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diff --git a/old/65385-0.txt b/old/65385-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 906cb28..0000000 --- a/old/65385-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11209 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Four Bells, by Ralph D. Paine - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Four Bells - A Tale of the Caribbean - -Author: Ralph D. Paine - -Illustrator: Frank E. Schoonover - -Release Date: May 19, 2021 [eBook #65385] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Al Haines, John Routh & the online Distributed Proofreaders - Canada team at https://www.pgdpcanada.net - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOUR BELLS *** - - - - - FOUR BELLS - - _A Tale of the Caribbean_ - - BY - - RALPH D. PAINE - - _Author of “The Call of the Offshore Wind”_ - _“First Down, Kentucky!” “Roads of Adventure,” etc._ - - WITH A FRONTISPIECE BY - FRANK E. SCHOONOVER - - - - BOSTON AND NEW YORK - HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY - The Riverside Press Cambridge - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1923, BY STREET & SMITH CORPORATION - COPYRIGHT, 1924, BY RALPH D. PAINE - - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED - - - The Riverside Press - CAMBRIDGE • MASSACHUSETTS - PRINTED IN THE U.S.A. - - - - - CONTENTS - - I. THE VOICE OF THE SPANISH MAIN - II. THE SEA DOGS OF DEVON - III. A GREAT GALLEON - IV. THE ANGER OF COLONEL FAJARDO - V. RICHARD CARY STROLLS ALONE - VI. THE TROUBLED HEART OF TERESA - VII. THE MAN WHO LIED - VIII. UPON THE CITY WALL - IX. THE GOOD HERMIT OF LA POPA - X. THE GREAT YELLOW TIGER - XI. SPANISH TREASURE! - XII. RICARDO WRITES A LETTER - XIII. THE MASTER TAKES COMMAND - XIV. SHAKING A CREW TOGETHER - XV. IN THE HOUSE OF MYSTERY - XVI. BLIND ROADS OF DESTINY - XVII. TERESA, HER PILGRIMAGE - XVIII. RUBIO SANCHEZ FINDS FRIENDS - XIX. THE INTRUDER FROM ECUADOR - XX. RICARDO PLAYS IT ALONE - XXI. THE HAPPINESS OF PAPA BAZÁN - XXII. THE FACE OF THE WATERS - XXIII. THE CASTAWAY - XXIV. A TRANQUIL HAVEN - - Four Bells: A Tale of the Caribbean - - - - - CHAPTER I - - - THE VOICE OF THE SPANISH MAIN - -The romance of the sea! Damned rubbish, he called it. The trade of -seafaring was one way to earn a living. This was about all you could say -for it. He had been lured into the merchant service as the aftermath of -an enlistment in the Naval Reserve for the duration of the war. There -was a great hurrah, as you will recall, over the mighty fleet of new -cargo ships which were to restore the Stars and Stripes to blue -water—Columbia’s return to the ocean, and all that—a splendid revival -of the days of Yankee ships and sailors of long ago—a career for -ambitious, adventurous American youth. - -This was true enough until the bubble broke. The painful malady of -deflation suddenly afflicted the world’s commerce. Much of Columbia’s -mighty fleet rusted at its moorings. Ambitious American youth walked the -streets in quest of jobs afloat or relinquished the sea to the Briton -and the Scandinavian. It could not be said that the nation was deeply -stirred by this calamity. In a manner of speaking, it had long since -turned its back to the coast and could not be persuaded to face about. - -This Richard Cary was one of the young men who had not been cast high -and dry by the ebb tide of maritime affairs. No auspicious slant of -fortune favored him. He earned what came to him in the way of employment -and promotion. All he knew was the hard schooling of North Atlantic -voyages in bull-nosed brutes of war-built freighters that would neither -steam nor steer. - -During the period of booming prosperity, the supply of competent -officers fell far short of the demand. Any ancient mariner with a -master’s license and fairly sound legs could get a ship. Foreign -skippers were given “red ink tickets” and shoved aboard big American -steamers. - -The iron discipline and austere traditions of the sea were jeered at by -motley crews, alien and native-born, who had easier work and better -treatment than sailormen had ever known. Mutiny ceased to be -sensational. Noisy Slavs preached Bolshevism in the forecastle. Every -dirty loafer had a grievance. Ships limped into port with drunken -stokers who refused to ply shovel and slice-bar unless they happened to -feel like it. Wise gentlemen ashore diagnosed it as the poison of social -unrest. - -Amid these turbulent conditions, such an officer as Richard Cary was -worth his weight in gold. For one thing, the Navy had hammered into his -soul certain ideas which he declined to regard as obsolete. These -pertained to order, fidelity, and obedience as essential to the conduct -of a ship. He was a young man unvexed by complex emotions. Life -consisted in doing the day’s work well, and the Lord help the -subordinate who held opinions to the contrary. - -It was a doctrine which had vouchsafed its own rewards. At twenty-five -years of age he was chief officer of a ten-thousand-ton steamer of the -Shipping Board fleet. There was something more to this rapid advancement -than the old-fashioned virtues referred to. A natural aptitude for the -sea was a large factor. Linked with this was a strong serenity of temper -that few besetments could ruffle. Chief Officer Richard Cary moved on -his appointed way with a certain ponderous momentum of mind and body. - -He was sprung from that undiluted pioneer stock which is still to be -found in the rural New England that is remote from the wash of later -immigration. It was the English strain, fair-haired and blue of eye, -that throws back to the Saxon blood. There had been men of rare height -and bulk among his ancestors. This was his goodly inheritance, that his -head should brush the ceiling beams of his cabin on shipboard and his -shoulders fill the width of the doorway. Mutinous or sulky sailors -ceased to bluster about their rights when this imperturbable young man -laid hands on them. This was not often necessary. What he called moral -suasion was enough to quell a very pretty riot. He had this uncommon -gift of leadership, of mastering men and circumstances, when he was -compelled to display it. - -There was lacking, however, the driving power of ambition, the -keen-edged ardor that cuts its way through obstacles to reach a destined -goal. This large placidity of outlook betokened a dormant imagination, a -sort of spiritual inertia. There was no riddle of existence, so far as -he was concerned. The romance and mystery of the sea? Silly yarns -written by lubbers for landsmen to read! They ought to jam across the -Western Ocean in the dead of winter with a doddering old fool of a -skipper on the bridge and a crew of rotten scoundrels who deserved to be -hung. - -While enthusiastic crusaders were proclaiming the glorious resurgence of -the American merchant marine, surplus tonnage began to pile up in every -port. Richard Cary’s huge scow of a freighter could find no cargo and -was condemned to idleness with a melancholy squadron of her sister -craft. The chief officer decided to look around a bit before seeking -another berth. One or two offers came from shipping men who knew him by -reputation. Already he stood out from the crowd. Waterfront gossip had -passed along various tales of the reign of law and order upon the decks -which big Dick Cary trod. He was no cursing, bullying bucko mate, mind -you. Six and a half feet of soothing influence is a fairer phrase. - -Home he went to the New Hampshire farm for a respite from the hard toil -of the sea. In February it was, and the bleak hills wore their deep -blankets of snow. His younger brother drove him in a pung to the white -house snuggled close to the ground which had sheltered six generations -of Carys. It made his back ache merely to look at the miles of stone -wall which, as a clumsy young giant, he had helped to keep in repair. - -“I guess going to sea is easier than this,” said brother Bill. “You seem -to have done mighty well for yourself, I’ll tell the world. Any chance -for me?” - -“Not a chance,” replied the deep, leisurely accents of brother Dick. -“Seafaring is all shot to pieces. You stand by your mother and look -after the farm till you are ready to go to the agricultural college. -I’ll pay for it.” - -“Plenty of excitin’ stories to tell us, I s’pose. Your picture was in -the papers, Dick, after your ship came into New York with four men in -irons. It said you subdued ’em. What with, I want to know.” - -“I read poetry to ’em, Bill, and distributed bouquets of cut flowers. -They seemed grateful. So mother is as spry as ever and working her head -off because she likes it.” - -“Yep, she sure does make me snap out, Dick. And I bet she takes no back -talk from you.” - -“I’m scared already,” grinned the herculean mariner. “Watch her start a -rough house if I track in any snow.” - -He strode up the path to the granite doorstep and whisked up the wiry -little woman who wore a best black gown and a white apron. Into the -house he carried this trifling burden and set her down in a -rush-bottomed chair by the fireplace. - -“Bless me, Richard,” she cried, “that’s a trick you learned from your -father that’s dead and gone! I used to tell him it was dreadful -undignified. Of course he didn’t have your heft, but there was no -ruggeder man in the village. Do you realize it’s been a whole year since -you came home last?” - -“Couldn’t break away, mother. A mate has to drive like a nigger when a -ship is in port. Has Bill been taking good care of you? Any complaints -and I’ll wallop the kid.” - -“William is a quick and willing boy,” was the maternal verdict—“not so -easy and good-natured as you—more inclined to be fretty when things go -wrong.” - -“You always called me lazy,” laughed the elder son, “and a nuisance -under foot.” - -“I dunno as I was far wrong, Richard,” was the severe rejoinder, “but we -all have our failings. You have been a generous boy to your widowed -mother. My land, you must have sent me ’most all your pay. I’ve been as -careful as I could with it, and the account in the savings bank makes me -feel real rich. Of course it belongs to you.” - -“Forget it,” Richard growled amiably, waving a careless hand of imposing -dimensions. “I’ll eat you out of house and home in the next fortnight. -What about a whole pie right now?” - -“Too much pie is bad for you between meals,” she firmly announced. “I’ll -go cut you a reasonable piece. And don’t you let me hear you make a fuss -about it.” - -“Not me,” he sighed. “I know better.” - -Contentedly he submitted to this fond tyranny. After all, home was the -only place where folks cared whether a man lived or died. He was in -every respect so unlike this high-strung, unflagging wisp of a mother of -his that the contrast amused him. She was a Chichester and ran true to -type. Most of the women wore themselves out in middle age. Her energy -burned like a flame. Idleness was a sin. - -In her turn she was perplexed by this strapping son of hers. He was -rated as a highly successful young man, and yet, in her opinion, he -lacked both zeal and industry—cardinal tenets of her New England creed. -Sprawled upon the cushioned settle, he would drowsily stare at the fire -for hours on end. He read very little and was not a loquacious person. -An excellent listener, however, his mother’s eager chatter about little -things broke against his massive composure like ripples upon a rock. - -Now and then, in oddly silent moments, she studied him intently. Rugged, -like his father, but there resemblance strangely halted. Matthew Cary’s -frame had been gaunt, his features harsh and shrewd with the enduring -imprint of the Puritan tradition. Richard, the son, might have belonged -to another race of men. The fair skin, the ruddy cheek roughened by -strong winds and salt spray, the hair like minted gold, were unfamiliar -among the recent generations of Carys and Chichesters. - -Handsome as a picture and as big as all outdoors, reflected the canny -mother with a thrill of pride, but she actually felt like boxing his -ears to wake him up. There was no soft streak in him, no weak fiber. -This much she knew. His record at sea confirmed it. To call him hulking -was absurd. There was courage in the level, tranquil gaze, and -resolution was conveyed by the firm lips that smiled so readily. - -“What in the world do you think about when you sit there like a bump on -a log?” impatiently exclaimed the mother. “Is it a girl? William has -suffered from those moon-struck spells now and then, but at his age it’s -no more serious than chicken-pox.” - -“There’s never been a girl that I thought of very long,” dutifully -answered Richard, his pipe between his teeth. “I’m not so anxious to -meet the right one. Going to sea is poor stuff for a married man. They -mean well enough, but I have seen too many lonely skippers and mates -raising hell ashore.” - -“Don’t you swear in this house, Richard. And I advise you to beware of -low company. Sailors who have been properly brought up are true to their -sweethearts and wives, like all decent folks.” - -“Yes’m,” murmured her worldly young giant. “If Bill ground the axe, as I -told him to, I guess I’ll go and cut two or three cords of that pine -growth. I need to limber up.” - -“Then please stop at the gate and get the mail, Richard. It must be in -the box by this time. And don’t you let that axe slip and cut your foot. -I know you’re a wonderful chopper, just like your father, but I always -fret—” - -“Aye, mother. You never saw a man so careful of his own skin. At sea, -now, I run no risks at all.” - -“Richard, you are joking. Please don’t cross the pond. The ice is melted -thin and rotten with this February thaw. You might fall in and catch -your death o’ cold.” - -Chief Officer Cary, veteran of the North Atlantic trade, promised to -avoid getting wet in the pond. Axe on his shoulder, he passed through -the lane to the highway. In the box nailed to a gatepost he found a -letter from a seafaring friend in New York. It appeared to interest him. -After a hasty glance, he read it with more care. What it said was this: - - MY DEAR DICK: - - I don’t know what your plans are. If you have a job already - cinched you are a lucky stiff. You can’t throw a brick in this - port without hitting an idle shipmaster. So far I haven’t been - chucked on the beach. The port captain of the Union Fruit - Company is an old friend of mine. I told him about you - yesterday. He needs a second officer in a passenger boat, the - _Tarragona_, on the run to Kingston, Cartagena, and so on. Fine - people to work for. None better. You may turn up your nose at - the notion of going second mate, but they can’t keep a good man - down. The _Tarragona_ sails next Wednesday. Wire me if you care - to run down and size it up. Better come early and avoid the - rush. The Spanish Main ahoy! - - Faithfully yours - L. J. P. - -Richard Cary let the axe rest against the gate while he pondered in his -deliberate fashion. At first it had annoyed him to think of stepping -down a peg. He had been looking forward to command in two or three years -more. But times were hard and the tenure of employment in cargo steamers -uncertain. He might be shifting about, from one company to another, and -if freight rates dropped much lower he would be likely to join the -luckless mob of stranded officers. - -There was a prospect of advancement in the Union Fruit Company’s -service. A second mate’s pay would meet his modest needs, with a surplus -to send home. An easier life, decent men to handle, a smart, efficient -ship—these were arguments not to be tossed aside. So much for the -practical aspect of it. This was overshadowed, however, by the desire to -make the southern run. It was more like an urgent impulse. Until now, -voyaging in the tropic zones had never appealed to him. He had a Western -Ocean sailor’s pride in fighting bitter gales and pounding seas. - -Rather puzzled by his quick surrender to this summons, he turned back to -the house and forgot to pick up the axe. He walked briskly, chin up, a -man astir and efficient. Queer how a few lines of that letter had -thrilled his matter-of-fact mind! He liked the sound of Cartagena and -the Spanish Main. Where the devil was Cartagena? He knew there was a -port of that name on the coast of Spain. This other one was somewhere in -the Caribbean, down Colombia way, as he vaguely recalled. - -Into the kitchen swung Richard Cary and demanded to know where the atlas -was kept. His mother wiped the flour from her hands and exclaimed: - -“First time I ever saw you in a hurry about anything except your meals. -What under the sun ails you?” - -“Outward bound—the night train for New York. I want to find out where I -go from there.” His mellow voice rang through the low-studded rooms. His -mother was dismayed. The sea had called her towering son and he was a -different being. Almost timidly she said: - -“But you expected to make a longer visit, Richard. Why, you aren’t -really rested up. You sat around here—” - -“And enjoyed every minute of it,” he broke in, with a boyish laugh. “Now -I’m going south in a banana boat, where the flying fishes play. Do I -have to pull this house down to break out the atlas?” - -“Mercy sakes, no! It’s under the Bible on the parlor table where it has -set for years. There’s yellow fever and snakes down there, and how are -you off for summer underwear?” - -With his chin in his hand he pored over the map of the Caribbean and the -sailing tracks across that storied sea. Jamaica and the Isthmus of -Panama! Thence his finger moved along the coast to Cartagena and Santa -Marta and La Guayra. His kindled fancy played around the words. They -were like haunting melody. It was an emotion curiously novel. To find -anything like it, he had to hark back to the fairy tales of childhood. - -The feeling passed. His mother’s anxious accents recalled him to -himself. - -“But is it necessary, Richard, for you to rush off and take a second -officer’s position? Why don’t you wait for something better? It’s not a -mite like you to fly off at a tangent like this. Common sense was always -your strongest point.” - -“This is just the berth I want, I tell you,” said he. “It sounds new and -interesting. Now if you will help me get my dunnage together—clean -clothes and so on—where’s Bill?” - -“Gone to the village on an errand, Richard,” was the meek answer. “He -will be back in plenty of time to drive you to the train. Well, I’ve -seen you wake up for once. Is this the way you boss men around on a -ship?” - -“For Heaven’s sake, I didn’t mean to sound rough, mother dear. I can -move lively when something has to be done. And I don’t want to lose the -chance of sailing in this _Tarragona_.” - -The details of departure arranged, he resumed his wonted humor, -care-free and easy. His mother wept a little when the sound of -sleigh-bells heralded the approach of William in the pung. There had -been other partings like this, however, and she briskly waved a -handkerchief from a window as he rode away. She still had her qualms -about those outlandish ports, but he had solemnly sworn to shake the -scorpions out of his shoes before putting them on, and this gave her -some small comfort. - -Young William fired a volley of questions on the road to the station, -but his big brother had little to say. The spell of the Caribbean had -faded. It was merely another job in a different ship. This lazy -reticence irritated William who burst out: - -“Sometimes you act as if you were dead from the neck up, Dick. You go to -sleep in your tracks like a regular dumb-bell. Where’s your pep and -punch if you’re such a blamed good officer? I’m entitled to talk plain, -seeing as it’s all in the family. Don’t you ever get mad?” - -“Quite peevish at times, Bill. There was a cabin steward last voyage who -brought me cold water to shave with, two days running. I hated to do it, -but I had to beat him to death with a hairbrush and throw his body -overboard. He left a wife and seven children in Sweden and begged -piteously for his life. Discipline, Bill! You have simply got to enforce -it.” - -William snorted with disgust. He was off this big lump of a brother, he -said to himself, who treated him like a silly kid. The train was late, -and while they waited at the station a stray dog wandered along the -platform. It was no vagrant cur, but a handsome collie which had somehow -lost its master and was earnestly trying to find him. The plight was -enough to inspire sympathy in the heart of any man that loved a good -dog. - -“Take him home and keep him until you can ’phone around and stick up a -notice in the post-office, Bill,” said Richard Cary. - -Before William could catch the collie, the express train came thundering -down. One of the loungers on the platform emitted a loud guffaw and -tossed a bit of stick between the rails of the track. The collie rushed -to retrieve it. Richard Cary cursed the man and yelled at the dog which -bravely snatched the stick and fled to safety, escaping destruction by -no more than the length of its plumed tail. It stood quivering in every -nerve, nuzzling Richard’s hand. - -“Put my bags aboard, Bill,” said the mariner. “I have a little business -to attend to. It will take only a minute.” - -William concluded to hover within sight and sound. His brother’s face -was white as he moved closer to the man who had attempted to slay a dog -in wanton sport. The offender was heavily built, with a truculent air, a -stranger to the village. His coarse visage reflected alarm, but before -he could fight or retreat his right arm was caught and twisted back in a -grip that made him scream with pain. - -A bone snapped. It would be some time before he could throw sticks with -that right arm. Beside himself with rage and anguish, he bellowed foul -abuse. - -“Shut your dirty mouth,” commanded Richard Cary. “You are getting off -easy.” - -The tortured blackguard was given time to utter one more obscene insult. -An open palm smote his face. It was a buffet so tremendous that the -victim was fairly lifted from his feet. He pitched into the snow at the -edge of the platform and lay huddled without motion. - -“Good God-amighty, Dick, you busted that guy’s neck,” gasped William as -he tugged at his brother’s sleeve. “And all you did was slap him. If you -want to hop this train, you’d better hustle.” - -“Broke his neck? No such luck,” growled Richard. “If he wants to see me -again, tell him to wait till I come back. All right, Bill. Let’s go.” - -He stooped to pat the head of the affectionate collie and ran to swing -on board of the moving train. William had a farewell glimpse of his face -at the window. Again it was ruddy and good-humored. The smile was a -little wistful, almost like that of a boy leaving home for the first -time. The younger brother stood staring after the train. His thoughts -were confused. Presently he said to himself: - -“Looks to me like there is a good deal for us to learn about Dick. You -don’t catch _me_ sassin’ him again. I certainly did run an awful risk -when I called him a dumb-bell. Come on, pup. He told me to lug you home -and I feel darn particular about obeyin’ orders.” - - - - - CHAPTER II - - - THE SEA DOGS OF DEVON - -The _Tarragona_, of the Union Fruit Company’s fleet, was steaming to the -southward, away from harsh winds and ice-fettered harbors. It was sheer -magic, this sea change that brought the sweet airs of the tropics to -caress the white ship when she was no more than three days out from -Sandy Hook. Passengers whose only business was to seek amusement loafed -on the immaculate decks or besought the nimble bartender to mix one more -round of planter’s punches. The three-mile limit was another discomfort -which had been left far astern. - -To the second officer, Richard Cary, it was like a yachting cruise. He -was adjusting himself to this unfamiliar kind of sailoring. In a uniform -of snowy duck he stood his watches on the bridge or occupied himself -with the tasks of keeping the ship as smart and clean as eternal -vigilance could make her. It resembled dining in a gayly crowded hotel -to take his seat at one of the small tables in the saloon and listen, -with an ingenuous interest, to the chatter of these voyagers who had -embarked for an idle holiday on the blue Caribbean. Among them were -girls, adept at flirtation and not at all coy, who regarded this big, -fair-haired second officer with glances frankly admiring. He was by all -odds the most intriguing young man aboard the _Tarragona_. - -His lazy indifference was provoking. When asked a question on deck he -replied with a boyish smile and a courteous word or two, but could not -be persuaded to linger. In his own opinion he was not hired to entertain -the passengers. Leave that nonsense to the skipper. He had all the time -in the world and seemed to enjoy making a favorite of himself. - -Captain Jordan Sterry was a man past fifty years old, but reluctant to -admit it. A competent seaman of long service in the company’s employ, he -had a sociable disposition and could tell a good story. Sturdy and -erect, his grayish hair and mustache close-cropped, he looked the part -of the veteran shipmaster. He had one weakness, not unknown among men of -his years. He preferred the society of women very much younger than -himself. This expressed itself in a manner gallantly attentive to the -bored young person who could find nobody else on board to play with, or -to the audacious flapper who liked them well seasoned by experience and -felt immensely flattered at attracting the notice of the spruce master -of the _Tarragona_. - -His attitude was nicely paternal. He deluded himself into believing that -onlookers accepted it as such. In this respect Captain Jordan Sterry was -not unique. - -Richard Cary had an observant eye and a sense of humor. When he appeared -sluggish, it was merely the sensible avoidance of waste motion of mind -and body. He read the philandering skipper through and through and felt -a healthy contempt for the soft streak in him, harmless enough, perhaps, -but proof that there is no fool like an old fool. The man had been young -once. Presumably he had had his fling. Why try to clutch at something -that was gone, that had vanished as utterly as the froth of a wave? It -was more than absurd. To Richard Cary, secure in the splendid twenties, -unable to imagine himself as ever growing old, the skipper’s rebellion -against the inevitable was almost grotesque. - -Professionally no flaws could be found in Captain Sterry’s conduct. He -ruled his ship with a firm hand, dealt justly with his officers, and was -quick to note inefficiency. In all ways the _Tarragona_ was a crack -ship. It was to Richard Cary’s credit that the captain already approved -of him. In fact, he was as cordial as the difference in rank permitted. - -The chief officer was a sun-dried, silent down-easter who had found it -slow climbing the ladder of promotion. He was always hoping for a -command, yet somehow missing it. Dependable, incredibly industrious, he -lacked the spark of initiative, the essential quality of leadership. -Disappointment had soured him. He nursed his grievances and wished he -were fitted for a decent job ashore. - -After trying in vain to break through his crust, Richard Cary sought -companionship elsewhere. He found it in the chief engineer, an -extraordinary Englishman named McClement whose cabin was filled with -books: history, philosophy, poetry; fiction translated from the French -and Russian. There he sat and read by the hour, shirt stripped off, -electric fan purring, a cold bottle of beer at his elbow. Half a dozen -assistant engineers stood their watches down where the oil burners -roared in the furnaces and the huge piston rods whirled the gleaming -crank shafts. If anything went wrong, the chief engineer appeared -swiftly, clad in disreputable overalls, and his speech was rugged -Anglo-Saxon, of a quality requiring expurgation. - -Now and then he strolled on deck of an evening, a lean, abstracted -figure in spotless white clothes, hands clasped behind him, eyeing the -capers of frivolous humankind with a certain cynical tolerance. They -were as God had made them, but it was a bungled job. He ate most of his -meals in his room, a book propped behind the tray. In this manner he -evaded the affliction of mingling with tired business men and vivacious -ladies eager to visit the engine room. - -Richard Cary drifted into this McClement’s quarters by invitation, found -a chair strong enough to hold him, and filled a blackened pipe from a -jar on the desk. As usual he had not a great deal to say, but was -amiability itself. He was content to sit and smoke and speak when spoken -to. This pleased his host who read aloud choice bits of things and made -pungent comments. The visitor borrowed a book and came again. They got -on famously together because in temperament they were so curiously -unlike. - -On a clear day the ship sighted the lofty mountain range of Jamaica and -steered to make her landfall for the harbor of Kingston. She drew near -to the coast in the late afternoon. The breeze brought the heavy scents -of the tropical verdure, of lush mountain vales, and the wet jungle. -Richard Cary was on watch. Instead of standing at the bridge railing, -with his calm and solid composure, he walked to and fro in a mood oddly -restless. Intently he stared at the lofty slopes all clothed in living -green, the tiny waterfalls bedecking them like flashes of silver lace. - -He snuffed the air, so very different from the sea winds. The tropic -island of Jamaica was strange to him, and yet it seemed vaguely, -elusively familiar, as though he had beheld it while asleep and -dreaming. The chief officer relieved him, but he lingered on the boat -deck to see the black pilot come aboard from a dugout canoe. The steamer -forged ahead again and passed into the harbor. The mountains loomed -beyond the huddled roofs of Kingston. On the starboard side was a low, -sandy point upon which were the trim, red-tiled bungalows of the -quarantine station. The _Tarragona_ paused again, to wait for the -British health officer. - -McClement, the chief engineer, climbed to the boat deck and said, as he -joined Richard Cary: - -“Port Royal yonder! No more than a sandbank now. The old town was sunk -by an earthquake long ago. If you poke about in a small boat, they say -you can see the stone walls of the houses down under the clear water. It -was a famous resort of pirates and such gentry in the roaring days of -the Spanish Main. Rum and loot, women and sin! All that made life worth -living.” - -“Port Royal?” exclaimed Cary. “I’m sure I have heard something about -Port Royal. All gone, eh, Mac? Scuppered for their crimes. Served ’em -right. A bad lot.” - -“Very rotten, Dick, but they had certain virtues which the modern -buccaneers of industry lack. We have two or three of these aboard. They -never risked their skins to bag _their_ plunder.” - -Second Officer Cary muttered something and walked to the edge of the -deck to peer down into the bright green water as if expecting to see the -flickering phantoms of the wild sea rovers of the lost Port Royal. His -blue eyes were bright with an ardent interest. McClement remarked, with -a quizzical grin: - -“I haven’t seen you really awake before now. What touched you off? -Pirate yarns you read when you were a kid?” - -“Perhaps so, Mac. I had this feeling once before. It was when I got word -from a pal in New York, telling me about this job, that it was on the -run to Cartagena. What is Cartagena like?” - -“Wait and see it, my boy. Cartagena is a vision of vanished adventures, -a gorgeous old Spanish treasure town preserved, by a sort of miracle, -through three hundred years. Romance, color, tradition? It makes the -days of the tall galleons and the bold sea dogs live again.” - -“Tell me more about it,” demanded Richard Cary. His voice rolled out in -a deep and masterful note. - -“Come down to my room after the ship docks and I’ll give you some books -to read, Kingsley’s ‘Westward Ho,’ Hakluyt’s ‘Voyages,’ and Captain -Burney’s ‘History of the Buccaneers of America.’” - -Some small sound in the engine-room far below them diverted McClement’s -attention. His perception of such things was uncannily acute. He -vanished instantly down the nearest stairway. Richard Cary also found -work to do. This broke the spell of his day-dreaming. It did not recur -to him during the _Tarragona_’s brief stay at Kingston. In the evening -he was on duty at the cargo hatches while the passengers swarmed ashore -to find entertainment at the excessively modern and luxurious hotel. - -He had leisure to saunter a little way from the wharf, but felt no -desire to explore Kingston. It was quite common-place, the streets noisy -with electric cars and automobiles, the brick and wooden buildings as -cheap and unlovely as those of any American town. Several charming young -passengers failed to persuade him to join a party at the hotel where an -orchestra was jazzing it, and he also declined, with due caution, the -hospitality of thirsty voyagers who were making a night of it. - -Returning to the ship, he went to his room at midnight and picked up the -chief engineer’s books instead of turning in. Presently he found himself -fascinated. For the sake of comfort he shifted into pajamas and lay -stretched in the bunk. The ship’s bell tolled one half-hour after -another and he was still reading. These printed pages were a key that -unlocked the gates of enchantment. Now and then he lost himself in -absorbed reverie. - -These chronicles of hazards and escapes and hard fighting in the waters -that washed the Spanish Main had been derived from documents, from the -robust memoirs of men whose bones had crumbled in a century now dim and -dead. The rich ports whose walls they had stormed with a bravado that -defied all odds were no more than fragments of ruined masonry submerged -in the jungle growth, Nombre de Dios, Porto Bello, and old Panama, names -that still reëcho like the brazen blare of trumpets. - -All gone save Cartagena, reflected Richard Cary. Cartagena still basking -by the sea to recall that day when Francis Drake and his Devon lads had -stormed it with the naked sword. - -At length this brawny second mate of the _Tarragona_ laid the books -aside. Dawn was brightening the windows of his room. He thrust his bare -feet into straw slippers and went on deck to loaf in the fresh morning -air. His head was buzzing. He felt fatigued, although as a mariner he -was hardened to wakeful nights. - -In fancy he had been sailing, fighting, and carousing with those -ferocious freebooters of the Caribbean. They seemed as real to him as -the plodding, slow-spoken farmers of the New Hampshire soil on which he -had been raised. Those clumsy, high-pooped ships with the bellying sails -and gaudy pennants were as clearly etched in his mind as the stone -walls, the square white houses, and the dark woodlands of his native -countryside. - -Confound the chief engineer’s books, he said to himself. They had turned -his brain all topsy-turvy. - -These impressions slowly faded until the _Tarragona_ had sailed from -Kingston and was steaming across that wide waste of sea that rolls -between Jamaica and the Spanish Main. Strong winds were almost always -blowing there, whistling through a ship’s stays, whipping the blue -surface into foaming surges, with clear skies and hot sunshine. The -_Tarragona_ reeled to the swing of these restless seas, and the spray -pelted her decks in sparkling showers. The passengers disliked it. Some -of them uttered low moans and retired to their rooms. There were vacant -chairs in the dining-saloon, regrets at having left the dry land of -home, no matter how dry it was. - -Richard Cary enjoyed it. He was amazed that he had ever regarded going -to sea as drudgery. This part of the voyage appealed to him with a -peculiar zest. For the first time he loved the ocean. This boisterous -wind that blew beneath a hard bright sky, a cool tang to it that -tempered the tropic heat—he drew it deep into his lungs, standing with -arms folded across his mighty chest. - -The astute chief engineer found something to interest him in the -behavior of his herculean young shipmate. They were walking the deck -together when McClement said, with his dry chuckle: - -“Until we sighted Jamaica, Dick, you were majestic and quiet, like the -everlasting hills. I welcomed you as a benign influence in a world of -guff and jazz and nervous twitters. Now you fairly talk my head off. It -doesn’t bore me, mind you, but I find myself perplexed to account for -this flow of language. Were you bottled up all those years, and has the -cork just blown out?” - -“Something like that, Mac,” rather sheepishly admitted Richard Cary. “I -can’t seem to help talking to you about the Spanish Main and the -hard-boiled lads that put it on the map. You know all that stuff by -heart, and I fairly eat it up.” - -“Aye, Dick, you lick your chops over it. You have read every bally book -I could dig up. It is like a craving for strong drink.” - -Cary did not appear to be listening. The wind was blowing against his -cheek. The deck was unsteady beneath his feet. Against the ship’s side -the crested waves crashed and broke. - -“Can’t you see them, Mac?” was his resonant exclamation. “Lubberly -little vessels, as round as an apple, leaking like baskets, rotten with -fever—wallowing off to leeward when the wind drew ahead? It was this -same wind that blew them across this stretch of sea to the Isthmus of -Darien and Cartagena, that made it possible for them to fetch the -mainland. They had it on the beam, there and back. It served the Spanish -galleons as well as the Englishmen that hunted them. Why, Mac, old man, -the _feel_ of this wind, now don’t laugh at me, is enough to tell me -more stories than I found in all your musty old books.” - -The chief engineer halted in his tracks. With a keener scrutiny than -usual he studied the candid, engaging features of Richard Cary, the -fearless vision, the resolute chin, the ruddy color, and the thatch of -yellow hair. Cary was conscious of this deliberate appraisal. He flushed -under it. McClement took another turn along the deck before halting to -ask a question: - -“Do you resemble the rest of the family, Dick?” - -“Absolutely not. My dad used to say I was a throwback, and a long throw -at that.” - -“Precisely. That is what I am driving at. New England rural stock, you -told me. English on both sides, I presume. Where did your forbears come -from?” - -“Devonshire, all of them,” answered Cary. “My mother’s folks came over -from Plymouth a couple of hundred years ago and settled near where they -live now. My father’s ancestors came later, just before the Revolution. -They hailed from a little village near Bideford, so I used to hear him -say.” - -“From Devon?” exclaimed McClement, who did not appear greatly surprised. -“The Carys of Devon! And your mother was—” - -“A Chichester,” said Richard. - -“Carys and Chichesters, of course, Dick. And you are the living image of -Amyas Leigh in ‘Westward Ho’! He must have been about your build and -bulk. The kind of lad they bred in Devon when the world was young!” - -“Carys and Chichesters sailed with Drake and Hawkins,” broke in Richard, -“in these same seas, and they fought the Spanish Armada along with -Walter Raleigh and Martin Frobisher. I found the names in one of your -books.” - -“Aye, they did all of that and more too,” agreed the chief engineer. “I -am too hard-headed to take stock in any fantastic theory of buried -memories and such tosh as that. I’ll have to admit, though, that you are -a bit startling, Dick. It’s out of the question, of course, that certain -impressions and associations could have been handed down through your -race, to come to life in you.” - -Inherited memories of the Spanish Main? Such a notion had not occurred -to Richard Cary. Fantastic enough, but his quickened imagination laid -hold of it. - -“There must have been a Cary in one of the expeditions against -Cartagena, don’t you think, Mac?” - -“My word, yes. You can bet your last dollar on that. Those stout Devon -lads were all over the shop, wherever there was a chance to singe the -beard of the king of Spain.” - -“Then wouldn’t that account for the queer feeling that I have been in -these waters before? Why, the idea of sailing for Cartagena made me -tingle right down to my heels when I first heard of it.” - -“Here, you can’t coax me into discussing anything like that, you fine -big brute,” protested McClement. “It won’t do at all. Do you think you -are a blooming reincarnation? Better come to my room and have a drink -and forget it.” - -“Then how do you explain it?” was the stubborn question. “On the level, -I am getting worried about myself.” - -“No occasion for it, Dick. You are a coincidence, in a way, and a vastly -interesting one. What ails you, however, is the spirit of romance and -adventure. You didn’t know you had it in you. Youth often finds it in a -first voyage to the tropics. I was that way myself. And the Spanish Main -has a beguiling magic of its own. Most of these wild tales were fresh to -you. Unconsciously you identified yourself with them because you knew -you were bred from that same strain of Elizabethan seamen.” - -“Have it your own way,” rather sulkily agreed Richard Cary, “but there -is more to this than you can figure out, as wise as you are.” - -McClement had implanted a suggestion which oddly lingered in Cary’s -thoughts and colored them with strange conjectures. Who or what was the -real Richard Cary? The brawny rover of Devon who had diced with the -devil and the deep sea, or the prosaic son of New Hampshire farming folk -who had viewed seafaring as a means of earning his bread? - -“Two Richard Carys,” reflected this second officer of the _Tarragona_. -“All my life I may have been a mixture of both and didn’t know it. When -I got sore at something and cleared for action, like wading into that -bunch of fo’castle outlaws on the last Western Ocean voyage, I must have -been the big Dick Cary of Devon that found his fun in walloping the -Spaniards.” - -His meditations trailed off into nebulous realms, into a haze of -conjectures and dreams and anticipations. Instead of taking each day as -it came, he found himself looking forward to something. It seemed to be -beckoning him. Somewhere in these romantic seas, adventure awaited him. -The chief engineer read aloud a poem that matched this new mood. Richard -Cary listened with a smile on his face. - - “Could man be drunk forever - With liquor, love or fights, - Lief should I rouse at morning - And lief lie down of nights. - - “But men at whiles are sober - And think by fits and starts, - And if they think, they fasten - Their hands upon their hearts.” - - - - - CHAPTER III - - - A GREAT GALLEON - -Señorita Teresa Fernandez was the stewardess of the _Tarragona_. A dark, -handsome young woman, she wore a cap and uniform of white, severely -plain, that were singularly becoming. They also conveyed the impression -that she had no time for sentiment or frivolity. She talked easily, with -a flash of white teeth, a sparkling eye, and graceful gestures. The -ladies were apt to confide their affairs to her when she carried the -breakfast trays to their rooms. - -In return she told them various things about herself. She had been left -motherless when a child. Her father, a South American merchant who had -traveled much and visited many countries of Europe, had taken her with -him and she had learned to know the sea and to speak French and Italian -and English. He had died after very sad business troubles and there had -been no relatives to look after her except an uncle, a very eccentric -and disagreeable old gentleman to get along with. - -She had preferred making her own way in the world to seeking shelter -under her uncle’s roof. She was very young for a stewardess? Yes, but -her father had been a friend of certain officials of the Fruit Company, -and she had been given a trial. It was enough for her to say that she -had been kept in the service. For one whose family was very old and -dignified, with an honored name, it was unusual, in a way; but what -would you? If Teresa Fernandez was not ashamed to be earning an honest -living, why pay attention to what others might say? - -When off duty she liked to sit in a wicker chair near the saloon -staircase of the _Tarragona_. It was a cool, breezy place. She was close -enough to the electric bells to respond to any summons. It was -convenient for chatting with her friends as they passed, the second -steward, the wireless operators, the purser, or the doctor. They agreed -that Señorita Fernandez was a good scout. - -Now and then Richard Cary had stopped for a bit of gossip. He liked this -cheerful, good-looking young stewardess who always had a smile for him -and a gay word of greeting. She offered to darn his socks and overhaul -his shirts for missing buttons, and refused payment for it. This was out -of the ordinary. She was a thrifty soul who overlooked no opportunities -to add to her income. - -From his seat in the dining-saloon, Cary often caught her looking at him -when she was resting in the wicker chair near the landing. And when -their eyes met, the tint in the olive cheek of Teresa Fernandez was -likely to deepen. It was to be surmised that she was a woman of feelings -as well as a very competent stewardess. - -During the run from Jamaica to the Spanish Main, Dick Cary paused -oftener and stayed longer beside the wicker chair. He had lost that air -of serene indifference to the feminine equation. This Teresa Fernandez -strongly attracted him. She knew ships and the sea and the ports of many -climes. She made conversation delightfully easy. - -One evening he found her standing on the lower deck, in a corner -sheltered from the wind. A scarf of Spanish lace was thrown over her -ebon, lustrous hair. She was alluring, exotic, a woman in another role -than that of the efficient, industrious stewardess of the _Tarragona_. - -“What are you, Spanish or Portuguese?” asked Richard Cary, gazing down -at her from his commanding height. - -“Oh, Spanish, ’most all of it,” laughed Teresa Fernandez, with a tilt of -her shapely head. “Where do you think I come from, Don Ricardo Cary?” - -“From Spain? Vigo? Santander? Bilbao? I know that coast. Fine women in -those ports. They were easy to look at.” - -“_Gracias, señor._ Is it a compliment?” she archly replied. “But I am -not a fine woman—just a stewardess in funny clothes like a nurse or -something. Ah, yes, I know Spain. I have been there in ships, but my -home is not there. I am a Colombian, from Cartagena. Yes, my dear mother -and father they died in Cartagena, and my uncle he lives there now.” - -“Cartagena?” echoed Richard Cary, his pulse beating faster. “Did you -really come from that old town? And you know it well?” - -“Better than any other place, you bet,” cried Teresa Fernandez, her -rounded shoulder touching Cary’s arm. “This Cartagena—poof! she is too -old and dead, you understand. Plenty of big walls and forts and plazas -for the tourists to see, but it is not up-to-date, not one little bit. -Hot and stupid! Lots of people there, but they are too slow. Nothing -doing, thank you.” - -“I could tell you some things about Cartagena,” said Richard Cary, “but -they might not interest you. I have been reading and dreaming about it -until I know the whole story by heart.” - -“The history, you mean, Don Ricardo?” she exclaimed, with a disdainful -shrug. “The books you have been reading so hard? My gracious, I can tell -you better stories than that. Look at me! I am what you call a chapter -of the old history of Cartagena. Is it not much nicer to study me?” - -“Very much nicer,” warmly agreed the yellow-haired giant of a sailor. He -dared to let his arm steal around her trim waist and to press her close. - -Teresa Fernandez laughed softly nor drew herself away. It was necessary, -however, for her to explain: - -“You must not think I am this way with the other boys in the ship. No, I -am never this way at all. You ask them if you want to. They will say -Señorita Fernandez is very proper—she minds her own business all the -time. My goodness, Don Ricardo, what can I do with you? You are so -strong, so terrible. I never saw such a man in my life. Will you not -have some mercy on poor Teresa?” - -True it was that she had never met such a man as this. Her heart might -flutter, however, but it was not so easy to turn her head. An episode, -this? Perhaps, but it was not to be resisted. - -“A chapter of history, are you, Teresa?” smiled he. “Then you are all I -want to read from now on. I was surely wasting my good time on books.” - -“You were pretty thick, it seemed so,” said she. “Always talk, talk with -that chief engineer. Listen! Now let me tell you something. My -great-great—I don’t know how many times—grandfather was the _capitan_ -of the great galleon _Nuestra Señora del Rosario_. His name it was Don -Juan Diego Fernandez, a man very proud—what you call noble blood. There -was his galleon, four hundred sailors and soldiers and maybe a hundred -cannon, in Cartagena harbor. When we go into port, you will see just -where she was anchored that time. My brave ancestor, this Don Juan Diego -Fernandez, he was all ready to make the voyage to Spain with his galleon -full of gold and silver bars from the mines of Peru, eh? The treasure it -was brought across the Isthmus of Panama on the backs of mules. You -know. It was the plate fleet that sailed once a year for Cadiz. This my -old Don Juan Diego Fernandez he waited for the other galleons. - -“_Valgame Dios!_ Right into the harbor of Cartagena sailed the -Englishmen, the _piraticos_. The forts bang at them plenty. They give -those forts the merry laugh. Two little ships! My old grandfather, so -proud in his gold armor, he was not scared at all. He would sink these -crazy little ships and send the English heretics to the Holy Inquisition -in Cartagena. Now listen to this! What _do_ you suppose? Mother of God, -they gave Don Juan Diego Fernandez no show at all to fire his hundred -cannon and shoot the muskets of his four hundred sailors and soldiers. -Did he get a run for his money? I guess not! First thing you know, one -little English ship is tied fast on the starboard side of the tremendous -big galleon _Nuestra Señora del Rosario_, and the other little ship on -the port side. - -“_Carramba!