The Buccaneer Farmer - Harold Bindloss
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In the meantime, he was kept occupied at the wheel for Mayne changed his
course as the trees rolled past, until the telegraph rang and the engines
stopped. Then there was silence until he heard the splash of the anchor
and the roar of running chain. As the _Rio Negro_ slowly swung round, the
winches rattled and her boats were hoisted out. Kit got into one with
Adam and landed on a muddy beach. Dark figures came down to meet them,
horses were waiting at the edge of the forest, and a few minutes later
they mounted and plunged into the gloom.
CHAPTER II
THE PRESIDIO
Dazzling sunshine flooded the belt of sand where the shadows of dusty
palmettos quivered beyond the Moorish arch; the old presidio smelt like a
brick-kiln and the heat outside was nearly intolerable. In the middle of
the dirty patio a fountain splashed in a broken marble basin, and it was
dim, and by contrast cool, under the arcade where Kit sat among the
crumbling pillars. The presidio was a relic of Spanish dominion and its
founders had built it well, copying, with such materials as they could
get, stately models the Moors had left in the distant Peninsula. A part
had fallen and blocks of sun-baked mud lay about in piles, but the long,
white front, with its battlemented top and narrow, barred windows stood
firm. In spite of the ruinous patio, the presidio was the finest building
in the town.
The others, so far as Kit could see, were squares of mud, for the most
part whitewashed, although some were colored pink and cream. The glare
they reflected was dazzling, but a row of limp palmettos ran between them
and the space in front of the presidio, and here and there Kit noted
rounded masses of vivid green. Except for the splash of the fountain, all
was very quiet, and although the shadows had lengthened it looked as if
the half-breed citizens were still enjoying their afternoon sleep. Now
and then a barefooted sentry noiselessly passed the arch. He wore a dirty
white uniform and ragged palm-leaf hat, but carried a good modern rifle,
and Kit knew where the latter had come from. The country was rich with
coffee, rubber, sugar, and dyewoods. Its inhabitants, however, for the
most part, preferred political intrigue to cultivation; its government
was corrupt, and prosperity had vanished with the Spaniards' firm rule.
A table carrying some very small glasses and coffee-cups stood in the
arcade. Don Hernando Alvarez occupied the other side, and Kit imagined it
was not by accident he sat with his back to a whitewashed pillar, since
he was in the shadow and as he wore white clothes could not be seen a
short distance off. Don Hernando's hair was coarse and his skin dark. His
face was well molded, although the cheek-bones were prominent; his black
eyes were keen and his thin lips firm. He wore a plain red sash, with no
other touch of color except a bit of riband on his breast. It was obvious
that he was not a Peninsular, as pure-blooded Spaniards call themselves,
but he looked like a man who must be reckoned on. Just then his dark face
was moody.
"You have come in good time," he said to Adam Askew, in Castilian. "I
think the curtain will soon go up for the last act of the drama, but the
plot is obscure and I do not know the end."
"I imagine the action will be rapid," Adam replied. "Unless you have
changed much, you are cut out for your part."
"Ah," said Alvarez, "one gets cautious as one gets old. One loses the
young man's quick, sure touch."
"That is so, to some extent," Adam agreed, and indicated Kit. "It
explains why I have a partner; my brother's son. Still, perhaps one sees
farther when one is old."
Alvarez bowed to Kit. "You have a good model, senor; a man who seldom
hesitates and whose word goes. A rare thing in this country; I do not
know about yours." Then he turned to Adam with a hint of anxiety. "How
far do you see now?"
"I see what I have to do and that is enough. The consequences come
afterwards."
Alvarez's face cleared. "You were always a gambler, but you run some risk
if you bet on me." He was silent for a moment and then resumed: "In a
sense, I envy you; you have a partner you can trust, but I stand alone.
My son was found in the plaza with a knife in his back, and the man who
killed him goes unpunished."
"Galdar was somewhere behind that deed, although I do not see his object
yet," Adam remarked.
"The people liked Maccario and his removal cleared the ground. My enemy
is cunning and, I think, did not mean to force a conflict until my
friends had gone. Now there are not many left and the time has come.
Morales died of poison, Diaz of snake-bite, and Vinoles was shot by a
curious accident. So far, I have escaped; perhaps because I was lucky,
and perhaps because it was not certain the people would choose Galdar if
I followed my friends."
"I have wondered why you hold on. For a president of this country, you
have had a good run. I think I would have left after a few prosperous
years and located at Havana, for example."
