was a farming
tenant, things would be easier."
Grace laughed. "You are delightfully naive! I'm afraid you'll have to
leave Mr. Askew alone, but I don't expect he'll do anything alarming. I
think you know he is a friend of mine."
"I knew he was, before he went abroad. If you have renewed the
friendship, it means you're satisfied about him and perhaps we needn't be
disturbed. Your judgment is generally sound."