_ These crazy Englishmen they climb to the decks of that -galleon just like monkeys. These four hundred Spanish sailors and -soldiers are all chopped to pieces. The tall galleon she is on fire and -blazes all up. And these English _piraticos_ dump the gold and silver -bars through the ports, into their two little ships, just like you -shovel coal. - -“Whew! My old grandfather in his shiny armor, all so grand and brave, -has to give up his sword to the English _capitan_. He is treated very -nice as a prisoner, but he has to get ransom for himself in Cartagena, -four thousand pieces of eight. Some money, to buy old Don Juan Diego -Fernandez with! Maybe if those wicked Englishmen had not captured the -_Nuestra Señora del Rosario_, I will be a rich woman now and not have to -go to sea.” - -“Yes, the old boy was out of luck,” heartily agreed Richard Cary. “Of -course I feel more like cheering the Englishmen. Do you happen to know -the names of their ships?” - -“Yes. It is written down in Spanish, in the library of the Bishop of -Cartagena. My father made a copy one time. The ships were named the -_Bonaventure_ and the _Rose of Plymouth_.” - -Richard Cary seemed to forget the allurement of Teresa Fernandez. He -folded his arms and stood detached and erect, staring out at the -darkened sea. It was thus he stood whenever these misty, fleeting -emotions came to disquiet him. McClement was right, no doubt. It was -nothing more than the voice of romance to which hitherto he had been -deaf. He brushed a hand across his eyes. His massive body relaxed. He -laughed awkwardly, patted Teresa’s soft cheek, and muttered: - -“You described it so well that I seemed to see the thing just as it -happened.” - -“Please do not look like that again,” said Teresa, her accents slightly -tremulous. “You scare me. It was just like the ghost of one of those mad -Englishmen in the little ships. I was going to tell you some more, but -you must be nice and gentle. The ship’s bell from the galleon _Nuestra -Señora del Rosario_ was saved by a Spanish officer from a fort when the -hulk drifted ashore. This one he gave the bell to my old ancestor, Don -Juan Diego Fernandez, and it stayed always in Cartagena. I give you my -word, Ricardo, it is hanging right now in the _patio_ of my uncle’s -house, close to the Plaza de la Independencia. There is the bronze bell, -very beautiful, and it hangs from an oak timber that was in the galleon. -If you go ashore with me, I will show you the bell in my uncle’s -_patio_. We can sit there, and my uncle he will amuse you. He is a very -funny old guy.” - -“The bell of the _Nuestra Señora del Rosario_,” Richard Cary mused -aloud. “Yes, I shall want to see it, Teresa.” - -“Hum-m, in Cartagena you will be admired, let me tell you that, -Ricardo,” said she, with a flash of asperity. “A girl in every port? And -you have made a fool of Teresa Fernandez. It does not happen every day. -I swear by the blessed Santa Marta.” - -“I’ll swear it never happened to me before—to find a girl like you and -fall in love with her,” was his ardent declaration. - -“Do you truly love me, Ricardo? Such a man as you?” Her sigh was both -wistful and happy. “I was hoping—I thought I saw it in your eyes, in -your smile, but—” - -For answer he kissed her on the lips, clinging lips that returned the -caress. Responsively she surrendered to his masterful sway. In her heart -was the faith to believe that he could never be fickle or inconstant, -once his love was pledged. A girl in every port? She had spoken in jest. - -It was time for them to part. On watch, later in the night, he found -himself repeating: - - “Could man be drunk forever - With liquor, love or fights, - Lief should I rouse at morning - And lief lie down of nights.” - -He stood alone with the wind and the clamorous sea and the stars in the -velvet sky. Gazing forward from the bridge, the ship’s derrick booms and -cargo winches were obscurely shadowed. The forecastle deck and lofty -prow lifted against the curtain of night. The spray broke over them and -beat like gusts of rain. It was possible to forget that this was a -modern steamer, infinitely complex and cunningly contrived, a steel -trough driven by tireless engines. To Richard Cary she was a ship -steering across the Caribbean as ships had steered in bygone centuries. -Never had his heart beat so high nor had he been conscious of such a -keen-edged joy in living. - -Teresa Fernandez, the blood in whose veins ran back to Don Juan Diego -Fernandez, commander of the shattered treasure galleon! It pleased -Richard Cary’s awakened fancy to picture such a girl as this in the -Cartagena of long ago, a scarf of Spanish lace thrown over her lustrous -hair, and a tall, fair Devon lad to woo her when the seamen of the -_Bonaventure_ had landed on the beach to parley for ransom. - -At breakfast next morning, Cary could see the competent stewardess, -graceful, light of foot, flitting to and fro on this errand or that, -with a shrewd eye to the main chance. No nonsense, her aspect seemed to -say. She was the “good scout,” the unsentimental friend of the second -steward, the wireless operators, the purser, and the doctor. She colored -divinely, however, when her sailor lover smiled a greeting from his -table. A little later, when he passed her on the staircase, and they -were unobserved, her fingers lightly brushed the sleeve of his coat. - -The _Tarragona_ was approaching the Colombian coast. In the afternoon a -trifling incident occurred. It was destined, however, to affect the -fortunes of Richard Cary in a manner unforeseen. Captain Jordan Sterry, -that vigorous figure of a middle-aged shipmaster, had displayed a -fatherly interest in a pert young creature with bobbed hair who seemed -to enjoy it, for lack of a better game to play. He had invited her to -visit the bridge. It was a courtesy often shown favored passengers. - -The second officer was on duty. He happened to overhear some chance -remark of the skipper, a rather silly thing to say, fatuous in a man old -enough to be the bobbed one’s father. Most unluckily Richard Cary -chuckled aloud. A lively sense of the ridiculous was too much for him. -The infatuated Captain Sterry turned and glared. Cary was fairly caught. -His face betrayed him. It mirrored the merciless verdict of youth. Words -could have put it no more bitingly. - -Captain Sterry turned red. He bit his lip. His second mate thought him -absurd. To be laughed at was degrading, intolerable. It penetrated his -vanity and seared his soul like acid. - -A fleeting tableau, but Cary had made an enemy who both hated and feared -him. His offense was beyond all forgiveness. He stepped to a wheel-house -window and took the binocular from the rack. It occupied him to watch a -distant steamer almost hull down. He felt rather sorry for what he had -done. It was uncomfortable to think of the look in the skipper’s eyes, -not so much anger as profound humiliation. Never again would these twain -be happy in the same ship together. - -It meant that Richard Cary might have to leave the _Tarragona_ and find -another berth. This was his regretful conclusion. He liked the ship nor -could he imagine himself as forsaking the Caribbean Sea to return to the -Western Ocean trade. - - - - - CHAPTER IV - - - THE ANGER OF COLONEL FAJARDO - -The steamer sighted Cartagena in the rosy mists of dawn. It seemed to -rise from the sea and float like a mirage. It was a mass of towers, -domes, and battlements, of stone houses tinted pink and yellow with -tiled roofs that gleamed and wavered. The surf broke against the wall of -enduring masonry which marched around this ancient city of the -_conquistadores_, a mighty wall broken here and there by massive -gateways and bastions. - -Defiantly facing the sea, secure of itself, this proud stronghold of -Cartagena de Indias had been increasingly fortified until it had become -impregnable to the foes who, in the very early days, had harried and -plundered it. These walls and escarpments, the flanking towers and the -guardian forts looming from the nearby hills and forelands, had cost the -kings of Spain untold millions drained from the fabulous mines of -Potosi. They had been determined to make this Caribbean seaport the -Gibraltar of the New World. - -The _Tarragona_ changed her course and moved to the southward of the -city, past the tall palms clustered on the hot, white beaches. What -appeared to be a wide entrance to the harbor was soon revealed, but the -breakers frothed against a barrier that ran athwart it like a reef. On -the chart this reef was a curiously straight line, as if laid down with -a ruler. Richard Cary was shading his eyes with his hand when the chief -officer remarked: - -“If the Colombians had any get-up and gumption they would blow a hole in -that submerged wall and open the old ship channel. It was built across -there, God knows how long ago, to keep the buccaneers out. Some building -job, that! There must be almost a mile of it.” - -“Yes, it was put there after the Englishmen sailed in past the forts and -sacked the town,” quickly exclaimed Cary. “It wasn’t there when Drake -took Cartagena. He used this Boca Grande.” - -It was necessary for the _Tarragona_ to proceed seven miles to the -southward and enter the narrow passage of the Boca Chica, tortuous and -difficult, and then to make her way through the reaches of a blue -lagoon. She passed between the outermost forts, gray and grass-grown, -but still resisting the slow processes of decay. On the port side was -the Castillo de San Fernando with its crenelated walls and deep -embrasures in which rested dismounted brass carronades. In the lee of -the lofty water-gate rode a Colombian trading schooner. A few Indian -canoes were drawn up on the beach. - -On the starboard side, the Castillo de San Juan jutted from the sea like -a huge rock. Patches of verdure had found root in the crumbling -counterscarps. Flowering vines wreathed the round sentry boxes. - -Steaming slowly through the placid lagoon, the _Tarragona_ found a -circuitous path to Cartagena. The wharf, the corrugated iron cargo -sheds, the railway tracks, were ugly and modern. Looking away from them, -however, one saw only the stately seaport of the vanished centuries. -Behind its ramparts the galleried streets and shaded plazas drowsed -through the heat of the day until the breeze came sweeping from the sea -with the setting sun. - -The _Tarragona_ had much freight to discharge before resuming the voyage -to Santa Marta and filling her holds with bananas. Richard Cary had to -be an efficient second mate with his mind on the job while the -clattering winches plucked the rope slings filled with cases, bales, and -casks from the open hatches. At the noon hour he found leisure to loaf -under an awning. - -Teresa Fernandez found him there. She had something to say. One of her -swift and supple gestures indicated a swarthy Colombian in a handsome -military uniform who reclined in a steamer chair on the promenade deck. -He was gaunt, grizzled, and harsh-featured. Just now his eyes were -closed. His hands were comfortably clasped across his belt. He was -enjoying a brief siesta after a bountiful luncheon in the saloon as the -guest of the ship. - -“You see that fellow?” exclaimed Teresa, with a shrug that betokened -disfavor. “All his brass buttons and medals? He is the _Comandante_ of -the Port, Colonel Fajardo. The boss of the custom-house police and -things like that. What do you think of him?” - -“Is he a friend of yours?” Dick Cary cautiously parried. - -“Last voyage that Colonel Fajardo asked me to marry him,” candidly -answered Teresa. “Yes, that fellow told me he was in love with me. He is -not as old as he looks, unless he is a big liar. Forty-two years old he -says.” - -Cary glowered at the somnolent _Comandante_ of the Port. In a way, this -was startling news. Next he fixed a questioning eye on the charming -Teresa whose demeanor hinted that, as a suitor, the colonel had not been -finally disposed of on that last voyage. She flashed a brilliant smile, -furtively caressed Cary’s hand, and deigned to explain: - -“It was just like this, Ricardo. This Colonel Fajardo is a very -important man in Cartagena. The Fruit Company must treat him nice and -pat him on the back or he will make trouble for the ships. He can find -something wrong with the papers and delay the sailings or maybe a poor -sailor is caught smuggling some cigarettes ashore. You see, I am in the -Company’s employ and I must not make this Colonel Fajardo mad with me. -It is best to be _diplomatique_, to jolly him along, you understand?” - -“It sounds well enough,” growled Richard Cary, by no means appeased, -“but what about _this_ voyage? Has that buzzard proposed to you again?” - -“Oh, yes, as soon as he came aboard this morning. He was waiting, very -impatient. He had told me he had plenty of money and a very good house. -His pay is not much, you know, except what he can steal. I asked my -uncle in Cartagena to find out about this Colonel Fajardo. My uncle he -cannot come down to the ship to-day, but he sends me a letter. This fine -_Comandante_ is a false alarm, Ricardo. He has spent all his money on -women and his house is mortgaged up to the neck. He is no good at all. -Bah! Why should I marry that fellow, even if I am a poor girl that has -to go to sea and work very hard?” - -“Have you told him so?” sternly demanded Dick Cary. Her nonchalance -rather staggered him. - -“Yea, I could not string him along any more,” serenely confessed Teresa -Fernandez. - -“But if he had all kinds of money, what then?” - -“Never, Ricardo. He disgusts me. That last voyage, when I told him to -wait, you had not kissed me then.” - -“You are _my_ sweetheart,” he passionately exclaimed. “And I’ll take -care of that Colombian blackguard if he pesters you again.” - -“You would kill him, Ricardo, because you love me?” happily sighed -Teresa Fernandez. “But, listen, don’t you go making trouble with that -man if he acts jealous. I will be glad when the ship sails for Santa -Marta to-morrow.” - -Richard Cary’s laugh was lightly scornful. He held the amorous Colonel -Fajardo in very small esteem. By this time the latter gentleman had -awakened from his siesta. He yawned and blinked at the harbor upon whose -oily surface a small sailing vessel drifted becalmed in the blistering -heat. Then his gaunt frame uprose from the steamer chair and he stiffly -straightened himself in the frogged white uniform with the ornate gold -shoulder-straps. - -He was not a man to be dismissed with a careless laugh. A visage tanned -to the hue of brown leather was bitten deep with the lines of a hard and -cruel temper. The thin lips and jutting nose were predatory. One thought -of him as perhaps a soldier who had seen more arduous service than this -lazy billet of _Comandante_ of the Port. He had the air of command, but -sloth and dissipation were corroding him as rust destroys a good weapon. - -Yawning, Colonel Fajardo lighted a cigarette and smoothed the wrinkles -from his tunic. Then he twisted the ends of a mustache that was -prematurely flecked with gray. He sauntered forward, to the gangway, and -swore viciously at two of his custom-house guards who had retreated to -the shade of a deck-house. One of them he kicked by way of emphasis. -From this part of the ship he caught sight of Teresa Fernandez under the -awning with the huge, yellow-haired young second mate of the -_Tarragona_. - -At a glance it was easy to perceive that they found this dalliance -agreeable. Excessively and infernally agreeable, in the opinion of this -interested Colonel Fajardo. It was a mordant sight for him to behold. He -felt suddenly feverish. It was, indeed, like a touch of _calentura_. - -A certain thing was revealed to him. It displayed itself beyond a shadow -of doubt. Teresa Fernandez had considered his offer of marriage. Yes, -she had been favorable, his vanity led him to believe, delaying the -answer until the ship had returned to Cartagena. - -Now she had rejected him; the humble stewardess of the _Tarragona_ -rejecting the renowned Colonel Fajardo, _Comandante_ of the Port, who -might have had so many other young and beautiful women. It was because -she had found a Yankee lover. Little devil, would she so wantonly flaunt -this great, stupid beast of a sailor before the eyes of Colonel Fajardo? -It was amusement for those two. - -The Colonel’s lean fingers quivered as he lighted a fresh cigarette. The -thin lips twitched beneath the martial mustache. He turned on his heel -and strolled aft to the smoking-room. There he slumped upon a cushioned -settle and rested his elbows upon the table. He ordered a whiskey and -soda and drank it very slowly. Another Colombian official joined him, a -loquacious person who babbled about various matters and was indifferent -to the brooding, ungracious demeanor of Colonel Fajardo. After a while -this acquaintance departed. - -The colonel continued to drink, steadily and alone, until the chief -engineer drifted in for a cold bottle of beer. He was sweaty and dirty -and his legs ached. For sociability’s sake he sat down at the table with -the _Comandante_ of the Port. It was an error, as he presently -discovered. The morose gentleman of the gold shoulder-straps contributed -no more than an occasional grunt or a bored, “_Si, señor_.” - -His eyes were slightly bloodshot and failed to focus. Otherwise his -sobriety could not be challenged. He brightened only when about to -plunge his predatory beak into another whiskey and soda. Having -prudently slaked his own thirst, the chief engineer betook himself back -to the task of tinkering with a balky condenser in a temperature that -would have made Hades seem frigid. Later in the afternoon, when he -emerged on deck for air, he accosted Richard Cary. - -“Hearken to me, shipmate. If you insist on sparking the beautiful -stewardess, I suggest that you suspend operations until Cartagena is in -the offing. What I mean to say is, a little discretion wouldn’t be half -bad.” - -“Thanks, Mac, but if you had just as soon mind your own damn business,” -was the discourteous retort, “I can hearken a lot easier. How did you -get this way?” - -“By using a normal intelligence and powers of observation in which you -are so colossally lacking,” was the unruffled reply. “You have already -driven Colonel Fajardo to drink. He has been at it ever since luncheon, -according to Jimmy, the barkeep. No, he isn’t drunk, but, my word, his -disposition is ruined. He may be chewing glass by this time.” - -“Humph! You read too many novels, Mac. Trying to stage a melodrama?” - -“This from you, Dick Cary? You wild ass! After boring me with your -fantastic nonsense about buried memories of the Spanish Main? Accuse me -of being stagey when I offer a friendly bit of common sense? Oh, very -well, if you get a knife in your ribs or a bullet in your back, you -needn’t expect me to hold your hand and listen to your last words. I -have heard gossip in Cartagena, that this Colonel Fajardo has bumped off -one or two sprightly young _caballeros_ who got in his way.” - -“And you listen to such rot?” scoffed Dick Cary. “The drunken -counterfeit! Somebody ought to call his bluff. I wish he would give me a -chance.” - -“The Devon lad? Spaniards are good hunting,” quizzed McClement. “Up, my -hearties, and at ’em.” - -Instead of dining at his favorite café in Cartagena, Colonel Fajardo -remained on board the _Tarragona_. He swayed just a trifle as he walked -into the saloon, but his bearing was haughty and sedate. He held his -liquor well, did this seasoned soldier of the tropics. A man of blood -and iron! More accurate, perhaps, to say that he had a copper lining. -Whatever emotions may have tormented him, his appetite for food was not -blighted. He ate enormously and gulped down cup after cup of black -coffee. - -This treatment was sobering. The colonel’s eyes were again in focus. -They expressed an intelligence alert and sinister. His gait was normal -when he returned to the promenade deck. He posted himself where he could -observe the gangway steps that led down to the wharf. It was not long -before Teresa Fernandez appeared. As he suspected, she had been warily -avoiding him. Just now she failed to see him because she was looking -elsewhere, forward, where the stairs led down from the officers’ -quarters on the boat deck. - -This was a woman of a very different aspect from the industrious -stewardess of the _Tarragona_ in her white garb so severely trim and -plain. The wide black hat framed a face girlish and piquant. The gown -was of some gray stuff, thin and shimmering. It revealed the soft -contours of her shoulders, of her slenderly modeled arms. The ancestry -which could boast of a Don Juan de Fernandez, captain of the great -galleon of the plate fleet, had survived in Teresa’s small-boned wrists, -in the curves of her slim silken-clad ankles. Greedily did the lustful -Colonel Fajardo gaze at her. Damnation! Never had he so greatly desired -to possess a woman. In proof of this he had been even willing to marry -her. - -She gayly waved a hand, but not at him. The second officer of the ship -was hastening to join her, the great, insolent ox of a Yankee sailor. -He, too, was in shore-going clothes, a jaunty Panama with a crimson -band, cream-colored suit of pongee, a bamboo stick crooked on his arm. -He was so flagrantly the happy lover off for a holiday hour ashore that -Colonel Fajardo muttered blasphemies the most picturesque. The intention -was to annoy him, to make him beside himself. It was odious. - -The perfidious Teresa Fernandez hung on the arm of Richard Cary as they -descended to the wharf and walked to the custom-house gate beyond which -waited a group of little open carriages, plying for hire. The drivers -raised their voices in clamorous persuasion, naming extortionate prices. -Teresa scolded them in voluble Spanish as _piraticos_ and children of -the Evil One. They meekly subsided. The carriage with the least bony and -languorous nag rattled over the cobblestones in the direction of the -nearest gateway through the city wall. - -Colonel Fajardo moved to the gangway. He halted to think. His hard, worn -face was not so angry as perplexed. It was to be surmised that things -had taken a disappointing turn. Possibly it would have pleased him more -had the second officer gone ashore alone. The fact that Teresa Fernandez -had accompanied him intruded a certain awkwardness. In a way, it was -unforeseen. In previous voyages she had declined to leave the ship after -dark. - -Colonel Fajardo absently fingered a scar on his chin. The circumstances -were regrettable, but he was not one to neglect a matter of importance -so long as there was the remotest chance of success. Immediately he made -his way down to the wharf and strode as far as the office of the -customs. He entered this small building, locked the door, and talked -softly into the telephone. The conference was brief. His language was so -guarded that it could mean nothing at all if overheard. The message was -a masterpiece of circumlocution. It was understood, however, by a -certain sallow young man who had been playing a guitar in a café of -shady repute in a dingy street of Cartagena. - -He had been waiting for a message. In the afternoon a dusty urchin had -come from the wharf with a few unsigned words scrawled on a bit of paper -advising him to hold himself in readiness for orders. - -In employing the telephone, Colonel Fajardo displayed the modern spirit. -In certain aspects of his private affairs he harked back to earlier -centuries. From the wharf he returned to the ship and sought the -smoking-room. With a mien of somber abstraction he applied himself to a -whiskey and soda. - -Meanwhile the shabby open carriage had rattled through a cavern of a -gateway in the wall. Cartagena by moonlight! Richard Cary was glad he -had waited until night. All traces of garish modernity were banished by -the sorcery of the silver moon. In the shadows of the winding streets, -gallants whispered at grated windows. The tall houses with overhanging -balconies that almost met across these narrow streets were gravely -beautiful. In the stones above their doors were chiseled the crests of -conquering _hidalgos_ whose bones had been dust these hundreds of years. - -There was almost no traffic. Strollers loitered in the grateful breeze, -a group was singing as it passed. There was the hum of voices from the -balconies, the distant music of a band in a plaza. To Richard Cary it -was like the ghost of a city, untouched by change or dissolution, which -dwelt with memories great and tumultuous. He gave himself over to its -spell. - -Teresa Fernandez also was silent. When she spoke, it was to say, with -deep emotion: - -“It is so wonderful to be with you, Ricardo, away from the ship and all -those noisy people. To-night we seem to belong right here in my old -Cartagena, you and I. This is like a beautiful dream, but, ah, dreams -never last very long. Will you love me for more than a little while?” - -“Aye, Teresa mine; forever and ever. McClement calls me crazy, but I -feel as though I had loved you in Cartagena long ago.” - -“Santa Maria, do I look as old as that?” she rippled. “And I thought I -had made myself _muy dulce_ for you. If you will stay crazy about me, I -don’t care how crazy that old chief engineer thinks you are.” - -When deeply stirred, Ricardo was not one to turn a ready compliment. She -was satisfied, however, with his smile of fond approval, with his -manifest pride in her slender and elegant beauty. One thought made them -wistful. To forsake the open carriage and wander at their will, to a -stone bench in the shadows of the Plaza Fernandez de Madrid, or to the -murmuring beach, this was their desire. But they could not remain long -away from the ship. - -Teresa had petulantly explained that there was no evading a call at the -house of her uncle, Señor Ramon Bazán. It was a promise, made last -voyage, and she was a woman of her word. Besides, this funny old guy of -an uncle, said she, had vowed to leave her all his money when he was -dead. It was necessary to be nice to him while he was alive. Ha, not one -dollar would he give her until he was dead, not if she begged him on her -knees. A terrible tightwad was the Señor Ramon Bazán. - -Richard Cary made no comment. He felt sorry for the girl who had been -compelled to travel rough roads of life, courageously battling for -survival. She was not sordid, but anxious. Money was a weapon of -self-defense. She had been compelled to think too much of it. - -The carriage halted in front of the frowning residence of Uncle Ramon -Bazán. The iron-studded door was stout enough to have stopped a volley -of musket balls. It was swung open by a barefooted Indian lad in ragged -shirt and trousers. Teresa brushed him aside and led the way into the -_patio_, open to the sky, where a fountain tinkled and flamboyant -flowers bloomed. A little brown monkey scampered up a trellis and swung -by its tail. A green parrot screeched impolite Spanish epithets from a -cage on the wall. - -The Indian youth shuffled into the _patio_ and timidly informed the -señorita that her uncle had gone out on an errand and would soon return. - -“I hope he forgets to come back, Ricardo,” said Teresa. “Now we can sit -down by the oleander tree and I will show you the bell of the old -galleon _Nuestra Señora del Rosario_.” - -They crossed the moonlit square of the patio. Cary saw a heavy framework -of Spanish oak timbers, more durable than iron. From the cross-piece was -suspended the massy bell whose elaborately chased surface was green with -time and weather. By the flare of a match, Cary discovered a royal coat -of arms in high relief and the blurred letters of an inscription, -presumably the name of the galleon and of the port whence she had -hailed. - -Teresa Fernandez groped for the clapper and let it swing against the -flaring rim. The bell responded with a note sonorous and musical. -Lingeringly vibrant, the sound filled the _patio_. With more vigor -Richard Cary swung the clapper. The voice of the galleon’s bell swelled -in volume. The air fairly quivered and hummed. It was unlike any ship’s -bell that Richard Cary had ever heard at sea or in port. And yet its -timbre thrilled some responsive chord in the dim recesses of his soul. -It was such a bell as had flung its mellow echoes against the walls of -Cartagena, of Porto Bello, of Nombre de Dios when the tall galleons of -the plate fleet had ridden to their hempen cables. - -The sound of the bell had died to a murmur when Teresa spoke. The -quality of her voice was attuned in harmony with it, or so it seemed to -the listening Richard Cary. - -“When I was a little girl,” said she, “I liked to come and play with the -old bell. I had to stand up on my toes and push the clapper with my two -hands. Dong! Dong! It sang songs to me. They made me feel like you say -you do when you hear the wind in the palm trees, Ricardo. There is -something about this bell—very queer, but just as true as true can be. -You will not laugh, like the other _Americanos_. If anything very bad is -going to happen to the one it belongs to, this bell of the _Nuestra -Señora del Rosario_ it strikes four times. _Dong! dong!—Dong! dong!_ -Four bells, like on board a ship. When there is going to be death or -some terrible bad luck! It has always been like that, ’way, ’way back to -my ancestor Don Juan Diego Fernandez.” - -Richard Cary nodded assent. It was not for him to find fault with a -legend such as this. Teresa, encouraged by his sympathy, went on to say: - -“Yes, it was heard the night before the two little English ships, the -_Bonaventure_ and the _Rose of Plymouth_, came sailing into Cartagena -harbor. _Dong! dong!—Dong! dong!_ There was no Spanish sailor near at -all on deck when it struck four bells. A hundred years ago there was a -General Fernandez who fought with Bolivar in the revolution against -Spain. His wife she sits right here in this _patio_ and waits for news -from her brave husband. One night it is very quiet and everybody is -asleep. She is waked up. What does she hear? Not so loud, but very sad -and clear. _Dong! dong!—Dong! dong!_ Four bells! - -“This poor woman knows her husband must be dead in some battle for the -flag of Bolivar. Pretty soon a soldier comes from the Magdalena with a -message, but she has had her message already. Another time, my Ricardo, -it was a Fernandez that got drowned in a ship. It went down in a -hurricane off Martinique. The bell told his mother. Now I have told you -enough gloomy stuff, Ricardo. Maybe that old bell will belong to me some -day. I think I will throw it in the harbor. It is a Jonah.” - - - - - CHAPTER V - - - RICHARD CARY STROLLS ALONE - -A wisp of an elderly man appeared in the moonlit _patio_, with no more -sound than the rustle of a dry leaf. He seemed to move with an habitual -air of stealth. Bent and meager, his linen clothes flapped on him. He -peered this way and that. The little brown monkey came dancing down from -the trellis and perched, chattering, upon his shoulder. He stood fanning -himself with a dingy straw hat. He was short of breath, wheezing -audibly. No matter how trifling his errands, it was to be conjectured -that he always flitted to and fro in a hurried, secretive manner. - -Teresa moved out of the shadows. He jumped back, easily startled. His -niece called out some affectionate Spanish phrase and dutifully advanced -to embrace him. Señor Ramon Bazán pecked at her cheek, cackled a -welcome, and wriggled clear. He was fascinated by the formidable size of -the stranger who hovered between the galleon bell and the oleander tree. -It was a phenomenon that provoked excited curiosity. - -Uncle Ramon Bazán sputtered questions. Teresa proudly presented the -second officer of the _Tarragona_ who felt baffled because he could talk -no Spanish. This failed to check the wordy welcome of the uncle of -Teresa. He was impressed and amused. On tiptoe he patted Cary’s mighty -shoulder and measured his height. It was like a terrier making friends -with a Saint Bernard. - -“He says you are as big as the hill of La Popa,” swiftly interpreted -Teresa. “You do his poor house an honor. Everything in it is yours. You -have made a delicious hit with him, Ricardo. He does not like many -people.” - -Cary bowed and conveyed his thanks. Uncle Ramon chuckled like the squeak -of a rusty hinge. He had made a joke, explained Teresa. Why offer the -house to this Señor Cary when he could easily carry it off on his back -if he felt so disposed? They found chairs near the fountain. The Indian -_muchacho_ brought glasses of iced lemonade. Cary smoked his pipe and -idly listened. To hear Teresa’s voice, flowing, musical, talking in the -language of her native Cartagena, was a new delight. - -Presently the wee brown monkey clambered to his knee and sat there. The -wrinkled visage bore an odd resemblance to that of Señor Ramon Bazán. -Richard Cary knocked the ashes from his briar pipe and laid it on the -bench beside him. The monkey noted the procedure, with a grave scrutiny. -Then it picked up the pipe, carefully rapped the bowl against Cary’s -knee, and inserted the stem between its teeth. Cary courteously offered -his match-box and tobacco-pouch. Uncle Ramon’s shrill mirth was so -violent that a coughing fit was nearly the death of him. Teresa was -gleeful because to win the monkey’s favor was a signal distinction. In -her uncle’s sight, it was the final seal of approval. - -Soon it was time to go back to the ship. The host escorted them to the -street and sent the Indian lad in quest of a carriage. He warmly urged -Richard Cary to make the house his home whenever he was in port. It was -expressed with gusto. They left him in the doorway, a bizarre figure, -the monkey tucked under one arm. - -“Never have I seen my uncle like this,” said Teresa as they drove away. -“He hates ’most everybody. You are his big pet, Ricardo. Any favor you -ask, he will tumble over himself to do it.” - -“I was sorry I couldn’t have a chat with him, he seemed so cordial. A -comical old chap.” - -“Pooh, he can talk English when he wants to. He lived in Washington one -time, for the government at Bogotá. He is funny. To-night it was a -trick, his talking only Spanish. Maybe you would say something about him -to me, eh? He was sizing you up. He is just as sly as that little -monkey. But I must not speak so horrid of my uncle. He is a very old -man—cracked—some bats in the _cabeza_. How old do you think he is?” - -“I couldn’t get a slant on him in the moonlight,” answered Cary. “He is -pretty well warped and dried up, but he seems to have a kick in him.” - -“Nobody knows how old that Ramon Bazán is, Ricardo. He looked just like -this when I was a little, little girl.” - -Cary absently filled his briar pipe. Teresa snatched it from him and -objected: - -“That monkey was trying to smoke it just like a man. Dirty beast! Here, -you take a cigarette from me and I will scrub that pipe with boiling -water.” - -One other thing troubled her. That story of the galleon bell. Did -Ricardo think she was stupid to believe all that stuff? It sounded true -in the _patio_, in the moonlight of Cartagena, but would he laugh at her -when he was at sea again in the _Tarragona_ with that wise _amigo_ of -his, the chief engineer? Listen! It was no more wonderful than the -marble pulpit in the cathedral, all carved with the images of the -saints. It was well known to everybody that the Pope had commanded the -best artists of Spain to carve that pulpit for a gift to the faithful -people of Cartagena. The Pope had blessed it before the ship sailed from -Cadiz. Oh, very long ago! - -The ship was close to the Spanish Main when the English buccaneers had -captured her. They were very angry to find the cases of marble that were -all carved with the blessed images of the Catholic saints. So they threw -the cases overboard when they plundered the ship. All this heavy marble! -It did not sink at all, but floated on the waves. A long time these -cases of marble floated until, one day, they washed right up on the -beach of Cartagena. - -The bishop called all the people to see the holy miracle and there was a -procession to the cathedral with incense and banners and hymns. And -there is the marble pulpit to-day, and the priests saying Mass under the -canopy. - -Richard Cary gravely agreed that such a miracle could not be doubted, -even by a heretic. And he did not have to be persuaded to believe in the -marvelous powers of the galleon’s bell to toll a warning of disaster. -This comforted the heart of Teresa Fernandez, so shrewd and yet so -credulous. She was radiantly happy in these golden moments with the man -she loved. - -He left her at the ship’s gangway. The chief officer was on watch. Dour -and taciturn, he was human enough to say: - -“You didn’t have to hurry back, Mr. Cary. A pity to cut it short on a -night like this. The old man is ashore.” - -“That is very thoughtful of you, but the stewardess had to come back and -report for duty.” - -“An uncommonly pretty young woman,” was the gruff comment, “and as good -as she looks, from all accounts. I can’t blame you for taking notice. -Don’t lose your head, though. Going to sea is a dog’s life for a man -that’s fool enough to get married.” - -“Exactly what I used to say,” replied Cary, “but a man has been known to -change his mind.” - -He drifted along the promenade deck and chatted with a passenger or two. -This failed to interest him. In the lee of the cargo sheds, where the -ship was moored, the air was hot and heavy. He went to his room and -tried to read. A cabin steward came in with the briar pipe, sent by -Teresa who had thoroughly cleaned and boiled it. He lighted the pipe and -went on deck again, roaming to and fro alone. - -It occurred to him to walk into Cartagena, as far as the nearest shops, -and buy some picture postcards to send to his mother in New Hampshire. -He had noticed them in the windows, attractively colored, giving -impressions really vivid of the charm and antiquity of the place. They -would be treasured at home, probably passed around at a meeting of the -missionary society or the Ladies’ Aid. - -It was an excuse to work off his restless humor. An absurd anticlimax, -in a way, to be tied to the routine of a fruit steamer, to be separated -from one’s sweetheart because, in the role of a stewardess, she had to -wait upon a lot of fussy, pampered women. Richard Cary swore under his -breath. Dreams of adventure? The sense of tingling expectancy? Bonds not -easy to break constrained him, habits of discipline and environment. He -was torn two ways. It was a conflict between the two Richard Carys. - -After finding the postal cards and mailing them, he walked through one -quaint, shadowed street after another. Certain buildings he felt drawn -to find, the House of the Holy Inquisition, the towered cathedral, which -was so bold a landmark from seaward, the cloistered convents whose nuns -had fled inland whenever the topsails of the buccaneers had gleamed off -the Boca Grande or the Boca Chica. - -He was passing a café when he noticed, with a casual glance, a military -officer seated just inside the iron grillwork of a long window. The -officer waved a hand and called out a courteous invitation. Cary -recognized him as Colonel Fajardo, the _Comandante_ of the Port. This -was rather surprising. Affability was unexpected. Richard Cary was -intrigued. The chief engineer had taken pains to warn him against this -gentleman as both truculent and dangerous where a woman was involved. -Apparently Colonel Fajardo wished to dispel such an impression. He -pointed at the tiny cognac glass in front of him and suavely suggested: - -“Will you give me the pleasure? You are enjoying the lovely night, and -alone? How unfortunate!” - -“Thank you. I can tarry a few minutes,” replied Cary. He entered the -door and took a chair facing the Colombian colonel. The café was more -than respectable. It was what one might have called a resort of fashion. -A perfectly safe place in which to sit with Colonel Fajardo and sip a -tiny glass of cognac. He was sober enough, reflected Cary. Haggard and a -little the worse for wear, but not in the least quarrelsome. Jimmy, the -bartender of the _Tarragona_, must have been unduly excited. No prospect -of melodrama in such a situation as this. - -Nonsense, to imagine plots of revenge and murder just because a man was -a South American and had a few drinks in him! It was true enough that -Colonel Fajardo looked the part. To incur his dislike and then encounter -him in a dark street might possibly be unhealthy. Apparently, however, -he had thought discretion the better part of valor. It was off with the -old love and on with the new. - -“You will stay in the _Tarragona_?” inquired the colonel, with an air of -friendly solicitude. “You are fond of the ship and the trip to Colombian -ports?” - -“Yes, thank you. It is a pleasant change after the North Atlantic. I -hope to stay in the ship, if only to see Cartagena again.” - -“Ah, ha, there is no other reason, Mr. Cary? Pardon me, I do not intend -to be personal,” murmured Colonel Fajardo. He laughed, without mirth. -The leathery cheek was flushed. Richard Cary ignored the implication. He -was not one to invite trouble. Let the other man show his hand. - -Colonel Fajardo smothered a yawn. It had been a fatiguing day. Cary -found little to say. At his leisure he finished the glass of cognac. -Colonel Fajardo declined another. He had an engagement to wait for a -friend. Cary therefore bade him good-night. A courtly bow from the -waist, a graceful phrase, and the colonel sat himself down again. - -Rather fortunate, reflected Richard Cary as he resumed his promenade -through the streets of Cartagena. He would have to meet this man on -shipboard every voyage. It might have been disagreeable, also awkward, a -personal row with the _Comandante_ of the Port. - -Into a sleeping square hemmed in by houses rambled Richard Cary and came -to the massive church of San Pedro Clavér whose bells had jangled in the -squat tower through long centuries. At its altar the Spanish conquerors -had knelt in ornate armor before invading the fetid jungles and daring -the unknown mountains to seek the fabled El Dorado. - -Crossing the square and halting to gaze at the church, Cary happened to -notice, from the tail of his eye, several men loitering on a corner -underneath a balcony. The shadows somewhat obscured them. He thought -nothing of it. One thrummed a guitar. They were singing some plaintive, -long-drawn love song with many minor chords. - -The second mate of the _Tarragona_ glanced at his watch. He ought to be -retracing his course, in the direction of the waterfront. He walked -along one side of the square. The group of serenaders beneath the -balcony strolled in the same direction. They were still singing. It was -agreeable to listen to them. - -Richard Cary turned into a street which was no more than a gash between -shuttered walls of stone. No lights were visible. The musicians, -care-free and idle, drifted into the same street and followed along -behind him. They were in no haste. The night was still young. Cary felt -like loitering until they finished a song whose refrain carried a -cadence sweet and wistful. - -They walked a little faster. The guitar and the harmonious voices were -silenced. Richard Cary quickened his own gait and swung into a long, -easy stride. Presently it caught his attention that the musicians had -also increased their pace. He was not drawing away from them. This was a -trifle odd. The Colombians of Cartagena were not apt to walk as fast as -this. They seldom exerted themselves. - -As a rule, this stalwart American mariner was contemptuously careless of -danger nor borrowed trouble of any sort. He was likely to be -unsuspicious. Now, however, he turned to glance over his shoulder at -these unusually energetic Colombians. His ear noted that they were not -shod with leather. Their footfalls made a quick, soft pit-pat on the -stone pavement. It was like the tread of furtive animals. - -They crossed a thin, white shaft of moonlight where a house had crumbled -and fallen. It was discernible that they were young men, quick and -slender, wearing white shirts, but no coats. A moment later Cary saw -them divide, two flitting across the street. - -He looked ahead of him. The street was like a dark ravine. It had taken -a slight bend. He could see one lighted window, perhaps a hundred feet -distant, a long, yellow rectangle laced with iron bars. - -He was unarmed. The bamboo cane was merely ornamental. Instinct told him -that he stood in peril of his life. These bravos of Cartagena were not -intent on robbery. They were of the breed of the mediæval night-hawks of -the cloak and sword, the _gente de capa y espada_, the rufflers who did -murder for hire. - -Long of limb and deep-lunged, Richard Cary might have run away from them -and saved his skin. There was no pith in these thugs of the Cartagena -slums to overtake him in a stern chase. He flung the thought aside. By -God, no Devon man had ever turned his back when outnumbered in these -same narrow, frowning streets. Five to one? They paid him a handsome -compliment. - -He suddenly whirled about to face the pursuers. He stood massive and -alert, head thrust forward, like a bull about to charge. The two bravos -who had crossed the street came gliding back to take him in the rear. -The three whom he faced deployed to encircle him. They moved rapidly, in -silence. - -He dreaded to hear a pistol shot. They were not as clumsy as that, to -make a noise and alarm the street unless it had to be done that way. -Richard Cary was ashamed to cry out for help. It was like striking his -flag. He drew in his breath. His strong teeth were set tight together. -His fists were clenched. They swung at his sides. They were like -terrible mallets. - -He moved, slowly, until his back touched the wall of the overhanging -house. He was at bay. The bravos approached him like cats. They -entertained a profound respect for him. The most reckless one of them -plucked a knife from his shirt. He led the attack. A quick thrust or two -and the thing would be done. It would be like sticking a steer for beef. - -Colonel Fajardo was waiting at the Café Dos Hermanos for the word that -the business had been dispatched. He had the money ready in his pocket. -It would not do to fail. _Madre de Dios_, no! Not when a man like that -one gave the order. He knew too much about these five bad young men of -Cartagena. He had them by the scruff of their necks, as you might say. - -In spite of this, there was a reluctance to close in with the huge -figure of the yellow-haired _Americano_ who stood so silent, so -unafraid, with his back against the wall. He was mysterious, terrifying. -However, there could be no delay. It was a ticklish undertaking at best, -to kill him in an open street, in the middle of the evening. Earlier -they had trailed the open carriage in which he rode with the woman from -the ship, but it had been impossible to arrange anything. - -The leader of the bravos lunged forward, one arm upraised. He stooped -low, to thrust up. The _Americano_ had no pistol. He would have fired it -by now. Before that upraised arm could drive home the knife, it was -gripped between the elbow and shoulder. Richard Cary’s hand had been as -swift as the dart of a snake. Here was better luck than he had dared -expect. His other hand clamped itself on the bravo’s forearm. - -Before the rest of them could rush in to cut him down, he leaped away -from the wall, dragging his struggling captive by the arm. The fellow -was scrawny, no great weight for Richard Cary to do with as he pleased. -He planted his legs apart, tightened the grip of his two hands and swung -the body of the helpless bravo by the arm as a handle. Sheer over his -head he swung him, in a circle as he might have whirled a bludgeon. - -As he swung this extraordinary weapon he ran forward, with an agility -amazing, dumbfounding. It cleared the path. The four ruffians scattered. -They were crying out to each other. One dropped upon his knees. Another -flung himself flat. A third was not quick enough. The revolving body of -the bravo, extended straight, seemingly rigid, struck him with a -peculiar thud. He reeled and limped into the shadows. - -With a laugh, Richard Cary released his grip. The bravo, converted into -a missile, went hurtling into the middle of the street with a dreadful -momentum. He flew as if propelled from a catapult. His body smote the -cobblestones. It sprawled without motion. - -Snatching at this brief respite, Richard Cary turned and ran. It was not -a retreat. He was running for that lighted window with the rusty iron -bars set in the ancient mortar. The four bravos rallied. They were -mindful of the menace of Colonel Fajardo’s wrath, as well as of the fat -price he had promised them. They sprinted to overtake the fleeing -_Americano_, wary to avoid such a blunder as had cracked the skull of -their leader. - -Richard Cary was too quick for them. He plunged against the iron bars of -the window. A glance showed him an empty room. There was no help there. -He had not hoped to find it. This was his own joyous battle, to be waged -alone. At random he laid hold of an iron bar of the grating. Both ends -of it were embedded in mortar which had become cracked and rotten. He -braced a knee against the stone window ledge. His broad back heaved. The -great shoulders strained. The veins purpled his temples. Suddenly his -back straightened. The bar came away in his hands, bending, ripping out -of the sockets in the mortar. It had been the work of a moment. - -Now he had a weapon to his liking. Again he laughed. The bravos disliked -the sound of that laugh. It made them tremble. By the light from the -window they could see the iron bar in the hands of the colossal -_Americano_. One of them jerked out a pistol and fired. The bullet -clipped a lock of Cary’s yellow hair. - -Before the rascal could pull trigger again, the iron bar smote him a -slanting blow on the neck. He crumpled upon the cobblestones. His neck -was beyond mending. There