Alvarez smiled. "There was a time when we had money in the treasury and I
might have gone; but it was too late afterwards. Part of the revenue
stopped in Galdar's hands--that was one way of embarrassing me--and I was
forced to use the rest to undermine his plots. Now I am drawing on my
small private estate."
"But why didn't you go while there was something left? You are not
extravagant and do not need much."
Kit thought Adam's remark was justified. Alvarez lived with Indian
frugality and looked ascetic; besides he had been long in power and had
no doubt had opportunities for enriching himself at his country's
expense. Kit liked Alvarez, but did not think him much honester than
other Spanish-American rulers he had met.
"It was partly for my daughter's sake I remained," Alvarez replied. "She
is at a Spanish convent and I would not leave her poor. Then I had my
son's death to avenge." He paused and added with a deprecatory smile:
"Moreover I have thought I can rule this country better than my rival."
"That's a sure thing," Adam agreed, in English. "Well, you had better
tell me how you think matters are going. If I'm to help you properly I
want to know."
Alvarez looked about. All was very quiet; there was nobody in the patio,
and it was some distance to the nearest window in the wall that faced the
pillars. For all that, he lowered his voice and answered in hesitating
English with an American accent.
"It is hard to tell; a gamble in which one takes steep chances! Perhaps
half the people with an object are for Galdar, and half for me. Those who
have none will wait and back the man they think will win. So far, I have
the soldiers, but their pay is behind and they are badly armed and
drilled. They will stand by me if I can give them machine-guns and pay
off arrears. But this must be done soon, without Galdar knowing. The next
president will be the man who strikes before the other is ready."
"What will the thing cost altogether?" Adam asked.
He looked thoughtful when Alvarez told him, and then nodded. "All right.
You'll get some of the guns to-morrow and another lot is on the way. Go
ahead; I'll help you put the business over."
Alvarez filled the little glasses with a liquor that had a strong spicy
smell and when his guests lifted them touched theirs with his.
"It is what I had hoped, my friend. If I live, you will not lose."
He drank and then held his glass slackly poised while he mused. Kit, who
was nearest the arch, turned and glanced out. He saw the reflected light
quiver across the trampled sand and the dusty green of the limp
palmettos. Then, below the latter, there was a pale-yellow flash and the
president's glass fell with a tinkle. A pistol-shot rang out and Kit,
swinging round, saw that a flake of plaster had dropped on the table.
There was some dust on Alvarez' brown face and on his clothes, but he
looked unmoved.
Next moment Adam leaned on the table, steadying a heavy automatic pistol,
and three quick flashes streamed from the perking barrel. Three small
puffs of dust leaped up about the roots of a palmetto and as the empty
cartridges rattled on the floor Kit thought an indistinct figure stole
through the shadow of the fan-shaped leaves. He was not certain, because
the light was dazzling and thin smoke drifted about his head.
He threw his chair back and plunging through the arch ran across the sand
and stopped at the top of a narrow street. Men and women of different
shades of color came out of the doors and began to talk excitedly, but
there was nobody who looked like a fugitive. Kit went back after he got
his breath and met two or three untidy, barefooted soldiers who ran past.
When he entered the arch Adam was coolly reloading his pistol while the
president dusted his clothes.
"It is nothing--they have tried again," the latter remarked. "Still, it
looks as if Galdar felt himself stronger than I thought. Now, with your
permission, I will go and give some orders." He smiled as he added:
"There will be some prisoners by and by, men my guards do not like, but
the fellow who fired the shot will not be caught."
"What about the sentry?" Adam asked.
Alvarez shrugged. "It is hot, and perhaps he was half asleep. I think the
man is faithful, and just now I am the soldier's friend."
He went off and Adam filled his glass and looked at Kit. "I feel I'm
getting old and want another drink. I got the bead on the fellow's dark
head and missed him by a yard. Well, I guess you can't expect to have
steady fingers when you've got malarial ague. It's a dramatic kind of
country, anyhow."
Kit lighted a maize-leaf cigarette and mused. He had been startled, but
his nerve was good and he knew something about the dark-skinned, reckless
people of the South. They were robbed by their rulers, who spent the most
part of the revenue to keep themselves in power; and sometimes, when the
vote was useless, assassination seemed the only remedy. But it was on his
uncle's promise Kit's thoughts dwelt. Although Adam was rich, the sum
Alvarez needed was large. The latter was honest, in a sense, and Kit
thought would not rob his friend, but he might be unable to make
repayment. In fact, he had warned Adam that there was a risk and the
bullet that struck the pillar was a significant hint. The venture looked
rash, but Adam had stated that it was not a business proposition. He and
the president were friends and this counted for much. The old Buccaneer
had a sentimental vein.