were three of them left. Two took to their -heels. Behind them the iron bar beat the air like a flail. They moaned -prayers to San Pedro Clavér, to the Blessed Virgin herself. They were -murderers grown suddenly religious. - -One of them stumbled. Death fanned him with its breath. He tried to -wheel, knife in hand. Over him loomed the dread figure of the giant with -the charmed life. The bravo was of a mind to clasp his hands and wail -for mercy. The iron bar fell. It crashed against his shoulder and -crushed it like putty. He rolled over, kicking and making queer noises -in his throat. - -Richard Cary halted in his tracks. One lone bravo was in sight, fleeing -for the slums which had spewed him forth. He ran with the staccato -pit-pat-pat of feet that spurned the cobblestones. Never in his life had -he run with such speed. A bullet could not have overtaken him. - -Four of the gang had been disposed of. Where was the fifth? Richard Cary -was puzzled. He turned to search the street behind him. As he moved, a -shadow moved with him. It was the shadow of the fifth bravo. He had -recovered his wits, this cool and vigilant one who had a flair for -dexterous assassination. Instead of exposing himself to a blow from that -bone-crushing iron bar, he had hugged the nearest wall, awaiting an -opportunity, keeping himself at Richard Cary’s back, shifting whenever -he did. He hunted like a ferret. - -From a trousers pocket he withdrew a bit of rubber hose filled with bird -shot, flexible and heavy. He slipped his hand through a loop of cord. -The weapon hung from his wrist. In the other hand was a knife with a -thin blade. - -Unable to fathom the disappearance of the fifth bravo, Cary delayed an -instant longer. The iron bar was poised in his two hands. Just behind -him moved a shadow. Suddenly he seemed to sense its presence. He -stiffened and turned his head. It was a fraction of a second too late. A -blow on the head stunned him. His eyes were filled with fire. His -strength left him. He toppled forward with a groan. The iron bar clanged -on the pavement. - -As he fell, a knife was driven between his shoulder blades. He felt it -sear like a red coal. A tremor passed through his mighty frame. Then he -stretched prone and inanimate, an arm twisted under his head. - -The only sound in the dark, narrow street was the pit-pat-pat of a man -running away. - - - - - CHAPTER VI - - - THE TROUBLED HEART OF TERESA - -Teresa Fernandez, the trim, immaculate stewardess, on her way to a -passenger’s room with a breakfast tray glanced into the dining-saloon. -Richard Cary’s chair was vacant. He had not yet come down. Usually he -was punctual. It had been a pleasure to see him sitting there, so big -and clean and wholesome, always good-humored, with a smile for every -one. Teresa was disappointed at missing this first morning glimpse of -him. It had not happened before. - -She visited several staterooms and was blithe to the ladies who were too -indolent to bestir themselves. Then the chief steward detained her with -a list of the ship’s laundry which required checking up. This meant an -inspection of the shelves in the linen room. As soon as she was free, -the stewardess hastened to the nook beside the stairway and the wicker -chair, on the chance of intercepting Richard Cary. - -Bad luck this time! He must have come and gone. His chair was empty. She -went to the foot of the stairs and beckoned her friend, the second -steward. Mr. Cary had not been down, he told her, nor had he ordered -breakfast sent to his room. A hearty man who had never missed a meal -before! Perhaps he felt under the weather. The climate of Cartagena was -trying for a stranger, and Mr. Cary had worked all day in the sun. The -amiable young second steward decided to find out for himself. - -Teresa hovered near a doorway of the promenade deck. She was anxious for -Richard Cary’s health, but it would not do to show it. She had been -careless already, perhaps, in inviting gossip. It was unwise for a woman -compelled to live in a ship. Busy-bodies were eager to carry tales to -the captain’s ears. The code of behavior was rigid and she had always -avoided any appearance of fondness for a shipmate. She had treated them -all alike and her record was clear of the breath of scandal. - -When the second steward returned from his errand to the officers’ -quarters, his face told her that something was wrong. She was afraid to -hear news of an illness. Her heart pounded. The words flew to her lips: - -“Is it the fever? Has the doctor been up to see him?” - -The second steward shook his head mysteriously. He motioned Teresa into -the library where they could be alone. With an effort she masked her -agitation. She could be a clever actress. Richard Cary was merely -another friend of hers. - -“Vamoosed! Flown away!” exclaimed the second steward. “Mr. Cary is not -in the ship. His bed wasn’t slept in last night, Miss Fernandez. He was -supposed to go on watch at midnight. Now what do you think of that?” - -“He is not in the ship?” she echoed, trying to keep her voice hushed. -“Who told you so?” - -“The third officer. A nice kid. He’s all fussed up about it. Mr. Cary is -a regular tin god to him. You know what the rest of ’em are saying. Mr. -Cary hit the beach last night and got soused. His first trip down this -way, and the Cartagena rum slipped one over on him. He’ll turn up with a -head on him before the ship sails. It will sure put him in wrong with -the old man.” - -“Who dares say these wicked things?” blazed Teresa. “Mr. Cary is not a -common sailor bum. Thank you very much, Frank. If you find out any more, -please come and tell me. It is very strange.” - -The second steward was inclined to linger and discuss it, but Teresa’s -manner dismissed him. She had no intention of betraying her emotions. -This made it difficult to press her inquiries, to attempt to discover -the facts in the case. Her head was throbbing. She felt tired. In order -to be alone a few minutes she went to her room and bolted the door. - -She had returned to the ship with Richard Cary before ten o’clock. He -had said good-night at the gangway. A little later she had sent the deck -steward to his room with the briar pipe. He had returned his thanks. - -With a gesture of disgust she flung aside the theory that he might have -sneaked ashore later for a quiet spree in Cartagena, wine and women, -like so many of the men she had sailed with. Concerning the masculine -sex she had few illusions left. Respectable shipmasters, passengers of -pious repute at home, sporting young officers whose blood was hot, she -had seen them yield to the lures of foreign ports. - -Ah, thank God, Richard Cary was not that kind. In her eyes he was the -perfect knight without fear and without reproach. It was now she -realized how much she loved him, a love untarnished by the jealousies -and suspicions that were native to her. Mere passion would have made her -tremble with dreadful doubts that Don Ricardo had amused himself with -her as a pastime and then had roved ashore to slake his desires with -wanton girls. - -Teresa wept a little, oppressed by the mystery of it, consumed by an -anxiety that scorched her. Superstitious, she wished she had not let him -touch the galleon’s bell in the _patio_ of Señor Ramon Bazán. Perhaps -the bell was accursed, bringing misfortune as well as foretelling it. -Then she courageously fought down her quaking trepidation and wild -fancies. Richard Cary was strong and unconquerable, a man to defy evil -or disaster. - -He was not in the ship. He had been absent most of the night. He had not -slept in his room. Either he had gone ashore on some lawful business of -his own, as an afterthought, or he had fallen overboard. Ridiculous, -this! Teresa permitted herself a whimsical smile. It dimpled the corners -of her mouth. _Valgame Dios_, he would have made a splash to awaken the -whole harbor and make the ship rock at her moorings. Ha, ha, it would -have made a tidal wave on the beach and floated the fishing boats into -the streets. - -Teresa Fernandez bathed her eyes, powdered her nose, smoothed her hair, -and then emerged from her room. The ship was to sail at noon. Passengers -from Cartagena were beginning to come on board—a rich Colombian family -for the A suite, the mother very stout and overdressed, dapper father of -a dusky complexion, a wailing baby, children of various sizes, a -frightened nurse, innumerable parcels and bags. The stewardess was -demanded to talk Spanish to them and bring order out of this domestic -chaos. - -As soon as possible, she ran on deck. Her eager vision searched the -bridge, the cargo hatches, the wharf. The boyish third officer was at -the gangway. She tried to speak casually. - -“I heard Mr. Cary was missing. Has he come back yet?” - -“Not a sign of him, Miss Fernandez. Darned if I know what to make of it. -He was as steady as a clock. Reliable was his middle name. A -quartermaster saw him leave the ship last night, about ten o’clock. The -last he saw of Mr. Cary in the moonlight, he was walking into town. He -didn’t feel sleepy, I guess, and went out for a stroll. And then he fell -off the earth.” - -“It is very, very queer, is it not?” sighed Teresa. “’Most twelve hours -away from the ship! Has the captain tried to find him? Has he sent -anybody into Cartagena? Has he ’phoned to the police?” - -“Not that I know of,” answered the third officer. He hesitated and -looked to right and left before going on to say: “It’s my notion that -Captain Sterry won’t look for him, from something I heard him spill to -the first mate. There is some hard feeling between them, Miss Fernandez. -I can’t give you the dope on it, but the skipper doesn’t seem a mite -broken-hearted over leaving Mr. Cary behind. He hasn’t lifted a finger -to find him, as far as I can make out. It’s a rotten situation, believe -me.” - -“And you tell me the captain don’t care what has happened to Mr. Cary?” -breathed Teresa, aghast at this disclosure. “He will stand the second -mate’s watch on the run back to New York? I have been at sea as much as -you, young man, and I give you my word this is too queer for me.” - -To desert the ship herself, to use her own intelligent energy in the -quest of the missing man, this was Teresa’s natural impulse. She knew -Cartagena, on the surface intimately, beneath the surface by hearsay. It -would be foolish, perhaps, to do such a thing until the very last -moment. She would wait before making up her mind, wait until the whistle -blew to cast off from the wharf. - -Her superior officer, the chief steward, had seldom found fault with -Miss Fernandez, but now he noticed her frequent tours on deck and the -interruptions in her routine of duty. He was a fat Swiss who perspired -copiously and eternally prowled through the kitchens, the pantries, the -corridors in search of delinquencies. A pudgy finger beckoned the -stewardess, and a hoarse voice barked: - -“Miss Fernandez, I haf got to call you down. You vill lose your job mit -me if you don’t mind it better. Vat is all dis rubberin’ and beatin’ it -upstairs and down again? Here is dot woman in number seventeen ringin’ -like hell and tellin’ her cabin steward she can’t get you.” - -“That woman in seventeen ought to be poisoned, Mr. Schwartz,” sniffed -Teresa. “All she does is eat, eat. I know what she wants now, orange -juice and biscuit and a little fruit. My gracious, for breakfast I took -that woman a cereal, a melon, bacon and eggs, fish, fried potatoes, and -a stack of toast. She is suffering with a nervous breakdown and must be -careful of herself, she tells me. You let her ring is my advice, Mr. -Schwartz.” - -The chief steward mopped his dripping jowls and sulkily retorted: “Dot -woman pays big money for the cruise, a room mit bath, Miss Fernandez. Go -chase yourself on the job, and no more runnin’ all over the ship like a -crazy girl. Vas you smugglin’ or somethings? You mind your step. I can -get plenty of goot stewardesses in New York for the _Tarragona_.” - -Teresa’s white teeth closed over her lower lip. She detested this puffy -swine who was in a position to bully her. He saw the temper flare in her -black eyes and awaited the explosion. To his surprise she held herself -in check. Her voice was almost indifferent as she replied: - -“Yes, Mr. Schwartz. I will do as you say. I am feeling nervous this -morning, not very well. I need to go on deck to get the air. But you -will not have to scold me again.” - -The stewardess hurried away. Mr. Schwartz gazed after her and sopped his -bulging neck. The moods of Miss Fernandez were beyond him. Competent as -she was, he would have preferred a Swiss or German woman. These Spanish -girls were flighty. You couldn’t keep up mit ’em. - -A few minutes later Teresa whisked into the passage leading to the room -of Mr. McClement, the sagacious chief engineer. Here was a world -secluded from the passenger quarters, a grimy, hard-working world in -which moved scantily clad men with towels thrown over their shoulders. -Teresa was safe from the espionage of the apoplectic chief steward. She -rapped on a door which was opened by Mr. McClement, whose lean, freckled -countenance was white with lather. He waved a razor in a gesture of -cordial invitation. - -Teresa entered. He removed a disorderly heap of books and clothing from -a chair and offered no apologies. - -“Just came out of the shower and was shifting into fresh duds,” he -explained. “Been taking one of those condemned winches to pieces. The -misbegotten machines go wrong every voyage. What can you expect, though, -with these nigger donkeymen we pick up from port to port? I wanted to -take a turn ashore, but couldn’t get off sooner. It is Dick Cary, of -course. Where the deuce is he? Any theories to offer, Miss Fernandez?” - -“Nothing at all, Mr. McClement. Not one thing at all,” she said, no -longer trying to hide what she felt. “You are his best friend in the -ship and—and he is a friend of mine, too. You know. You are so wise -that it is no use fooling you.” - -“I shouldn’t say that the large and ingenuous Cary had baffled my -perceptions,” was the dry comment. “When I last saw him he was wearing -his heart on his sleeve. God made him that way. The bigger they are the -harder they fall.” - -“And you honestly think he fell for me?” cried Teresa, with her most -enchanting smile. It was like a flash of sunshine in a rifted cloud. - -“His symptoms convinced me, Miss Fernandez. Humph! This pleases you, I -see, but it gets us nowhere. Well, he didn’t go ashore to pull the town -to pieces. I know him better than that. The captain makes that excuse -for leaving him adrift.” - -“You believe in Mr. Cary, just as I do? Ah, I could kiss you for that. I -have heard those horrid lies on deck—” - -“Pardon me, while I remove this lather, and perhaps you can find a dry -spot,” he interrupted. “A kiss from you would be a noteworthy event in -the somber chronicle of existence.” - -“For shame, Mr. McClement. How can you joke with me?” - -“Very well, then. In all seriousness, I am as uneasy about Cary as you -are. I still take it for granted that he will turn up with some -perfectly good alibi. This feeling is, I presume, because he is such a -husky, two-fisted beggar with a level head on his shoulders. No -greenhorn, either—accustomed to knocking about strange ports at all -hours. But, confound him, he hasn’t turned up. You can’t get away from -that, can you? And I don’t know where to look if I go buzzing around -Cartagena for the hour or two before the ship sails. I did call up the -central police office soon after breakfast. My Spanish is bad and a -congenital idiot was on the other end of the line. I got nothing at -all.” - -“These police of Cartagena,” sighed Teresa. “They are a bunch of nuts.” - -“Rather well put,” agreed McClement, who was no stranger to the Spanish -Main. - -“Is there anybody that hates Mr. Cary?” she asked, expressing the fear -that had been lurking in her troubled soul. “I am foolish, maybe, but I -cannot make myself forget that Colonel Fajardo. I dreamed about him last -night, a terrible dream. I woke up crying. Do you believe in dreams, Mr. -McClement?” - -“In this instance I don’t really have to,” said he, rather glad to have -her broach this sinister topic. He had been reluctant to alarm her. - -“Then you know something about this Colonel Fajardo that is not a -dream?” exclaimed Teresa. “It has to do with Mr. Cary?” - -“Possibly. You are a sensible young woman, in spots, Miss Fernandez. And -I can’t imagine your kicking your heels in hysterics. Besides, my room -is too cluttered up for that sort of thing. I warned Cary yesterday -afternoon to keep a weather eye lifted for this saturnine _Comandante_ -of the Port. He was drinking hard and the liquor seemed to make him -wicked instead of drunk. You know what I mean? I got the impression that -he had a provocation. You threw him over, I believe. I was looking on, -last voyage and this. The emotions of Colonel Fajardo were quite -obvious.” - -“I should say so,” exclaimed Teresa. “The whole ship knew he was daffy -about me. And he is now jealous of Mr. Cary? He has plenty of reason to -be so. I am proud to say it to _you_, Mr. McClement, that Richard Cary -is much more to me than my life. You are his friend and I can tell you.” - -“Mutual, I should say,” was the comment. “You bowled him clean off his -pins. The splendor of youth and romance! I am envious. It seems a -frightful pity to upset you, my dear girl, but I do suspect this Fajardo -blackguard. Cary laughed at me. Piffle, melodrama, and all that.” - -“Yes, Mr. McClement, he would laugh. But I saw how that Colonel Fajardo -looked at me when I told him I would not marry him. I swear to you, I -crossed myself and said my prayers. And I saw him looking at Mr. Cary. -Ah, now you understand why I had awful dreams last night.” - -“Hum-m, and he saw you go ashore with Cary in the evening, Miss -Fernandez. I noticed him stalking about and muttering to himself. He -left the ship soon after that.” - -“Ah, I believe it was a dream to warn me,” murmured Teresa, “but it was -too late to save Mr. Cary.” - -“Oh, I won’t say it is as bad as all that. I’ll toddle ashore right away -and have a look around. Ten to one Dick Cary will come galloping aboard -just before the whistle blows, as fresh as paint and with some -extraordinary yarn or other.” - -“You wish to jolly poor Teresa Fernandez,” said she. “Are you sure the -captain will not help to find him?” - -“Rather! Cary was unlucky enough to puncture his self-esteem, a most -painful wound. It was the plump flapper with the bobbed hair—Captain -Sterry was on the bridge with her—Cary snickered. And there you are. -One of those momentous trifles. Life is like that.” - -“I know,” said Teresa. “Captain Sterry is mushy sometimes. I have seen -it with some other young girls. I know men pretty well. That was enough -to queer Mr. Cary, all right. Well, Mr. McClement, I must go back to my -job. You will tell me, if you find out anything?” - -“Like a shot. Cary is not going to lose _you_ if he can help it. -Remember that. You can gamble on him to break out of almost any kind of -a jam he gets into. I hope to God you and I are a pair of false alarms.” - -Teresa had no more to say. The chief engineer was inserting the buttons -in the cuffs of a fresh shirt. She walked slowly along the passage, -scarcely seeing where she went. Richard Cary was dead. She said the -words to herself. They hammered in her brain, over and over again, like -the strokes of the galleon’s bell. No other reason accounted for his -disappearance. - -The air in the passage reeked with steam and oil. It was also intensely -hot. She felt faint. Steadying herself, she opened a door to the lower -deck. She leaned on the railing and stared at the blue harbor and the -dazzling sea beyond. A slight breeze fanned her cheek. The vitality -returned to her lithe and slender body. This was no time to be weak, to -play the coward. She had never flinched from life. It was something to -be a Fernandez of Cartagena. They had never whimpered when they held the -losing cards. - -Mr. Schwartz, the corpulent chief steward, prowling in search of whom he -might annoy, discovered her at the railing. He began to growl, noticed -her pallor, and changed his tune to say: - -“You haf a sick feeling, Miss Fernandez? You look like you vas all in. -Why didn’t you told me so? You go lay down. Let ’em holler. I vill be -the sweet leetle stewardess for an hour or so.” - -“I am not sick, Mr. Schwartz,” she gratefully assured him. “Dizzy, a -little bit. I will go sit in my wicker chair till somebody rings.” - -He grunted, slapped her on the shoulder with a sticky paw, and lumbered -off to find victims more deserving of his wrath. Before sitting down to -rest, Teresa wearily climbed to the promenade deck. - -She was in time to see Colonel Fajardo ascend the gangway steps. His -demeanor was haughty and dignified. The lines in his harsh face seemed -to be graven a little deeper, its expression more predatory than usual. -He was puffy under the eyes. A nervous twitching affected his upper lip. -It was the morning after. Whiskey and cognac had not been good even for -a man of blood and iron, a man with a copper lining. - -It was unusual for him to come to the wharf so late on sailing day. He -made some suave explanation to Captain Sterry who happened to meet him -on deck. Teresa Fernandez stood watching them. She was tensely -observant. Would she be able to read the soul of Colonel Fajardo? She -must try. It was a throw of the dice. He was striding toward the -smoking-room when she accosted him in Spanish: - -“Pardon, Colonel Fajardo. You omit to say good-morning to me. Am I no -longer the lovely flower of Cartagena?” - -“_Car-r-amba!_ I am as blind as an owl, not to see the adorable Teresa,” -he jauntily responded. “You were shy, my little one. Not so much like -the rose to-day. White like the lily, but no less beautiful.” - -“A tongue as ready as his sword,” smiled Teresa. “What a devil with the -women! Have you heard? The second officer of the ship cannot be found. -It is sensational. In our peaceful, sleepy Cartagena of all places, -where there are no wicked people to molest a sailor ashore!” - -“Very true, señorita,” he gravely returned. “I am amazed. Captain Sterry -mentioned the matter just now—the big second mate with the yellow hair. -Not so easy to mislay him, by the Apostles. A dear friend of yours, too! -It is distressing, and I sympathize with all my soul. Alas, I am in -darkness, with no information for you. And the ship sails in two hours. -It will be an unhappy voyage—for the friends of the deserter, Second -Officer Cary.” - -“Not a deserter, Colonel Fajardo,” she protested, very careful of her -words and icily restrained. “You are, of course, acquainted with the -chief of the municipal police. He is your brother-in-law? If a ship’s -officer was in trouble, it would be reported to you as _Comandante_ of -the Port?” - -“Doubtless I should hear of it, my lovely one,” he gravely assured her. -“This man you speak of may have fled from Cartagena by night. Possibly -he had planned to escape into hiding in order to avoid the consequences -of some crime committed elsewhere. Has this occurred to you?” - -“No, I am a stupid woman,” said Teresa. “A thousand thanks, Colonel -Fajardo.” - -“Permit me to kiss your hand, Señorita Fernandez. It is my condolence, -my feeling of pity for you, to lose such a friend as the valiant, the -enormous, the sentimental Señor Cary. Would that I might lighten your -sorrow.” - -She snatched her hand away and regarded him with a steadfast and -penetrating scrutiny. His voice had held a note of flagrant mockery. Her -ear was quick to detect it. His gloating smile also betrayed him. Yes, -she was looking into his soul. It was like the gift of second sight. -What she saw there made her shiver. Unwittingly he had made confession. -Teresa Fernandez knew. His guilt had ceased to be a torturing surmise. - -She let him pass into the smoking-room. Then she went down to her own -stateroom. As she entered it, the faint sound of the ship’s bell on the -bridge came thin and metallic. _Ting, ting—ting, ting!_ Four bells! Ten -o’clock! Two hours until sailing time. It was useless to wait and hope -for Richard Cary to return at the last moment. Teresa was now convinced -of this. - -For some time she sat lost in thought. To a knock on the door she paid -no heed. She was quite calm. The only sign of nervousness was the -pit-pat-pat of one little white shoe on the rug. She rose and looked in -the mirror. What she saw was unlike the bonny Teresa Fernandez with the -red lips, the warm tint in the olive cheek, the eyes that had shone with -the joy of living only yesterday. All expression seemed to have been -ironed from her face. It was blank and very solemn. - -She lifted a rosary from the nail where it hung at the head of her bed. -She fingered the beads. Her lips moved. Then she placed the rosary -around her neck, underneath the plain white shirt-waist of her -stewardess’s garb. There was no indecision, no struggle. - -Presently she opened a drawer at the bottom of the closet and held up a -wooden box. In it was an automatic pistol, so small that she could -almost hide it in her hand. It had been advisable to have the little -pistol with her when ashore at night in seaports where the streets led -through the haunts of rough men. - -She slipped it into the pocket of the white apron. She would deal out -justice, if needs be, and willingly pay the price as became a woman who -had loved and lost, who was a Fernandez of Cartagena. - - - - - CHAPTER VII - - - THE MAN WHO LIED - -These last hours before the sailing of the _Tarragona_ made the indolent -wharf bestir itself against its inclination. It was a pity to disturb -the tranquil noontide when all Cartagena closed the shutters and went to -sleep. In its baking, quivering streets the proverbial pin would have -dropped with a loud report. However, for every departing passenger many -friends exerted themselves to go down to the steamer, even though the -voyage might be no farther away than Santa Marta or Porto Colombia. The -promenade deck was like the stage of an opera, tears, embraces, -perfervid dialogue, animated choruses surrounding the actors. - -The railroad whose tracks ran out upon the wharf shared this intense -excitement. Belated freight cars filled with hides and sacks of coffee -came rolling down in frantic haste. It was always that way, a general -air of surprise, almost of consternation, that the steamer actually -proposed to sail on time instead of _mañana_. Why, she was mad enough to -leave passengers, influential people of Colombia, and heaps of coffee -and hides, even if they were only a few hours late. It was discourteous, -to say the least. - -Amid this confusion and noise, Colonel Fajardo moved like an imperious -dictator. He was unmistakably the _Comandante_ of the Port. Thievish -idlers fled from the gaunt figure in the uniform of white with the -medals and gold stripes. A scowl and a curse, and the traffic untangled -itself to let a porter pass with a trunk on his back or an American -tourist buying a green parakeet and the beaded bags woven by the Indian -women. - -Teresa Fernandez desired another interview with Colonel Fajardo. It was -imperative. To make a scene on board the ship, however, was repugnant to -her sense of decorum, of her fidelity to the Company’s service. This -difficulty perplexed her. She was jealous of the ship’s good name. She -was a deep-water sailor with a sailor’s loyalties and affections for the -ships she served in. - -Her eyes followed the movements of Colonel Fajardo who found much to do -on the wharf. She had certain questions to ask him. Liar that he was, -the odds were all against his answering anything truly, but the chance -would be offered him. Justice demanded it. Intently she watched him as -he stalked to and fro. She was singularly unmoved by impatience. What -was destined to happen would happen. - -No longer did her gaze, questing and wistful, turn landward in the hope -of seeing Richard Cary come back to the _Tarragona_. There was no such -thing as hope. - -The cargo sheds extended almost the length of the wharf. Between them -and the ship were the railroad tracks and the entrance from the -custom-house gate. On the farther side of the cargo sheds was a narrow -strip of wharf where smaller vessels could tie up, mostly Colombian -sailing craft that traded with the villages on the lagoon or made short -trips coastwise. Just now the graceful masts of one schooner lifted -above the roofs of the sheds. - -It did not escape Teresa’s notice when Colonel Fajardo passed around the -outer end of the cargo sheds to the narrow strip of wharf behind them. -He was screened from the sight of the ship; also from the laborers at -the freight cars and the hoisting tackle. He had betaken himself into a -certain seclusion which offered Teresa the opportunity she craved. - -Unheeded she tripped down to the wharf. It was usual for her to pass to -and fro on farewell errands, perhaps to purchase curios for the ladies -who were unable to bargain in Spanish. And there were always friends, -residents of Cartagena, with whom she enjoyed exchanging greetings. The -sailing hour was likely to be a gala time for Señorita Teresa Fernandez. -She was the most popular stewardess of the steamers in this service. - -Slipping aside, she followed Colonel Fajardo around the outer end of the -long cargo shed. He had been on the deck of the Colombian schooner -alongside and was just stepping back to the string-piece of the wharf. -Evidently he had found no one in the schooner. Whatever the purpose of -his visit may have been, it was banished from his mind by the sight of -Teresa Fernandez. He appeared startled. - -Walking a little way along the edge of the wharf, he was abreast of the -schooner’s stern when Teresa confronted him. He halted there, lifted his -cap with an elaborate flourish, and signified that he could not be -detained. Teresa put a hand in the pocket of her apron. She kept it -there while she said: - -“Please do not move, Colonel Fajardo. It will be unfortunate for your -health. I am so glad that you came to this quiet spot where we are not -interrupted. I could not sail without giving myself the pleasure of -saying adieu. The other side of the wharf is so crowded, so -conspicuous.” - -He was not deceived into surmising that this desirable woman had -repented of her coldness. It was no coquetry. Her voice had a biting -edge. Her face was even whiter than when he had met her on deck. -Uneasily he glanced behind him and then over her shoulder. They were -alone and unobserved. The Colombian schooner, her crew ashore, rocked -gently at its mooring lines. Beyond it was a wide stretch of azure -harbor upon which nothing moved except a far distant canoe as tiny as a -water bug. Between this strip of wharf and the shore was a high wooden -barrier with a closed gate. It was a curious isolation, with so much -life and motion on the other side of the cargo sheds, only a few yards -away. - -Colonel Fajardo bared his teeth in a forced smile as he said: - -“As I remember, señorita, you were not so anxious for the pleasure of my -company yesterday. I am, indeed, flattered to have you seek me out for -an adieu, but I must return to my duties. The _Tarragona_ will soon blow -her whistle. Have you anything of importance to say before you sail?” - -Teresa removed her hand from the pocket of the white apron. Her hand -almost covered the little automatic pistol. The colonel caught a glimpse -of it, this object of blued steel with a round orifice no bigger than a -pill. He was still standing close to the edge of the wharf. Astonished, -he almost lost his balance. Recovering himself, he snatched at Teresa’s -hand. She eluded him with a quick backward step. - -The pistol was aimed straight at the belt of Colonel Fajardo. He stood -rigid, his posture that of a man mysteriously bereft of volition. -Carefully Teresa lowered her hand until the pistol nestled in the pocket -of her apron, concealed from view, but the short barrel bulged the white -fabric. It was still pointed at the middle of Colonel Fajardo. -Instinctively he flattened his stomach until it was like a board. He had -a shrinking feeling in that region, like that of a man who has fasted -many days. - -Thus they stood facing each other in a tableau as still as a picture. -When Teresa Fernandez, spoke, it was not loudly, but her voice vibrated -like a bell. - -“Place your hands on your hips, outside your coat, Colonel Fajardo. And -be careful to keep them so. Your own pistol is in a holster inside your -coat. I have noticed it there. It will be unwise for you to try to get -it.” - -Her captive’s gaze was wild and roving. He dared not cry out. This -hell-begotten woman carried death in a touch of her finger. Lunacy -afflicted her. It was a predicament for such a man as himself, a -situation incredibly fantastic. His gaze returned to her face, and also -to that little bulge in the pocket of her apron. It gave him the effect -of being cross-eyed. The nervous twitching of his upper lip was like a -grimace. He was grotesque. - -Teresa Fernandez had no time to waste. She asked, peremptorily: “Where -is the second officer of the _Tarragona_? What misfortune occurred to -Señor Cary in Cartagena last night? The truth, Colonel Fajardo, or, as -God beholds me, I shall have to kill you.” - -He could not make himself believe that the game was up. He had twisted -out of many a tight corner. It was impossible for him to conceive of -being beaten by a woman. He would endeavor to cajole this one, to play -for time. Her nerves would presently break under the strain. He was -watching her like a cat. Let her waver for an instant and he would -pounce. He answered her questions in the earnest tones of a man who -lived on intimate terms with truth. - -“By the holy spirit of my dead mother, señorita, your words are like the -blank wall of the shed yonder. They mean nothing. You have deluded -yourself. Some malicious person in the ship must have led your mind -astray. I have made enemies. Why not? It is evidence of my integrity and -courage. What is this big second officer of the _Tarragona_ to me? I -have not even spoken to the man. He is a stranger.” - -Teresa’s hand moved slightly in the pocket of her apron. The little -bulge indicated that the orifice of the pistol was pointed somewhat -higher than the colonel’s belt. He perceived this. His two hands rested -upon his hips, outside the coat. They seemed to have been glued there. -His leathery cheek blanched to a dirty hue. He swallowed with an effort. -The cords stood out on his neck. - -Solemnly Teresa Fernandez framed her accusation in words: “You have -killed Señor Ricardo Cary. You yourself, Colonel Fajardo, or more likely -by the hands of others. If you are ready to confess it, I will permit -the Government of Cartagena to decree the punishment. It will be left to -the law and the courts. Do you confess?” - -“Confess to what, my little one?” he blurted, with a touch of the old -bravado. “Careful! You are in a strange frenzy, and that pistol may -explode before you know it.” - -“I will know it,” said Teresa, “and you will know it, Colonel Fajardo. I -am familiar with the little pistol. For the last time, are you a guilty -or an innocent man?” - -“As innocent as the Holy Ghost—” he protested, but his voice stuck in -his throat, for he read death in the girl’s unflinching glance. -Desperately he attempted to snatch at the holster on his hip, with one -swift motion to take her by surprise and slay her where she stood. It -was instinctive, like the leap of a trapped wolf. - -Teresa read his sinister purpose. If he was swift, she was the swifter. -She raised her hand from the pocket of her apron. It paused for a small -fraction of a second and almost touched a bit of red ribbon attached to -a medal on the left breast of Colonel Fajardo’s handsome white coat. He -stammered thickly: - -“Ah, wait—wretched slut of a woman—Jesus, have mercy—oh, oh, my -heart—may you roast in hell—” - -The report of Teresa’s pistol had been no louder than the crack of a -whip. One report, no more. When a bullet had drilled clean through a -man’s heart, it was unnecessary to fire again. - -Colonel Fajardo’s hands flew from his hips. They were beating the air. -His mouth was slack, like that of an idiot. He blinked as if immensely -bewildered. His chin fell forward. His body swayed tipsily. Teresa stood -waiting, her left hand clasped to her bosom. It was the end. She had -seen death come by violence to men on shipboard. - -The unforeseen occurred when Colonel Fajardo, swaying and sagging, -tottered backward and disappeared. He had been standing close to the -edge of the wharf. His fingers clawed the empty air as he plunged -downward, barely clearing the overhanging stern of the Colombian -schooner. - -Teresa laid hold of a piling and stared down at a patch of frothy water. -Small waves ran away from it in widening circles. They lapped against -the schooner’s rudder. Nothing else was visible. Presently, however, a -huge black fin, triangular, sheared the surface like a blade. Another -like it glistened and vanished. There was the sheen of white bellies as -the greedy sharks of Cartagena harbor swirled downward into the green -water. - -Teresa Fernandez averted her eyes. The body of Colonel Fajardo would -never be seen again. He was obliterated. She let the pistol fall through -a crack between the planks of the wharf. Then she walked to the side of -the cargo shed and leaned against a timber. She had pictured herself as -almost instantly discovered and seized, the body of Colonel Fajardo -lying upon the wharf. For this she had prepared herself. She had been -willing to pay the price. - -Now she realized that her deed was undiscovered. The isolation was -unbroken. The harsh commotion of the ship’s winches, the rattle of the -freight cars as the switching engine bumped them about, the yells of the -Colombian stevedores, had made the whip-like report of the pistol -inaudible. And the whole thing had been so quickly done. Perhaps two or -three minutes she had stood there and talked with Colonel Fajardo. - -A revulsion of feeling shook the soul of Teresa Fernandez. Why should -she suffer bitter shame and die in expiation of a righteous act? It was -no crime in her sight. She had administered justice because otherwise it -would have been forever thwarted. And, in the last resort, had she not -fired the little pistol in self-defense? These thoughts raced through -her brain during the moments while she leaned against the timber of the -cargo shed. - -She mustered strength. Her knees ceased trembling. A hint of color -returned to her olive cheek. Her lips were not so bloodless. Head erect, -she walked along the narrow strip of wharf, but not to pass around the -outer end of the shed. Instead of this, she sought the shoreward exit -through the high wooden barrier. The gate was fastened, she found, but -another way of escape led through an empty room in which baggage was -sometimes stored for examination. She passed through this room and -emerged on the railroad tracks. - -Between two freight cars she made her way and so to the custom-house -gate and the main entrance from the open square beyond. In a shady spot -squatted an Indian woman with beaded bags displayed on her lap. Another -drowsed beside a pile of grass baskets. Teresa paused to buy two beaded -bags and a basket. - -Just then a carriage dashed into the open square. A portly Colombian -gentleman and his wife called out cordial salutations to Señorita -Fernandez. A small boy fairly wriggled with joy as he flew out of the -carriage to fling both arms around the waist of the stewardess of the -_Tarragona_. - -She welcomed them gayly. They had made the southward voyage with her -several months earlier, _en route_ to their home in Bogotá. Teresa -walked back to the ship with them, the small boy clinging to her hand -and piping excitedly in Spanish. Would she show him again how to play -those wonderful games of cards? He had forgotten some of them. And the -story of the jaguar that sat on the roof of the peon’s hut and clawed a -hole through the thatch and tumbled right in? - -Yes, Teresa would tell him all the tales she could remember. There would -be plenty of time during the voyage to New York. In this manner the -stewardess returned to the ship, beaded bags and grass basket on one -arm, the happy urchin from Bogotá clinging to the other. The youthful -third officer was at the gangway. He halted her to say: - -“Nothing doing. Not a sign of Mr. Cary. The chief engineer drove into -town. He may dig up a clue, but I doubt it.” - -“Mr. McClement is a sharp one,” said she, “but the time is too short.” - -“Sure! It seems as if that chesty gink, Colonel Fajardo, might have -helped. He ought to be wise to what goes on in Cartagena.” - -“Ah, yes, it would seem so,” said Teresa as she stepped on board the -ship. She found the staterooms of the family from Bogotá and saw that -nothing was lacking for their comfort. Then she proceeded to her own -room, but not for long. She washed her hands, scrubbing them with -particular care. In a way, it was a symbol. Then she put on a fresh -apron. The one she had worn on the wharf was wrinkled. The pocket showed -a small stain of oil where the little pistol had nestled. - -A few minutes later she met the chief steward in the corridor. He -detained her to rumble: - -“You haf tooken my advice, Miss Fernandez, and laid off a leetle while? -Now go chase yourself on the job.” - -“All right, Mr. Schwartz. I will make myself pleasant to that cranky -woman in seventeen.” - -Teresa went and knocked at the stateroom door. A querulous voice said, -“Come in.” The woman curled up on the divan, under the electric fan, was -not much older than Teresa, but she looked faded and unlovely. Rouge and -lip-stick simulated a vanished bloom. An empty cocktail glass was at her -elbow. An ash tray reeked with dead cigarettes. - -“For God’s sake, Miss Fernandez, is the ship ever going to leave this -beastly hole?” she complained. “I’m dying with the heat and bored sick. -Rub some of that bay rum on my head. It feels as if the top would fly -off.” - -“Yes, madam. It will be cooler soon, when we get out of the harbor. -Cartagena is always hot in the middle of the day.” - -“Hot? You said something. And stupid! I didn’t mind the cruise until we -tied up to this dump. A fool doctor shoved me off on a sea voyage, and -my husband couldn’t leave his business. It was wished on me, all right.” - -“Cartagena is very beautiful, so many people think,” ventured Teresa. - -“Huh, they must be dead ones. Nothing has happened here in three hundred -years. I’ll bet you couldn’t wake it up with a ton of dynamite. How did -you ever stand living here? You seem to have some pep. Got it in little -old New York, I’ll bet.” - -“Perhaps, madam. New York is a live one.” - -“Right-o. That’s where you get action. No Rip Van Winkle stuff. You can -always start something. These Colombians? Dead on their feet—asleep at -the switch.” - -“I am a Colombian, madam,” smiled Teresa, an absent look in her eyes. -“Yes, nothing ever happens in Cartagena. It is stupid and asleep. Nobody -could start anything at all.” - -Deftly the stewardess ministered to the aching head of the woman in -seventeen, soothing her with a murmurous, agreeable flow of talk. The -steamer blew three long, strident blasts. Teresa excused herself and -hastened on deck. The _Tarragona_ was moving slowly away from the wharf. -Presently she swung to traverse the wide lagoon and so reach the open -sea through the narrow fairway of the Boca Chica. - -The swell of the Caribbean was cradling the steamer when Teresa -Fernandez found time to rest in the wicker chair beside the staircase. -She gazed into the dining-saloon. At a small table in a corner sat a -wireless operator and the assistant purser. Between them was an empty -chair. Teresa sighed and closed her eyes. She would move her wicker -chair to another place. She did not wish to see the second officer’s -empty chair. - -Late in the afternoon she met the chief engineer on deck. In spotless -white clothes he strolled with hands clasped behind him, alone as usual, -a lean, abstracted figure. He paused to stand at the rail beside the -stewardess. - -At first they found nothing to say. They were staring at the roseate, -misty city of Cartagena. It seemed to rise from the sea and float like a -mirage. The surf flashed white against the wall of enduring masonry that -marched around this ancient stronghold of the _conquistadores_. Teresa -Fernandez said in a low voice: - -“Do you understand what Mr. Cary meant when he talked about the -Cartagena of ages and ages ago, as if he had really been there? He is -dead, I know, but it seems to me that he must be alive, that he will -always be alive in Cartagena.” - -“It was a romantic obsession of his, Miss Fernandez. By the way, did you -say anything to Colonel Fajardo? I fancied you might have given him the -third degree, after the session in my room. I found out nothing when I -drove into town. It was a gesture, as you might say. I had to be doing -something.” - -“I asked him very straight, Mr. McClement,” replied Teresa, her eyes -meeting his. “He swore he had nothing to tell me.” - -“Humph! Then I’m afraid we can never find out.” - -McClement resumed his stroll. More than once he glanced at Teresa still -lingering at the rail and looking at distant Cartagena, now a vanishing -vision. The chief engineer shook his head. The expression of his -intelligent and reflective face was inscrutable. To himself he muttered: - - “But men at whiles are sober - And think by fits and starts, - And if they think, they fasten - Their hands upon their hearts.” - - - - - CHAPTER VIII - - - UPON THE CITY WALL - -The prison of Cartagena consisted of a long row of arched, tomb-like -apartments built against the inside of the city wall. Two centuries -earlier, this series of stone caverns had been the barracks of the -Spanish troops who had defended this treasure port against one furious -assault after another. Here was a prison likely to hold the most -desperate malefactor. Only an earthquake could have weakened such -masonry as this. - -Upon a cot in one of these gloomy rooms lay stretched the body of a -young man of heroic proportions. He was not a native. The fair skin and -yellow hair were alien to the coasts of the Caribbean. His hairy chest -was bare. Around it was bound a strip of cloth as a hasty bandage. His -head was half-swathed in other folds of cloth. It was perplexing to know -whether he was alive or dead. - -The door faced a small open yard in which was a rude shelter from the -sun, a shack knocked together of poles and boards. It had a covered -porch in which hammocks were slung. A Colombian soldier lolled in one of -them. Two others squatted on the floor and languidly shook a leather -dice-box. They were small, coffee-colored men wearing coarse straw hats -and uniforms of blue cotton drilling much faded. Their rifles leaned -against a plank table littered with dirty dishes and black with flies. - -The soldier in the hammock was a corporal. He aroused himself to scuffle -to an iron door and peer in at the silent figure upon the cot. It had -not moved. A waste of time to have washed and bandaged this murderous -prisoner. Now these poor soldiers would be put to the trouble of digging -a grave, and such a devil of a big grave! The two privates, Francisco -and Manuel, were shaking the dice to see who should wield the accursed -shovel. - -The corporal yawned and loafed back to the hammock to rest. The journey -of a few yards to the iron door had fatigued him. The trio chewed -sugar-cane and lazily discussed the huge _Americano_, a most uncommon -fish to be landed in their net. Alive and vigorous, he would be most -dangerous. It would be as much as a man’s life was worth to enter his -cell. Fortunately he had been hit on the head and stabbed in the back -when discovered in a street not far from the little plaza of the Church -of San Pedro Clavér. - -He had run amuck, _loco_ with rum, not much doubt of that. He had -attacked as many as five young men of Cartagena, a serenading party -innocently singing and playing the guitar. He had broken the necks of -two and smashed the shoulder of another. Like a flail he had swung an -iron bar actually plucked from a window with the strength of a giant and -the fury of a madman. - -By chance, the _Comandante_ of the Port, the famous Colonel Fajardo, -walking home from the Café Dos Hermanos, had discovered the body of the -_Americano_ and his victims, a sight to wonder at in that respectable -street of peaceful Cartagena. Colonel Fajardo had summoned the police. -They had decided to keep the matter hushed until they could investigate. -They had been annoyed to find a little life in him. Such a man was -better dead. He was unknown to the police. Perhaps a sailor from a ship -or one of those red-faced, hard-fisted Yankee foremen from the gold -mines of the Magdalena. - -It had been advisable to put him in the prison instead of the hospital. -Think what he had done! Tried to kill five young men because he disliked -the way they sang and played the guitar! - -Richard Cary was not quite so near burial as they took for granted. His -breath so faint that it would scarcely have fogged a mirror, he had -remained in the black realm of unconsciousness until now. The return to -life was blurred and glimmering, like a feeble light in this profound -darkness. It refused to be snuffed out. At first like a mere spark, to -his stupefied senses it seemed to become hotter and hotter until it -glowed like a coal, burning inside his head and torturing him. - -He did not try to move, but lay wondering why these fiery pains should -dart and flicker through his brain. He raised his leaden eyelids and -dimly, waveringly perceived the arched stone ceiling blotched with -dampness. It was like a dungeon. Were these merely things he had read of -in books that shocked and quickened the mysterious process of his -awakening? His groping mind was ablaze with illusions which seemed -intensely actual. Tenaciously he endeavored to banish them, but they -poignantly