Then Kit's thoughts strayed and he wondered what Peter was doing in the
north country dale. Kit had prospered since he joined Adam and the latter
had hinted that he might be rich, but he was tired of intrigue and
excitement and the glare of the South. He wanted the bracing winds, and
the soft lights that chased the flying shadows across the English hills.
He smiled as he reflected that he was like the Herdwicks that never
forgot their native heaf; but while he longed for the red moors and
straight-cut valleys he felt a stronger call. He was young and had seen
the daughters of the South; Louisiana Creoles with a touch of old French
grace; dark-haired Habaneras with languid eyes, whose movements were a
delight to watch; octoroons ready to welcome a lover who was altogether
white, and half-breed Indian girls. All had charm and some had shown him
favors that meant much, but their charm had left Kit cold.
He thought about Grace Osborn, steady-eyed and marked by English calm.
She was frank and sometimes impulsive, but even then one got a hint of
proud reserve. There was no touch of southern coquetry about Grace, she
was not the girl to attract a lover and let him go, but if he came and
proved his worth, she would go forward with him steadfastly through the
storms of life. Kit sighed and pulled himself up. Grace was not for him
and he must not be a romantic fool. He looked round and saw that Adam was
quietly studying him.
"What are you thinking about, partner?" he asked and Kit knew the epithet
meant much. Adam had not called him partner at first.
"I was thinking about Ashness," he replied.
"Ah," said Adam softly, "I often think about it too; the old house among
the ash trees, and the Herdwicks feeding on the long slope behind. The
red heath on the fell-top and the beck bubbling in the ghyll.
Everything's clean and cool in the quiet dale, and the folk are calm and
Slow." He paused and resumed with a curious smile: "Once I reckoned I'd
go back when I got rich and make things hum, but when I had the money I
saw that plan wouldn't work. Those quiet folk would have beaten me with
their unchanging ways, and Ashness is too good to spoil. For all that, I
allowed I'd see it again before I died, but now I don't know."
His smile faded and he gave Kit a keen glance. "Why did you pull out? It
wasn't for my money. You haven't told me yet."
"No," said Kit, with some embarrassment. "I hardly think it's much of a
story, but if you like I'll tell you now."
After a few moments he stopped awkwardly, and Adam raised his hand.
"Go on. I want to get the girl properly fixed."
Kit was not skilled at sketching character, but he drew Grace's portrait
well and when he stopped Adam made a sign of sympathy.
"You have helped me place her. Don't know I'd have trusted another man's
judgment when he talked about his sweetheart, but you're not a fool.
Well, it seems to me the girl's worth getting."
"Miss Osborn is not my sweetheart. It is possible I shall never see
her again."
"But you can't forget her?"
"No," said Kit quietly; "I can't forget."
Adam was silent for some moments and then looked up.
"You're like Peter, slow and staunch, but that's one reason you're my
partner. Well, I know Osborn's kind; folk we have no use for in the
United States. White trash, we call them; men with no abilities, whose
foolish pride makes them think it's mean to work. Reckon they've first
claim on the soft jobs and don't belong to the world of fighting men. But
I guess they listen when money talks."
Kit said nothing, although he thought Adam's concluding remark
significant, and the old man went on:
"Don Hernando helped me on my feet when Vanhuyten and I first came along
this coast, with about a thousand dollars and a worn-out schooner. He's
been my friend ever since and now he's hard up against it I've got to see
him out. Guess it's going to cost me high, but when the job's put over
there ought to be some money left and I don't know that you need forget
the girl if she hasn't forgotten you. Well, perhaps I've said enough, and
now I'll go and see where Don Hernando is."
Adam got up and as he crossed the patio Kit noted that his shoulders were
bent and his movement slack. Adam had changed much since their first
meeting at the Florida hotel. He had some very obvious faults, but Kit
knew what he owed him and felt disturbed.
CHAPTER III
THE GOLD ONZA
Kit paused as he wound the long silk sash round his waist, and looked
out of the window of his room at the presidio. Square blocks of houses,
colored white and yellow, ran down the hill. Here and there a palm rose
from an opening, and the dusty green of the alameda broke the monotony
of the flat roofs and straight, blank walls that gave the town an
Eastern look.