persisted. The sweat ran down his face. He groaned aloud. -Spasms of alarm shook him. - -Was this a dungeon of the Holy Office of the Inquisition? The cord was -already twisted around his temples. His head was almost bursting. The -stake and the fagot were waiting for him in the courtyard. Such had been -the cruel fate of many a stout seaman of Devon—burly James Bitfield -twice racked and enduring the water torment until death eased him—young -Bailey Vaughan slashed with two hundred stripes in the market-place and -enslaved in the galleys for seven years—gray-haired John Carelesse -dying of the _strappado_, the pulley that wrenched joint and sinew -asunder. - -The pains in his head were intolerable. The yellow-robed agents of the -Holy Office were twisting the cord tighter, to bite into his skull. By -God, they could never make him recant like a whining cur and a traitor -to his faith. The torture of the cord wasn’t enough for them. The fiends -were pressing the red-hot iron to his back, between the shoulder blades. - -It was the agony of these hallucinations that roused him out of his -coma, that held him from slipping back into the dark gulf. One hand -moved and clenched the frame of the cot. His eyes remained open and -wandered from the gray stone arch above his head. His chest rose and -fell in normal suspiration. Mistily he recognized himself as the Richard -Cary who was the second officer of the _Tarragona_. Cartagena in the -moonlight and Teresa Fernandez—a galleon’s bell that foretold disaster, -_dong, dong—dong, dong_—the twang and tinkle of a guitar, of an -ominous guitar. - -He had been knocked out? Well, it was a mighty hard head to break. Solid -above the ears, his young brother Bill had delicately hinted. The pain -was terrific, but this didn’t necessarily mean a crack in it. That head -had been banged before now. - -Stabbed in the back, besides! That was more serious. It ought to have -finished him. Such had been the bravo’s intention. But he had never -thrust a knife into a back as broad and deep as this, with such thick -ridges of muscles that overlaid it like armor. Also, in the flurry of -haste, he may have driven the blade aslant. - -Anxiously Richard Cary drew in his breath and expelled it. He concluded -that his lungs were undamaged. That his heart was still beating proved -that the knife had missed a vital part. A deep flesh wound and muscles -that throbbed and burned! So much for that. - -He was alive and not mortally hurt. He felt hazily thankful. This stone -kennel was too much like a prison cell to be anything else. A rotten -deal, to throw a man in jail after failing to kill him. This seemed like -the fine hand of Colonel Fajardo. It was one way to finish the job. His -five bravos had made a mess of it. - -His disordered mind fitfully clearing, Richard Cary became aware of the -one thing of supreme importance. His ship was to sail at noon. He -fumbled in the pockets of his torn trousers. His watch and money were -gone. What hour of the day was it now? He rolled his head and blinked at -the little window set in the iron door. The sunlight blazed like a -furnace in the yard outside. It was the breathless heat and brightness -that smote the city near the middle of the day. Perhaps it was not yet -noon. - -His first voyage in the _Tarragona_ and logged as a deserter? An officer -who had earned promotion on his merits in the hard schooling of the -North Atlantic trade? It was an imperative obligation to return to the -ship. Had Captain Sterry made an effort to find him? Perhaps not. Good -riddance might be his feeling in the matter. An official word from the -Union Fruit Company would have set powerful influences at work in -Cartagena. Political connections safeguarded its vast commercial -interests on the Colombian coast. The inference was that Captain Sterry -had been willing to let his too candid second mate go adrift. - -The hope of getting back to the ship was another delusion. This the -battered man on the cot presently realized. He was buried alive in this -stone vault of a prison and lacked strength even to lift his head. Tears -of weakness filled his eyes. He felt profound pity for himself. He was a -forlorn derelict on a lee shore. - -Soon, however, the sweat dried on his face. His skin grew dry and hot. -His heart was beating faster. The burning sensation in his head was -diffusing itself through his body. The air of the room was more stifling -than ever. It was like a furnace. Strange, but he felt less inert, not -so helpless to move. He was dizzy, light-headed, but this was preferable -to the incessant waves of pain. He did not know that fever was taking -hold of him. He mistook it for a resurgence of his tremendous vitality, -evidence that he could pull himself together and break the bonds of his -weakness. - -He lay motionless, waiting, trying to think coherently, while the fever -raced through his veins. He seemed to be floating off into space. The -sensations were agreeable. No longer sorry for himself, he was unafraid -of any odds. Keep him in a Cartagena jail? Nonsense. All he had to do -was to use his wits. He laughed to himself, but he was careful to lock -his lips. Not a sound escaped him. He was wary and cunning. - -The Colombian corporal of the guard decided to pry himself from the -hammock and ascertain whether the big _Americano_ was dead by this time. -Instead of peering through the window, the corporal thought best to make -a closer investigation. He was impatient with this prisoner who had -stubbornly refused to become a corpse. A clumsy iron key squeaked in the -rusty lock of the door. The corporal walked in and stooped over the cot. - -Yes, the _Americano_ had about finished with the business of living. A -hand held over his mouth detected no breath at all. The corporal was -about to shift his hand to the naked chest to discover if the heart had -ceased to beat. - -Two mighty arms flew up. One of them wrapped itself around the -corporal’s neck and pulled him down. Fingers like steel hooks squeezed -his throat. He gurgled. He was pop-eyed. His grass sandals were kicking -the stone floor. It was a small, scratching noise unheard on the porch -of the shack where the two privates drowsed and rolled cigarettes. - -The corporal’s toes ceased their rustling agitation. His lank body was -as limp as an empty sack. It slid gently from the side of the cot. It -sprawled so still that a green lizard ran over one twisted leg and -paused close by to swell its ruby throat. The hour of the siesta -appeared to have overtaken this luckless corporal somewhat earlier than -usual. - -His absence would cause comment. Richard Cary upheaved himself from the -cot and almost toppled over. He struggled to keep his feet. Drunk with -fever, he began to walk with a giddy, erratic motion in the direction of -the door. He succeeded in reaching it. Grasping the timbered framework, -he stood there half-blinded by the dazzle of the sun. The two Colombian -soldiers looked up and saw him. - -Body and blood of San Felipe! What an apparition! A man raised from the -dead and such a man! What had befallen the corporal? It was easy to -guess that. For the moment these two affrighted soldiers were incapable -of motion. The love of life, however, pricked them to scramble for their -rifles. Already the fearful specter of the _Americano_ was lurching from -the doorway, across the yard, straight at them. - -With chattering teeth, Private Francisco dived to clutch a rifle. -Private Manuel tripped and rammed into him. They clawed each other, with -bitter words. The sturdier Francisco was first to lay hands on a rifle. -He pulled trigger. Nothing but a foolish click. It was the corporal’s -rifle, unloaded because he had intended cleaning it _mañana_. Francisco -flung the useless thing aside. He could run faster without it. - -The _Americano_ picked up the discarded rifle and wheeled in pursuit of -him. For a dead man, this yellow-haired ogre could be as quick as a -tiger. As if the rifle were no heavier than a pebble, he hurled it, butt -foremost, at the fleeing Francisco. It struck him on the hip. He turned -a somersault. So fast was he running that his heels flipped over his -head. When he fell, the dust whirled like brown smoke. He tried to crawl -away on hands and knees. - -The _Americano_ turned to find the other soldier. He was on the porch, -about to fire his rifle. The barrel waved like a leaf in a gale. Here -was enough to disturb the bravest soldier. The first bullet went singing -off into the blue sky. Before Manuel could shoot again, something like a -house fell upon him and flattened him out. His head whacked a plank. A -fist drove his jaw askew. He was instantly as peaceful as the corporal -who slumbered with a green lizard for a comrade. - -The disabled Francisco had not crawled far on hands and knees. Richard -Cary tottered after him and dragged him to the timbered doorway of the -vaulted cell. A thrust of the foot and Francisco rolled inside like a -bale. It was better to stay there, he thought, than to try to run away -again. And now Manuel was dumped in on top of him. The iron door closed -and the key squeaked in the rusty lock. Richard Cary tossed the key over -the roof of the shack. - -Thus far he had behaved with normal promptitude and efficiency. Now he -reeled to the bench on the porch and fought against utter collapse. His -head spun like a top as he groped for a coffee pot on the table and -drained the black brew to the dregs. It seemed to steady his quivering -nerves, to clear the mists of fever from his brain. He would go and -search for his ship until he dropped in his tracks. - -One of the discarded rifles caught his eye, but he found it too heavy to -carry. A machete hung from a peg in the wall. It was a handy weapon, -with a straight blade. With it he slashed strips from the hammock and -tied them around his bare feet. There was a grain of method in his -madness. - -The machete in his hand, he moved out into the yard and gazed up at the -city wall. Here and there were easy ascents, he knew, built for the -passage of troops and vehicles. One of these sloping roadways ought to -be somewhere near the prison which had once been the barracks of the -Spanish garrison. From the lofty parapets he should be able to see the -harbor and the wharf where the _Tarragona_ berthed. Then he could -perhaps make his way thither before an alarm was raised. If they tried -to stop him, he would hack a path with the machete. - -Rocking on his feet and muttering aloud, he walked out of the yard and -turned at random. Unseen, he passed into a paved alley and saw in front -of him a wide ramp leading to the top of the wall. Fortune had not -deserted him. Very slowly he climbed the rutted, crumbling slope, -panting for breath, his face a bright crimson, his knees crippling under -him. He could not finish the ascent, and yet he did. He was broken in -body, but his will urged him on. - -Gaining the broad esplanade he made for the nearest parapet. It was at -the corner of a bastion where stood a small, round sentry tower. With -arms outspread he clung to this support while his swimming gaze raked -the harbor. It was not yet noon, for the white hull and the yellow -funnel of the _Tarragona_ glistened alongside the cargo sheds. The -distance was not far. Through a gateway in the wall he might reach the -beach and so leave the city behind him. Unless his strength should -utterly forsake him, a merciful deliverance was beckoning. - -He found it much easier, however, to cling to the small round sentry -tower than to resume his pitiable pilgrimage. He tried it once, twice, -and stumbled drunkenly. But he was not beaten—he could not be—while -the blessed sight of the _Tarragona_ compelled him. He tried again and -advanced toward a square, grim mass of stone that marked the nearest -gateway. - -Then he heard three blasts blown on a steamer’s whistle, deep-throated -and prolonged. He knew the _Tarragona’s_ voice and what this signal -meant. It was her courteous adieu to Cartagena. She was outward bound, -through the Boca Chica and to the rolling spaces of the Caribbean. -Richard Cary dragged himself to the parapet and stood looking at his -ship, but only for a moment. Then he buried his face in his arms. Sobs -shook him. It was the cruelest joke that ever a man had played on him. -He damned Captain Sterry for a dirty hound that would leave his second -mate in a fix like this. - -Ashamed of crying like a silly woman, he retraced his steps to the -sentry tower. It was shady inside, with deep slits of windows. He did -not wish to see the _Tarragona_ move away from the wharf. He slid to the -floor and sat propped against the wall, his chin against his breast. His -ruling impulse had kept delirium under for a little while. Now he became -a prey to all manner of curious thoughts. Dominant was the resolve that -they should not take him alive. He whetted the edge of the machete on a -rough stone, and tested the balance of it and the grip of the hilt. He -would give a good account of himself on the wall of Cartagena. - - - - - CHAPTER IX - - - THE GOOD HERMIT OF LA POPA - -The cloth bound round his tousled head, the torn shirt that bared his -chest, the pongee trousers soiled with sweat and dust, the strips of -canvas wrapped about his feet, made this wounded fugitive the image of a -buccaneer as he sat waiting in the round watch-tower with the machete -across his knees. It was not long before the temper of savage defiance -yielded to exhaustion. Oblivion enfolded his senses and he relaxed in a -stupor that was a counterfeit of sleep. The scowling visage took on the -gentler aspect, boyish and engaging, that was familiar to his shipmates. -It was an interlude. - -He did not stir when the stone barracks inside the city wall were -agitated by some loud excitement. There was confused shouting, orders -bandied to and fro, the shrill _alerte_ of a bugle, squads of soldiers -pattering at the double-quick. All this indicated that the hapless -privates, Francisco and Manuel, had found an audience. - -The hue-and-cry passed by the broad ramp that led to the top of the -wall. It was perhaps assumed that the mad _Americano_ would spread havoc -in the city streets or break for the harbor to hide in some boat and -escape by sea. It was the first duty of the soldiers to protect the -people of Cartagena. Therefore they scattered to warn and search, ready -to shoot on sight. - -Meanwhile the hunted man’s respite was unbroken. When, at length, he -lifted his head and hastily caught up the machete to resume his sullen -vigil, the prison area had resumed its wonted quietude. There were no -sounds to suggest an alarm. The sun had passed the meridian by an hour -or so, as Richard Cary discovered through a slitted window. He was -surprised that his hiding-place had not been discovered. He could hope -for no such good fortune as concealing himself in the watch-tower until -nightfall. And how would that aid him? He was trapped. Death clamored -for him in the city. It was certain to overtake him in the swamps and -jungle if he should succeed in stealing away. The sea was also -impossible. He could never reach it. - -The effort of rising to his feet left him all spent and trembling. He -could not have walked a score of yards in the deadly heat of the sun. -The muscles of his back were so stiffened and inflamed that he was bent -like an old man knotted with rheumatism. His head was even more -troublesome. After the lull, it was aflame again. One moment he was able -to think, the next he was lost in a welter of phantasms. He closed his -eyes because the light hurt them. He would hear the Colombian soldiers -when they came near the watch-tower. - -A little while, however, and the aching brightness of the sky was -tempered by clouds that gathered swiftly. They grew black as they rolled -toward the zenith, with a flickering play of lightning. The distant -mutter of thunder swelled in rolling detonations. At first the rain came -in a flurry of drops. Richard Cary mistook the sound for the pit-pat-pat -of the hurrying feet of Colombian soldiers. With a groan he lurched out -of the watch-tower to finish the thing in the open. - -The tropical rain came down like a flood, as though the clouds spilled a -solid deluge of water. A whistling squall swept it in sheets. Between -the parapets was a gushing river which spouted through the embrasures -and rushed down the ramp. It was a torrential downpour unknown to -northern climes. - -To Richard Cary it was the saving grace of heaven. It beat against him, -cooling his parched skin, refreshing him like an elixir. It quenched the -fires that had so grievously tormented him. He felt the strength revive -in his weary body. He forgot the stiffness, the hurts, the hopelessness -of a man in the last ditch. He scooped up the rain in his cupped hand -and lapped it like a dog. - -The blessed rain did more than this. It offered a chance of extricating -himself from the immediate perils besetting him. The squall drove the -rain in sheets, obscuring the buildings of the city, veiling the harbor. -He gripped the machete blade between his teeth and threw a leg over the -outer parapet. It was a thirty-foot drop to the bottom, which was a -shallow depression where the moat had been. The stones had been -cunningly cut and fitted to build a wall with a smooth facing, but the -tooth of time had gnawed deep crevices in which grass had taken root. - -Richard Cary’s fingers found rough corners to cling to, and lodgment for -his toes. Cautiously groping, he let himself down from one stone to -another. It was not a vastly difficult feat, easier than those other -Devon seamen of long ago had found it to scale these same walls with -ladders. When giddiness halted him, he fastened himself to the stones -like a great bat and waited for the spell to pass. - -Finally he let go and dropped to the ground. It had been a wrenching -ordeal, but when the pain was unendurable he had the machete to bite on. -The space outside the wall, which was a populous open-air market and -resort for idlers, had been suddenly deserted. The terrific rain had -driven every last soul to shelter. The fugitive made a limping détour to -reach a strip of beach beyond the quay. Fishermen with their baskets, -the vendors of green stuffs, the carts and the burros, had scampered to -find dry places. - -It was a homing instinct, this endeavor to escape to salt water. There -was no plan. In fact there was no clear expectation of getting anywhere. -It was enough, for the moment, to be outside the walls of Cartagena. Far -better risk drowning than be riddled with bullets by the comrades of -Francisco and Manuel. - -Between the driving sheets of rain he caught glimpses of the yellow -beach. Two or three dugout canoes were drawn up. One of them had a -lading of green bananas. The fugitive plodded toward them and no man -came to hinder him. The rain was all about him like a misty curtain. He -stumbled in the soft sand above high-water mark and fell against the -gunwale of an empty canoe. It was a small craft, but heavy. To push it -into the water seemed a task altogether beyond him. However, he set his -shoulder against the blunt bow and dug his feet into the sand. - -Gashed and harried and fevered, it was the inherited bulldog strain in -“Big Dick” Cary that sufficed for this final struggle on the sands of -Cartagena. The canoe moved, an inch at a time, to the harder surface of -the tide-washed beach. Then it slid faster until the surf kicked up by -the squall was splashing against it. The stern floated. - -Cary stood up and looked out at the foaming, rain-swept lagoon. He could -not drive the canoe ahead against the wind, but he remembered a wooded -point not far away and a lee beyond it. This he might fetch on a -slanting course with the ebbing tide to help. - -A last dogged thrust and the canoe floated in the surf. He tumbled over -the side and fell face downward in the tepid rainwater that washed over -the bottom boards. Righting himself, he caught up a short paddle and -swung the bow away from the beach. He crouched amidships and did little -more than steer, with a few strokes now and then to hold the course and -avoid drifting broadside on. These motions were done mechanically, like -an automaton. The canoe safely skirted the shore where it curved an arm -out into the lagoon. Behind it was calmer water, a rippling surface on -which the canoe floated lazily. - -The paddle was idle. The fugitive sat with folded arms, indifferent to -the whims of destiny. The tide pulled at the sluggish canoe and it -slowly moved abreast of the shore. The rain ceased as suddenly as it had -flooded down. The clouds broke and dissolved in ragged fragments until -the sky was an inverted bowl of flawless blue. The sun poured its -breathless radiance upon a lush landscape that steamed as it dried. - -To Richard Cary this was an affliction. An hour of sun would be the -finishing stroke. He had not even a straw hat to shield his head. It -didn’t very much matter what happened to him. He was beyond caring, but -it was peculiarly unpleasant to be grilled alive. He made shift to steer -the canoe inshore until it grounded. Just beyond the belt of marsh he -saw a densely verdured knoll marked by one tall palm. He filled the -baling can with the rainwater in the canoe and carried it with him. The -machete served to chop a few bushes and so make room for him to crawl -into the thicket and lie down. - -In spite of the heat a fit of shivering seized him, the chill that -presaged a recurrence of fever. Mosquitoes swarmed to plague him. The -afternoon waned and he had not moved from this lair in the thicket. Not -until sunset did he go crashing through the brushwood and hold fast to -the palm tree while he stupidly glared this way and that, imagining -ambushed foes. - -Behind this bit of low land was a hill that soared abruptly to a height -of several hundred feet. Its crest was stark and rugged, with a sheer -cliff that dropped toward the sea. It stood alone, this bold and -frowning hill, and was a famous landmark from many miles offshore. La -Popa, mariners had always called it because of the resemblance to the -castellated poop of a galleon. What made it even more prominent was the -massive convent whose walls were like a fortress, a structure which, at -a distance, looked as if it had never been despoiled and forsaken. Both -Drake and De Pontis the Frenchman had held it for ransom. - -It had become a mere shell, a noble relic of the religious zeal of -another age. At one end nestled the chapel and this had been preserved, -still used for the infrequent advocation to Our Lady of La Popa by -priests and pious pilgrims of Cartagena. From the city a rough path led -up the sloping ridge of the hill, a path trodden by many generations of -nuns and worshipers. - -La Popa! The huge white convent looming on the summit of the cliff! A -place for a man to hide and scan the Caribbean for sight of a ship. -There Drake had posted his sentries to guard against surprise by -galleons coming from the north or south. A long, hard climb up the hill, -through the jungle at the base, and then a circuit to get clear of the -cliff where the defenders had rolled rocks down upon the heads of -certain English seamen. It might be done, however, if a man could find -the path. A full moon rising early and the convent gleaming above to set -his bearings by! - -Soon after dawn of the following morning, the caretaker of the Chapel of -Our Lady of La Popa came pottering out of a hut built in a corner of the -roofless convent. His errand was to tether his two goats on the herbage -of the slope. He was a spare man, lame in one leg and feeling the burden -of years. Having lived much by himself in this lonely retreat, he had -formed the habit of talking to himself in the unkempt gray beard. By way -of variety he often talked to the goats whom he fondly addressed by -name. - -Having tethered them while the air was still cool, this kindly Palacio -untied a rusty tin cup from his belt and milked Mercedes who was a -docile animal. The cup of warm milk and a _tortilla_ of coarse meal was -a breakfast that sufficed him. While munching the sooty _tortilla_ he -gazed about him from under shaggy brows and, as always at this time of -day, admired the roseate splendor of Cartagena and its everlasting -walls. There was nothing in all the world to compare with it, reflected -this elderly recluse. The browsing Mercedes waggled her tufted chin in -agreement. - -Presently Palacio picked up his cane and wandered along the slope to -inspect his garden patch of beans and peppers. It was a continual -skirmish to save the beans from the forays of the other goat, Lolita, -who was a young creature of feminine caprices and often possessed of a -devil. Palacio’s rebukes, even the threat of making goat’s-meat of her, -left Lolita’s heart untouched. - -In the grass beside the garden patch, Palacio was startled to perceive a -large object which had not been there before. Cautiously he backed away -and leaned on his stick while he scrutinized the phenomenon. It was a -man asleep or dead, a man of prodigious bulk and brawn whose clothing -was no more than dirty tatters. His skin was criss-crossed with -scratches and smeared with dried blood. A stranger to Palacio, and a man -so strange to this part of the world that he might have dropped from the -skies! - -Timidly the caretaker approached the body in the grass and knelt to -touch its cheek. The flesh was warm, even hot and angry. Gaining -courage, he tugged at the man and rolled him over to discover any -serious injuries. He found a knife wound in the back and a lump on the -head as big as a tangerine. If the man had climbed the hill of La Popa, -it was a miracle. Where had he come from? It was the divine influence of -Our Lady, whose shrine was in the chapel, that he should be found alive -in this place. - -“What a thing to stumble on when I lead my goats out in the morning!” -said Palacio, both hands in his beard. “Never has a wonder like this -happened to me. I am at the end of my poor wits. If I go down to -Cartagena to find a doctor, it is slow walking for me with my lame leg -on the rough path—and this enormous man may die in the grass. Soon the -sun will be too hot to leave him without a roof over his head.” - -In his agitation Palacio limped to and fro. Could he roll this man over -and over like a sack of coffee, as far as the threshold of the convent? -Then perhaps he might drag him into the hut. It could do him no more -damage. As it was, he looked as if he had fallen off the cliff. In spite -of his lameness, Palacio was tough and sinewy. When in his prime he had -been a laborer on the quay, carrying heavy freight on his back. - -The goats had cropped the grass until it was a green sward. Palacio -grunted and began to roll the man like a cask. A groan dismayed him. -This would not do. It was more merciful to try to drag the body a little -way at a time, like a burro hitched to an ox-cart. Nobly Palacio hauled -and panted until he had progressed as far as the stake that tethered -Mercedes. She trotted over to nuzzle him. It was an expression of -sympathy. He felt much encouraged. Lolita, the jade, was waiting to rear -on her hind legs and butt her master behind the knees. - -“Horned offspring of perdition,” he told her, “do not add to my -troubles. Poor Palacio is almost breaking himself in two for the sake of -love and charity. Butt me again and the dust shall fly from your -speckled hide.” - -A back-breaking task it was, but Palacio managed to drag his burden to -the hole in the convent wall where a door had been. A bed of straw and a -blanket on the floor of his hut was all the comfort he could contrive -for the unbidden guest. So fatigued that his legs were like two sticks, -the anxious Palacio mixed a little warm goat’s-milk and rum in the tin -cup and forced it between the man’s lips. It seemed to trickle down his -throat. Then he dosed him with a bitter draught from a bottle, a -tincture of quinine and herbs which had assuaged his own spells of -fever. - -With a singular deftness, Palacio washed the patient and tore up a clean -shirt to bandage him. That wound in the back was alarming, so livid and -inflamed, but it might heal if kept cleansed and dressed. - -“A man like this is very hard to kill,” he said aloud. “To look at him -you would say he had already suffered several deaths. The air is cool -and healthy up here on La Popa, and there is the sweet presence of Our -Lady. I will light a candle at her shrine and a fresh one as soon as -that is burned down, poor man though I am. The life of this enormous -stranger with the hair like gold belongs to me. It is a gift of God.” - -It was a battered, useless gift, the wreckage of Richard Cary. Hard to -kill, though, as Palacio had concluded. In his favor were youth, -extraordinary vitality, and clean blood untainted by dissipation. -Illness was unknown to him. Through two long days and nights the devoted -Palacio watched and nursed him, nodding off at intervals. That bitter -brew in the bottle was holding the fever in check, and the diet of -goat’s-milk and onion broth was efficacious. - -The patient babbled while delirious. Palacio understood almost nothing -of what he said, but one inference was beyond doubt. The sick man’s -voice, the message of his eyes, the restless movements of his hands were -easily interpreted. He was afraid of discovery. Enemies were in pursuit -of him. It was an issue of life and death. Palacio referred the problem -to the responsive Mercedes while milking her. - -“What is to be done, little comfort of mine? This man is innocent of -crime. You have seen him for yourself. He has won my trust and -affection, and he is my guest. Not many visitors come to La Popa from -the city. It is an old story to them. But the American tourists from the -fruit boats will come early some morning to see the convent. The men -will sit on the rocks and say, ‘_Zowie! damn-fine-view_,’ and the women -will poke their noses everywhere. Our guest will make curiosity and be -chattered about in Cartagena and down at the ships. He wishes to be -hidden away until his health is restored. What do you advise, most -intelligent of little goats?” - -The most intelligent Mercedes tossed her head and ambled in the -direction of the convent wall, as far as her tether permitted. Then she -pawed the grass with a sharp hoof. Palacio eyed her gravely. She was -trying to assist him. He pondered the matter, twisting his beard tight. -Blockhead that he was! To have to be instructed by a goat! She was -showing him what to do. He hurried into the hut for a lantern. Into the -convent cellar he clambered and then crept into an opening where the -stones had been dislodged. - -It was the entrance of the ancient tunnel which was said to have led to -the foot of the hill and so beneath the walls of Cartagena as a secret -passage to be used in time of siege. Such was the tradition. It was -possible, however, to explore only a short distance from La Popa because -rocks and dirt had filled the tunnel. - -“Two or three days more,” said Palacio, “and I can move my guest into -this chamber where only God himself will find him. Visitors can be told -that the tunnel has caved in since the last heavy rain.” - -This was partly the truth. A hole had appeared in the gullied surface of -the hill, but it was a dozen yards away from the convent wall and hidden -by a clump of small trees. It let the light into the tunnel, and the air -drew through it by day and night. Palacio courteously thanked Mercedes -for stamping her hoof directly over the underground passage. She had -handsomely solved the problem. - -He spared no pains to make the secret chamber habitable for his guest. -In the chapel was found a disused table and a carved oak chair big -enough to hold an archbishop. There was also a strip of carpet and two -brass candlesticks. Palacio fashioned a bed of limber poles bound with -rawhide thongs, and stretched a piece of old canvas across the frame. - -During the labor of love, what of Richard Cary? The stormy stress of -mind and body was past. The whirling tumult of emotions, the repeated -shocks of perils and escapes, were no more tangible than dreams. Indeed, -they seemed to belong with his dreams of the Cartagena of the galleons -and the _conquistadores_. He was in a haven of lucid tranquillity, -unvexed by the past, with no thought of the future. Physical weakness -constrained him, but Nature was eager to heal and restore, and he felt -no great discomfort. It was a state of apathy that brought the anodyne -of contentment. - -It amused him to listen to the droning monologues of Palacio as he -pottered about the hut. They exchanged a few phrases in English and -Spanish and became amazingly well acquainted thereby. Between them was -the fondness of a father and son. The goats walked in to pay their -respects, Mercedes the well-mannered lady at a bedside, Lolita rudely -foraging for provender and chewing stray garments until Palacio thumped -her with a broken stool. - -It was a memorable moment when the guest was helped to lift himself from -the pallet of straw. He swayed against the straining Palacio, their arms -across each other’s shoulders. In this manner they staggered into the -cellar by arduous stages and thence to the chamber inside the tunnel -entrance. The guest expected his weight to crush the spare Palacio, but -it was do or die. The achievement made them hilarious. Palacio uncorked -a treasured bottle of red wine. Later he knelt at the shrine of Nuestra -Señora de La Popa and humbly offered thanks for the recovery of his dear -friend and guest. - -In the underground room the hours passed without impatience. Light -filtered through the gullied opening in the roof. The air was never -sultry. A roving armadillo tumbled through the hole and consented to -stay a while, lured by bits of food. It curled up in its scaly armor and -slept under a bench. Its serene attitude toward life was worthy of -imitation. - -“But I can’t stay here curled up in _my_ shell,” said Señor Cary to the -placid armadillo. “For one thing, I am imposing on Palacio’s good nature -with no way of repaying him. And the old codger is pretty well worn out. -As soon as my legs will hold me up, I must work out some plan of -campaign or other. But why fret about it now? _Mañana!_” - -With a steady mind he returned to the situation day after day. To try to -smuggle himself aboard a Fruit Company’s steamer was one possibility. It -was thrashed out and dismissed. Ignorant that Colonel Fajardo had ceased -to be the _Comandante_ of the Port or anything else, he pictured him as -venomously vigilant to watch and search every vessel leaving Cartagena. -Without friends or money it was out of the question to try to reach some -other port by land. The delta of the Magdalena was one vast wilderness -of swamp and water-courses. - -He was still ensnared, but no longer a frenzied fugitive without a -refuge, and he possessed the unquenchable optimism of a strong and -competent young man. - -Very often his thoughts dwelt with Teresa Fernandez. Her kisses were -dearly remembered, her voice echoed in his heart, and the gay fortitude -with which she met the buffets of life appealed to his chivalry. She was -a woman worth loving forever and a day. - -A fortnight more, and the _Tarragona_ would be steaming across the -Caribbean, on another southern voyage, to pick up her landfall for -Cartagena, sighting the abrupt and lofty hill of La Popa from many miles -at sea. Now that his strength was flowing back, Richard Cary could not -remain buried like a mole. Inaction would soon become both irksome and -cowardly. One thing was certain. He swore to find Teresa Fernandez, -returning in the _Tarragona_, and to hold her in his arms. - -There was only one hope of attaining this desire, of making the resolve -more than an empty boast. Teresa’s uncle, that “funny old guy” Señor -Ramon Bazán, had shown a liking for him during that brief visit in the -moonlit _patio_. “A delicious hit,” Teresa had called it. This might -mean nothing at all. A man in his dotage, tricky and whimsical, had been -the impression left by the shriveled uncle with the little brown monkey -perched upon his shoulder. - -What his relations might be with the officials of Cartagena was -impossible to surmise. He had been a person of consequence in earlier -years, a figure in the political affairs of Colombia. This much Teresa -had conveyed in the remark that he had once been sent to Washington by -the Government at Bogotá. Would he feel inclined to protect an American -refugee whom the authorities were hunting like a dangerous animal? What -of the obligations of the hospitality which he had so warmly proffered? -A rope of sand, as likely as not. Spanish courtesy in its finest flower -had been displayed by the lowly Palacio, but with Señor Ramon Bazán it -was a very different situation. Doubtless he knew what Richard Cary had -done and why he was branded as a criminal condemned to execution. - -Ah, well, what else was life than a gamble on the turn of a card? A -proper man ought not to hesitate whenever the stake was worth the -hazard. Teresa Fernandez would risk as much for him, of this Richard -Cary felt convinced. She was that kind of a woman. Win or lose, he would -try to meet her in the house of Uncle Ramon Bazán while the _Tarragona_ -was in port. - -There was only one way to put the hazard to the touch. This was to send -Palacio into Cartagena with a note to the bizarre old gentleman. It -meant revealing the hiding-place on the hill of La Popa and inviting -capture. The message would have to be an appeal to find some ingenious -plan of smuggling the fugitive through the city streets. He was not yet -strong enough even to walk down the rocky path to the foot of the hill. - -“A rotten poor bet,” said the guest of the good Palacio, “but show me -another one. And if I can get into Cartagena, I can get out again. By -God, I’m going to kiss my girl.” - - - - - CHAPTER X - - - THE GREAT YELLOW TIGER - -Sending a message to Señor Bazán was easier said than done. Pen and -paper were not essential to the simple life of Palacio for the excellent -reason that he had never learned to read or write. The hut was rummaged -in vain. Much perturbed, Palacio limped into the chapel and returned -with a tattered missal. Heaven knows how long this illuminated -black-letter volume had reposed in a dusty niche of the pulpit. -Sacrilege it might be to tear out a broad-margined leaf, but Palacio -promised himself to do penance. With a sharp bit of charcoal the -derelict mariner wrote on the margin: - - MY DEAR SEÑOR BAZÁN: - - I am disabled and in serious trouble. If you feel like lending a - hand, you will have to send somebody to get me down the hill of - La Popa, and safely to your house. The Señorita Teresa Fernandez - told me how to say _ver las orejas del lobo_. “To see the ears - of the wolf” means to be in great danger, I take it. This seems - to fit the case of - - Yours sincerely - RICHARD CARY - -Anxiously Palacio looked on and furiously rumpled his gray beard. He did -not approve. To hear the name of old Ramon Bazán was enough. Some -unpleasant gossip or other had lingered in his simple mind. He had not -always been the hermit of La Popa. Timidly at first and then in a -scolding humor he objected to the procedure. The beloved guest was safe, -as things were, and rapidly regaining health and vigor. Leave it to -Palacio to safeguard him against his enemies and, in due time, to devise -some means of flight. It might be up the great river and across the -mountains to the other ocean, such a journey as Palacio had made in his -own youth. - -Gently but stubbornly the guest persuaded his benefactor to undertake -the mission. Consent was hard wrung, but in the last resort Palacio -could not deny any wish of the mighty, fair-haired Ricardo, the apple of -his eye. It was toward the middle of the afternoon when the reluctant -messenger took his staff and said farewell. - -“God willing,” he called back. “God willing,” he was repeating to -himself as he trudged past the garden patch, “_Como Dios es servido, ó -si Dios es servido—ó siendo Dios servido._” - -Shortly after the departure, Richard Cary concluded to essay walking out -of his tunneled chamber, as far as a gap in the convent wall. It was -necessary to know whether he was capable of this much effort. Very -carefully he guided his uncertain steps across the cellar, like a child -learning to walk. It seemed ridiculous. A touch would have pushed him -over. His brawn had been so much fuel for the fever to feed upon. - -Elated by the venture he sat down to rest on a broad stone slab from -which he could see the slope of the hill toward Cartagena, and the sea -flashing beyond the barrier of the Boca Grande. It filled him with a -sense of buoyancy and freedom, with emotions too deep for words. -Circumstances still shackled him, but once more he beheld wide horizons -and felt the freshening trade wind brush his cheek, the wind that had -blown so many stout ships across the Caribbean. - -He was alive again, eager to follow wherever fickle fortune might -beckon. If the odds should veer in his favor, would he want to go back -to the monotonous trade of seafaring in a merchant steamer out of New -York? It seemed incongruous, a world away. The Spanish Main had been -cruel to him, but he had ceased to feel resentment. It had been a game -of give-and-take. His was the winning score. The next turn of events was -worth waiting for. Heads or tails? - -The peaked straw hat of Palacio had long since bobbed down the hill and -across the causeway to a gateway of the city wall. Gradually the violet -shadows crept over the sward beside the melancholy pile of the convent. -The goats raised their voices to notify the lonely watcher that -something was wrong. It was time for them to trot in to shelter. - -It was time also for Richard Cary to seek his own retreat before the -dusk should make him stumble in the débris of the cellar. He was most -loath to leave the open sky and the westering glow and the communion of -the salt breeze. Laboriously he made his way to the darkened refuge in -the earth and lighted a candle. The complaisant armadillo had sauntered -off on some twilight errand of its own. Silly, but the solitary man -wished he had the armadillo to talk to. Again immured, his spirits were -overcast. - -Out of doors, he had regained his large and placid indifference to -whatever might impend. Now his nerves were tautening. The answer of -Señor Ramon Bazán might be a file of Colombian soldiers hurrying up the -hill. With a shrug, he thrust such fears aside. Win or lose, he must -play his hand out. No more of that crazed torment which had bitten into -his brain while he had crouched in the round watch-tower, whetting the -machete on a rough stone. - -Once while he had stood with Teresa Fernandez at the rail of the -_Tarragona_, she had hummed a verse or two of a song called the Breton -Sailor’s Litany, remembered from a voyage to Brest in her girlhood. He -had learned it as well as he could, for the pleasure of hearing her -murmur the words over and over again. - - “Dieu puissant, notre père, - Qui commandez aux flots, - Écoutez la prière - Des pauvres matelots.” - -It came back to him now, with the translation she had also taught him to -say. He found peace and comfort in it, as if Teresa herself were bidding -him to hold fast to his courage: - - “God all powerful, our Father, - Thou Who commandest the sea, - Listen to the prayer - Of the poor mariners.” - -The first significant sound to catch his listening ear was the excited -bleating of the goats tethered almost over his head. Nothing else than -the return of Palacio could make them so suddenly vocal. A delay while -he found his lantern, and the weary messenger came stumbling through the -cellar, shouting to ask if Ricardo was alive and well. It was hard to -find out what news he brought. There was no word in writing from Señor -Ramon Bazán, and Palacio’s long narrative was poured out in Spanish so -tumultuous that it meant very little to his guest. - -It had something to do with a pile of wood and a mule and a _muchacho_. -This much was picked out of the jumble. In Palacio’s croaking accents -was also a violent distrust of the manners, morals, and motives of the -aged Señor Bazán. Having simmered down, he made it comprehensible that -Ricardo was to make ready to go at once, _pronto_, into Cartagena by -night. Means had been provided. Much distraught, Palacio toddled to his -hut to find and offer a patched tarpaulin cape and a new peaked straw -hat woven by himself. He had already washed and mended Cary’s tattered -shirt and trousers. - -Lack of a razor contributed to the general effect of a Robinson Crusoe -as the fugitive emerged from his earthy abode. It was, indeed, a venture -in the darkness. _Quien sabe?_ The riddle of Señor Bazán’s intentions -was still unsolved. - -“Here goes,” said Richard Cary, looking about him in the starlight. -“I’ll soon find out whether I am putting my head in a trap or not. Where -do we go from here? _Donde?_” - -Palacio whistled. A gray mule came sidling into the lantern’s glow. -Leading it by the bridle was the Indian lad whom Cary recalled seeing in -the _patio_ of Uncle Ramon. There was no saddle. A sack was tied across -the mule’s back. - -“What kind of foolishness is this?” objected the passenger. “I see -myself parading through Cartagena on the quarterdeck of a flop-eared -mule. _Oiga!_ The Colombian infantry could never miss a target like -that.” - -The Indian lad caught the drift of this tirade and grinned a -reassurance. Palacio volubly insisted that it was _muy bueno_, so far as -the mule was concerned. Again he chattered about the mysterious pile of -wood. He had labored with it himself. He lifted imaginary sticks and -groaned with both hands clapped to his back. Richard Cary subsided. He -was in no position to quibble over details. - -His companions hoisted him astride the mule. It was a very strong mule -or its legs would have bent. Palacio limped as far as the garden patch. -Another journey down the hill and back again was too much for him. He -embraced his guest, his splendid son, and fervently commended him to God -and Nuestra Señora de La Popa. If he weathered the stormy gale of -circumstances, Richard Cary pledged himself somehow to repay this humble -recluse with the heart of gold. - -The sure-footed mule picked its way down the broken path, the lithe -Indian lad chirruping in its ear. Beyond the foot of the hill, where a -road swung inland from the harbor, the lad turned aside. At the edge of -the jungle was hidden a ponderous, two-wheeled cart. It was heaped high -with cordwood. Stakes at the sides prevented it from spilling. The -_muchacho_ nudged Cary to dismount. The mule was backed into the shafts -and a brass-bound harness slung on its back. - -“I suspected a nigger in the woodpile,” reflected the dubious Cary, “and -now I know it. Just where do I fit into this load of wood? Hi, boy! What -about it? _Qué es esto?_” - -The lad motioned him to examine for himself. A false bottom had been -laid in the body of the cart. Between the floor that rested upon the -axle and the upper platform of boards was a space perhaps a foot and a -half deep. Into this the bulk of Richard Cary was expected to insert -itself. He thanked his stars that illness had reduced his flesh. It was -the utter helplessness of being flattened in there, underneath the pile -of wood, that made him flinch. It was too much like being nailed in a -coffin. To be discovered and hauled out by the heels would be a fate too -absurd to contemplate. - -However, if there was a beggar alive who could not be a chooser, it was -this same Richard Cary. He had to admire the ingenuity of the -contrivance. A belated countryman hauling a load of firewood to the city -in the cool of the night would pass unnoticed, whereas a curtained -carriage might invite scrutiny. The stratagem was worthy of the wizened -little man of the _patio_, with the grimace of a clown and the eye of an -inquisitor. - -Very unhappy, Richard Cary inched himself in beneath the load of wood, -flat on his back. The Indian lad, who had a wit of his own, hung over -the rear of the cart two bags stuffed with fodder for the mule. These -concealed the protruding feet of the melancholy stowaway. It was one way -to enter Cartagena, but hurtful to the pride of an adventurer who had -waged one hand-to-hand conflict after another in escaping from these -same walls. There were precedents among other bold men, however, as far -back in history as the wooden horse of Troy. - -The springless cart bumped and shook him infernally. He swore at the -mule, in muffled accents, and even more earnestly at the crafty Señor -Bazán. He could not be blamed for a petulant humor. After an hour or a -week or a year, over streets that seemed to be paved with boulders, the -load of wood turned into an alley and halted. The _muchacho_ was in no -haste to extricate his passenger. First the wood had to be thrown off -and the false bottom knocked apart. The lad was unequal to the task of -hauling his human cargo out by the legs. - -Released, at length, from the ignominious cart, Richard Cary was a prey -to renewed qualms. The rear wall of Señor Bazán’s house was darkly -uncommunicative. It told nothing whatever. Presently, however, a door -opened on a crack. The Indian lad hissed, “_Rapido_.” The _Americano_ -was to remove himself from the alley. He obeyed as _rapido_ as the -cramps in his legs permitted. His senses were set on a hair-trigger for -whatever emergency might leap at him. - -The door opened far enough to admit him. He brushed through, into a -shadowy hall, and collided with the shrunken figure of Señor Bazán who -yelped dismay and retreated as if afraid of being trodden upon like a -bug. The uneasy visitor tottered after him, having a fancy for quarters -more spacious than this dim, confined hall. It was like a pursuit during -which Señor Bazán scurried into a large room which to Richard Cary’s -unaccustomed vision seemed ablaze with lights. He stood and goggled like -an owl. - -Many shelves of books, a desk littered with papers and more books, heavy -furniture of mahogany and stamped leather—this was evidently a library -in which the aged uncle of Teresa spent much of his time. - -He, too, blinked bewilderment. The ragged scarecrow of a Cary, with the -stubbled beard, the blanched color, and the drawn features, was -tragically unlike the ruddy young giant in the crisp white uniform with -the gold shoulder bars who had towered beside the galleon bell in the -moonlit _patio_. The contrast was deeper than this. Then he had been -easy and smiling, the massive embodiment of good-nature. Now his jaw was -set, the haggard eyes somberly alert, and his whole demeanor that of a -man on guard against an ambuscade. Still absorbed in studying him, Señor -Bazán said not a word, but dragged a chair forward and thrust it behind -the visitor. - -Cary could not have stood on his feet much longer. He dropped into the -chair. As a gesture of good-will the old gentleman patted his shoulder -and silently vanished to reappear with a tray of cold chicken, salad, -bread and cheese, and a bottle of port. Then he cocked his head like a -bird and said in English: - -“Make yourself easy, my dear young friend. It has been the devil to pay -for you since I had the pleasure of meeting you in my house. I have no -soldiers hiding behind the curtains, and I have not informed the -department of police. There is a hot bath and a soft bed for you, and my -poor company to-morrow.” - -“I’ll have to take your word for it that I am in safe water,” sighed -Richard Cary, his scowl fading. “Comfort like this is worth any trouble -that may break later. There was no reason why I should feel sure of a -friendly welcome, sir. I am an outlaw, as you know. It was taking a -blind chance.” - -“‘_Ver las orejas del lobo!