Kit noted the strength of the presidio's situation. The old building
stood high, its battlemented roof commanded the narrow streets, and there
was a broad open space all round. He thought a few machine-guns would
make it impregnable, since a revolutionary mob was not likely to be
provided with artillery.
Kit tucked the end of the sash under the neatly-arranged folds. Some time
is required to put on a Spanish _faja_ and at first Kit had thought the
trouble unnecessary, but had found it is prudent to protect the middle of
the body in a hot climate. When he was satisfied, he turned and looked
about the room. There were no curtains or carpets, and two very crude
religious pictures were fixed to the wall. Although the air was not yet
hot, it was not fresh and a smell of spices, decay, and burnt oil came in
through the window that opened on the patio.
A sunbeam touched a small earthen jar, holding a bunch of feather
flowers. The jar was harshly colored, but the outline was bold and
graceful, and Kit knew no pottery like that had been made in the country
since the Spaniards came. He had bought it with the flowers for a few
dollars, and remembered that the shopkeeper had included its contents
when he offered it to him. "_Todo loque hay,_" he said in uncouth
Castilian.
Kit, turning over the jar carelessly, took out the flowers and as he did
so something inside rattled and a large coin fell into his hand. The coin
was old and heavy; indeed, he thought it weighed about an ounce. Taking
it to the window, he rubbed its dull face and when the metal began to
shine sat down with a thoughtful look. Unless he was mistaken, the coin
was gold and did weigh an ounce.
When he finished dressing he went to the little dark shop. The shopkeeper
was making coffee with a handful of charcoal on the doorstep, for the
sake of the draught, and took off his hat politely as Kit came up.
"I found a piece of money in the jar I bought from you," Kit said in
Castilian.
"Then your worship is lucky," the other remarked.
"But the money was not mine."
The shopkeeper shrugged. "What matter? It is yours now. Was the coin
worth much?"
"It was worth finding."
"Well," said the shopkeeper, "I do not know where the money came from,
and it may have been there a very long time. The jar is old and I
bought it from an Indian some years since." He paused and gave Kit a
keen glance. "You will remember that I offered you the jar with all
there was inside."
"You did; it held some feather flowers. Still, as you did know about
the money--"
"Then you want to give it back, if the owner can be found!"
"Certainly," said Kit.
The shopkeeper bowed. "I will make enquiries. If you should need anything
I sell, senor, perhaps you will remember that I am an honest man."
Kit went away, feeling puzzled and somewhat surprised. It looked as if
the fellow was honest, but Kit thought he had studied him and there was
something curious about his manner. Besides, a remark he made implied
that he knew the coin was old.
When he ate his eleven o'clock breakfast with Adam and the President in
the arcade, he took out the coin and told them about the shopkeeper's
refusal to take it back.
"A Spanish onza," Adam remarked. "Worth nearly five pounds in English
money, but a collector might give you more if it's as old as it looks.
One used to see onzas in Cuba, and native merchants in Central America,
who hadn't much use for banks, liked to get them. Now, however, they're
getting scarce."
"In this country, all gold coins are scarce," Alvarez said dryly. "I
agree with the shopkeeper that Don Cristoval is fortunate, and expect he
feels that my people are honester than he thought."
"I was puzzled--" said Kit and stopped, for he saw the president's smile
and began to understand.
"You are shrewd, senor; but that was to be expected from my old friend's
nephew. To begin with, the man who keeps the shop is not a supporter of
the Government."
"Ah," said Kit, "I think I see!"
Alvarez bowed. "One can trust your intelligence, and you can keep the
coin. It looks as if my antagonists were curious about your
character--the honor of a man who would take money that does not belong
to him is open to doubt. The experiment was cheap."
Kit said nothing and the president filled a little glass with scented
liquor. "I know my friends, Don Cristoval, and your uncle has stood much
harder tests."
He touched Kit's glass with his. "Well, I am lucky, because I may need
friends soon."
He got up and when he went down the long arcade Adam looked at Kit
with a smile.
"When I was your age I wouldn't have taken the onza back. I'd have kept
the money and my faith with the president; in fact, in those days, I kept
anything I could get. Now the other fellow knows what you're like, I
reckon he'll find the owner of the coin."
Adam went off after the president, and Kit pondered. A few days later, he
sat one evening at a small table outside the cafe Bolivar. The cafe was
badly lighted, hot, and full of flies. There was no door or window, and a
few wooden pillars divided the low room from the pavement, which was
strewn with cigarette ends and cardboard matches. In front, small palms,
and eucalyptus lined the dusty alameda, where groups of citizens walked
up and down. Inside the cafe somebody sang a Spanish song and played a
guitar. It was not cool on the pavement, although a faint breeze made the
palms rustle. The air was heavy and a smell of aniseed and new rum hung
about the spot.
Presently a man who had been playing dominos got up and came to Kit's
table. He was a white man, with pale blue eyes and yellow hair, and
although rather fat he carried himself well. Kit had met Olsen before,
and he nodded when he sat down.
"Nothing doing at the casino and the place was very hot," he said.
"Besides, I don't quite trust the man who runs the bank. Taking them all
round, these folks are clever crooks."
Kit agreed languidly and noted the order Olsen gave the half-breed
landlord. The fellow did not look as if he indulged much, but Kit thought
a large glass of the strong liquor was not often asked for. As a rule,
the Americans he had met on the Caribbean coast were abstemious, while
the half-breeds and Spaniards were satisfied with small _copitas_ of
fiery spirits distilled from the sugar cane. The English, German, and
Scandinavian adventurers consumed them freely, and perhaps the Germans
drank the most.
"How do you like it here?" Olsen resumed when he put down his glass.
"It's a country that soon palls. Are you staying long?"
"I can't tell," said Kit, who decided not to state that he knew the
country. "You see, I'm not in command."
"No," said Olsen. "I suppose you're a relation of the Buccaneer?"
"A poor relation. He gave me a lift when I needed it."
Olsen laughed. "Well, I guess he makes you hustle. A pretty lively old
pirate, if all one hears is true! I reckon they don't call him the
Buccaneer for nothing, but it's hinted that he's beginning to lose his
grip. I see your copita's empty. Will you take another drink?"
"No, thanks; I've had enough," said Kit, who distrusted Olsen. He thought
the fellow's careless remarks covered some curiosity and had tried to
leave him in doubt. Olsen probably imagined he was Adam's clerk.
"You're cautious, but one soon gets reckless here," Olsen resumed. "We
are all adventurers, out for what we can get, and the chances against our
making good are pretty steep. My notion is to have the best time I can,
pick up as much money as possible, and quit before fever, intrigue, or a
revolution knocks me out."
"It's an exciting life," Kit agreed. "Money doesn't seem plentiful."
"You have got to hustle and back the right man. Since you're stopping at
the presidio, it's obvious that Askew's on the president's side. Well, I
suppose everybody knows my employers have put their money on Galdar."
"Then, I imagine you run some risk."
"Sure," said Olsen, smiling. "Alvarez doesn't like me, and if I wasn't an
American citizen, I'd feel scared. Showed his secretary my naturalization
papers when I put up my shingle. Took them out as soon as I reached the
United States from Norway."
Kit pondered. Olsen spoke English and Castilian Well, but his accent was
not American, nor, Kit thought, Scandinavian. There were a number of
Germans in the country, engaged in extensive but rather dark commercial
schemes, whom the United States consuls watched with jealous eyes. Kit
knew that no one could transact much business without to some extent
meddling with native politics, but while the other adventurers were
satisfied with the money they could get, it looked as if the Germans
wanted something else. It was perhaps significant that Olsen had, so to
speak, insisted that he was a naturalized American and came from Norway.
Kit doubted.
"Askew's judgment is generally pretty good, but he's getting old," Olsen
remarked. "I don't see why he's backing the president; my notion is,
Galdar's surely going to win." He paused and looked at Kit thoughtfully.
"In fact, if I was holding a clerk's job on the other side, I'd consider
if it wouldn't pay me to change."
Kit imagined this was a cautious feeler, made to find out if he could be
bought, but he smiled.
"If Galdar does win, he won't have much to give his friends."
"He certainly won't have much money," Olsen agreed. "It's going to cost
him all he can raise to turn Alvarez out, but he'll have something to
give at the country's expense; sugar and coffee concessions, and perhaps
monopolies. If I can get my share, it will pay my employers well and I
allow they're generous."
He stopped, as if he thought he had said enough, and after ordering
another drink looked up with a grin. Two girls in light dresses had
passed the cafe once or twice with a male companion and a fat old woman
who wore black clothes. Kit had not noticed them particularly, because
other groups were moving about, but he now remarked that the man had
gone and the _duena_ was a yard or two in front. One of the girls looked
round and he thought her glance searched the cafe and then stopped at
his table.