_’ ‘To see the ears of the wolf,’” gleefully -quoted the old gentleman. “So this is the wolf’s den? First I must ask -pardon for talking only Spanish when you called with Teresa. It was -rude, a shabby trick. There is no better English scholar in Colombia -than Ramon Bazán. That girl is so full of mischief that I thought she -might lead you on to make fun of her venerable uncle. It would have -amused me to listen. Where did I learn my English so well? It means -nothing to Teresa—these things happened before she was born; but for -several years I was the minister for my country in Washington and later -in London. A withered old back-number now, with one foot in the grave, -but Ramon Bazán was almost the president of Colombia. A revolution -exploded under him. That was many years ago.” - -A breast of chicken and a glass of port were not too diverting to -prevent Richard Cary from paying keen attention. He surmised that Señor -Bazán was eager to make a favorable impression, exerting himself to -dispel the idea that he was a senile object of curiosity. He desired to -awaken respect as well as gratitude. This might be laid to an old man’s -childish vanity. At any rate, he had ceased to be merely grotesque. - -There was no malice on the wrinkled, mobile features of the little old -man in the flapping linen clothes. Furtive he was by nature, the beady -black eyes glancing this way and that, the bald scalp twitching, but, -for the present, at least, there was no harm in him. This was Richard -Cary’s intuition. He also guessed that Señor Bazán was anxious to -ingratiate himself. If there was a motive behind it, this could be left -to divulge itself. The situation hinted of aspects unforeseen. - -“You can sleep calmly to-night, Señor Cary,” said the host, with his -twisted grin, “but many people in Cartagena would stay wide awake if -they knew you were so near.” - -“Am I as notorious as all that, sir? Of course I want to hear the -news—” - -“As they say, you stood this city on its head,” shrilly chuckled Ramon -Bazán. “Revolutions have begun with less disturbance in some of our hot -little republics of the Caribbean. Rumors flew about until your exploits -were frightful. The children of Cartagena have never been so obedient to -their parents. All they have to be told is that _El Tigre Amarillo -Grande_, the Great Yellow Tiger, will catch them if they are naughty. It -was this way—your dead body was not found, although you were on the -edge of death when you escaped from the prison. You could not have fled -far. This was why you were not looked for at La Popa. Therefore you were -no man, but a wicked spirit from hell. The common people are very -foolish and ignorant.” - -“I never meant to upset the town when I came ashore that night,” said -Cary, smiling in his turn. “You are good enough to shelter me and you -ought to know the facts. It was just one thing after another. A gang of -roughs tried to wipe me out. In self-defense I stretched two or three of -them. My hunch was that Colonel Fajardo had put up the job. If I stayed -in jail, he was bound to get me. And my ship was ready to sail. My duty -was to join her. So I walked out of the prison, but was too late to get -aboard the _Tarragona_. My head went wrong with fever. I don’t know how -I climbed La Popa. Well, that’s the nubbin of the story.” - -“Five of the _bravoné_ and three soldiers of the prison,” grinned Señor -Bazán, ticking them off on his fingers. “Am I not a valiant old man to -sit alone in the same house with _El Tigre Amarillo Grande_?” - -“Not while a word in the telephone yonder would cook my goose,” grimly -answered the prisoner of fortune. “Please tell me one thing. Did I kill -any of those poor devils at the prison? I didn’t want to. They got in my -way and I had to treat ’em rough.” - -“By the mercy of God, the corporal whose neck you wrung had a little -breath left in him. The two other soldiers are also alive. The five -_bravoné_ who were serenading the ladies that night? Two were found very -dead. Another whose shoulder felt the iron bar died after four days, I -am happy to say. That iron bar? My dear young man, crowds of people -still gather to look at the window from which _El Tigre_ pulled the iron -bar like a straw in his hands.” - -Richard Cary blushed. He was never a braggart nor had he aspired to a -reputation like this. “Then I am a bigger fool than I thought I was, to -come into Cartagena,” said he. - -“An amusing fool,” replied Señor Bazán, with a whimsical twinkle. “How -you expect to get out again is too much for my feeble old wits. Not in a -Colombian sailing boat of any kind. Every sailor of Cartagena crosses -himself when he hears the name of _El Tigre Amarillo Grande_. The -muleteers and men of the river are carrying it back into the mountains. -It will soon spread as far away as Bogotá.” - -“Then why in the name of common sense did you fetch me in from La Popa?” -was the blunt question. - -“How could I refuse, Señor Cary, when you appealed to my hospitality, -you a friend of my niece, the Señorita Fernandez?” - -This answer was palpably evasive. Here was a riddle which only time and -the crotchety impulses of Ramon Bazán could disclose. The puzzled young -man was in no mind to confide that his love for Teresa had urged him to -this blind adventure. Cross-currents were already visible. The uncle of -Teresa had some design of his own in harboring the sailor refugee. The -situation was cleared of immediate peril, however, and Richard Cary -concluded that he was not to be betrayed. The rasping voice of Ramon -Bazán awoke him from a reverie. - -“You suspected Colonel Fajardo of plotting to kill you? Why?” - -“Jealousy,” was the admission. “And I was warned that he had a bad -record.” - -“Jealousy, Señor Cary?” twittered the old gentleman, highly diverted. -“And the woman was that spitfire of a Teresa! I had my suspicions, but -it is not politic to wag the tongue too much in Cartagena. As it turned -out, this Colonel Fajardo convicted himself.” - -“The deuce he did,” cried Richard Cary. “Then my conscience is clear -from start to finish. What do you mean? How did he convict himself?” - -“He fled next day—disappeared like smoke. Afraid because you were not -dead? Perhaps. Afraid of a plot he had hatched while half-drunk? The -fact is that he was seen for the last time on the wharf before the -_Tarragona_ sailed. Yes, he ran away somewhere, and so confessed himself -a guilty man.” - -“He was that kind,” said Cary. “The blackguard invited me to sit and -drink with him in a café a little while before his gunmen attacked me. -So he lost his nerve and decided to make himself scarce. How did he get -away?” - -“Possibly in the _Tarragona_. There was some talk that he might have -bribed one of the crew to hide him for the short trip to Porto Colombia -or Santa Marta. But he has not been seen in those ports. I have inquired -of friends. He is very well known on this coast as a colonel of the army -before he was appointed _Comandante_ of the Port. There it is! Colonel -Fajardo has most thoroughly disappeared. I regret you did not hit him -with the terrible iron bar.” - -“I shall always regret it,” said Richard Cary. “Doesn’t that make it -more hopeful for me to climb out of this infernal scrape, Señor Bazán?” - -“Not very much. You are charged with murder, assault, breaking prison, -and the good God knows what else! And you are _El Tigre Amarillo -Grande_! The Fruit Company’s agent has shown no interest in your behalf. -That would be most useful.” - -“Captain Sterry may have turned in a bad report in New York, sir. He was -biased—there was a personal difference—a grudge of his. He signed on -another second mate, I presume, and I was thrown in the discard.” - -“Then you will have no employment as an officer, even if you are lucky -enough to get away from Cartagena, Señor Cary?” - -“It sounds ridiculous to look that far ahead,” lazily answered the -prisoner who found it hard to stay awake. “At present I seem to be cast -for the part of _El Tigre_, and it doesn’t appeal to me at all.” - -Señor Bazán scolded himself for exhausting a guest already weak and in -distress of mind. He took the young man by the arm and tried to steady -him as they crossed the _patio_ and entered a bedroom. The bath was near -at hand. - -“Pajamas to-morrow, Ricardo,” said the host. “The woman in my kitchen is -sewing them together. She will also make some white clothes. There are -none big enough in the shops. If I visit a tailor he will pass it around -as a joke that Ramon Bazán must have _El Tigre Amarillo_ in his house. -Bolt your door, if it pleases you. The window has strong iron bars and -nobody in Cartagena can pull them out to molest you. There are worse -friends to have than old Ramon Bazán. That Teresa has called me a funny -old guy to my face. You mustn’t believe all she tells you.” - -The old gentleman went fluttering off in his hurried fashion as if -shadows were forever chasing him. Richard Cary was awake for a long -time. Sounds in the street disturbed him. Once he fancied he heard the -distant voices of men singing and the melodious tinkle of a guitar. -Again it was the pit-pat-pat of feet on the pavement outside the window. -When sleep came to him, his dreams were unhappy. - - - - - CHAPTER XI - - - SPANISH TREASURE! - -A different man in fresh white pajamas and straw slippers, Richard Cary -idled in a shady corner of the _patio_. A razor had reaped the heavy -stubble clean. Not in the least resembling the Yellow Tiger that gobbled -naughty children, he looked amiable enough to purr. His status in this -household was even more perplexing than at his arrival. Señor Bazán -seemed to be afraid of his disfavor. Afraid? It should have been the -other way about. It was for the helpless fugitive to exert himself, by -every means in his power, to win and hold the regard of the eccentric -old gentleman who held his life in the hollow of his hand. - -Every precaution was taken to guard the secret of his presence in this -house. The outer doors were kept locked. The only servants were the -Indian lad and a fat black woman in the kitchen. These two mortally -feared the wrath of Señor Bazán, and were close-mouthed by habit. He had -taught them the doctrine of assiduously minding their own business. -Moreover, it was a thing far more perilous to risk the vengeance of _El -Tigre Amarillo_ should they drop even a whisper outside the house. How -calm and harmless he seemed, but imagine him in one of those rages! It -was common report that no bullet could slay him. - -Señor Bazán endeavored to display his very best behavior. The flighty -fits of temper were restrained and he was thoughtful of the small -courtesies. As Teresa had said, he was a very old man, brittle and -easily tired. At times the wheezing spells almost choked him. Quite -often he dozed off with a book in his lap. Otherwise he was diabolically -wide awake. - -More like himself every day, Richard Cary knew that inaction would soon -fret him beyond endurance. In the New Hampshire farmhouse at home he -could sit and look at the fire through long lazy spells, but this -senseless confinement was very different. He was living and waiting for -the arrival of the _Tarragona_. After that? Ramon Bazán insisted that it -was impossible to flee this hostile coast, nor did he offer the smallest -hint of willingness to coöperate in any attempt. Why, then, had Richard -Cary been fetched into Cartagena? It was a question that pursued itself -in a tedious circle. - -With all the leisure in the world to mull it over, Cary found solace in -the briar pipe with the amber bit which was the sole possession left -him. Through his tempestuous escapades it had stayed in a trousers -pocket. A pipe with a charmed life, he thought, and a precious reminder -of Teresa Fernandez and their last glimpse of each other. - -Now he laid it on the stone flagging beside his canvas chair, and the -little brown monkey came frisking over from the trellis. It snatched the -pipe in a tiny black paw and was about to stick it in his mouth when -Cary interfered. He laughed at the indignant little beast which squeaked -profane opinions of a man who would deny a petted monkey a morning pipe. -The puckered countenance, the spiteful grimace, the gusty temper, were -absurdly like Señor Bazán when things displeased him. At one moment the -Spanish gentleman of culture and manners, in the next he might be a -chattering, scolding tyrant with no manners whatever. - -Crack-brained? So Teresa had expressed herself, but her relations with -her uncle appeared to be uncertain, an intermittent feud, and she was -not apt to give the devil his due. As a rule, Richard Cary’s verdicts -were slowly formulated and uncolored by prejudice. In this instance he -felt more and more convinced that there was some unseen method in the -madness of Señor Ramon Bazán. He had enticed _El Tigre Amarillo Grande_ -into a comfortable cage and proposed to keep him there. - -Meanwhile the wizened keeper of the tiger was frequently leaving the -house on some affairs of his own. He went jogging off in a hired -carriage and was not seen again for hours. He brought back American -magazines and tobacco, phonograph records, delicacies from the market, -anything to amuse the restless Ricardo, who chafed under the increasing -burden of obligation. Nothing was said to explain why Señor Bazán should -spend so much time away from his house. Secretiveness enwrapped him. He -moved like an industrious conspirator. - -On the day before the _Tarragona_ was due in port, Richard Cary took -occasion to say: - -“You have been a wonderfully kind friend to me, Señor Bazán, and I don’t -deserve it. Now that I am getting fit to take care of myself, I must -plan to get away somehow. I have been waiting for the arrival of the -ship, to see the Señorita Fernandez again—” - -Uncle Ramon bounced from his chair and wildly waved his hands as he -cried: - -“It was that girl all the time! The devil fly away with her! But I must -let you see her or there will be another commotion with an iron bar. All -right, Ricardo. Teresa is sure to come to my house to ask if anything -was heard about you after the steamer sailed away with her. How can I -keep you from seeing that girl? You have an infatuation.” - -“I shall take no chances,” was the dogged reply. “She might be kept on -board. I’ll write her a letter and you will send it down to the ship or -carry it yourself.” - -This ripped the temper of Señor Bazán to shreds. He slapped his bald -pate and his false teeth clicked as he vociferated: - -“Writing letters is a trick of———— idiots. It would make me as big a -fool as you are to let a letter go out of my house, a letter you had -written to a sweetheart. What happens to me if Cartagena finds out I am -hiding you here? Bah! That girl has turned your brain into a rotten -egg.” - -Taken aback by this tantrum, Cary was strongly inclined to twist the old -gentleman’s neck. It was not really essential, however, to write a -letter. Soothingly he suggested: - -“Then you will promise to let her know that she must come to the house -while she is in port. Without fail? She will guess that something is in -the wind.” - -“Yes, I will do that much,” grumbled Uncle Ramon. “I have to keep you -quiet. I will drive down to the ship and bring Teresa back with me. What -if the chief steward or somebody forbids her to go ashore?” - -“She will come anyhow, unless I am all wrong about her,” said Cary. - -“God knows what is in the heart of a girl like that,” spitefully -retorted her uncle. - -“One thing more, Señor Bazán. The chief engineer of the ship, Mr. -McClement, is a friend of mine. I wish to get word to him, too. He can -be trusted absolutely. If you will slip a word to Teresa, she will -arrange it so that he can drop in for a chat after dark. McClement is a -man who will help you find some way to get me off your hands. And I am -anxious to let him know that I am alive and didn’t desert the ship.” - -“Why not invite the whole damned crew of the _Tarragona_ to parade to my -house with a band of music?” shouted the disgusted uncle. “Forget this -pest of a chief engineer. It is enough to let that girl into the house. -How do I know what mischief it will make? She is the kind that talks in -her sleep.” - -Richard Cary felt wretchedly ashamed of his own futility. Sulkily he -surrendered. Teresa could later confide in the chief engineer, but it -was a sore blow to be deprived of his canny wisdom and aid in this -extremity. The Yellow Tiger had ceased to purr. He had not been rescued, -but kidnaped. He did not propose to spend much more of his life shut up -in this madhouse. - -He was pacing up and down next day, counting the hours. The clothes made -by the handy black woman in the kitchen, white shirt and trousers, were -by no means an atrocious fit. He was quite spick-and-span, a young man -waiting for his sweetheart. It was late in the afternoon when the wind -brought to the open courtyard the distant, vibrant blasts of a steamer’s -whistle. It was the _Tarragona_ blowing for the wharf. He could have -told that whistle from a hundred other ships. Never would he forget it, -not after hearing her blow the three long blasts of departure when he -had tottered up the ramp to the round watch-tower on the city wall. - -Earlier in the day, Ramon Bazán had vanished on one of his shrouded -errands, promising to go to the wharf as soon as the steamer should be -reported. Cary grew more and more impatient. Soon he looked to see -Teresa come flying in, slender, graceful, ardent to respond to his fond -greeting. Then she would turn her attention to the wicked old uncle who -was making a jail of his house and holding her Ricardo against his will. -It would be a lively scene. - -A carriage was heard to stop in front of the house. The young man dared -not show himself, but retreated to his room, as caution had taught him -to do. He was chagrined at being found in such a plight. He was like a -stranded hulk. But if Teresa still loved him, nothing was impossible to -attempt and to achieve. - -Uncle Ramon Bazán came teetering in alone, very much put out and -wheezing maledictions. Richard Cary advanced from the threshold of his -room, grievously disappointed, but expecting to hear that Teresa had -been delayed until evening. Her uncle made no effort to break the news -gently. - -“My trip to the _Tarragona_ was for nothing. I lost my breath climbing -on board that ship and there was no Teresa at all.” - -“She was not in the ship?” blurted Cary. “What’s the answer to that? -What did the chief steward say?” - -“That pig of a Swiss said she had left the ship in New York. He didn’t -know why. A good stewardess, he called her, when she was not chasing -herself about something else.” - -“And no word to explain why she wanted to quit or where she went?” -implored the lover. - -“Not one word, Ricardo,” said Ramon, his bald head cocked sagaciously. -“These infernal girls! They can make a Yellow Tiger look like a sick -house-cat. But why should I laugh? There were such girls when Ramon -Bazán was a gay _caballero_—Good God, how long ago it was—and he was -never afraid to see the ears of the wolf if the prize was an embrace and -a kiss. Teresa, though, she was never a girl to be a fool with the men. -Not a coquette, I will say that much for the jade. She was fond of you, -Ricardo. My old eyes told me that.” - -Richard Cary stood massive and composed. The uncle’s tirade was the -sound of empty words. They buzzed without biting. He could not believe -that Teresa was faithless or forgetful, fleeting though the romance had -been. Sadly mystified, he was not one to be dragged adrift by an ill -wind. His convictions were stanch. Such was his native temperament. -Because Teresa had found some reason for leaving the ship in New York, -it did not mean that she had forsaken him. He would find her some day -and then it could be explained. - -“I am badly disappointed, sir,” he said to her uncle. The boyish smile -was wistful as he added: “I couldn’t see beyond to-day. Never mind. -Teresa Fernandez is wise enough to steer her own course. Now, my dear -Señor Bazán, I am finished with Cartagena. I’m head over heels in debt -to you for all your kindness, but I must be on my way. I never fell in a -hole that I couldn’t pull myself out of somehow. If you will help me, I -shall be more grateful than ever.” - -It was not mere bravado. The time had come to force the hand of the -benevolent old despot. The reply to this ultimatum was a sardonic -chuckle. The mirth increased until it ended in spasms of coughing. Cary -pounded the brittle Uncle Ramon on the back and almost broke him in two. -It was exasperating to listen to him. He wiped his eyes, adjusted his -teeth, and motioned the young man into the library. There the exhausted -Señor Bazán curled up in a chair like a goblin and began to elucidate -himself as follows: - -“To laugh at a broken-hearted lover is abominable, Ricardo. I reproach -myself and implore you to forgive a funny old guy. It is selfish of me -to feel so pleased, but I hope to make you understand. That girl was in -the way. To me she was an obstacle. I could do nothing with you until -her ship came in. And then I was afraid of her entangling you against -me. With a man and girl, everything must be talked over together. ‘Will -I do this?’ ‘Should I do that?’ ‘What does she say?’ I tell you, dear -Ricardo, the women spoil more bold men than they ever make heroes of. -For the present we are happily rid of Teresa. You will be fool enough to -follow her later, but that is none of the funeral of Ramon Bazán.” - -Richard Cary thrust his grieved disappointment into the background. Here -was promise of reading the riddle of his detention. The old man had -never been so ablaze with excitement as now. He caught his breath and -volubly continued: - -“It filled my mind when I first saw you, Ricardo—you were the man I had -been looking for—the man I had to have. And then I lost you, the worst -luck that ever was. When that lame fellow, Palacio, came down from La -Popa with your letter, I tell you I rejoiced myself. You were crazy to -find that Teresa, I could see it between the words, but it was the best -of fortune for Ramon Bazán. Since you have been in my house, Ricardo, I -have watched you, to measure you up, and I was right as could be, on -that very first night. You are the man I want. Not so many bats in my -_cabeza_ as the saucy Teresa has told me to my face! When you know what -I want you for, you will not sigh and look sad and talk about bursting -out of Cartagena. You will be glad of the day when you came to live with -Ramon Bazán.” - -“Show me any road out and I will swamp you with my blessings,” exclaimed -Cary, immensely diverted. “I knew you had something up your sleeve, but -there I stuck. Now, for the Lord’s sake, please get down to brass tacks. -Then I can tell you whether I’ll take it or leave it.” - -“Come over to my desk,” cried Señor Bazán, as agile as the little brown -monkey. “Now sit down and listen. You do that very well. It is a virtue -worth its weight in pure gold. I have observed it in you. Have you read -much about Spanish treasure? Have the legends fascinated you?” - -Richard Cary jumped from his chair. The words had wrenched him out of -his solid composure. All he could say was, like a deep-voiced echo: -“Spanish treasure? Has it fascinated me? How did you happen to hit the -mark like that?” - -This quick vehemence startled Señor Bazán. It was unexpected. This new -Richard Cary, aroused and masterful, was, indeed, like having a great -yellow tiger in the house. - -“Ah, ha, Ricardo, you smell the trail? You have dreamed of finding -Spanish treasure? This is better than I hoped for. It might be a captain -that sailed with El Draque as you stand there with eyes on fire.” - -“With Drake?” exclaimed Richard Cary, his arms folded across his mighty -chest. “Aye, Señor Bazán, there was treasure for the men that sailed -these seas with Frankie Drake. Here at Cartagena, though it was like -pulling teeth to make the fat Spanish merchants give up their gold.” - -Señor Bazán was a trifle dazed. This amazing young man whom he had -handled so carefully, with such solicitude to gain his good-will and -gratitude, was fairly running away with him. He did not have to be -coaxed or persuaded. This was already obvious. - -“Dead stuff?” laughed Cary. “You have it in the books on your shelves. -But I enjoy talking about it—how Drake and his seamen used their long -pikes in carrying the _barricadas_ in the streets after they made a -breach in the wall. It was merry work while it lasted. Six hundred -Englishmen to take the strongest town in the West Indies! There was a -swarm of Indian bowmen with poisoned arrows that played the mischief -with them. The town had to yield after Master Carlisle, the -lieutenant-general, slew the chief ensign-bearer of the Spaniards with -his own hand. They fought as pretty a duel with swords as ever a man -saw. And all for what? After Drake and his men took their pleasure in -sacking and spoiling the town and setting fire to a great part of it, -the ransom they obtained was no more than a hundred and ten thousand -ducats. A beggarly adventure that laid a hundred and fifty lads on their -backs with wounds and fever.” - -Señor Bazán sucked in his breath with a greedy sound. He was squirming -in his chair. Here was a topic he could never tire of. His heart’s -desire was revealed. - -Richard Cary pleasantly rambled on, yarning of Spanish treasure like a -sociable Elizabethan mariner in a waterside taproom. He was carried away -by his own enthusiasm. The way was cleared for the cherished secret of -Ramon Bazán. Ricardo was in a mood to respond and sympathize. He would -not scoff at an old man’s dearest ambition that had long possessed him, -body and soul, that had vivified old age and decrepitude with the magic -of youth’s illusions. - -Señor Bazán was careful to lock the library door before seating himself -at the desk. From a drawer he withdrew a folded document much crumpled -and soiled. His fingers fumbled with it. He was pitifully agitated. Cary -stood leaning over the desk. He foresaw the nature of the document. -Ramon Bazán delayed unfolding it. The habit of secrecy was not easily -broken. He preferred first to explain what was more or less known to the -picaresque race of modern treasure-seekers. It happened to be new to -Richard Cary’s ears. He drank it in with gusto, while humming in his -brain was an old sea chantey: - - “Why, I’ve seen less lucky fellows pay for liquor with doubloons, - And for ’baccy with ozellas, gold mohurs, and ducatoons! - _Bring home! Heave and rally, my very famous men!_” - -Still clutching his precious document, old Ramon Bazán chose Lima for -the beginning of his long-winded narrative. During the last days of -Spanish rule on the west coast, this capital of Peru had been the -lordliest city of the vast domains won by the _conquistadores_ and ruled -by the Viceroys. Founded by Francisco Pizarro, it was for centuries the -seat of government in South America. The Viceregal court was maintained -in magnificent state, and the Archbishop of Lima was the most powerful -prelate of the continent. - -Here the religious orders were centered and to Lima the Inquisition was -removed from Cartagena. Of the incredible amount of gold and silver -taken from the mines of the Incas, much remained in Lima to pile up -fortunes for the grandees and officials, or to be fashioned into massive -adornments for the palaces, residences, churches, and for the great -cathedral which stands to-day to proclaim the grandeur that was Spain’s. -To Cartagena its walls, to Lima its cathedral, runs the saying. - -When Bolivar the Liberator had succeeded in driving the Spanish out of -Venezuela and had also set up the free republic of Colombia, the ruling -classes of Peru took alarm, which increased to panic as soon as it was -known that the revolutionary forces were organizing to march south and -assault Lima itself. There was great running to and fro among the -wealthy Spanish merchants, the holders of political offices under the -Viceroy, and the gilded aristocracy which had ruffled it with riches won -by the swords of their two-fisted ancestors. It was feared that the -rebels of Bolivar and San Martin would loot the city and confiscate the -treasure, both public and private, which consisted of bullion, plate, -jewels, and coined gold. - -The people of Lima, hoping to send their private fortunes safe home to -Spain before the plundering invaders should make a clean sweep, put -their valuables on board all manner of sailing vessels which chanced to -be in harbor. A fugitive fleet of merchantmen steered away from the -coast of Peru, the holds filled with gold and silver, the cabins crammed -with officials of the Church and State and other residents of rank and -station. In the same manner was sent to sea the treasure of the great -cathedral of Lima, all its jeweled chalices, monstrances, and vestments, -the weighty gold candlesticks and shrines, the vast store of precious -furniture and ornaments which had made this one of the richest religious -edifices in the world. - -There had not been so much dazzling booty afloat since the galleon -fleets were in their heydey. Gone, however, were the dauntless -buccaneers and gentlemen adventurers who had singed the beard of the -King of Spain in the wake of Francis Drake. The best of them had sailed -and fought and plundered for glory as well as gain, for revenge as much -as for doubloons. Their successors as sea rovers were pirates of low -degree, wretches of a sordid commercialism who preyed on honest merchant -skippers of all flags and had little taste for fighting at close -quarters. The older race of sea rogues had been wolves; these later -pirates were jackals. - -Many a one of these gentry got wind of the fabulous treasure which had -been sent afloat from Lima and there is no doubt that much of it failed -to reach Spain. While in some instances these fleeing merchantmen were -boarded and scuttled by pirate craft, in others the lust of gold was too -strong for the seamen to whom the rare cargoes had been entrusted. They -rose and took the treasure away from their hapless passengers whose -bodies fed the fishes. - -Among these treacherous mariners, and the most conspicuous of them, was -one Captain Thompson, of the British trading brig _Mary Dear_. He -received on board in the harbor of Lima as much as six million dollars’ -worth of gold and silver. The black-hearted Captain Thompson led his -crew in killing the Spanish owners once the brig was out at sea. Instead -of sailing south around Cape Horn, they steered northward in the Pacific -and made a landing on lonely Cocos Island. - -There the booty was carried ashore and buried until such time as these -villains could safely plan distribution and escape. Wisely preferring to -stay at sea, Captain Thompson joined the crew of a well-known pirate, -Benito Bonito, who also had bloodied his hands with this Spanish -treasure. He had captured a rich galleon off the coast of Peru and two -other vessels bearing riches sent from Lima. On Cocos Island, at the -advice of Captain Thompson, he buried some of his treasure, in a -sandstone cave in the face of a cliff. Then he laid kegs of powder upon -a ledge close by and blew great fragments of the cliff to cover the -cave. In another excavation he placed gold ingots, seven hundred and -thirty-three of them. They were ten inches long and four inches wide and -three inches thick. With them were twoscore gold-hilted swords inlaid -with jewels. - -The records of the British Admiralty show that Benito Bonito’s ship was -captured by _H.M.S. Espiègle_ which was cruising in the Pacific. Rather -than be hanged in chains, this affluent pirate gallantly blew out his -brains. At this time Captain Thompson was no longer sailing in company -with him and so saved his own wicked skin. One rumor had it that he was -garroted in Havana, under another name, with eleven of his old crew of -the brig _Mary Dear_. Other curious stories indicated that he flitted in -obscurity from port to port, in mortal terror of Spanish vengeance and -never daring to disclose the secret of Cocos Island. . . - - - - - CHAPTER XII - - - RICARDO WRITES A LETTER - -Such was the narrative as old Ramon Bazán poured it forth with various -impassioned digressions which included cursing the souls of Captain -Thompson and Benito Bonito. Excitement made him pepper it with Spanish -phrases that had to be translated. The effort sorely taxed his vitality. -As Richard Cary said to himself, it was like a boiling kettle. The lid -had blown off. - -Artfully the climax had been withheld. With the gloating affection of a -miser in a melodrama, Señor Bazán spread his creased, soiled document -upon the desk. He guarded it with both hands as if Cary might snatch it -and bolt for the street. A chart, as the young man had anticipated—a -ragged island roughly sketched—the depths of water marked in -fathoms—shore elevations shown by fuzzy scratches like -caterpillars—sundry crosses and arrows and notations in figures. Here -and there the penmanship was almost illegible. Time had faded the ink. -Dirt had smudged the sheet of yellowed paper ripped out of some old -canvas-backed log-book which might have belonged in the doomed _Mary -Dear_. Ramon Bazán poised a skinny finger over a symbol inked between -two hills and piped exultantly: - -“Six million dollars in gold and silver and jewels, Ricardo. And here is -the cave where Benito Bonito hid the ingots.” - -Cary picked up a reading-glass and studied the sheet of paper with the -eye of a professional navigator. The chart was the handiwork of a -seaman, this he speedily concluded. The compass bearings were properly -marked, the anchorage for a vessel noted with particular care, and a -channel between the reefs indicated by heavier lines of a pen. The rest -of the chart was cryptic, impossible to make head or tail of without -prolonged examination. It was interesting but not convincing to Richard -Cary who had heard of similar treasure charts. Seafaring men gossiped -about them. They turned up every now and again, in the possession of -credulous dreamers who swore them to be authentic. - -There were excellent reasons, however, for avoiding skepticism in -discussing this prodigious marvel with Señor Bazán. Here was Richard -Cary’s chance to put the walls of Cartagena behind him, his one tangible -hope of salvation. And he was not a man to hang back from seeking -Spanish treasure as his next gamble with destiny. - -[Illustration: “WHERE IS THIS COCOS ISLAND?”] - -“Where is this Cocos Island?” he asked. - -“Only two hundred miles from the coast of Costa Rica,” instantly -answered Ramon. “You see, it is a short voyage through the Canal and -into the Pacific. You will not have to climb a tree, like El Draque, to -look at the great South Sea. You are wondering why I should have so much -faith in this chart? I am easily fooled? Well, then, it will cost a -great deal of money to pay for a ship and a crew to go to Cocos Island -and dig up the treasure. Nobody ever saw Ramon Bazán spend a dollar -unless he knew what he was doing. They call him the stingiest old -tight-fist in Cartagena. To get ahead of him you must rise before the -cock crows.” - -“Yes, it will cost you a good many thousands,” agreed Cary. “Do you mind -telling me why you feel you have a sure thing in this treasure chart?” - -“It is fair to ask me that question, Ricardo. When did the _Mary Dear_ -sail away from Lima? One hundred years ago, and a little bit more. One -hundred and three years ago. This chart was given to me by my father. He -lived and died in Cartagena, and he was eighty-six years old when he -died in this house. It was always _mañana_ with him, and he had business -that tied him to the grindstone. He had dreams of going to Cocos Island. -Figure it for yourself, Ricardo. This chart came to him just one hundred -years ago. Will you laugh at me if I say this chart was given to him by -Captain Thompson himself?” - -“In Cartagena I believe anything and everything,” gravely acquiesced -Richard Cary. “You couldn’t make me bat an eye to save you. The fever -downed this Captain Thompson, I presume, while he was dodging under -cover, and your father befriended him. That is how it should work out.” - -“Exactly that! Truth is funnier than fiction,” cried Ramon Bazán, -bobbing up from the desk. “My father had the kindest heart in the world. -This stranger was dumped on the beach from a Mexican privateer which -came in for fresh water. The man was ill and almost dead. My father took -him into this house. He died in the room where you now sleep, Ricardo. A -merchant captain, he said, whose ship had been wrecked off the Isle of -Pines. Just before he died he told the truth, which is a proper thing to -do, Ricardo. One should always make his peace with God. Then it was that -my father received the chart and learned the whole story of Captain -Thompson and the _Mary Dear_ and the partnership with the pirate Benito -Bonito.” - -“I’m in no position to pick flaws in it,” said Cary. “I could tell you -wilder ones than that. And you actually have a ship in mind to sail for -Cocos Island and you want me to take her there?” - -Ramon Bazán seemed to have some sudden difficulty with his articulation. -He opened his mouth. His eyes bulged. His gestures were aimless as he -faltered in a high key: - -“The ship will be ready—the ship will be—will be—will be—” - -His voice died in his throat. His face was contorted in a spasm of -agony. He toppled across the desk, his hands drumming against it. - -Richard Cary stood dumbfounded. This was the devil of a new -complication! The possible consequences raced through his mind. Ramon -Bazán dead in his library—_El Tigre Amarillo Grande_ hiding in the -house—a fatal snarl of circumstances from which there could be no -possible release! Fantastically it occurred to him that the old man -could not die in this tragic manner because the galleon bell had not -intoned its ghostly forewarning. - -Delaying only an instant, Cary ran to the kitchen shouting for the black -woman who might know what should be done. She took it calmly, waddling -into the library, making the terrified young man understand that Papa -Ramon was subject to such seizures. In a small cabinet she found a vial -and shook out two capsules. These she rammed between the suffering man’s -lips and crushed them against his teeth. Like a miracle, the acute -anguish subsided. It was his heart, _mucho malo_. - -The corpulent negress picked him up in her arms like a baby and laid him -upon the bed in his room. With a menacing finger under Cary’s nose, she -dared to berate him. Topics of conversation more soothing were necessary -to the welfare of the fragile old Papa Bazán. - -Shunted aside, Richard Cary retired to a wicker divan in a cool corner -and smoked his pipe while he took account of stock. He was nervous. Said -he to himself: - -“Big as I am and hard to jolt, I can stand just about so much. Here is -one bet that I did overlook. Why didn’t the old boy tell me he had a -balky heart? Supposing his clock stops before he gets me out of this -jam? Whew!” - -After some time, he tiptoed into the stricken man’s room. It was -delightful beyond words to find him propped up with pillows and sipping -a stiff glass of rum and lime-juice. He was a forlorn little object, -more shriveled and brittle than ever, but his eye was brightening again -and he mustered a shadowy grin. Soothingly Cary suggested: - -“Thinking it over, sir, you ought to turn this business of the voyage -over to me as soon as you can. You don’t want to pop off before we even -sight Cocos Island. I agree to go, of course. Now where is your ship and -what is she like? I am competent to take hold.” - -“Thank you, Ricardo,” murmured Papa Bazán, with a long pull at the rum. -“It was too much excitement. Sit down, if you please. We can talk -quietly, like two pigeons. I knew you would agree to go with me, whether -you wanted to or not. I had you by the hair of the head. But unless I -have won your confidence, unless you go willingly, you can desert the -ship at Colon and then where am I? I am bright enough to see that far.” - -“I promise to stand by,” said Cary. “In the first place, it is a matter -of honor. Perhaps you did kidnap me to serve your own ends, but that -doesn’t lighten my obligation. I have no intention of getting out from -under it. You have made a pampered guest of me, and now you offer me the -one chance of oozing out of Cartagena with a whole skin. In the next -place, I’m eager to go to Cocos Island with you. We’ll see the thing -through. And there’s that.” - -“Then I am a well man, as spry as a tarantula,” sputtered Ramon Bazán. -“Have you a master’s license, Ricardo? It will concern the insurance on -my steamer. I can’t afford to risk heavy loss. All the money I can -scrape together will be in this voyage.” - -“Yes, I hold a master’s ticket. And I’m fed up with twiddling my thumbs, -so let’s go to it. What do you say?” - -“But I can’t turn the ship over to you until she is ready to go to sea, -at the very last minute,” lamented the owner. “You will have to be -sneaked on board at night and hidden until the steamer is ready to sail, -or the Colombians in the crew will jump over the side. One look at _El -Tigre Grande_ and—_adios_! Ten hundred things have I had on my hands to -arrange, and do you wonder at my bad heart kicking a flip-flop?” - -“I shall pray for your health, believe me,” devoutly returned the -nervous young mariner. “Now about this steamer—” - -“She is very awful to look at,” was the frank admission. “A German tramp -that was interned four years at Cartagena! I bought her cheap, Ricardo. -Rusty and afflicted with heart disease and other things, she will not -sink if the weather is kind. But you yourself could never make the -mistake of thinking she was the _Tarragona_. I have found a crew for my -shabby harlot of a _Valkyrie_. Not such men as you will love, Ricardo, -for I must take what I find. They must hear not a whisper of Cocos -Island. It is a trading voyage to the west coast. The ship will clear -for Buenaventura, a Pacific port of Colombia.” - -“We’ll drive that condemned old crock along somehow,” cheerfully -responded Richard Cary. “When do we sail?” - -“A few days more, my captain. A little coal to put in and boiler tubes -to be plugged. Coal is cheaper at Balboa. We can fill the bunkers there. -As Heaven hears my voice, Ricardo, unless we find the treasure this -voyage will ruin poor old Ramon Bazán.” - -The interview had taken a turn that was not good for a damaged heart. -The owner of the _Valkyrie_ was growing excited. Cary thought it best to -let the details rest. The old gentleman’s health interested him -enormously. It was like carrying a basket of eggs along a very rough -road. - -The breakable Papa Bazán insisted on getting into his clothes next -morning and seemed little the worse for wear. It was quite apparent that -he had not been running around in aimless circles while preparing for -his romantic voyage. He was amazingly capable of getting what he wanted, -and without the eternal delays of his native clime. Those who now did -business with him found his pertinacity as vexing as the itch. - -The _Valkyrie_ was a small vessel, of nine hundred tons, which had flown -the German flag in the coasting trade of Colombia and Venezuela until -gripped by the greedy hand of war. Corroded and blistering, a sad orphan -of the sea, she had slumbered at an anchor chain in the lagoon of -Cartagena until rashly purchased by Ramon Bazán after a season of -dickering and bickering to make a New England horse-trader jealous. When -he found how much repair work was unavoidable, his heart almost stopped -forever. What made it beat again was the stimulus, more potent than -capsules, of the six millions of treasure of the brig _Mary Dear_, -besides those seven hundred and thirty-three gold ingots piled in the -cave by the arithmetical Benito Bonito. - -A west coast trading venture to make his old age something more than dry -rot and stagnation, publicly explained Ramon Bazán. A whim of this -erratic old codger, the Cartagena merchants found it mirthful. A -guardian should interpose before he squandered all his money. A few -critics argued to the contrary. In his prime Ramon Bazán had been famous -for shrewdness. Who could tell? He might have something up his sleeve. -The problem of raking a crew together caused more speculation. Cartagena -was a languid seaport. Most of the commerce had been diverted to Porto -Colombia. The American beach-combers who drifted in from the Canal Zone -were more or less of a nuisance. It was one of these that Ramon Bazán -had put in charge of his ship as chief officer while fitting for sea. A -captain would join the _Valkyrie_ later, he vouchsafed. - -“What do you know about this chief officer, Señor Bazán?” asked Richard -Cary. - -“If I knew more I should like him less,” was the peevish reply. “He -calls himself Captain Bradley Duff. Rough and tough, eh? He commanded -ships, to hear him say so, but I think he lost his ticket somewhere. He -had a job with the North American Mining Company at Calamar for a little -while. A large, important man, Ricardo, with blossoms on his nose, and a -very red face—his belly is round and his feet are flat. He has a big -voice and a whiskey breath. But he knows a ship, and he can’t graft very -much because I pay all the bills. He asks why he is not made captain of -the _Valkyrie_? You will understand why when you know him, Ricardo.” - -“I don’t have to know him, thank you. You can find a frowsy Captain -Bradley Duff in almost any port. They make a loud noise and throw a -chesty front. Is your chief engineer the same kind?” - -“No. I was lucky to find him. A long, thin boy, younger than you, -Ricardo, and with manners courteous to an old man. He wandered to -Colombia from Boston because he had the loose foot. You know. To take a -look at the tropics. Nothing wrong with him. He was an assistant -engineer in steamers between Boston and Norfolk. Down this way he was in -charge of the ice plant at Barranquilla until his foot felt loose again. -For two weeks he has been sweating with the engines of the _Valkyrie_, -always cheerful, and he says he will hammer seven knots out of the old -contraption or blow her to the middle of next week. Contraption? He made -me laugh. The _Valkyrie_ is just that.” - -For Richard Cary it was a game of blind-man’s buff, with such random -echoes as these to make him call it a choice between being shot in -Cartagena or drowned in a coffin of a ship. It was a mad world and daily -growing madder. However, he liked it, and would not have exchanged lots -with the spruce Captain Jordan Sterry and the immaculate _Tarragona_ -punctually running her lawful schedule. - -One thing troubled him, and one thing only. He could not bear to go -surging off into this uncertain escapade without sending some word to -Teresa Fernandez. Wherever she might be, a letter would probably be -forwarded if addressed in care of the Union Fruit Company’s offices in -New York. He could not disclose his plans, but he could ask her to wait -for him. So straitly was he fettered by circumstances that he felt bound -to say to Señor Bazán: - -“It is your secret, this voyage to Cocos Island. I have no idea of -giving it away, but I must write Teresa before we sail. There is no harm -in telling her that I have found a good berth in a ship in the west -coast trade for two or three months. She knows how dull shipping is at -home. I disappeared from the _Tarragona_, you remember, and I want her -to understand that it wasn’t my fault.” - -“Write her that much, then,” cried her waspish uncle, “but no more, on -your honor, Ricardo. Fill that girl with all the beautiful lies you like -about love and separations, but not one word about the _Valkyrie_ and -Ramon Bazán. By my soul and breeches, we must keep Teresa quiet. Nobody -knows what she will do next. Put your letter on the desk with my -letters. I will take them to the post-office when I go out to-morrow.” - -For a young man naturally candid and unversed in evasions, it was a -mortally difficult letter to write. He hated the web of secrecy which -had inexorably enmeshed him. Besides this, he was writing his first love -letter, and to a girl who had vanished from his ken, beyond horizons of -her own. The situation was intricate, wretchedly confused. For the time -he had given hostages to fortune and was not his own free man. To tell -the whole truth, to explain to Teresa that, for love of her, he had -sought a hiding-place in Cartagena with a price on his head and was now -off for a fling at pirate’s gold to pour into her lap, this would have -satisfied the normal impulses of a young man who desired to stand well -in the eyes of his sweetheart. - -With a sigh and a frown, and a smile now and then, he finished the task. -The letter he laid on the desk of Uncle Ramon Bazán, as instructed. It -was gone next morning, he was particular to notice, when the owner of -the _Valkyrie_ hastily departed in a carriage to pursue his harassing -affairs. - -What Richard Cary did not know was that his letter was not among those -which Señor Bazán had casually tucked in a pocket after observing that -all of them bore stamps. He may have inferred that the young man had -changed his mind. At any rate, it was a detail which soon slipped from -an aged and heavily laden mind. All the letters found on the desk were -deposited at the post-office and this was the end of the transaction for -Ramon Bazán. - -The perversity of fate had assumed the guise of a little brown monkey of -morbidly inquisitive habits. Early in the morning he had strayed in from -the _patio_. The library was forbidden hunting-ground and therefore -alluring. No doubt he was searching for Cary’s briar pipe as the -especial quest. From a chair he had easily hopped to the top of the flat -desk. The pile of letters ready for mailing arrested his errant fancy. -First he shuffled them as though playing solitaire. Then he selected an -envelope at random. It crackled as he squeezed it. - -The stamp in the corner caught his eye. A paw with sharp nails peeled -off a corner of the stamp. He tasted it. The flavor was agreeable. Some -sound in the hall just then disturbed his pastime. He tucked the one -letter under his arm and took it along for leisurely investigation. It -might be worth chewing for more of that pleasant flavor. - -Lightly the little brown monkey frisked from the library and galloped -across the _patio_. In a far corner were two large tubs, painted green, -which held young date palms. Behind them was a secluded nook where the -astute monkey had often hidden such objects as appealed to his fickle -fancy. - -Into this snug retreat he retired with the crackling envelope. Gravely -intent, he tore the envelope open. He crammed a piece of it into his -cheek. The taste was disappointing. He was angry. He had been hoaxed. He -chattered profanely. With a grimace he tore the sheets of paper into -strips. Then he tore the strips into very little bits of paper. They -fluttered down behind the green tubs. - -The brown monkey looked pleased. He raked the bits of paper together and -tossed them in air. They floated down like petals of the white flowers -when he shook a bush in the _patio_. Some of them stuck to his hairy -hide. Very carefully he picked them off. He scooped another handful of -these bits of paper and flung them up. - -Soon tiring of this frolic, he swept all the bits of paper into a wide -crack of the masonry wall behind the tubs. He had learned to be -discreet. It was unwise to leave any traces of a foray into that -forbidden library. Once it had resulted in a little brown monkey with a -very sore head. Papa Bazán had used the flat of a brass paper-cutter. - - - - - CHAPTER XIII - - - THE MASTER TAKES COMMAND - -It was the opinion of Señor Bazán that the bell of the galleon _Nuestra -Señora del Rosario_ should be mounted on the deck of his own vessel. The -ancient bell had once sounded the watches from the forecastle-head of -another treasure ship in these same seas. Also, it possessed a legendary -virtue which was not to be overlooked, that of ringing its ghostly -warning when fatal disaster impended. From what he could learn of the -rusty relic of a tramp steamer, Richard Cary felt inclined to endorse -the old man’s whimsy. It would be handy to know in advance when the -_Valkyrie_ intended plunging to the bottom of the Caribbean or the -Pacific. - -“I am too wise to believe all kinds of nonsense, Ricardo, like the -ignorant people of Cartagena,” said Papa Ramon, “but this bell of the -galleon—how can I doubt it? And there is no bell on the _Valkyrie_, so -I save some good dollars. These Colombian thieves stole the brass -fittings while my steamer was empty and anchored during the war. And the -galleon bell had the blessing of the Holy Church and the favor of Our -Lady of Rosario so we make no mistake in carrying it on our voyage.” - -Richard Cary reflected, quite logically, that it was no more fantastical -than pinning one’s faith and fortune to a pirate’s chart of Cocos -Island. The whole thing might be unreal, but it had the texture of -consistency. Like a satisfactory fairy tale, the improbable and the -absurd were made entirely plausible. The twentieth century had very -little to do with it. - -And so the chief engineer of the _Valkyrie_ sent two of his native -helpers with a mule-cart. They unbolted the heavy bronze bell from the -weather-darkened frame of Spanish oak. It clanged as they bore it out of -the _patio_, a mellow note that throbbed and lingered like a phantom -voice. A carpenter was instructed to set up another frame, on the roof -of the forward deck-house. - -The residence of Señor Bazán was to remain closed during his absence. -This he had announced to the black woman in the kitchen and the faithful -Indian lad. It was uncertain when their master would return. Two months’ -wages in advance he was generous enough to pay them, although it made -him wince, and they could enjoy a vacation among their own people. They -would be notified when to reopen the house. The señor who lived next -door had consented to receive the green parrot and the little brown -monkey. The key also would be left with him. - -His energy phenomenally sufficient for his needs, Ramon Bazán made the -final arrangements for departure. Richard Cary admired the tenacious -sagacity with which one obstacle after another was ridden over. He -himself felt more and more like a big, useless lump of a man, to have to -sit and look on. Give him a ship under his feet and he would be quit of -this foolish trance. - -He wondered how the old man proposed to set him aboard the _Valkyrie_ -and hide him there until the harbor was astern. It was a nut to crack. -He forbore to ask too many questions. They annoyed Papa Ramon. He was -his own strategist. An uncannily strong finish he was making of it. The -adventure was like a magic draught of the elixir of youth. It enabled -him to hold decrepitude at arm’s length, for a little while to grin in -the face of the old devil of death that had so often jumped out at him -from the dark. - -The journey from the house to the quay was boldly and simply contrived. -At eleven o’clock at night, the _muchacho_ waited in the alley with a -one-horse carriage. The top had been raised. Richard Cary was directed -to double himself on the rear seat. He slid down as far as possible with -his knees almost up to his chin. Around and over him were piled the -personal luggage, rolls of blankets, canvas bags filled with clothing, -folded hammocks, two or three valises, until they filled the back of the -carriage to the roof. - -Señor Bazán conspicuously hunched himself in front with the driver. This -was the factor of safety. The old man was the passport through the -streets of Cartagena where he was as well known as the Church of San -Pedro Clavér and almost as much of an antiquity. Cary perceived this. -Alone he had been hemmed in and helpless. Before the carriage rolled out -of the alley, Ramon Bazán turned to say very softly: - -“Hold out your hand, Ricardo. Here is a pistol I forgot to give you. If -anything trips our plans, I don’t want you to be caught like a rat. -Never mind me. You just shoot your way out if you can. Run for La Popa. -The lame Palacio may help you to flee to the coast or the mountains. I -sent him money yesterday as a gift from you. It was your wish.” - -“Bless your heart, that would leave you a fine chance to square yourself -with the police,” gratefully replied Cary. “If I have to leg it I’ll put -you in my pocket. We have to see this thing through together. Cast off, -_muchacho_, and full speed ahead.” - -The carriage rattled through the silent, galleried streets and provoked -no curiosity until it approached a gateway in the city wall. A police -officer in a white uniform was strolling out of a wine-shop. In the -light from the windows the carriage attracted his attention. It was -moving too rapidly, the horse at a gallop. Even a young Indian driver -had nerves. They were feeling the strain. He was anxious to get through -that gateway. It had been much less trying to haul _El Tigre Amarillo -Grande_ into Cartagena under a load of wood than to haul him out again -in a hired carriage. - -The lieutenant of police jumped from the curb and raised his sword as a -peremptory signal to halt. The despairing _muchacho_, a slave to a -military uniform, laid back on the reins and jerked the horse to its -haunches. The carriage stopped so abruptly that Richard Cary bounced -beneath his mountain of luggage. He knew that something had gone askew. -He made elbow room to free the heavy pistol. Then he heard the petulant -voice of Ramon Bazán upbraiding the officer. It was asinine to meddle -with the owner of a ship in haste to go aboard and enjoy a few hours of -sleep, a ship which was to sail at dawn. - -The lieutenant was a young man of polished manners who now recognized -this abusive old gentleman. He was about to offer a laughing apology, -with a caution to drive with more care, when Ramon Bazán swayed forward, -a hand plucking at his breast. He stuttered something in a queer, -frightened little voice. - -Richard Cary heard and comprehended. In a flash he saw the library and a -frail figure toppled across the desk, face contorted, eyes bulging. -Before he could toss the luggage aside, oblivious of his own -predicament, the quick-witted _muchacho_ had thrown an arm around the -drooping old man to hold him in the carriage. A twitch of the reins, a -chirrup, and the horse was in motion. It broke into a quick trot. - -The lieutenant of police stared for a moment and strolled homeward from -the wine-shop. Señor Bazán was getting quite feeble, he said to himself. -Silly of him to be bothering with a ship. Greedy to make more money even -if it killed him! - -The frightened driver steered the horse through the gateway in the wall, -one arm still supporting the flaccid, silent shape of his master. In the -wide, open space between the wall and the quay, the lad halted the -carriage and wailed a “_mucho malo_.” Richard Cary instantly crawled out -and lifted poor Ramon from the front seat. The _muchacho_ threw a roll -of blankets and a canvas sack on the ground. They laid the stricken man -down very gently. - -Cary put a finger on his pulse. It was not stilled, but the beat was -faint and slow. The one hope was to search his pockets for the precious -vial. Thank God, it had not been forgotten! The lad held a small -flash-lamp while Cary pried open Ramon’s jaw and crushed two capsules in -his mouth. - -They waited a few minutes. The excruciating pain was eased. The sufferer -was able to whisper a few words. Ricardo was to carry him to the beach -near the quay where a boat would be found. There was to be no turning -back. It was a command. - -Some of the luggage was shifted to the front of the carriage. This made -room in the rear so that Cary could sit and hold the old gentleman in -his arms. Thus they came to the deep sand at the edge of the deserted -beach. The Indian lad indicated the skiff which, earlier in the night, -he had placed in readiness for the stealthy embarkation. Then he stood -waiting for orders. First they made a bed on the sand for Ramon Bazán. -He was too weak to lift his head. Cary mercifully refrained from -questions concerning the plan of action. It had been withheld from him. -Childish vanity and secretiveness had made it enjoyable to lead the big -Ricardo by the nose. - -It was not in the mind of Ricardo, however, to let the voyage be delayed -or thwarted. He would use his own wits. He tried to conjecture just how -the crafty Papa Bazán had expected to turn the trick of smuggling _El -Tigre Amarillo Grande_ on board. It was something very deceptive and -complicated, no doubt. - -“I am not in his class when it comes to hocus-pocus,” said the -dubitating young man. “He was going off to the ship first, I imagine, -leaving me on the beach until he could signal with a flash-light. Most -of the crew must be ashore, for a last night in port. Well, it’s up to -me to play it alone. And I did hope to get clear of Cartagena without -any more rough stuff. My reputation can’t stand it.” - -Having finished this brief debate with himself, the brawny seafarer -moved with an alert and easy confidence. He helped the _muchacho_ stow -the luggage in the skiff. Then they made a comfortable nest for Señor -Bazán who manifested no more than a glimmering interest in this, the -supreme exploit of his life. Richard Cary was made to feel forgetful of -himself. Once at sea, Papa Ramon might rally and live to enchant himself -with the pirate’s chart amid the volcanic cliffs of Cocos Island. He -deserved to win. - -With the Indian lad in the stern of the skiff, Cary picked up the oars -and drove ahead. A few hundred yards out in the dusky harbor floated the -_Valkyrie_, an uncouth blotch against the stars. Here and there a light -gleamed from a round port or a deck-house window. Cary aimed the skiff -to come up under the steamer’s stern, as the course least likely to be -detected. As soon as he was close aboard he used an oar as a paddle. The -skiff stole under the overhang and then slid along the vessel’s side -until it nudged the steeply slanting gangway steps. - -Cary made fast with a turn of line and motioned the lad to stay where he -was. Then he gathered Ramon Bazán from the blankets and deftly doubled -him over his shoulder. It was like carrying a helpless infant. With one -hand free, Cary awkwardly footed it up the steps, steadied by a shifting -grip of the side-rope. It made him puff, but the fatigue amounted to -nothing. - -Quietly he stepped on the deck, which was unlighted. No one hailed him. -It was wisdom to look about and find his bearings. The impromptu capture -of a seagoing steamer had not been contemplated in his darkest hours as -a fugitive. It required some care. - -The first thought was to deposit Ramon Bazán in a place where he might -rest undisturbed. The living quarters would be forward of the saloon. -Presumably they included a vacant room for the owner and another for the -captain. On tiptoe Cary bore his burden along the deck. He found a -darkened passage and entered it. The pocket flash-lamp showed him his -own room, identified by a desk and the rolls of charts in the racks -overhead. - -This was good enough. He rolled Ramon Bazán into the bunk, after -removing his coat and shoes. The old man mustered breath to thank him -and then fell asleep. At a guess, he was no worse off than when he had -been bowled over in his library. - -Closing the door, Captain Richard Cary returned to the deck. For so -heavy a man his tread was light and quick. He ran down the gangway steps -and bade the _muchacho_ fetch up the luggage and leave it on deck. Then -he was to shove off in the skiff and go back to his horse and carriage -on the beach. - -Captain Cary climbed on board again and stood listening. He heard, down -below, the clatter of a shovel, the pulsations of a pump, and the hiss -of a leaky steam-pipe. This was heartening. He would take the vessel to -sea with daylight enough to find the channel. Pilot be hanged! There -were marks and buoys enough. - -In the crew’s quarters, up in the bows, two or three men were quarreling -over a game of cards, or it sounded like that. They could be left to -their own devices. The saloon was lighted, the door open. A husky voice -was bawling to the steward. - -Richard Cary had to stoop to enter the small saloon. At the table sat -his chief officer, Bradley Duff, and a plump, flashy young man with -kinky hair and a flattened nose. An elderly mulatto in a dirty apron -just then emerged from the pantry with a tray. - -The late supper was interrupted, but not rudely. “Big Dick” Cary -intruded his soothing presence with the air of a man who disliked -violence. He received no greetings, for the reason that the three men in -the saloon had suddenly forgotten what speech was for. They were as dumb -as three oysters. - -The blustering Bradley Duff blew a long breath through his ragged -mustache. The kinky-haired young man in the pink silk shirt showed the -whites of his eyes and slid lower in his chair. He seemed to be ebbing -under the table. The glasses on the steward’s tray jingled together. His -feet were riveted to the floor. - -The large, pleasant-featured visitor could not help smiling as he said: - -“Good-evening, _Mister_ Duff. I am Captain Cary, master of this ship.” - -The spell was broken. The plump young man slid lower as he murmured, -“_Madre de Dios! Está El Tigre Amarillo!_” The steward wrenched his feet -from the floor. They would have retreated swiftly to the pantry, but -Captain Cary crooked a finger at him. He obeyed and joined the others at -the table. - -Mr. Bradley Duff had not slid down in _his_ chair. His mottled cheeks -were puffed out. His pimpled nose was redder, if that were possible. He -was a beefy, truculent figure, a man who had been valorous in his prime, -before some hidden flaw had broken him. Wiping his mouth with the back -of his hand, he hoarsely burst out: - -“Like hell you are the master of this ship, you big buckaroo! I know who -_you_ are—the guy that busted loose and fooled the town into thinking -he was a bad _hombre_. I’m no kid to be scared by a bogeyman. You make -me laugh. Master, my eye! You’ve gone clean bughouse. Wait till the -owner comes off to-night. He’ll throw a fit. I am waiting for his pet -skipper.” - -“The owner is on board,” said Cary, “but he is to be left alone until I -say so. He is a sick man. We shall get under way at four-thirty, Mr. -Duff. What’s the word from the chief engineer?” - -“You bumped into old Ramon Bazán on the beach and knocked him on the -head, that’s what you did,” retorted the inflamed Mr. Duff. “You _are_ -addled if you figure on putting this stuff over on me. If you don’t want -to be thrown overboard, beat it. What I ought to do is put you in irons -and turn you over to the police. I’ll go see if Ramon Bazán is really -aboard and what you did to him. If you turn out to be just a harmless -boob of a lunatic, I don’t want to be too rough with you.” - -“Stay right here in the saloon, Mr. Duff, and please keep your hands on -the table. If you swell up any more, you’ll break a blood vessel and -then I am shy a chief officer. You will have to brace up to-morrow. You -keep a rotten lookout and the ship is slack and filthy. How many men are -ashore?” - -“None of your bloody business,” was the savage reply. “Here, I’ve stood -enough silly play-acting from you.” - -Pot-bellied beach-comber though he was, Bradley Duff refused to strike -his colors. He was honest in his belief that this was an unlawful -invasion. There were men enough on board if he could get word to them. -And at any minute a boat-load was due to arrive from the wharf. He -kicked his plump companion as a signal for action. One of them might -succeed in breaking for the deck to summon help. - -Snatching a bottle from the tray, Mr. Duff hurled it with a mighty swing -of his thick arm. Cary ducked his head. A miss was as good as a mile. To -his sincere regret, he was in for a disturbance. - -Before the enraged Mr. Duff could fling another bottle, Cary jumped -forward and tapped him over the head with the butt of the heavy pistol. -Too bad, but it had to be done! The blow was not meant to be deadly. It -was enough to put the unlucky chief officer to sleep. - -A pink silk shirt was streaking it for the saloon door. Captain Cary -thrust out a foot and the plump young man fell. He rebounded like a -ball. Catching him on the rebound, Cary called to the elderly steward: - -“Do you talk English? What’s your name?” - -“Rufus Pilley, sah. I’se a British subjec’ f’um Jamaica, if you please, -Cap’n, an’ I stands on mah rights to be treated right. You don’t have to -blam me with no pistol. At yo’ service, sah.” - -“Bully for you, Rufus. Your views are sound. Who is this hot sport that -I hold in my hands? Does he belong on board?” - -“Th’ secon’ mate, Mr. Panchito, Cap’n, sah. You done scared him till -he’s green as a lizard.” - -“Lock him up, Rufus. The pantry will do. Step lively.” - -Mr. Panchito offered no resistance. It was a thing to be thankful for -that the Yellow Tiger had spared his life. Having tucked him away, -Captain Cary exclaimed: - -“Now, Rufus Pilley, help me lug Mr. Duff to his room. He will wake up -with a headache. Sorry, but it couldn’t be helped.” - -“Thank you, sah. When you gits done an’ finished with disciplinin’ the -crew, kin I serve you a tasty suppah, Cap’n? It looks like it’s hungry -wuk a-conquerin’ all hands like th’ way you started off.” - -“You are a sensible man,” grinned Cary. “We’ll get on well.” - -They left Mr. Duff in his room. He displayed no interest. Cary looked in -at Señor Ramon Bazán. It was like being in charge of an infirmary. The -aged treasure-seeker was awake. He demanded a nip of rum and lime-juice. -It was an auspicious symptom. Rufus Pilley, very sympathetic, -volunteered as a nurse for the night. He trotted off to mix the drink. - -“I was afraid you were fighting, Ricardo,” said Papa Ramon. “If you will -bring the chief officer here, I can explain it so he will understand you -are the captain.” - -“Oh, Mr. Duff is quiet enough,” was the careless reply. “He has just -turned in. You heard something smash? Mr. Duff dropped a bottle. You -turn over and go to sleep again as soon as the steward brings the toddy. -We are off for Cocos Island in the morning, with a westward ho and a -rumbelow!” - -“I am a very happy old man, Ricardo. Yes, I will sleep like a child. The -ship is safe with you.” - -With two officers mutinous and the crew yet to deal with, Captain Cary -was not as happy as Señor Bazán. He went into the wheel-house and found -the voice tube to the engine-room. - -“Is this the chief?” he asked. - -“Yes. Who the dickens are you?” - -“The master, Captain Cary. Come to the saloon right away, if you -please.” - -“Right away, sir.” - -“Can you kick her out of harbor at daybreak?” - -“She can do that much, Captain Cary. Come down here later and I’ll make -you weep.” - -It was the tired voice of a Yankee from down east, rare music to Richard -Cary’s ears. Presently the youthful chief engineer came dragging his -lank frame into the saloon. A greasy cap was pulled over a shock of -brown hair. The boiler suit was black with oil and coal dust. His face -was besmirched like a burnt-cork minstrel. The white teeth gleamed in -the smile of a rover who could not be daunted by life’s rough roads. He -was a tropical tramp because he liked it. - -“You look to me as if old Daddy Bazán knew where to find the right -skipper,” said he, reaching for the water pitcher. “This is one pie-eyed -voyage to the west coast, believe me. My name is Charlie Burnham, sir, -and it takes a good deal to give me the yips or I’d be raving right -now.” - -“Burnham?” said Cary. “You sound like a letter from home. There are lots -of Burnhams in my New Hampshire village of Fairfield.” - -“Cousins of mine, I guess. Shucks, I was raised in Tobey Center, only -thirty miles from Fairfield. I’m a hick from a rock-ribbed farm. It was -the darned chores that made me run away, cows to milk and wood to chop -and snow to shovel, and stone walls to break your back.” - -“Shake hands on that,” grinned Captain Cary. “Is there such a place as -New Hampshire on the map?” - -“Gosh, you wouldn’t think so. It was never like this. Say, there can’t -be two men like you on this coast. You must be the bird who got mad and -cleaned up Cartagena a while ago. You sure did make yourself hard to -find. This looks like a nice get-away for you. I’m not butting in on -your affairs, am I?” - -“Not a bit, Charlie Burnham. I’m the bird. Now tell me about this unholy -old hooker. What have you got for a black gang?” - -“Two assistants. That’s what they signed on as. Colombians. Eight nigger -firemen and a couple of oilers. I can cuss in Spanish so we’re doing -pretty well. Short-handed, but I couldn’t scrape up another damn man.” - -“What about the deck force? Did Mr. Duff have any better luck?” - -“Half a dozen black-and-tans, Indians and such. I guess I can steal one -or two of ’em at a pinch.” - -Charlie Burnham gulped another glass of water and fished a cigarette -from a damp packet. He was eyeing the tall, fair-haired skipper with a -certain grave concern. Cary noticed the change of manner and missed the -brave twinkle. Something worried his valiant Yankee engineer. - -“What’s on your mind, Charlie?” he asked. “You can’t be getting cold -feet. It’s a great life if you keep calm. I’ll be glad to help you -handle your crowd.” - -“Oh, I can ride those ginks, Captain Cary. I got wise to their curves -when I was running the ice plant at Barranquilla. But look here, I don’t -want to be a false alarm, so don’t kid me. You may have a lively time -getting this ship away. For one thing, this rummy of a chief officer has -made no hit with me.” - -“I made a hit with him,” gravely replied Cary, “but it may not last -long. What else is in your noddle?” - -“A dozen of these men are ashore, Captain Cary, and most of ’em will be -pickled when they come off to-night. They were having a pow-wow on deck -yesterday. It meant nothing in my young life, but it popped into my mind -just now. It was this crazy dope about _El Tigre Amarillo_—they swore -he was still hiding in Cartagena—and the main gazabo of the police had -offered a thousand dollars reward for the outlaw, dead or alive. One of -the firemen had a poster and was reading it to the bunch. They got all -jazzed up over it. You know how they go up in the air. Every mother’s -son of ’em was all set to grab _El Tigre_ with his bare hands and get -the thousand dollars.” - -“Flattering, I call it,” said Cary. “I hadn’t heard about the reward. -They will try to cash in before we sail, Charlie?” - -“It may be a flivver, sir, but I thought I ought to tip you off. They -won’t have the nerve unless they see a chance to rush you in a mob.” - -“Then I must keep them from getting their heads together,” said Cary. -“And my two deck officers are of no use to me. That is unfortunate.” - -“I’ll say so,” replied the chief engineer, “but I’ll do my best to make -that thousand dollars hard to collect. Sorry I must go below, sir. Be -sure to give me a call when the party begins.” - - - - - CHAPTER XIV - - - SHAKING A CREW TOGETHER - -The master of the _Valkyrie_ prowled on deck for some time. The two or -three men in the forecastle had ceased their noise and were presumably -in their bunks. The steamer was quiet. Cary regretted that he had been -compelled to tap Mr. Duff on the head, but there had been no other way -out of it. Quick action had been demanded or the dandyish second mate, -Mr. Panchito, might have escaped from the saloon to raise an alarm. - -First impressions of Mr. Bradley Duff had been more favorable than -expected. He amounted to more than a rum-eaten shell of a man. There had -been no cowardice in his violent rebellion. His sense of the fitness of -things had been outraged, that a chief officer left in charge of a ship -should be challenged by a crazy vagabond with no credentials. - -On shore Mr. Duff might be a blatant ruin. To such men, however, the sea -is often the breath of salvation, and its austere traditions have power -to restore, for the time, the habits of courage and fidelity. - -To Richard Cary the whole adventure had taken a disagreeable slant. The -flavor was spoiled. He was out of the frying-pan into the fire. The -tidings of that thousand-dollar reward stuck in his throat. It hadn’t -occurred to him that this Colombian crew might regard him as a treasure -to be hunted with murderous enthusiasm. The shoe was very much on the -wrong foot. If Señor Bazán was aware of this excessively awkward aspect, -he was not letting it fret him. His confidence in the colossal Ricardo -who plucked iron bars from windows and walked out of prisons was either -sublime or senile. - -Could anything be attempted during the night? It would be easy enough to -stay under cover until after the boat-load of firemen and sailors had -returned from the town. But this would not get the steamer to sea -unless—unless—yes, there was a fighting chance. - -Richard Cary walked the deck, trying to fit together this detail and -that. He had no fatuous intentions of storming through the ship and -crushing mutiny single-handed. The chief engineer, willing as he was, -ought to be left below with his invalid machinery. And any disturbance -on board would be certain to attract attention on shore. - -While Captain Cary, with deliberate scrutiny, was weighing and testing -his plans, he heard the splash of oars and the cadenced thump of -thole-pins. The ship’s boat presently bumped alongside with much loud -mirth and gusty argument. Cary withdrew to the wheel-house where he -could watch them go forward to their quarters. They lingered in a noisy -group, evidently surprised at finding no officer on watch. What was to -be done with the boat? Should they hoist it to the davits or leave it in -the water? One of the mates ought to be somewhere about to give orders. -However, these returning mariners were weary after much liquor and -dancing with the girls. They forgot the boat and stumbled forward, -weaving this way and that, arms around one another, singing -sentimentally. - -Richard Cary counted them as well as he could. A dozen or so! Charlie -Burnham must have kept a couple more on watch in the fire-room. The two -or three already in the forecastle accounted for the lot. There was this -to be said for this scratch crew of Colombians. They had not run wild -ashore. It had been a harmless spree. - -Cary went to the gangway and turned the boat adrift. It was a needless -hazard to leave it tied alongside. There should be no scrambling out of -the ship in the morning to arouse the police of Cartagena. One hornet’s -nest was enough. Next he stole into the chief officer’s room and flashed -the light on him. Alas, Mr. Duff was indisposed to be an active partner. -He slumbered heavily, his crimsoned nose trumpeting like a bugle. His -gray hair was slightly clotted, but the pistol butt had no more than -scratched it. The effect had been more soporific than serious. - -Shaking his shoulder failed to stir him, although he grunted and -muttered a very profane desire to be let alone. This was disappointing. -Captain Cary turned his steps to the room which harbored Señor Ramon -Bazán. The steward nodded in a chair. He put a finger to his lips and -whispered: - -“Sleepin’ like he was rocked in a cradle, Cap’n. What kin I do foh you, -sah?” - -“Produce that supper you promised me, Rufus. I shall be kept up all -night.” - -“Right away, sah. I didn’t hear you blam no more people,” hopefully -observed the steward as he ambled aft. “Th’ reason I has lived a long -while an’ kep’ mah health is, ’cause I abstained mahself from fool -questions. But what does you aim to do wid th’ second mate, Mr. -Panchito? You done lock him in mah pantry. How kin I find suppah foh -you, Cap’n?” - -“Sure enough, Rufus. How careless of me! What is your opinion of Mr. -Panchito?” - -“He ain’t so worse, sah, tho’ dese Colombia yaller men don’t class with -us Jamaica folks, in mah jedgment. Mr. Panchito was in th’ Colombia navy -till th’ navy filled up an’ sunk one night, right smack in dis yere -harbor, Cap’n. It got tired of stayin’ afloat. Th’ one gunboat was all -the Colombia navy done was, so Mr. Panchito had to go git him another -job. Um-m-m, when you come bulgin’ in to-night he was so skeered his -hair mighty near unkinked. It was jes’ like a nightmare bustin’ in on -him—wid all dis say-so ’bout _El Diablo_ prancin’ an’ ravin’ through -Cartagena.” - -“That sounds better,” heartily exclaimed the skipper. “You have seen the -owner of the vessel, Señor Bazán, and you know I am the lawful master. -Can you talk to Mr. Panchito in his own lingo?” - -“Yes, Cap’n. I was two years in a gen’leman’s house in Cartagena, an’ -then he ups an’ dies on me.” - -“Then make Mr. Panchito savvey that I am easy to get along with if he -jumps lively.” - -Mr. Panchito was released from the pantry, anticipating sudden death. -Nothing like this had ever happened in the navy of Colombia. When -invited to sit at table with a good-humored _El Diablo_ who smiled -often, he plucked up spirit and found his own voice. In his heart was -dismay at the thought of losing this position as second mate, with its -excellent wages, and he was anxious to do anything in his power to hold -it. To annoy this giant of a captain was to be rapped on the _cabeza_ -with a pistol butt. Mr. Panchito had not the remotest idea of collecting -any thousand-dollar reward. - -After a refreshing supper, Captain Cary and Mr. Panchito went arm-in-arm -to the wheel-house. The chief engineer sent up the information that the -first assistant, two firemen, and an oiler were on watch, to keep steam -in readiness for morning. - -“Hold them down there, Charlie,” was the order. “Have you got a gun?” - -“A sort of a one. All right, sir, I’ll hold ’em here. What’s the big -idea?” - -“Fetch me a hammer and spikes and some short pieces of scantling. I -won’t need the rest of the crew in the morning. Can you manage to shove -her as far as the Boca Chica?” - -“Sure! I sling a mean shovel myself. Nail ’em up? That’s a corker.” - -Soon Captain Cary went forward, with Mr. Panchito, to reconnoiter. A -wooden house with large windows had been built, at Mr. Duff’s -suggestion, to give the crew lodgings more livable in the tropics than -the noisome kennels under the deck of the vessel’s bow. These were so -leaky that rough weather would flood them, and they were foully dark. It -had been cheaper to build a shelter than to make the necessary repairs. - -Mr. Panchito was eager to assist the captain’s hasty carpentry by -discouraging with a pistol any attempts to break out. The doors had -hasps and padlocks, but these could not withstand much battering from -within. Richard Cary spiked them fast with swift, powerful blows of a -machinist’s hammer. The noise awoke the dozen sailors and firemen. For -the moment they imagined the mate was pounding to call all hands on -deck. They tumbled from the bunks, crowded to the doors, and couldn’t -push them open. - -_Caramba!_ There was a commotion in this stout wooden coop. Bare toes -could not kick through obstinate doors. The terrific hammering dinned at -them. It was like being inside a bass drum. Fearfully they flew for the -windows. - -And now the rotund Mr. Panchito exhibited a frenzied agility. He bounded -from one window to another, flourishing the pistol, pushing a head back, -belaboring a wriggling pair of shoulders. It was like a multiplied -jack-in-the-box. He caught one limber fellow by the leg as he dived for -the deck. Into the window he stuffed him by main strength. Mr. Panchito -was magnificent. As a second mate he was already deserving encomiums. - -Laughter made Richard Cary miss a spike as often as he hit it. He too -had to gallop round and round the wooden structure which seemed to have -a hundred windows and as many frantic men trying to spill out of them. -Never had he heard the Spanish language so molten that it actually -threatened to set a building on fire. As fast as he rammed a man inside, -he slapped a piece of board across a window and whacked the spikes into -it. - -Mr. Panchito was running himself to death. He sounded like a whistling -buoy. There was no leisure for him while those infernal heads were -popping out, and _El Diablo_ was at his heels. One by one the windows -were made secure enough to check the eruption. Then Captain Cary had -time to spike more boards across the windows. Even if the captives -should pull the bunks to pieces for battering-rams, they were safely -caged for the present. In their own tongue Mr. Panchito informed them -through the cracks that if they cared to live longer it was essential to -be as still as mice and to beseech the goodness of God on their sinful -knees. - -“_Mucho bueno, Capitan Cary_,” exclaimed this excellent second mate -whose pink shirt stuck wetly to his skin. - -“One hundred per cent _bueno_,” was the hearty verdict. “If the -Colombian navy hadn’t dropped out from under you, it would have been -Admiral Panchito some day.” - -“_Si, señor._ Now ees what?” - -“Now is what? That is as bright a remark as I ever had put up to me, Mr. -Panchito.” (Cary held up two fingers.) “_Dos hombres!_ Just the two of -us. We must make the old steamboat, _el vapor_, vamoose from Cartagena.” - -“_Dos hombres? Si, señor_,” instantly agreed the second mate to whom -nothing was now incredible. - -They adjourned to the saloon where the steward was waiting with food and -drink. - -“Seems like I heard yo’ conquerin’ somebody else, Cap’n Cary.” - -“You did, Rufus. Now I’ve knocked off. I forgot to ask you—is there a -cook to be accounted for?” - -“Yes, sah. He come aboard with th’ men an’ is sleepin’ it off.” - -“Please turn him out for an early breakfast. Does he have to be -conquered?” - -“Not him. I showed one nigger who was boss yestiddy. Um-m-m, I’se his -speshul brand of Yellow Tiger.” - -“Then we are all checked up,” said Cary. “Now, Mr. Panchito, you can -siesta yourself on those cushions for an hour or two. I’ll be on deck.” - -Dawn had no more than touched Cartagena with rosy fingers when Mr. -Panchito was lifted from the cushions and stood upon his feet. Captain -Cary was holding a steaming cup of coffee under his nose. The second -mate rubbed his kinky head with both hands, yawned, and sighed a long -“_Si, señor._” Gently but firmly he was led forward and escorted into -the wheel-house. Did he know the channel out through the lagoon? To -Cary’s gestures he nodded confident assent. Through the voice tube the -chief engineer assured them that she could flop her propeller over if -nobody spoke harshly to her. Leaving Mr. Panchito propped against the -steering-wheel, Cary ran to the bow to handle the anchor winch himself. - -He opened the valves and grasped the lever. Steam hissed from rusty -connections, but the piston began to chug back and forth. Anxiously he -threw the winch into gear. With a frightful clamor the drum very slowly -revolved, dragging in the links of the cable. If the winch didn’t fly -into fragments or pull itself out of the deck, the anchor would have to -break out of the mud. - -A series of protesting shrieks from the laboring winch, a dead stop, -another effort, and it was taking hold in grim earnest. The cable was -coming home link by link. Cary jumped to look overside. The huge ring of -the anchor came surging out of the water. The _Valkyrie_ was free. Her -master let the winch revolve until the anchor hung flat against the bow. -This was good enough. It could be stowed later. - -He waved his hand to Mr. Panchito who had drooped himself over a window -ledge of the wheel-house. The pink shirt moved over to the -steering-wheel. The whistle of the _Valkyrie_ blew no farewell to the -port of Cartagena. It would have been a foolish waste of steam. - -The steamer sluggishly gathered headway, riding light in ballast. It was -odd to see her heading for sea without any visible crew. Two _hombres_ -were in the wheel-house. Not a soul moved on deck. - -Safely she avoided the shoals and made the wide circuit to swing into -the narrow fairway of the Boca Chica between the mouldering, grass-grown -forts. By now Captain Richard Cary was pacing the bridge in solitary -grandeur. His brow was serene with contentment. The ship was heaving -under his feet as she felt the swell of the wide Caribbean. He was -gazing ahead. - -“‘Now ees what?’” he said to himself. A rumbling cough made him whirl -about. Mr. Bradley Duff was clinging to a stanchion with one hand. The -other tenderly caressed his scalp. On his puffy features was written a -bitter resentment. The night’s rest had not sweetened his temper. Cary -was quick to offer amends. - -“I hated to have to do it, Mr. Duff. Señor Bazán was near dying in my -room, and I didn’t dare jolt him with any more excitement. You refused -to listen to me—” - -“I went in and saw the old gentleman just now,” grumpily replied the -chief officer. “He set me straight about you. I didn’t air my troubles. -He has chirked up quite a bit. But what was the sense in all the hush -stuff? Why didn’t the old coot tell me you were coming aboard to take -command? Do you think I’d ’a’ blabbed it ashore? It was nothing to me if -a big Yankee sailorman had enjoyed beating up the town.” - -“You wouldn’t have blabbed when you were sober,” said Cary. “It was the -Colombian crew that made Señor Bazán nervous. They had some foolish -notions about me.” - -“And so you boxed up the crew, Captain Cary? That is a new one on me. -And now you will have to turn ’em loose. How about that?” - -“Not a thing to worry about, if you feel like turning to, Mr. Duff,” was -the cheery assurance. - -This compliment so astonished Mr. Duff that he blew his mustache like a -walrus. He tried, with no great success, to push his chest out and pull -his stomach in. His bleary eye brightened as he ripped out: - -“Hell’s bells, young man, we’ll show ’em who runs this ship. Of course -they may refuse duty and try to make you put back. Seems to me I heard -some mention of a thousand dollars reward for you. It went in one ear -and out the other. I never needed money bad enough to dirty my hands by -crimping a fellow Yank in a foreign port. You’ll take my word for that.” - -“I believe you, Mr. Duff. Then I will release the men and set the -watches, if they behave themselves.” - -“One moment, Captain Cary,” growled the beach-comber. “You bent a gun -over my crust last night, and I’m willing to forget that, which is very -handsome of me. But you insulted me professionally and I feel hurt. You -called it a filthy ship. Let me tell you, I was commanding smart vessels -when you were a clumsy pup. You don’t know what I have had to contend -with in this blistered old scow that ought to be scrapped. The owner -hollers murder when you ask him for paint. Now you back me up and I’ll -make this ship so clean you can eat off her decks. You can’t tell me one -bloody word about a chief officer’s job.” - -“I apologize,” smiled Cary. “It was unfair of me. I snapped it out -before I thought. Go to it. Between us we’ll shake the crew down.” - -The swag-bellied Mr. Duff was pacified. He looked almost pleasant. His -professional instincts had been not dead but dormant. Presently he -trudged forward to pull the spikes from the doors of the forecastle -house. The men came piling out, hungry and hostile. Mr. Duff’s fist -smote the first one under the chin. The others took the hint. They were -not so rampant. - -On the bridge they happened to descry the figure of a very tall and -broad young man with a thatch of yellow hair that shone in the sun like -spun gold. In every way he was a most unusual young man. He was looking -at them with steady, untroubled eyes, as if they were no more than so -many noisy insects. - -This was a great surprise. The young man could be none other than the -dreaded _Tigre Amarillo_ whose capture they had so gayly discussed for -the fun of spending an imaginary fortune. Last night, when the boards -had been mysteriously nailed on the windows, there had been frightened -surmises—the man with the hammer had been ever so much bigger and more -powerful than Mr. Duff—but they had later agreed that they were drunk -and their vision was untrustworthy. - -Swiftly now their startled minds were adjusting themselves. Their -emotions were easy to read. Sixteen men in all, if they could unite—the -ship was still within sight of the Boca Chica—if they couldn’t manage -to take her all the way back to Cartagena they could anchor inside and -send a boat once they had gotten the upper hand of the three -_Americanos_. The second mate and the assistant engineers were -Colombians. They would be glad to aid the cause of justice. This -yellow-haired monster of a man had been guilty of crimes to make one -shudder. - -Captain Richard Cary saw them hesitate and crowd together. He jumped -down the iron ladder and shoved into the group. A knife flashed. He -slapped the hand that held it. The sailor clasped a benumbed wrist. The -chief officer was bravely collaring them. It was no more than a flurry. -They were given no time to organize and act cohesively. - -“Hustle ’em along, Mr. Duff,” said Cary. “Breakfast be hanged! Send the -firemen below. Put your sailors at work. Keep all hands moving. Give me -a good man to relieve the second mate at the wheel. We are too -short-handed to stave any of them up. So be as easy as you can.” - -“Here is a quartermaster, sir,” panted Mr. Duff, jerking his thumb at a -chunky fellow with a boil on his neck. - -“Aye, I’ll just take him along,” said the skipper. - -With this he grasped the quartermaster around the waist, deftly flipped -him head down and heels up and, thus reversed, tucked him under one arm. -Encumbered in this manner, Captain Cary strode for the wheel-house where -he stood his spluttering quartermaster right end up and cuffed him -erect. He was shown the course on the compass card in the binnacle. He -gripped the spokes with the most zealous sincerity. He had no other -thought in the world than to steer an absolutely correct course. Neither -to the right nor left did he glance. - -The steamer’s speed increased to five knots. The chief engineer, still -at his post, called through the tube: - -“All the firemen came tumbling down at once, Captain Cary. They are -awful sore about no breakfast. This bunch of mine would sooner eat than -fight.” - -“I’ll send grub and coffee down, Charlie. Can you stand by two or three -hours longer? Things are smoothing out.” - -“Sure I can. These engines interest me. I just sit and wonder what makes -’em go. Come down when you get a minute.” - -“Right-o, Charlie boy. It looks like a happy voyage, even if we did get -off to a bum start.” - -Soon Mr. Duff lumbered to the bridge to report: - -“I am going to feed my animals directly, sir. They are washing down with -the hose and scrubbing for their lives. A smart ship, by the time we -slide into the Pacific! The second mate refused to go off watch. He -bounces after the men and damns their eyes if they turn their heads to -spit. The only moment Mr. Panchito took off was to shift into a purple -silk shirt and a necktie with yellow spots.” - -The routine set in motion, Richard Cary went in to visit the invalid -Señor Ramon Bazán. He was sitting up in bed. Joyously he piped: - -“A life on the ocean wave, Ricardo! I am a man ten years younger. And -the ship has sailed with no trouble at all. How is my fine ship and my -great captain?” - -“Not a care in the world,” was the genial reply. “Everybody earning his -wages and the course set for the Isthmus.” - -“Bend your ear down, Ricardo mine. Softly now. There is no whisper of -our secret plans? They know nothing about the treasure chart and Cocos -Island?” - -“Not a suspicion, Papa Ramon. To Buenaventura for orders and thence with -cargo.” - -“What kind of a crew is it to trust when we find the six million dollars -and the gold ingots? This is the only thing that has worried me, -Ricardo. I could do no better for a crew in Cartagena. This chief -officer, Bradley Duff. Will he be a bad egg?” - -“Right as can be. You can’t always judge a man by his looks and manners. -As for the crew, there will be no trouble with them.” - -“El Draque has come again to the Spanish Main,” said Ramon Bazán, fondly -regarding his commander. “Remember now! The treasure chart is wrapped in -the rubber cloth, under my shirt, Ricardo. Now take me into my own room -and you get yourself all settled comfortably in here where you belong.” - -To the _Valkyrie_ came a breathing spell. Outwardly she was an unlovely -little ocean tramp which had seen much better days, plodding along the -Colombian coast on some humdrum errand to earn a pittance by begging -cargoes from port to port. Her discolored sides rolled to the regular -impulses of the sea and the propeller blades flailed the water into -foam. A banner of black smoke trailed from the shabby funnel and spread -behind her in a dirty smudge. - -The early morning weather had been kind to these argonauts. During the -forenoon, however, Mr. Duff cocked a knowing eye at the barometer and -sniffed the warm breeze. It was damper than he liked. His feet pained -him more than usual. His broken arches had warned him of more than one -sudden gale of wind and rain. He mentioned his misgivings to Captain -Cary who received them with respect. They set about doing what they -could to make things secure, swinging the boats inboard and lashing -them, covering hatches, attending to odds and ends neglected in the -haste of departure. - -Even while they toiled, the sky grew overcast and the sea lost its -sparkle. The wind veered this way and that before it began to blow -strongly out of the east. It threatened to blow much harder. The crew -realized that the _Valkyrie_ was ill-prepared to endure furious weather. -They laid aside all ideas of plotting mutiny. It was more essential to -save themselves from drowning. - -By noon the steamer was wallowing in a gray waste of raging water. She -rolled with a sickening motion as if about to turn bottom up. The seas -broke solid on her decks and poured through smashed skylights, through -the leaky joints of deadlights, through weather-cracked doors. When -pounded and submerged like this, the ship was not much tighter than a -basket. - -Leaving Mr. Duff on the bridge, Richard Cary went down to the -engine-room. He found a red-eyed, haggard Charlie Burnham hanging to the -throttle valve with both hands to ease her or to jam ahead when the -indicator bell whirred like an alarm clock. Water was slashing over the -greasy floor plates. The first assistant was up to his waist in the -filth of the bilge, trying to clear the pumps of the loose coal which -had choked the suction pipe. He was a small man limp with seasickness -and bruises. When he stooped over to try to claw the coal away and free -the suction strainer, the water boiled over his head as the ship rolled -far down. - -Cary crawled over and pulled him out of the bilge. Here was a job for a -man of more height and strength. He plunged in himself and was working -with the energy of a dredge when Charlie Burnham slid across the floor -to yell in his ear: - -“The pumps are drawing a little, sir. You can clear it if anybody can. -If you don’t, it’s good-night. We’ve got to keep the water down or it -will put out the fires.” - -Cary wiped the floating grease from his eyes and grunted: - -“I’ll do my best to clear it, Charlie, if I have to stand on my head. -How is she steaming?” - -“Like a dizzy old miracle. Better than she knows how. It’s lucky I held -all the firemen below. They are working short shifts, but it’s banging -’em around something awful.” - -Twenty minutes later, Captain Cary hauled himself out of the bilge. The -pumps were sturdily pulling water, and the flood in the engine-room had -been checked. He went into the stokehold. Half-naked men were staggering -and tumbling to and fro in a fog of steam from the hot ashes and salt -water. Red coals spilled out when a furnace door was opened. Frequently -the wretched toilers lost their footing and were flung headlong. Arms -were seared with burns, bodies contused. - -When the captain of the ship suddenly loomed among them, they cowered -from him, dropping slice-bars, letting coal fall from their shovels. -Their nerves were already rasped to breaking. They were disheartened men -dumbly struggling for survival against the obliterating ocean. Instead -of striking and cursing them, this mighty captain was smiling like a -friend. He snatched a shovel from a half-dead fireman with a bleeding -shoulder and pushed him out of the way. The shovel ate into a pile of -coal on the floor and swiftly fed it into a furnace door. - -The captain poised himself against the wild rolling of the ship and shot -the coal into that furnace like three or four men. He was all grease and -grime like themselves. He was _El Diablo_ of a stoker, setting them an -example to wonder at. The word passed that he had been in the bilges, -making the pumps suck to save the fires. This was a new kind of captain. -It restored their hope and made them oblivious of hurts and fatigue. - -For some time the captain plied the shovel or raked the fires with a -long slice-bar. They had heard of his prowess with an iron bar. It was -the truth. He handled this heavy bar like a straw. They watched him with -the eager excitement of children. The ship was safe with such a captain. -He could do anything. It was certain that he would preserve their lives. - -When, at length, the captain desisted from stoking like a giant, he -shouted a few words of Spanish at them. They were all _muchos buenos -hombres_, and _viva el vapor_! It was a little storm, nothing to worry -brave sailors of Colombia. They grinned and clapped their hands -together. He was not a yellow tiger, but _El Capitan Grande_. - -When, at length, he climbed to the bridge, the sea seemed less violent -and the sky not so somber. Mr. Duff was planted beside the engine-room -indicator, jockeying the ship as best he could to ward off the blows of -the toppling combers. His red face was streaked with salt. A sou’wester -was jammed on his gray pow. The wind whipped his oilskin coat out behind -him. At a glance he was competent, a man restored to his element. - -“All right, Mr. Duff,” said Cary. “We have seen the worst of it. Go -below and ease your feet. You may as well snooze till I call you. There -was nothing I could do up here. I left the ship in good hands.” - -“Thank you for that,” beamed the chief officer. “It shook the ship up -some, but, by Judas, it’s worth the damage. It shook this flighty crew -together. I don’t anticipate much more trouble with them.” - -“Neither do I, Mr. Duff. This gale has blown some of the nonsense out of -their heads. I think we can make it a contented ship.” - -Sunset found a quieting sea and a dying wind. The _Valkyrie_ was on her -course for Colon. After a while the second mate came up to relieve the -captain and let him snatch a few hours of sleep. Richard Cary waited a -moment. A sailor paused beside the wooden house in the bows. Upon the -roof was mounted the bronze bell of the galleon _Nuestra Señora del -Rosario_. The sailor pulled a cord and the ancient bell rang out the -hour, _dong-dong—dong-dong—dong-dong—dong-dong_! Eight bells! - -“All’s well and westward ho!” said Richard Cary, the sense of illusion -stealing over him. “It’s still the same. Ships have changed, but men are -the same. And the game is still worth playing.” - - - - - CHAPTER XV - - - IN THE HOUSE OF MYSTERY - -Only to Mr. McClement, chief engineer of the _Tarragona_, had Teresa -Fernandez made known her intention of leaving the ship at the end of the -voyage. Never again did she wish to see the walls of Cartagena and the -white moonlight in the plazas, or to hear the wind in the cocoanut palms -and the bells in the church towers. The thoughtful McClement did not try -to dissuade her. Convinced as she was that Richard Cary had been -wickedly done to death, it was not a decision to be argued. Her plans -were uncertain, she said. If she were fitted to earn a living ashore, -she would not go to sea again. The sea made her sad. - -She had a last talk with McClement the night before the ship was due at -New York. It was a farewell, he suspected. Teresa had resolved to break -all ties with the _Tarragona_ and her shipmates. - -“Will you let me look you up in New York?” he asked. “We might have -dinner together, or something like that. If I can cheer you up a bit—” - -“Thank you very much, Mr. McClement. I will let you know where to find -me if I need you. On your next trip to Cartagena you may hear -something—of how—of how it happened, but you will never find Mr. -Cary.” - -“I can’t be so cock-sure of that, Miss Fernandez. As I have insisted -right along, a man like Dick Cary doesn’t vanish without a trace. -Colonel Fajardo is the blighter for me to keep an eye on. He will be -looking for you on the ship, won’t he? Hot after you again, I fancy. He -may give himself away. He will be badly upset when he finds you have -stayed in New York.” - -“Do you truly expect to see Colonel Fajardo waiting on the wharf in -Cartagena, Mr. McClement?” demanded Teresa. Her face was solemn, her -dark eyes very large, her hands clasped. She was urged against her will -to discover what this loyal friend might hold secluded in the secret -places of his understanding. Sometimes he frightened her, he seemed so -wise and penetrating and yet vouchsafed so little. To her tense question -he replied, laying a hand on hers: - -“No more of that, my dear girl. You must be up early when the ship docks -to-morrow morning, so it’s time for you to say your prayers and go to -bed.” - -“Ah, yes, I always say my prayers,” she breathed in low tones. “And will -you remember to say a prayer for the soul of poor Teresa who found her -lover and lost him so soon?” - -“God may be a trifle surprised at hearing from a perfect stranger,” he -answered, with his cynical twinkle, “but I am always at your service, -Miss Fernandez.” - -“It will comfort me,” said she, “to know you believe I am still good—in -spite of—no matter what—no matter what—oh, Mr. McClement, I am such a -very, very unhappy woman.” - -She sobbed the words. For the first time her proud and righteous -composure had broken. It was the realization that in all the world there -was no one else than this man who could comprehend her, in whom, if -needs be, she could unreservedly confide. He was a link, as faithful as -forged iron, between the brief joy of which she had been bereft and the -dark perspective of the future. - -McClement made no comment. He knew when silence was golden. Teresa -quickly regained her poise. The display of emotion had been like the -swirl of an eddy on the surface of a deep, swift stream. - -“To have a second mate left on the beach means so little in a great -fleet of ships like the Fruit Company’s,” said she. “The captain will -report him absent from duty, and it is soon forgotten. Mr. Cary was a -new man in the service—a stranger—they scratch him off the list. And -you have packed his clothes in the two bags, Mr. McClement? And all the -little things that belonged to him?” - -“Yes. I found his home address—a letter from his mother. I kept it for -you. Shall I send the stuff to her, or what? How about waiting another -trip?” - -“Wait for what?” Teresa exclaimed. “Mr. Cary is dead, I tell you. -Colonel Fajardo killed him. How else can it be—think, Mr. McClement, -two days the _Tarragona_ was at Porto Colombia, and two days at Santa -Marta loading bananas—a whole week on the coast before we sailed for -Kingston. And the Company’s radio stations at those ports! I have told -you this over and over again. Can you imagine Mr. Cary alive and not -sending a radio to me—to the captain—to explain why he was missing? It -is impossible. A whole week on the coast and then to Kingston.” - -“I grant you all that,” replied McClement. “It has knocked the props -pretty well from under me. What about Dick Cary’s mother? There’s the -rub.” - -“His things ought to be sent to her, I suppose,” said Teresa. “What else -can we do? And who will write to her? You or I? Maybe the port captain -who hired him will send her a letter. I don’t know about that. But Mr. -Cary is nothing but a second mate that jumped his ship.” - -“Writing his mother! Humph!” grunted McClement. “What the deuce is there -to tell her but to sit tight and hope for news? My word, but it _is_ a -rotten situation for her, isn’t it?” - -“I am the one to write a letter to her,” said Teresa. “And I will tell -her why. It is because I loved him, and was ready to die for him.” - -Troubled sleep and wakeful hours were Teresa’s portion during this last -night in the ship which had long been her home. The blind instinct of -flight had driven her to break these familiar bonds. Abhorrent was the -thought of returning to the long wharf at Cartagena with the ugly cargo -sheds and the tapering masts of a Colombian schooner lifting beyond -them. There was the fear that somehow she might betray herself, that out -of the very air accusation might be directed against her. - -She felt neither guilt nor remorse, but she was too young to die. And it -would be hideously unjust if she should be taken and put to death for -what she had done. Not by chance had she been delivered from punishment. -The miraculous decree of fate had sheltered and absolved her. - -She wondered if the evil spirit of Colonel Fajardo haunted the narrow -strip of wharf beyond the cargo shed, waiting, waiting for the ship to -bring Teresa Fernandez back to Cartagena. The unholy vision could not be -thrust aside—the gaunt figure and the harsh, cruel face bleached with -sudden terror—the whip-like crack of the little pistol—the strangled -scream of “Jesus, have mercy”—the splash just astern of the schooner -and the patch of frothy water with the widening circles. . . - -Unpleasant and distressing, such a crimson page of remembrance as this, -but not to be regretted or moaned over. Such was Teresa’s inflexible -verdict. Raging more than once, grinding her small white teeth, she had -been sorry that Colonel Fajardo had only one death to die. The Holy -Office of the Inquisition would have known how to make it more -lingering. - -These thoughts would leave her alone, she hoped, as soon as she should -have seen the last of the ship which had been so intimately associated -with him. - -There was something more troublesome, and she could see no way to meet -it. Write a letter to the mother of Richard Cary? What in the name of -God could she, Teresa, say to his mother by way of explanation? What -could she tell the mother of a noble son? That he was dead? How? Where? -Why? Where was the proof? Who had buried him and where was his grave? He -was dead. This was all Teresa knew as she had read it in the hard eyes -of Colonel Fajardo, in his twitching smile, gloating, gratified, unable -to dissemble his own secret. But a mother of a son—and such a son—here -was a wall of difficulty that loomed to the sky! - -While the passengers were landing next morning, very impatient to run -the gantlet of the customs inspectors and hurl themselves into taxicabs, -Miss Fernandez was the efficient, light-footed stewardess with a blithe -word and a quick readiness to aid the ladies and amuse the children. She -turned aside from her duty only to accost Mr. McClement and say: - -“Leave Mr. Cary’s things with the baggage-master of the wharf, to be -sent for. This is my advice. They must not go to his home in New -Hampshire till I write the letter. It is going to be a very hard letter -to write. Good-bye, dear friend, good-bye.” - -At her leisure she packed her trunk and shook hands with her good -comrades, the purser, the doctor, the second steward, and the wireless -operators, who expressed themselves as broken-hearted to a man. She was -saucy to Mr. Schwartz, the bullying chief steward, and boxed his ears -when he would have chucked her under the chin in token of an amicable -parting. - -From the ship she went to the office of the port steward and demanded -her wages, also a first-class recommendation. These were promptly handed -over. No longer a stewardess in trim uniform, with white cap and apron, -Miss Fernandez reappeared in a small hotel below Madison Square where -she would be unlikely to encounter passengers and officers with whom she -had sailed. - -Her savings banks books were a substantial anchor to windward. She had -done well for herself at sea. There was little faith in Uncle Ramon -Bazán’s promises of leaving her his property. He had too many bats in -his aged _cabeza_. Meanwhile she had dreaded being cast on a lee shore -of adversity and having to ask his help. There would be a string to it, -as she said, that she would have to go and live in his Cartagena house, -with the detestable brown monkey and the squawking green parrot and an -uncle who had a worse temper than either. - -There were friends in New York, but she did not care to see them. They -were mostly South Americans or seafaring people. Her intention was to -rest a while and then to look for another position as stewardess on some -route removed from the Caribbean, perhaps the Spanish line to Cadiz or a -Lamport & Holt boat to Buenos Aires. - -Prudent with her money as she was, she permitted herself the pleasure of -buying some new clothes, preferring to dress in black. The results were -admirable. She had excellent taste. A simple elegance distinguished her. -It was partly an inheritance. There was a certain exotic charm about -her, the eyes, the hair, the coloring of her race. - -She was not so vivacious, alas, as when Richard Cary had wooed her in -the tropics. At times she was like a nun, in moods pensive and wistful. - -Day after day she postponed writing the letter to the widowed mother of -the tall, ruddy son who had been so carelessly confident that nothing -could harm him. The longer the delay the more impossible it became to -put pen to paper. At last she ceased to deceive herself in the matter. -That letter would never be written by Teresa Fernandez. - -The dilemma held her like a vise. Every passing day was a merciless turn -of the screw. Inevitably she was compelled to try to put herself in the -mother’s place. Therefore she came to perceive, more and more clearly, -that her flight from Cartagena had been futile. She had fled from the -deed she had done, but there were consequences which she could neither -flee nor evade. - -In putting herself in the mother’s place, Teresa had to deny that -Richard Cary was dead. What mother would accept such a message as -anything more than flimsy conjecture, as meaning anything at all? A -mother’s impulse would be to fly to Cartagena herself or to send some -one. She would have to _know_ before the tenacious illusions of hope -could finally be extinguished. - -For Teresa Fernandez to allow herself to hope was to destroy the whole -fabric of her justification. Even the faintest whisper of hope and she -was no longer absolved. She had killed Colonel Fajardo because he had -deserved to die, because otherwise he would have gone unpunished. He was -guilty. Of this she had been as certain as that the tides flowed and the -sun set. - -But this certainty could never convince Richard Cary’s mother. And in -her heart of hearts did it entirely convince Teresa Fernandez? During -the voyage northward to New York she had been visited by visions of -hope. They had come not in her waking hours, however, but when she was -asleep and dreaming. Then had Richard Cary appeared to her, masterful -and tender, his deep voice vowing that he loved her, aye, for much -longer than a little while. She had felt his kisses warm on her lips and -his arms holding her close. - -Cruel, empty dreams she had called them, but now they took substance and -seemed to be calling her. For Richard Cary’s mother and for her own -sake, she discerned that she must go back to Cartagena. It had been -necessary for her to leave the ship and seclude herself amid different -scenes where she might be solitary and detached. Now she was thinking -clearly, recovered from that impulse of flight and concealment that had -driven her away. It was ordained that she should go back to Cartagena in -order to try to bring to light the hidden circumstances. She could do -nothing else than attempt it. By sea or land she could find no peace or -sanctuary. - -A fortnight in New York sufficed to rid this conclusion of its fears and -hesitations. It was the sequel, logical and unescapable, of the verdict -which she had privately inflicted upon the wicked Colonel Fajardo. - -Winter had gone. It was in the month of April when Teresa made this -voyage to the southward. The tourist travel had slackened. There were -few tired business men and restless wives and daughters. Teresa was -fortunate enough to be given a stateroom to herself. She was also alone -at a small table in the dining-saloon. It would have made her happier to -have been helping the stewardess, who was a heavy, middle-aged woman -with twinges of rheumatism. - -There were novels to read, long hours in a deck-chair, and the chat of -casual acquaintances. The men tried to flirt with her and found it -wasted time. The voyage was something to be endured in quietude, with -all the patience she could summon. Her courage was equal to the -undertaking. - -Apart and silent she stood, with an air of grave serenity, when the ship -passed in through the Boca Chica and slowly followed the channel of the -broad lagoon. The Colombian customs officials would come aboard and -summon the passengers for Cartagena into the saloon to check them on the -list and examine their passports. This was what Teresa was inwardly -dreading. If suspicion had followed her departure, she would learn it -now. - -A new _Comandante_ of the Port entered the saloon. He was a -white-haired, kindly man wearing spectacles. Importantly he scrutinized -the purser’s papers and ticked off the names with a pencil. Teresa sat -watching him. He had not come to her name. One little white shoe tapped -the floor with a quick pit-pat. Otherwise she appeared calm. He held the -pencil in air and exclaimed: “Señorita Teresa Fernandez.” - -Glancing over his spectacles, he perceived her sitting there. In tones -of surprise he repeated the name. She flinched and held her breath. -Rising from his chair, the _Comandante_ crossed over to her and put out -his hand. It was a friendly gesture. With a sigh she took the hand he -offered. Her fingers were as cold as ice. - -“It is an agreeable surprise, my dear young lady,” said he, “to find you -among the passengers, bound homeward to Cartagena. I welcome the lovely -niece of my friend Señor Ramon Bazán.” - -Teresa murmured words vaguely polite. The _Comandante_ returned to his -papers. He was fussily preoccupied. Presently Teresa slipped away to her -room, there to remain until the other passengers had disembarked. She -wished to have no reunions on the wharf with friends who had come to see -the steamer arrive. - -The barrier had been safely passed. She was free to enter the city as a -woman innocent of suspicion so far as the officials were concerned. No -information had been lodged against her, or the _Comandante_ and his -harbor police would have summarily detained her. - -In the heat of the day she hired one of the carriages at the gate and -was driven to the residence of her uncle. She would tell him what her -errand was, to search for tidings of Richard Cary’s fate. With a will to -help her, Uncle Ramon might be able to burrow beneath the surface of -things. In years gone by he had pulled strings in the complex politics -of the city, and was still respected in certain quarters for the things -he knew and didn’t tell. Crochety as he was, she thought he was really -fond of her when she refrained from teasing. And he had expressed an -unusual liking for the big second mate of the _Tarragona_. - -Teresa rang the bell of the ancient house with the rose-tinted walls and -the jutting gallery. Expectantly she waited for the Indian lad to come -pattering through the hall, or the shuffling slippers of Uncle Ramon -himself. Again she pulled the brass knob. She could hear the echoing -jingle of the bell. It awakened no response in the silent house. -Possibly they were asleep, her uncle, the _muchacho_, the fat black -woman in the kitchen. It was early, however, for the siesta. Uncle Ramon -should now be eating the midday breakfast in a shady corner of the -_patio_. - -This was a situation awkward and unforeseen. She had taken it implicitly -for granted that her funny old uncle would be found in his house because -he had always been there. To her he was a lifelong habit and fixture, -growing no older or more infirm. - -While Teresa stood on the pavement, the carriage waiting with her trunk, -the neighbor who lived next door came strolling home under an enormous -green umbrella. He was a courtly, bland gentleman with grayish side -whiskers who was manager of a bank and had large commercial interests in -the interior of the country. Teresa had known this affluent Alonzo de -Mello ever since he had been wont to carry her across the plaza upon his -shoulder and toss her squealing into a clump of plumed pampas grass. He -was her uncle’s financial adviser and loyal friend, ignoring his twists -of temper. - -Teresa walked along the pavement to meet him. His green umbrella was a -familiar sight. Now it was like a beacon in troubled waters. At sight of -her, Alonzo de Mello swept off his hat with the graceful homage of an -_hidalgo_. He was a gentleman of the old school. Very much surprised he -was to see Teresa. Kissing her on the cheek, as was his privilege, he -sonorously exclaimed: - -“Old Ramon told me you had failed to come south in the _Tarragona_ last -voyage, my child! Come into my house and have breakfast. The family will -thank me a thousand times for bringing you.” - -“And as many thanks to you, dear Señor de Mello,” replied Teresa, -grasping his arm as they walked with the umbrella over them, “but I must -find out how to get into my uncle’s house. I came to make him a visit -and the house is locked as tight as a jail. Where is he? What do you -know? Is anything wrong?” - -“The house is closed. He has gone away,” answered the banker, with an -oddly perplexed manner. “Ah, you have your trunk in the carriage, -Teresa? Then stay with us. I beseech it of you as a favor.” - -“I knew you would say just that, Señor de Mello, but if you don’t mind I -shall stay in my uncle’s house if there is any way to get into it. He -must be coming back soon. Where has he gone? What has become of his two -servants?” - -“You are a girl not to be cajoled if her mind is made up,” smiled the -affectionate neighbor. “Wait, if you please, while I get the key. Uncle -Ramon left it with me. Let the driver carry in your trunk, if you -insist. Then you can run in and out as you please and have your meals -with us. Your uncle’s servants have been sent away, you ought to know, -until he returns to the city.” - -Señor de Mello was obviously fencing with the story of Uncle Ramon’s -curious departure, as if it might require considerable explanation. -Teresa was mystified, but she asked no more questions until the banker -came back with the heavy iron key. At his heels galloped a little brown -monkey squeaking its annoyance at something or other. Teresa eyed it -with dislike. She knew that monkey of old. It was not to be mistaken for -any other wretched monkey in Colombia. It pulled at her skirt with tiny -black paws and would have frisked to her shoulder, but she thrust it -away with her foot. - -“Little imp of the pit! You are no friend of mine. It is beyond me how -my uncle could bear to part with you.” - -The monkey grinned at her, showing every tooth in its head, and it was a -most malevolent grin. Tail looped over its back, it scampered into the -house ahead of them, casting back proud and hateful glances. This house -belonged to it. These two persons were intruders. Into the silent -_patio_ scampered the monkey and went hand over hand up the trellis from -which it swayed in a contemptuous manner. - -Teresa was not interested in the antics of little brown monkeys. She -went into the library. It was clean and orderly. The other rooms had -been left in the same condition by the faithful servants. - -“Yes, I think I will stay here, Señor de Mello. It will amuse me to keep -house, after living so much in ships. Just now I am tired. I have not -been feeling as strong as usual. Will you excuse me from calling on your -family till later in the afternoon? I had breakfast on the ship.” - -“As you say, Teresa. You have everything here for your comfort. You will -dine with us to-night, of course. And now where has your uncle gone? Let -us sit down? Your uncle is self-willed and like a mule to handle, as you -know. And an old man must not be crossed too much. In the inscrutable -wisdom of God, our Ramon Bazán took it into his head to become a -shipowner and engage in the west coast trade. A bolt from a clear sky, I -assure you, when he came to me to turn his securities into cash and -finance the affair. He insisted on buying the old _Valkyrie_ some time -ago, very secretly, before he announced what he proposed to do with her. - -“You remember the small German tramp steamer, Teresa, that was idle so -long in the harbor. Then suddenly he told me he had decided to make -repairs and go to Buenaventura for a cargo. It took much more money than -he could afford to invest in such a scheme, but I could not refuse to -get the funds together for him. My advice amounted to nothing. -Objections drove him quite frantic. He had the bit between his teeth. -Restless, craving change and excitement before death snatched him, he -hit upon this foolish enterprise.” - -“He did not tell you everything,” wisely observed Teresa. “I have not -the slightest idea of what was in his ridiculous mind, but he expected -to bring back more dollars than he spent. Uncle Ramon was never an idiot -when it came to his precious money.” - -“I called him an idiot,” said Señor Alonzo de Mello, “and he grinned -precisely like that monkey on the trellis. So away he sailed and that -was the last seen of him.” - -“What did he do for a crew?” asked Teresa, the deep-water mariner. “And -where did he find a captain?” - -“He picked up a man called Captain Bradley Duff, and Cartagena was very -well pleased to get rid of him. All the vices of the famous Anglo-Saxon -race and none of its virtues were visible to the eye. An unsanctified -swine of a wind-bag, down at the heel, who had been annoying this coast -for some time.” - -“Captain Bradley Duff?” said the disgusted Teresa. “He was kicked off -the wharf when I was in the _Tarragona_. He came on board and tried to -borrow money from the officers and passengers. Then he got drunk in the -smoking-room. And this is the man that my uncle took as captain in his -old steamer? You were too soft with Uncle Ramon, my dear sir. He is in -his second childhood. You should have locked him in a room and given him -some toys to play with. Has anything been heard of this _Valkyrie_?” - -“Yes, she passed through the Canal. I interested myself to find that -out, but she is not yet reported as arriving at Buenaventura. I feel -some anxiety, for soon she will be overdue.” - -“There will be gray hairs in my head if I sit here in his house until he -comes back,” cried Teresa, in a sudden gust of anger. “He has gone the -good God knows where. May He protect the silliest voyage that a ship -ever made! Yes, Señor de Mello, I think I had better stay alone for a -while this afternoon and reflect on what I am to do.” - -As the good Señor de Mello bowed himself out, it escaped his notice that -the little brown monkey was still roosting on the trellis. Teresa, also, -was unobservant. She had discovered that the galleon bell had been -removed from its framework of Spanish oak. This was more food for -speculation. It was fairly easy to fathom, however, for one who knew -Señor Ramon Bazán and the history of the sonorous bell of _Nuestra -Señora del Rosario_. It had been his notion to take the bell along in -his steamer by way of precaution. Quite sensible of him, thought Teresa, -but to be regretted because with the bell still in the _patio_ she might -have been told if any catastrophe was about to put an end to her erratic -old kinsman. - -While Teresa was pondering this odd discovery, the monkey descended to -the floor and bethought himself of some urgent business of his own. With -a furtive glance at Teresa, who paid no attention, he scuttled into a -corner where two green tubs had formerly stood. The cocoanut palms had -been carried into the house of Señor de Mello that they might not perish -of thirst. The monkey was exceedingly indignant, as his language -conveyed, at finding his favorite depositary of loot disturbed. - -There was the wide crack in the masonry, however, where he had hidden -the fragments into which he had torn the letter purloined from the -library desk. Into this crevice he now inserted a paw and found what he -so anxiously sought. - -It was a briar pipe with an amber bit, the choicest treasure acquired -during a long career of zealous burglary. The huge guest of Papa Bazán -had forgotten the pipe that night when he had gone away in the dark. A -prize beyond compare for the covetous monkey who had found it in the -library next morning and had fled to hide it in the safest, surest place -he knew! - -Then he had been violently snatched away and kept as a captive in the -house of Señor de Mello, and there had been no chance to retrieve the -briar pipe. He had been sitting at the top of the trellis wondering what -made him feel so sorrowful and uneasy. At last he had remembered. It was -the pipe, tucked away in the crack of the wall behind the green tubs. - -In a happier frame of mind the monkey wandered across the _patio_, the -pipe held firmly between his teeth, a finger in the bowl. He had the air -of one for whom solace waited if only he could find a match and a pinch -of tobacco. - -Teresa caught sight of this absurdly gratified monkey with the pipe in -its mouth. She gasped and sprang to her feet. Like a flash she dived to -catch the horrid beast, but he flew from under her hands and raced for -the nearest room. Teresa was after him. She picked up an empty flower -pot and hurled it. The aim was wild, but the crash was startling. The -monkey’s nervous system was so shaken that he dropped the pipe and -vanished beneath a bed. - -The panting Teresa swooped for the pipe. She was laughing hysterically. -She could not believe her eyes. She fondled the pipe, turning it over -and over in her hands. It was the pipe which once before she had rescued -from the pest of a monkey, when she had brought Richard Cary from the -ship for an evening call on her uncle. - -This briar pipe was unmistakable. There were the initials neatly carved -on the side of the smoke-blackened bowl—_R. C._ - -She put a hand to her head. Richard Cary had taken the pipe back to the -ship that night. She was certain of this because she had insisted upon -cleaning it before he smoked it again. She had forced a jet of steam -through it in the pantry, and then had sent it to his room by a cabin -steward. Ricardo had returned his thanks. This had been her last word -from him. - -Later in the evening, about ten o’clock, he had gone ashore. A -quartermaster had seen him walk off the wharf and through the -custom-house gate. Betwixt that time and the present, then, he had been -in the house of Uncle Ramon Bazán. The pipe was evidence unquestionable, -or so it appeared to her confused sense. But if Richard Cary had been in -her uncle’s house since leaving the ship that last time, why had he sent -no word to explain his absence? Why had her uncle kept silent? - -Both joy and anguish overwhelmed her. The room went suddenly dark before -her eyes. Never before had she fainted. - - - - - CHAPTER XVI - - - BLIND ROADS OF DESTINY - -Joy in the belief that Richard Cary had not died that night in -Cartagena! Anguish that she, Teresa Fernandez, had stained her hands -with blood for which there had been no justification! She felt herself -falling, falling, falling into unfathomable depths while a fateful -little monkey sat and grinned at her. - -She found herself lying on the stone floor which felt cool against her -cheek. Lassitude overpowered her like a drug. A few feet away was a long -wicker chair with chintz cushions, a chair to recline in if she could -make the effort. She dared not try to stand. Like a child that had not -learned to walk, she crept to the chair and, for lack of strength, knelt -with her head on a cushion. A few minutes more and she was able to lift -herself into the chair and lie relaxed, grateful that she was no longer -falling, falling to dreadful darkness. - -The brown monkey had watched her from his hiding-place. He was as -unpitying as destiny itself. All that interested him was the briar pipe -which had slipped from Teresa’s fingers. There it was, on the stone -floor, near where she had so suddenly and curiously concluded to lie -down for a short time. Very cautiously he peered around the bamboo -screen and scratched his hairy hide. The woman appeared to sleep in the -long wicker chair. It was worth risking a bold sortie. Nothing venture, -nothing have! - -The monkey advanced in a series of short dashes, ready to retreat on the -instant. He was still nervous from the crash of that hurtling flower -pot. A fragment had nicked his bald rump. A final leap, and he pounced -on the pipe and silently fled out into the _patio_. Having fled to a -safe distance he informed the woman what he thought of her. - -The woman was not as indifferent as the thievish little beast surmised. -It was her intention to recover that blackened briar pipe with the -initials, _R. C._, neatly cut on the side of the bowl. Her slender body -was still a prisoner to weakness, however, and so she watched the -monkey, through the doorway of the room, as it gamboled insolently with -the pipe between its teeth. - -Ere long it sauntered over to the corner where the two green tubs had -been, assuming a specious air of indifference. Apparently the woman had -forgotten his existence and was enjoying her siesta in the long wicker -chair. The monkey examined the wide crevice between the stones where his -treasures had been habitually concealed. After an absence it was -advisable to take account of stock. - -Some other recollection, also a pleasing one, haunted his simian -intelligence. Into the crevice went an eager paw. It raked out one -handful after another of tiny white bits of paper and let them flutter. -He brushed them together as they fell and tossed them in air. They came -drifting down like the petals of the small, white flowers when a certain -monkey was scrambling up a favorite trellis. - -Amusing enough, but soon tiresome. This monkey was apt to suffer from -ennui. Giving thought to the matter, he picked up the pipe, rapped it on -a stone, and then stuffed the bits of paper into the bowl. It was -expertly done, a few bits of paper, and a finger tamping them down. This -had been the custom of the tall man with the yellow hair who had been -kind enough to leave the pipe behind him. - -Solemnly the monkey waited for the fascinating smoke to curl from the -bowl. He waited rather anxiously because he was very much afraid of -fire. Teresa Fernandez thought it time to interfere. She could see that -wide crack between the stones of the wall, and she did not know how deep -it might be. If the malignant little devil of a monkey should thrust -Richard Cary’s pipe in too far, for safe-keeping, it might drop between -the stones and be lost to her forever. - -She cried out sharply, insulting the ancestors of all monkeys. This one -jumped as if he had been shot and spun about, hiding the pipe behind its -back. Teresa was rapidly regaining strength. Indignation goaded her to -action. Reaching out an arm, she caught up a book from a small table and -let it fly through the doorway. It fell short of the mark, but hit a -galvanized watering-can. Bang! - -The monkey leaped into the air. He was sensitive to shocks. This woman -was determined to seek his life. If it was the briar pipe that made her -so ruthless, then he would let her have it. Better a live pauper than a -dead monkey! Only the gods of the jungle knew what she would be throwing -at him next. A bombardment of those explosive flower pots and books that -went “bang” might put an end to his career. Old Papa Bazán had a temper, -but he was never like this. - -Thereupon the mistreated monkey dropped the pipe and sped at top speed -to a far part of the house, into the vegetable bin beyond the kitchen -where there were burlap sacks to pull over one’s self. The atmosphere of -home had been ruined by a hateful, alien presence in petticoats. - -Her mind slightly relieved, Teresa called herself a useless girl for -yielding so weakly to a fainting spell. It was the breaking strain, but -she was by no means ready to surrender to the impact of circumstances. -She walked into the bathroom and let the water run cool in the basin. -She splashed her face and temples and laved her wrists. This was no time -to indulge in hysteria or to let her wits be tangled. It was a mercy -that she could be alone in this empty house until the late hours of the -afternoon. - -Soon she felt strong enough to cross the _patio_ and regain possession -of Richard Cary’s pipe. It had intimately belonged to him, a companion -of his night watches in all the ships he had known. He had told her -this. Perhaps he had thought of Teresa when he had smoked his pipe on -the rocking bridge of the _Tarragona_ under the star-spattered skies of -the Caribbean. - -Now she caressed the pipe with the palm of her hand until the bowl shone -like polished teak. With a hairpin she fished out the crumpled bits of -paper which the monkey had so painstakingly rammed therein. - -Here was a queer thing. She was quick to notice it, and as quick to -deduce its immense significance. When she had cleaned the pipe for -Ricardo, that last night on shipboard, she had dug out the evil-smelling -dottle in order to put steam through it and blow out the nicotine. It -had been a labor of love. - -Teresa knew as much about pipes as a man. She had listened to many -shipmates deliver orations or wrangle over the merits of their pet -briars or meerschaums, their clays and corn-cobs. She had watched them -carefully scrape the burnt cake when the bowl was almost filled. - -Ricardo’s pipe had been almost clear of this charred cake, as hard as -coal. This she remembered because it had been easy to clean it. He must -have been busy with his knife not long before that, as men were -accustomed to do when there was almost no room for tobacco in the bowl. - -But this same briar pipe, as she now held it in her hand, was caked and -foul. It had been smoked a good deal since she had last seen it on board -the _Tarragona_. A pipe could not get in this condition unless it had -been smoked longer than a day or a week. Why, it was time to dig out the -bowl again and cut away the black, hard cake. Here was something very -engrossing to study, enough to make a girl ever so much flightier than -Uncle Ramon Bazán in his maddest moments. - -Merely the tobacco ash burned hard in a briar pipe, but in the random -alleys of life, no incident is so small that it can be called -negligible. The little brown monkeys of chance momentously meddle with -the affairs of humankind and pass gayly on. - -Teresa Fernandez found a resting-place on the bench near the frame of -the galleon bell. Her senses were awakened to their normal alertness. -Who else than Richard Cary could have been smoking this pipe? Not her -Uncle Ramon! He had forsaken his black, rank cigars after two or three -heart seizures had almost popped him into his grave. - -“Ricardo has been here,” she said to herself, “and he must have stayed -some time. I could be no more certain of it if he told me himself.” - -She tried to banish the specter of her own frightful situation with -respect to the man she had slain on the wharf as an act of retribution. -This must await its turn. Unless she could control her mind to this -extent, she was hopelessly, helplessly befogged and adrift, without -chart or compass. Why had Ricardo failed to return to the ship? Why and -how and whither had he vanished again, from the house of Uncle Ramon -Bazán? These were the questions she was first compelled to grope with. -Her intuitions might be feminine, but life had taught her the logic of -cause and effect. When the occasion required, she could be as practical -as a navigator working out his sights. - -“They went away together, Ricardo and Uncle Ramon,” she thought aloud. -“It has to be so. Uncle Ramon knew better than to hire that worthless -Bradley Duff to command his steamer. When so much money is risked, you -can’t fool him as easy as all that. It is hard to find officers in -Cartagena. In a pinch, Bradley Duff may have been signed as a mate, but -not as a captain. I know my old uncle very well. He would never trust -himself, much less his ship, to a notorious beach-comber who has -nobody’s respect. - -“It was Ricardo who went as captain. Señor de Mello is mistaken. How -does it happen that he never mentioned Mr. Cary to me to-day? How could -they be in the two houses side by side and Alonzo de Mello not know Mr. -Cary was going to sail with my Uncle Ramon? The second officer of my old -ship, the _Tarragona_? Why, it would have been at the end of Alonzo de -Mello’s tongue to tell me how my uncle had such a fine officer with him. -Nobody could forget Ricardo if they met him only once.” - -Teresa ceased to be logical for the moment and veered to sentiment by -way of shadowy consolation. She went on to say to herself: - -“Buenaventura! A lucky omen, perhaps. It means good fortune. That is the -west coast port they sailed for? One of the little English ships that -captured the great galleon of my ancestor, Don Juan Diego Fernandez, in -Cartagena harbor, was the _Bonaventure_. And how grand and fierce -Ricardo looked when I was telling him how my brave ancestor fought in -his golden armor. He frightened me. Bad luck for Don Juan Diego -Fernandez, but good fortune for the Englishmen! And Ricardo is one of -them. He is not like a Yankee at all.” - -Good fortune? Could there be such a thing in God’s world for Teresa -Fernandez? The spirit of Colonel Fajardo had indeed risen from the muddy -waters of the harbor to claim its vengeance and reprisal. Teresa’s will -was still strong enough to hold this issue in the background. Let it -fasten a grip on her and she was lost. Time enough for that struggle. - -Broodingly she considered another issue intimately more vital. Had -Richard Cary truly loved her? Had she been more to him than a passing -fancy, a pretty girl to kiss, another sweetheart in a new port? - -With never a word to explain his desertion from the ship, with never a -message of any kind during these intervening weeks, it would seem that -he had forgotten her. He had left her to wonder and to grieve. What a -tragic fool she would have been to write a letter to his mother, -breaking the news that her precious son was dead in Cartagena! - -Thus Teresa sadly argued with herself, but love and logic cannot be -mated. She loved Richard Cary with an unwavering constancy. And her -belief that he cared for her in the same way might be shaken, but could -not be destroyed. He was the soul of candor. His simplicity was as -massive as a mountain-side. Honesty was in him if ever it dwelt in any -man. - -The fateful brown monkey, unhappily secluded beneath the burlap sacks in -the vegetable bin, had reason for ironic mirth. Those crumpled scraps of -paper in a corner of the _patio_—if the woman had been wise enough to -smooth them and try to piece them together, a word or two here, a phrase -there, she might have found the answer to her question. - -Absorbed in her study of the briar pipe, Teresa had paid no heed to the -scattered bits of paper so minutely torn by a monkey’s busy fingers. -They had failed to impress her as bearing any resemblance to the remains -of a letter. She went from room to room, searching for sign or trace of -the occupancy of Richard Cary. There might be something else besides his -pipe. The search yielded nothing at all. The library desk was vainly -ransacked. The waste-baskets had been emptied. There was absolutely -nothing anywhere to indicate that Uncle Ramon Bazán had entertained a -guest. - -Weary and bewildered, Teresa threw herself upon the bed in the coolest -room. It would be an ordeal to have to meet Señor Alonzo de Mello’s -family at dinner, but it could not be avoided. There were questions to -ask him. She had to know more about the singular voyage of her Uncle -Ramon. Where else could she try to find information? Uncle Ramon’s two -servants, of course, the Indian _muchacho_ and the negress who had -cooked and slaved for him. José and Rosa were all the names by which she -knew them. She was in ignorance of where either lived. It might not be -in Cartagena at all. Unless Señor de Mello could help her, it might be -impossible to find the two servants. Then, again, if the furtive Uncle -Ramon had been guarding some secret, as it seemed plausible to assume, -it would have been like him to bind José and Rosa to silence after his -departure. - -This house held a secret. It concerned Richard Cary. This was as far as -Teresa could grope in her labyrinth, But it was not her habit to -hesitate and grope for long. She would take a path and follow it to the -bitter end, once the choice of direction had been made. - -It was a long, long afternoon to spend in this silent house that refused -to whisper its secret. Teresa drowsed off more than once, dreadfully -tired and feeling the heat after the passage across the Caribbean and -the strong wind that was almost always blowing there, whistling through -a ship’s stays, whipping the blue surface into foaming surges, blowing -beneath a hard, bright sky: the wind with a tang to it, the wind that -Richard Cary had so zestfully drawn deep into his lungs, standing with -arms folded across his mighty chest. - -It was a breath of this same wind that came, at length, and drew through -the long windows of Ramon Bazán’s house when the sun was going down. It -stirred the sultry air. Teresa dropped her fan. She would take her bath -and do her hair and put on the evening gown of black lace which had been -her one extravagant purchase in New York. The household of Señor de -Mello dined with a certain amount of formality. - -When she was dressed, Teresa remembered the odious monkey which had -betaken itself into retirement. She could never coax it into following -her next door. Señor de Mello would have to intervene. She refused to -spend a night under the same roof with it. She went to close the door -into the rear hall. This would keep her pet aversion penned in the -kitchen quarters. - -The breeze had increased and was buoyantly sweeping through the _patio_. -It caught up the bits of torn paper and whirled them like snowflakes. -Teresa noticed them because she hated the slightest disorder. She had -been disciplined in the immaculate routine of well-kept ships in the -passenger trade. Flying bits of paper annoyed her. It was too late to -sweep them up. They were drifting hither and yon. - -Now that they had attracted her attention, she called herself a stupid -fool for neglecting to examine them in the first place. She had been -thinking of something else. Was there writing on them? She stooped to -catch a few bits as they eddied to the floor. One or two fluttered -behind a bench. Others settled in the dusty basin of the fountain. In -the open court the light of the sky was failing. She took the bits of -paper to a lamp. - -So small and crumpled that it seemed a waste of time to pore over them, -they bore the marks of a pen. This quickened her curiosity. She had -never seen Richard Cary’s handwriting, and therefore this could not be -called a definite clue. But this was not her Uncle Ramon’s crabbed fist. -It was a vigorous hand that had driven the pen hard. - -Malign luck, perversity, the influence of a little brown monkey, call it -what you will, so ordered it that the breeze failed to waft to Teresa -even one fragment which might have brought her precious consolation. All -it required was a bit of paper with her name or some remembered word of -endearment, or a broken hint to be interpreted. What she found herself -able to read were such meaningless words as these, “_and will_”—“_so -he_”—“_wish I_”—“_you told me_.” - -“If Ricardo wrote this, as perhaps he did,” said Teresa, “why was it -thrown away? Or was it a letter from somebody else to my uncle, and the -monkey found it in the waste-basket? And I might have had all the pieces -to puzzle over! Too late now. Some of the scraps have flown out of the -windows. For such stupidity I deserve to have the devil fly away with -me.” - -Before going out, she carefully closed the windows. Other scraps of -paper might possibly reveal something in the morning. - -She carried herself bravely, did Teresa, when she entered the large -living-room of Señor Alonzo de Mello’s hospitable home. It had been her -fancy to arrange her hair not so much in the latest mode as in the -Spanish fashion of other days, the glossy tresses piled high upon her -head and thrust through with a comb of hammered silver. A scarf from -Seville, shot with threads of gold and crimson, was across her bare -shoulders. She looked the patrician, a girl of the blood of the ancient -house of Fernandez. - -The welcome of Señora de Mello was affectionate. She was a plain, -motherly woman with a double chin and no waist-line who found -contentment within four walls, and had come to the opinion that the -younger generation needed the intercession of all the saints in the -calendar. Teresa she graciously excepted from this _index -expurgatorius_. - -Just now her only son and his wife were making a brief visit _en route_ -to New York and Paris for the annual pleasure jaunt. Antonio de Mello -had married a Colombian heiress owning vast banana and coffee -plantations, cattle ranches, gold mines, and what not. Ostensibly he -directed these interests, but his real vocation was that of a sportsman, -a spender, a cosmopolitan figure in the world of folly and fashion. - -Teresa Fernandez stiffened when young de Mello and his wife came into -the room. The daughter-in-law displayed all the latest improvements, -from plucked eyebrows to no manners whatever. A thin, fretful person, -beauty had passed her by. With a very bored air she said to Teresa: - -“We are sailing to-morrow. So sorry you are not to be the stewardess. We -came south with you last year in the _Tarragona_. As I remember, you -were quite capable and obliging. Most of them are like the other -servants one hires nowadays, utterly impossible.” - -That kindly gentleman, Alonzo de Mello, was dismayed by this crass -rudeness to a guest. By his old-fashioned code a Fernandez could not -demean herself. She dignified the task. Before he could voice his -reproof, Teresa was heard to reply, her demeanor serene, but her eye -glittering: - -“Ah, yes, I remember the trip. Why not? You had the B suite, and rowdy -parties in it every night. There were ladies on board. They requested -the captain to stop the disturbance. It was most unusual. A ship’s good -name is highly regarded.” - -Young Antonio de Mello perceived that his heiress had caught a Tartar. -Also, he knew Teresa of old. He cleverly contrived to draw her aside, -and said: - -“Pardon my wife’s lack of tact. Think how I adored you when we were -young. And you are more beautiful than ever, La Bella Teresa. How many -lovers at this moment? Be frank with an old friend.” - -“Only one, I swear it, thou scamp of an Antonio,” smiled Teresa, “and he -has run away from me.” - -“He is an imbecile. Then I am just in time to apply for the vacancy.” - -“The vacancy is in your silly head, not in my poor heart,” she told him. - -Before the scamp could parry this insult, his small daughter, aged five, -came running in to throw herself into the arms of Teresa Fernandez. It -was a joyous reunion. They had been shipmates. This explained it. Teresa -was a lawful capture who had to be led jealously by the hand, away from -the grown-ups, and held in audience by this devoted admirer. -Breathlessly the child rattled on: - -“And I can’t stay up for dinner, but Mamma said I could see you for five -minutes, after I yelled and wouldn’t stay good. And if you don’t go in -the ship with us to-morrow I’ll cry some more. Why aren’t you a -stewardess, Teresa? You know the story you told me—’bout the jaguar -that climbed right up on the roof of the peon’s hut and clawed and -scratched and growled _awful_, till he made a hole and tumbled in?” - -“Yes, my sweet angel,” laughed Teresa. “I have told that story to lots -of little boys and girls on the ship. The last trip I made as stewardess -I told the story to a little boy from Bogotá. I had to tell it to him -four times, and his eyes got bigger and bigger and he wiggled his feet -and said, ‘_Oh my_,’ just like you.” - -“I wasn’t real scared, Teresa, but I bet I can scare _you_, awful. My -story is _terrible_. You’ll just scream.” - -“Good Heavens, child, don’t tell it just before bedtime,” warned Teresa. -“And have pity on me! Why, I shan’t sleep a wink myself.” - -“Well, I won’t make it so awful terrible then,” said the small girl as -she cuddled in Teresa’s lap. “My nurse told it to me. It’s the story -’bout _The Great Yellow Tiger_ that ran _right_ into Cartagena and—and -what do you s’pose he did?” - -“Sant’ Iago preserve us! A great yellow tiger!” cried Teresa, imitating -extreme terror. “Indeed, that does scare me more terribly than my -spotted jaguar on the roof.” - -“He was looking for naughty little boys and girls,” solemnly affirmed -the narrator. “That’s what my nurse says. And he bited iron bars off of -windows to find ’em. Your old jaguar couldn’t do that. All _he_ could do -was scratch through a straw roof with his claws. Want to hear some more -’bout the Great Yellow Tiger?” - -“Not to-night, darling,” said Teresa. “He is much too terrible for me. -Did he run back to the jungle?” - -“Yes, but maybe he’ll come out of the jungle again if the boys and girls -aren’t as good as they can be. Glad I don’t live in Cartagena.” - -“You will be far away across the ocean and no yellow tiger can swim -after you,” comforted Teresa. “Besides, you are never naughty. You tell -your nurse that you don’t want to hear that story any more.” - -“It scared you, didn’t it? Oh, I have a little monkey to play with, but -I couldn’t find him to-day. Señor Ramon Bazán left it when he went away. -Will you play with me and the monkey to-morrow, Teresa?” - -“Perhaps, if you will promise not to tell me such awful stories. They -make me squirm!” - -The small daughter was presently summoned by her nurse. It was a tearful -departure. The Great Yellow Tiger! _El Tigre Amarillo Grande!_ A child’s -fantasy that meant no more to Teresa Fernandez than the spotted jaguar -tumbling through the thatched roof of the peon’s hut. - -She rejoined the de Mello family and was escorted into dinner by her -host. The wife of young de Mello was in no mood to make herself -agreeable. Her rake of a husband displeased her the more by paying court -to Teresa. He was flagrant about it. And she appeared to find it -diverting. The talk had no significance, however, until Antonio chanced -to remark: - -“I went to the steamer this afternoon to look at our rooms. It was odd -not to see Colonel Fajardo swaggering about, cursing everybody in sight. -This new _Comandante_ of the Port reminds me of a retired schoolmaster, -tiresomely virtuous and well-behaved. Fajardo, now, was a character, -wicked enough to please my taste. I miss him. What’s this scandal about -his disappearance? You hear the gossip of the wharf, Teresa.” - -“This is my first trip south since he disappeared, as you call it, -Antonio. I heard nothing about him on the ship. What is the scandal?” - -“Merely that he had left his girls and his debts behind him, with no -farewells. He had been going the pace for years—I used to hear some -wild stories in the clubs and cafés.” - -The elder de Mello broke in to say: “More than one jealous husband -threatened to shoot him. He was beginning to break—liquor had the upper -hand of him—and he fled in some kind of sudden panic, I imagine. A -threat, perhaps, and his courage went to pieces.” - -“Strange! A born fire-eater and a soldier with a record,” was Antonio’s -comment. “The moral is, of course, that one must be virtuous. I shall -take it to heart.” - -“I hope so,” said Teresa, “or some day you may fly away, pouf, like -Colonel Fajardo, and people will say shocking things about you.” - -The wife of Antonio was not interested in the petty scandals of -Cartagena and low people of whom she was in ignorance. She said -something sharp to her husband and began to talk volubly herself, the -plans for the summer in Paris, the new dances, the racy gossip -concerning persons of importance. Teresa welcomed the respite. She found -a glass of champagne very grateful. She had known dinner parties less -fatiguing than this one. Antonio turned sulky and glowered at his wife. -Teresa excused herself rather early. The elder de Mello escorted her -into her own house that he might retrieve the monkey and take it back -with him. This gave Teresa an opportunity to inquire, at a venture: - -“Did you happen to meet the very tall, fair-haired young man, a Mr. -Cary, who was visiting my Uncle Ramon before he sailed?” - -“Pardon me, Teresa, but Ramon had no visitors at all. Is this Mr. Cary a -friend of yours? Did he say he was expecting to visit Ramon Bazán?” - -“I inferred so. I am mistaken, then? You are quite sure?” - -“Positive of it,” exclaimed Alonzo de Mello. “I was in the house several -times during the last fortnight before he went away, with his business -affairs to look over and so on. He was alone, I am sure. He always had -that air of hiding away by himself. He preferred it.” - -“Thank you,” said Teresa. “Mr. Cary must have changed his mind.” - -“Who is the young man, may I ask?” - -“He was an officer in the _Tarragona_ for a short time. Probably you -have never heard his name. I thought Uncle Ramon might have taken him in -his steamer for the west coast voyage.” - -“I should have known it,” replied the banker. “The last time I saw Ramon -he told me that Captain Bradley Duff and the chief engineer were the -only American officers on board.” - -“A pipe-dream of mine, as you might say!” exclaimed Teresa. The -atrocious pun made her feel like giggling with a touch of hysteria. She -controlled herself and harmlessly inquired: “Do you know where to find -the two servants, if I decide to spend some time here?” - -“Then you refuse to stay with us? I am afraid you must let me look for -new servants. These two reported that the house was in order and gave me -the keys. Where they went is beyond me. Your uncle was to send them word -of his return.” - -“Never mind, Señor de Mello. I have not yet made up my mind what to do. -It is a thing to sleep over.” - -He was too courteous to press her with interrogations. She was an -independent girl accustomed to her own gait. Something he mentioned -quite casually came like a light in the dark. - -“I have instructed my agent in Panama to let me know when the _Valkyrie_ -reaches Buenaventura. Then you can cable your uncle, if you feel anxious -for his safety or wish to adjust your own plans. I mentioned, I think, -that the steamer had passed through the Canal. She was delayed a week at -Balboa for repairs after some heavy weather on this coast.” - -“Delayed a week at Balboa?” cried Teresa, with sudden eagerness. “I am -glad he stopped to have his old ship patched up.” - -After Alonzo de Mello had bade her good-night, she was able to discern -quite clearly the path she was to follow. She would not try to find -Richard Cary with cable messages and wait and wait for an answer which -might never come. Her evidence that he still lived was so slight as to -be grotesque. A briar pipe and an inquisitive monkey! Her faith was -scarcely more than the substance of things hoped for. She was ready to -swear on the cross that she had read his death in the gloating eyes of -Colonel Fajardo. - -Even though he were alive and had been in this house of mystery, this -house that whispered of a carefully shrouded secret, why could she -expect to receive any answer to a message? Old Ramon Bazán had carried -his secrecy with him. - -“His ship stayed a week at Balboa,” said Teresa. “Then her officers and -crew must have been ashore in Panama. That is where I must go to find -out anything. There is nothing for me in Cartagena.” - - - - - CHAPTER XVII - - - TERESA, HER PILGRIMAGE - -Across the Isthmus to Panama! It had been a golden road for the -ancestors of Teresa Fernandez to follow to the South Sea. It seemed a -propitious road for her to follow in quest of Richard Cary. Early awake -next morning, she felt less unhappy. It was not so much like groping in -a blind alley. Those scraps of paper that had eddied in the breeze? She -found a few more of them, but they told her nothing. She accepted it as -a decree, perhaps of punishment. Not knowing whether Richard Cary loved -her, in fear that he had died, she must set forth on her pilgrimage. - -The good Señor de Mello would think it strange of her to go as -unceremoniously as she had come. Anxiety for her uncle’s safety, the -desire to persuade him to quit his senseless wanderings, the fact that -he was in the company of such an unsavory mariner as Captain Bradley -Duff—this would have to serve as her pretext. What other people thought -of her was, after all, of no consequence. - -In the harbor she had noticed an English steamer waiting for a berth at -the wharf. It was the coastwise boat that picked up cargo and passengers -here and there, and went on to Colon. Teresa was out of the house before -the offices and shops were open. Over her rolls and coffee in an untidy -little café, she scanned a newspaper for the shipping items. The English -boat was expected to sail some time during the afternoon. It seemed best -to go on board as soon as possible. After some delay she found the agent -and secured a stateroom. - -Then she went to the bank. Señor de Mello was just arriving with his -green umbrella. In his private office she explained her sudden decision -as well as she could, and showed him a letter of credit. She wished to -draw some money, a considerable amount for a woman to carry with her. -Some emergency might arise before she could present herself at another -bank. - -Alonzo de Mello stared at the letter of credit. It was for two thousand -dollars, many times as much as the niece of Ramon Bazán had required -when intending to visit him in Cartagena. It was, in fact, every dollar -of Teresa’s savings, her precious anchor to windward. The banker looked -up to say, in his bland, paternal manner: - -“I am not one to pry, Teresa, but there is something in this that I fail -to understand. Why this large letter of credit? Did you expect to travel -farther than Cartagena? For transferring your funds a draft would have -been proper. Ramon’s wretched voyage frets you, but you anticipated -nothing like this. We are very fond of you, as you know, and—” - -“Then you will have to trust in me, dear Señor de Mello,” pleaded -Teresa. “You have known me all your life. I have tried to do what seemed -right.” - -“No question of that,” he assured her. “You will write me from Panama? -And permit me to give you a letter to my agent commending you as though -you were my own daughter.” - -Teresa’s eyes filled with tears. She had little more to say. When she -walked out of the bank she was still feeling the stress of emotion. A -dapper young man in the uniform of a lieutenant of police stepped up to -accost her. Apparently he had been waiting at the entrance. She -trembled. Her lips parted. She was falling, falling into some black -abyss. Her courage lifted her out of it. She did not faint. What was the -lieutenant saying? - -“To meet the Señorita Fernandez makes the day radiant. May I have a few -words with you? It is a matter that has been waiting some time.” - -“As you will,” she murmured, forcing a smile. “It tires me to stand. -Shall we sit in the reception room of the bank? At this early hour it is -seldom in use.” - -The lieutenant bowed. He was a gallant fellow with an eye for a pretty -woman. He sympathized with the señorita. She was, indeed, feeling -indisposed. A glance at the closed door behind which Señor de Mello sat -at his desk, and Teresa inquired: - -“Your errand is what?” - -“It is that eccentric old uncle of yours,” answered the lieutenant of -police. - -“_Ah_, and what of him?” said Teresa. The hand of fear released its -strangling clutch. - -As through a mist she gazed at the lieutenant, who replied: “I take the -liberty of informing you, as his niece, señorita. It may be of interest -now that you have found him gone. I had the felicity of seeing you drive -to his house yesterday.” - -“And you wish to tell me something about his voyage?” - -“Yes. On the night he embarked in that wretched steamer of his, I was -leaving a party of friends. It was quite late. A carriage came tearing -along like the devil. Too fast, I thought. So I stepped out and halted -it. Your uncle sat beside that Indian boy of his who was driving. The -carriage was filled to the top with bags and valises and blankets. A -reproof was all I intended. And it seemed worth looking into, this -driving so fast late at night. I recognized your uncle and was about to -say something pleasant, but he seemed immensely startled. He nearly -tumbled from the seat, like a man stricken with illness. The boy caught -hold of him and they went on through the gate. His steamer sailed the -next morning, so I suppose it was nothing serious. His health interests -you, I have no doubt, Señorita Fernandez. I said to myself that old -Ramon Bazán should have stayed in his comfortable house if he was as -feeble as that. Have you heard from him?” - -“Not yet,” replied Teresa. “It is wonderfully kind of you. What else -could be expected of an officer so polite and attractive? Yes, my uncle -must have been ill. It was his heart. He is taken like that when excited -or frightened.” - -“He has my prayers,” exclaimed the lieutenant. “It must be lonely for -you. I am at your feet. Any service in the world—” - -He bowed himself out, having made an impression, so he flattered -himself. It had been a clever excuse to win the favor of a girl who had -inspired his passionate ardor. Teresa lingered in the reception room of -the bank trying to read the riddle of a doddering uncle who had been -driving at furious speed to board his ship late in the night. Why had he -almost died with one of his heart attacks when an affable lieutenant of -police had merely halted the carriage to question the driver? Uncle -Ramon must have been mortally afraid of being detected in some secretive -stratagem. - -“That lieutenant is a handsome doll with a wooden head!” mused Teresa. -“Why didn’t he poke inside the carriage? He might have found something -under all that baggage. My trip to Panama looks wiser than ever. I shall -never rest until I find out why my uncle was almost scared to death.” - -Haste was not urgent, so Teresa walked several blocks at a leisurely -gait in search of a carriage. She stopped to look into the dusty window -of a pawnshop. It occurred to her that her pilgrimage might lead her -into unpleasant places. In the sailors’ haunts of tropical ports a woman -ran certain risks. She could not think of carrying another little -automatic pistol in her pocket. The very sight of one in the pawnshop -window made her shudder. - -Idly standing there, she caught sight of another weapon that strongly -attracted her fancy. It was an antique dagger, resembling the -_miséricorde_ of the age of chivalry, such as knights in armor had worn -attached to the belt by a chain. On the tarnished handle of this relic a -crest was still discernible. The blade had rusted thin, but the double -edge could easily be ground sharp. It was a small weapon, only a few -inches long, contrived for a thrust between the joints of a corselet or -neck-piece at close quarters. - -In the rubbish of a pawnshop in a side street, this dagger had escaped -the search of collectors. It had come from some ancient house of -Cartagena, a weapon that might have clinked on the steel-clad thigh of a -_conquistador_. Teresa bought it for a _peso_. The pawnbroker rummaged -until he found a sheath of embossed leather into which the dagger could -be slipped. A ribbon could be sewn to the sheath, a ribbon long enough -to pass around the neck. Then the dagger could be worn inside a woman’s -dress. _Miséricorde!_ The sad heart of Teresa and a dagger next it! - -Returning to the house, she decided to leave her new clothes there. This -cost her a pang, but it might be a rough road and a long one. A battered -little sole-leather trunk, unearthed in Uncle Ramon’s storeroom, would -serve her needs. In her handbag was Richard Cary’s briar pipe. - -Two days after this, a trim young woman, very simply dressed in white, -found shelter in an old stone hotel near the plaza of Panama. Her -fastidious taste would have preferred the large American hotel on the -Ancon hill in the Canal Zone, but this was too far removed from the -crossroads of merchant mariners in drudging cargo boats. She was -familiar with the noisy streets of Panama through which flowed a mixture -of races from all the Seven Seas. - -The afternoon was growing late when Teresa began her quest. It led her -first to the bank in which Señor de Mello’s agent had his office. He was -a native of the city and in close touch with west coast shipping. To -Teresa’s dismay he informed her that Ramon Bazán’s steamer _Valkyrie_ -had not been heard from since leaving the Balboa docks. It had not -arrived at Buenaventura, only three hundred miles down the coast. The -weather had been unusually fair, with no heavy winds. Already a week had -elapsed. - -The steamer carried no wireless, but had she been disabled some other -vessel would have reported her by this time. They were coming in every -day. In such good weather and near the coast, the _Valkyrie_ could not -have foundered without trace. Her boats would have taken care of the -crew. Furthermore, cable messages of inquiry, sent at the request of -Señor Alonzo de Mello, disclosed that no steamer by this name was -expected at Buenaventura. The shipping firms and export agents in that -port had made no charter arrangements nor had there been any -correspondence about cargo. Steamers of the regular services were taking -care of all the freight offered at this season of the year. - -“Then my old uncle never sailed for Buenaventura? And he had no -intention of going there?” commented Teresa. - -“He must have changed his plans,” suavely observed the agent. - -“He is very capricious, señor. Did you happen to meet him while his ship -was coaling at Balboa?” - -“Yes, Señorita Fernandez. He came into the office to draw funds to pay -the Canal tolls, having arranged a credit for that purpose. He had -little to say and seemed quite feeble.” - -“He would seem that way, at parting from so much money. Did he bring his -captain with him?” - -“No. I don’t know who commanded the steamer. I am extremely sorry, but I -have to take a train to Colon late this afternoon to be gone until -to-morrow. After that, I shall be delighted to go with you to Balboa. -The records will tell you who the captain was, and there may be other -details. I am acquainted with the officials and it will expedite your -affairs. A young lady may feel a certain awkwardness—” - -Teresa was cordially grateful. The situation had taken on aspects more -complex and inexplicable than ever. As a seafarer herself, she accepted -the theory that the _Valkyrie_ had met with no disaster while bound down -the coast to Buenaventura. The vessel had steered some unknown course of -her own to another destination. From the beginning her tortuous uncle -had schemed and lied to mask his real purpose, whatever that might be. -No mere hallucination could have lured him into the Pacific. It had not -occurred to him that any one might try to follow him. - -At Balboa, Teresa might be able to discover whether Richard Cary had -been in the ship. This was of transcendent moment to her. But even were -it true, her penitential pilgrimage was no more than begun. It was -necessary to meet him face to face. Her own soul was at stake. What had -happened to Ricardo that night in Cartagena, when he had been missing -from his ship? What of the guilt of the dead Colonel Fajardo? - -Teresa walked the floor of her room in the Panama hotel. What she said -to herself was like this: - -“Supposing Ricardo is commanding this Flying Dutchman of a ship. Where -has he gone? No records in the Canal office can tell me that. A -wonderful comfort, if it is the will of God to let me know Ricardo is -alive and strong. But what of me? Ah, what of poor me? There must be -some way of finding out, here in Panama, but how can I go into the -places where this Bradley Duff and the sailors may have babbled with the -liquor in them? Do I look like one of the wretched girls in these dirty -cabarets? - -“It is hard to keep a secret in a ship after she has left her own port. -Something seems to whisper it—a look, a word, a feeling. Perhaps my -Uncle Ramon muttered in his sleep, as he often does at home. He is too -old to play such a hand as this for very long. Look what it did to him -when he was frightened by that lieutenant of police! And if he loses his -temper he may say too much. If those Colombian sailors got it into their -heads that the voyage was to be longer than to Buenaventura, it would be -like some of them to desert such an unseaworthy vessel in Panama. One -thing I do know. I can never sit here and wait with folded hands for the -_Valkyrie_ to come back to the Canal. It might be weeks and months or -not at all.” - -To be a roving woman where sailors resorted in this and perhaps other -ports of the Spanish Main was both hampering and repugnant. It made a -difficult task unendurable. Unwelcome attentions, insults, nameless -perils might be her lot. Not that Teresa flinched or hesitated, but it -was possible to make the path easier. The most hopeful clue was Captain -Bradley Duff. He was almost certain to have had disreputable friends in -Panama. Birds of his feather flocked together, and they were always -thirsty. Likely enough there had been money in his pocket to make him -popular. He would be the boisterous good fellow, greedily sociable, -anxious to parade the fact that he was no longer on the beach. And what -he knew he would be apt to confide to this companion and that. - -Yes, it was a handicap to be a good woman, reflected Teresa, and she did -not propose to be a bad one. There was another way. It appealed to her -as feasible. Some daring would be required to carry it off, but she was -not one to lack faith in herself. At the masquerade ball in Cartagena, -two years ago, she had played the part of a _caballero_ so well that the -girls had boldly flirted with her. Her hair had been hidden by a huge -sombrero adorned with silver braid. - -Her hair was her crown and her glory. If she decided to play the part in -Panama, it would have to be sacrificed. But what mattered a woman’s -vanity now, or her desire to be thought beautiful, if she had lost her -lover and knew not where to find him? - -Teresa went shopping in Panama. It was rather amusing. A boy trudged -behind her with a large, shiny new suitcase in which the various -purchases were stowed. He followed her to a side-entrance of the hotel -and so to her room. - -Having dismissed him and locked the door, Teresa sat and looked at -herself in the glass. _Adios_ to the girl who had been so proud of -Ricardo’s admiration! She let down her black hair. It flowed over her -lovely shoulders. Snip, snip, the wicked new shears severed the tresses. -Her hand was unsteady. It was a dreadful thing to do. Even the sight of -bobbed hair made her feel like swearing. This was much worse. - -A ragged job it was when she gloomily surveyed the result. Carefully, -tenderly, she gathered up her tresses and wrapped them in a silk scarf. -She could not bear to throw them away. Presently she was slipping a belt -through the loops of linen trousers. She scowled at the canvas shoes. -The clumsy pattern disguised a narrow foot and an arching instep. The -soft white shirt with a rolling collar was open at the throat. A loose -coat of gray Palm Beach cloth completed the costume. The brim of her own -Panama hat was bent down in front with a touch of jauntiness. - -Teresa surveyed herself with a critical scrutiny. Her girlish bust and -slender hips were unobtrusive. What she saw in the glass was a supple -youth as straight as a lance, a youth with an oval face and dark eyes -too somber for his years. At a glance he resembled a hundred others who -strolled in the plazas or sat at the café tables of any Spanish-American -city. His name was Rubio Sanchez, so he was informed, as the farewell -message of Señorita Teresa Fernandez before she made her exit from the -stage. - -The young Colombian, Rubio Sanchez, busied himself in the room a little -while longer. Then he sauntered down to the lobby in which men loafed -and smoked and talked of many things. It was near the dinner hour. -Behind the desk the night clerk was on duty. He had been denied the -pleasure of welcoming Señorita Fernandez in the afternoon. The slim, -debonair youth from Cartagena sauntered over to say to him in a voice of -a pleasant contralto quality: - -“The lady, my sister, wishes to leave her trunk in storage. I will pay -her bill. Here is the key. Have your porter bring down the suitcase. I -will look after it for her. She has been sent for in haste. An uncle old -and sick needs her.” - -The clerk was an obliging person. He expressed his regrets and arranged -matters promptly. Young Rubio Sanchez and his large, shiny suitcase -presently departed in a one-horse hack which was instructed to proceed -until told to stop. The passenger sat indolently, a cigarette between -his lips. - -What made him alert was the blazing electric sign of “The Broadway -Front” which seemed to be a pretentious lodging-house with a saloon, -restaurant, and dance-hall on the ground front. It was the most -flamboyant place of good-cheer along the street. It loomed like a beacon -to draw the wandering footsteps of sailormen weary of the sea. Captain -Bradley Duff and his shipmates of the _Valkyrie_ never could have passed -it by. - -Rubio Sanchez, a blasé young man who knew his way about, halted the hack -and swung his shiny suitcase to the pavement. Here were rooms to rent. -The building was new. It looked neither dingy nor dirty. It would do for -the night, or until fortune beckoned elsewhere. - -He spied a barber shop next door. It occurred to him as advisable to -finish what the shears had so awkwardly begun. The barber eyed him -critically, with a smirk of amusement. Never had he beheld such a ragged -hair-cut. Rubio Sanchez curtly told him to make it smooth, leaving -enough to part. The barber laughed and asked in Spanish: - -“Was it chewed by the mice, señor? You had been letting it grow very -long.” - -“Not as long as your clacking tongue,” was the crisp retort. “Shall I -cut it for you?” - -The barber goggled at the slender youth in the chair, but held his -peace. It was not good to jest too far with one whose voice was so cool -and hard. - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII - - - RUBIO SANCHEZ FINDS FRIENDS - -In the American bar of The Broadway Front, the mahogany counter ran the -length of the room. Mirrors glittered behind it. Here was a shrine of -Bacchus, extinct in its native land, in which the rites of the ritual -were faithfully observed. The presiding genius was a florid Irish -bartender in a crisp white jacket with a flower in the lapel. Assisting -him were three acolytes native to Panama. For them the lowly service of -pulling the shining handles of the beer-pumps, cracking ice and washing -glasses. With the skill of an artist and the speed of a prestidigitator, -their master hurled cocktails, fizzes, and punches together and served -them to the votaries who rested one foot upon the brass rail in the -traditional posture of those about to offer libations. - -Women were excluded from this room. Across the hallway was the café, the -dancing-floor, the stage where entertainment more frivolous was -provided. The mahogany bar and the little tables were sacred to the wit -and wisdom of the sterner sex, to the discussion of weighty matters to -which Mike, the paragon of bartenders, would always lend a sympathetic -ear. He was a friend and philosopher of a vintage much riper and rarer -than the stuff he sold. - -Alone at one of the tables sat a pensive young man of delicate features -whose black hair was smoothly parted. At this moment he was reminding -himself that his name was Rubio Sanchez. He sipped a claret lemonade -through a straw and eyed the passing show with a trepidation not easily -dissembled. - -The bar was crowded—American soldiers from the Canal Zone garrisons -hilariously rolling the dice for the drinks, tanned bluejackets from -ships of the Pacific Fleet, dapper Panama merchants, brisk Yankee -salesmen spreading the gospel of safety razors, sewing machines, and -porous underwear from Mexico to Peru, solid master mariners and mates -who held aloof from the rabble of landsmen. - -The solitary young man, Rubio Sanchez, was unmolested. No one even -noticed him. The sense of panicky uneasiness diminished. He perceived -that it was urgently advisable for him to make the acquaintance of Mike, -the suave and genial divinity behind the bar. He was the very man to -have stowed away the garrulous gossip and confidences that were forever -dinned at him. The place was repellent to young Rubio Sanchez, but not -as shocking as had been feared. - -Disorder was smothered before it started. A lifted hand, a word of -reproof from Mike, or a threat to summon the boss, and quarrelsome -topers subsided. This threat of summoning the boss seemed to be most -effective. Unseen, he exercised a potent influence. - -There would be no opportunity to engage the attention of the persuasive -bartender until the crowd had thinned. Rubio Sanchez lingered and looked -on with the curious feeling that a kindly star had guided the pilgrimage -to this Broadway Front. It was like a comforting intuition. - -In the company that swirled along the bar was a boyish bluejacket, -clean-built, jolly, with the red bars of a petty officer on his sleeve. -He looked winsome and unspoiled, but eager to see what life was like. -His two companions were older and harder Navy men. It was his money that -carelessly paid for the rounds of drinks. He displayed crumpled bills by -the fistful. It was like so much trash that burned holes in his pockets. - -An argument arose. His companions had another engagement for the -evening. They conferred with their heads together. The youngster laughed -and refused to be dragged along. He was heard to call them a pair of -boobs. The Navy patrol would be sure to pinch them if they rambled into -the red-light district and, anyhow, they ought to know better. None of -that for him. They borrowed money of him and rolled out to charter a -seagoing hack. - -The youngster stood undecided what to do next. It was early for the -music and dancing in the cabaret across the hall. He drifted over to a -table, sprawled in a chair, and glanced around the room. Two or three -penniless loafers would have joined him, but he curtly told them to beat -it. The young South American sitting alone with a lemonade and a straw -impressed him favorably. He sauntered over, the round Navy hat balanced -on the back of his head, and affably remarked: - -“Hello, kid! How’s tricks? Don’t you go drowning yourself in too many -buckets of that pink lemonade. What you need is one of Mike’s vermouth -stingarees. I’ll buy.” - -“Too much sting in it for me,” said the black-haired Rubio Sanchez, with -a shy smile. “A little claret and vichy this time, if you don’t mind.” - -“Suit yourself, buddy. I’m no souse myself. What’s your game? I don’t -see anybody to play with but that bunch of doughboys with their bellies -against the bar. God may love the Army, but I pass. What’s your home -port? You were born under a cocoanut tree somewheres.” - -“Colombia, but you can’t lose me in New York,” replied Rubio. “I used to -sail there.” - -“You don’t look husky enough. What’s your ship?” - -“A cargo boat in the Pacific trade, but she left me on the beach.” - -It went against the grain to deceive this warm-hearted, attractive Navy -lad. In fact, there was no reason why he should be kept in the dark -concerning the vanished _Valkyrie_. He had won the respect of Teresa -Fernandez by his refusal to go roistering among the bad women of Panama. - -“Gee, you are out of luck,” impulsively exclaimed the boyish petty -officer. “What’s your name? Rubio? Hey, Rube, if you need any coin, I’ve -got a bundle. You’re a good kid. I can size ’em up. Steve Brackett, -gunner’s mate, second class, is what they call me. I’m in the destroyer -_Patterson_. We’ve been chasing a division of seaplanes that made a -flight down from San Diego.” - -“You ought not to carry so much money,” seriously advised young Rubio. -“Panama is just looking for fellows like you. I have money enough, thank -you with all my heart.” - -“Let ’em try to ease me of my roll,” bragged the gunner’s mate. “I’m not -such a soft mark for these spiggoty crooks. On the level, kid, I ought -to convoy _you_. For a sailor you sure do look timid and tender.” - -“Is that so? Here, let me take your hand,” smiled the soft-spoken young -Colombian. - -Steve Brackett extended a brown, calloused paw. Before he could close -it, the fingers were squeezed in a quick, nervous grip that made him -wince and cry out. He wrenched them free and exclaimed: - -“Easy, kid! Do you want to cripple one of the best gun-pointers in this -man’s Navy? Huh, you _are_ the deceivin’ guy! How do you get that way, -with a wrist as small as that, and a hand like a girl’s?” - -The training of a ship’s stewardess might have had something to do with -it, but Rubio fancifully explained: - -“There were some great swordsmen in my family one time. Listen, Steve, -do you know this nice, polite bartender? Tell me about him.” - -“Who, Mike? They don’t grow ’em any better. Sure I know him. I was here -in a cruiser for the Fleet maneuvers last winter. The Navy swears by -Mike. Stick around and you’ll hear him bawl me out if I’m liable to -overstay my liberty to-night and get in trouble. He’s a regular daddy to -us young gobs.” - -Just then the musicians in the café across the hall began to bang and -blare and tootle in a barbaric frenzy of syncopated discords. The -voluble patrons of the bar deserted it almost to a man. Mike was given a -respite to put the shrine of Bacchus in order and to rest his weary -frame. Having instructed his assistants, he donned a fresh jacket and -apron, and found a chair and a newspaper at a little table near the bar. - -“Come on, Rube, if you want to chew the rag with him,” said the gunner’s -mate. “Now’s the time. This cease-firing interval won’t last long. Some -of those rum-hounds will be romping in as soon as they dance ’emselves -dusty.” - -Rubio Sanchez complied with a fluttering timidity. This smooth, -sophisticated bartender had an eye like a hawk. For him the proper study -of mankind was man. He removed the glasses from his fleshy nose, -puckered his brows, and heartily exclaimed: - -“Glad you shook them hard-boiled pals, Steve. They ain’t your class. -An’, mind, you drink no more hard stuff to-night, understand?” - -“All done, Mike. Meet my friend Señor Rube Sanchez, a sailorman like -myself.” - -“Howdy, señor. Set down, boys. What’s on your chests? I’m flattered to -have you prefer me company to the wild women in the cabaret yonder.” - -Rubio’s clear voice trembled, but it held its contralto pitch as he -said: - -“I have an errand of much importance to me, Mr. Mike. I want to find a -steamer that belongs to my uncle, Señor Ramon Bazán of Cartagena. He is -an old man as wrinkled as a monkey. He sailed in this vessel, which is a -little tramp named the _Valkyrie_ and flies the flag of Colombia. She -was at Balboa not long ago, bound to Buenaventura, but she didn’t go -there at all.” - -The benevolent Mr. Mike was interested. He laid down the newspaper and -assumed his habitual manner of patient and tactful deference. - -“Well, well,” said he, “’tis comical to have a steamer go playin’ hookey -with itself, ain’t it, Señor Sanchez? And you’ve tried the other coast -ports, north and south of here?” - -“Yes. The vessel is nowhere on the coast, Mr. Mike.” - -“So you’re adrift and forlorn without this uncle that looks like a -monkey? The _Valkyrie_, hey? Who else was in her?” - -“Captain Bradley Duff, for one,” replied Rubio. “He is pretty well -known.” - -“Bradley Duff? The lousy old skate!” said Mike, with an air of -reflection. “He was in jail in Panama a year ago, an’ I paid his fine -for him. The spiggoty cops run him in for disturbin’ the peace. A -first-class skipper was Bradley Duff till he piled a fine steamer up -when he was stewed, an’ that busted him.” - -“My uncle was crazy when he hired him,” said Rubio, “but in Cartagena he -could find nobody else.” - -“I dunno about that,” observed Mike. “A man may be down, but he’s never -out. But I’d never apply this motto to Bradley Duff if I hadn’t seen it -with me own two eyes. Your old uncle made no mistake, surprising as it -may sound. Not long ago, do you say? Right you are, Señor Sanchez. In -walks this same Bradley Duff, an’ you could ha’ knocked me down with a -lemonade straw. He was clean and smart as new paint. Blue serge coat -buttoned over that fat stummick of his, a chief officer’s stripes on the -sleeves, white duck pants, cap cocked over one eye an’ you be -billy-be-damned! He slaps his money on the bar an’ drinks a bottle of -beer.” - -“Was he alone?” asked Rubio, leaning forward. - -“In solitary grandeur he was, an’ minding his own business. Strong men -used to flee when he came into a bar-room, for it was him that could -talk your ear off, boomin’ an’ droolin’ along by the hour. Well, we -passed the time of day, an’ I handed him a few compliments an’ another -bottle of beer on the house. All he told me was that his ship was the -_Valkyrie_ an’ he was chief officer. Never a word about where he was -going nor what for. Something is in the wind, I says to meself, but I’m -not slick enough to pry it out of this human clam of a Bradley Duff. - -“He sets down for a spell, very dignified, buyin’ no more drinks, as -indifferent as if him an’ booze had never been introjuced. Then he looks -at the clock, says he’s due back on board an’ pounds out. ’Twas like one -of these juicy young gobs on liberty. The discipline of the ship was not -to be trifled with. Something powerful had put the fear of God into -Bradley Duff. As the Good Book says, whilst the light holds out to burn, -the vilest sinner may come home to roost.” - -The young Colombian had hearkened to this harangue with strained -attention. His slim fingers were playing a tattoo on the table. Forlorn -and adrift he was, indeed. The cup of hope had been dashed from his -lips. Again he was groping. He brushed a hand over his short, black hair -so smoothly parted. The gesture was a tragic symbol. The sacrifice had -been to no purpose. - -“Did you ask him who was captain, Mr. Mike?” faltered Rubio. “Did any -other officers come in?” - -“Nary a one. And from what he said, the crew was held pretty close. I -might have asked him more questions, but I was busy at the time. -Somebody had shut him up tight. He heard his master’s voice, did Bradley -Duff.” - -“And you—you didn’t see a very big, splendid young man with bright -yellow hair—a man you could never forget, Mr. Mike? He may have been -the captain of the _Valkyrie_. A wonderful-looking man—there is nobody -like him on this coast.” - -“You lose, son,” said the sympathetic Mr. Mike. His expression betokened -surprise. “To the best of me knowledge, there has been no young man like -that hereabouts. It is him you’re after, an’ not the old monkey of an -uncle?” - -“He was very kind to me in a ship, Mr. Mike, when he was the second -mate. I—I wish I could see him again.” - -The profound wisdom of the veteran bartender prompted him to study the -slender, drooping youth whose emotion was so unexpected. The boyish -gunner’s mate had been keeping silent with the courtesy of a lad who had -been taught to listen to his elders. Now, however, he eagerly exclaimed: - -“All right, kid. I didn’t want to butt in. Now you pipe down and give me -the deck. It seems to mean a whole lot to you to find that ship and the -big guy that makes you cry. I’ve got some dope for you. The _Valkyrie_! -Is that the hooker? A bum little tramp with red sides and a rusty -funnel, that somebody resurrected from the bone-yard? Moseyin’ along in -ballast, is she? Listen! My destroyer was coming south a few days ago, -see, and we fetched a course away from the coast of Costa Rica to search -for a seaplane that had engine trouble and was reported as blown -offshore. We sighted a steamer steering almost due west. Our skipper -thought perhaps she might have sighted the seaplane, so we tried her -with radio and got no answer. We ran down to speak her. It was unusual -to see a vessel as small as this tramp heading so far to the west’ard -instead of following the coast. The Pacific Ocean looked awful large and -wet for her to cross. - -“The signal quartermaster tried her with a flag hoist in the -international code. All he got back was a string of ragged bunting that -looked as if the rats had chewed it. You couldn’t make out the code -letters to save your soul. So we kept on to run close and hail her with -a megaphone. Say, kid, the skipper of this _Valkyrie_ was one whale of a -big guy! He waved his straw hat, and he sure was a natural blond. Lazy -and good-natured, too, like he was enjoying a life on the ocean wave. -That’s how he looked when he grinned at us. The world was his buddy. - -“He hollered over that he hadn’t seen any stray seaplanes, and would we -please give him the correct Greenwich time because his owner had bought -the chronometer in a junk-shop to save a dollar. We asked him where he -thought he was going, but he laughed and said he was going to Davy -Jones’s locker if the weather went back on him. It was nothing in our -young lives, so we hauled on our course and wished him luck. Now, kid, -I’ve found the big guy for you, but where he expects to head in is too -much for me. What’s your guess?” - -The kid from Cartagena was guilty of the most unmanly behavior. He was -biting his lip and dabbing his eyes with a handkerchief. He could not -speak. Steve Brackett, the gunner’s mate with the heart of a gentleman -and the manners of a prince, looked inquiringly at Mike, but said not -another word. The bartender nodded in the direction of the door. Steve -took the hint. A hand on Rubio’s soft shoulder, he said: - -“So-long, kid! I’ve got to shove off. Glad I could do you a good turn. -Look me up if you get a chance, or drop a line care U.S.S. _Patterson_. -Tell Mike your troubles and don’t hold out on him. That goes double for -the boss of this dump. If the kid needs more than you can do for him, -Mike, be sure to steer him against the boss, won’t you?” - -“Sure, Steve. The kid could ha’ done worse than camp in the bar-room of -The Broadway Front.” - -The gunner’s mate hung his round white hat on three hairs and delayed to -roll a cigarette. Meditatively he scratched a match. Rubio’s hand stole -into his, in a clasp strong and grateful. Steve blushed a fiery red and -jerked his hand away. Then he moved briskly to the door without glancing -behind him. - -Mike sat with his elbows on the table and regarded young Rubio Sanchez, -not with the eye of a hawk, but with a scrutiny both pitiful and -protective. The lad might have got away with it, he said to himself, if -it hadn’t been for the big guy with the yellow hair. Even now there was -more suspicion than proof. Taking Rubio by the arm, he spoke in -confidential tones. - -“Where are you staying at, son? The Tivoli? No? Right here? Don’t try to -talk. You won’t be wanting to go through the crowded hall to get -upstairs, till you sort of pull yourself together. I’ll have to be -tending bar again. Here’s what you do. Go into the boss’s office an’ -wait for him. The door in the corner yonder. No one’ll bother you. He -’phoned from his house that the wife had a headache an’ he would set -with her an hour or so. This place may seem rough to you, but betwixt -Mike an’ the boss you’re agoin’ to be looked after right.” - -Alone in the private office, Teresa Fernandez heard Mike turn the key in -the lock. She was not so much frightened as chagrined that she had -miserably failed to play the rôle. But how could she help breaking down -for joy and thanksgiving that she had been granted a blessed vision of -Ricardo, alive, untouched by fate, towering on the bridge of a ship? God -had guarded him. She also would be guarded. Her faith glowed like an -illumined altar, and she felt safe even in a situation like this. - -For a few minutes she stood looking out of a barred, open window into a -dark rear yard enclosed by a high wall. The room was small and plainly -furnished, a rolltop desk, two chairs, and a massive steel safe. One of -the chairs was against the wall, at one side of the open window. She -sank into it and was soothed by the hum of the electric fan. She -wondered what the boss could be like, and why he commanded the implicit -respect of Mike and the fine young gunner’s mate. How could he help her -find a vanished ship? This was all that mattered. - -The doorknob turned. She jumped to her feet, again the young man Rubio -Sanchez, alert and on the defensive. A burly man of middle age entered -the office. First impressions were alarming. He looked brutal and -overbearing, a man fitted to dominate this Broadway Front. He had a jaw -like a rock and the neck of a bull. The deep-set eyes were as hard as -agates. Teresa watched his mouth. It was human, with a whimsical twist -as he spoke from a corner of it. - -“Sit down, Señor Sanchez, and make yourself at home. Have a cigar? No? I -am Jerry Tobin and I won’t bite you. So let’s be sociable. Mike told me -what he could, about your hunt for the _Valkyrie_ and so on. You banked -on picking up some news in Panama, didn’t you? And that goose is -cooked?” - -“I did find some wonderful news, but it wasn’t enough, Mr. Tobin,” -replied Rubio, his voice steadied, his demeanor composed. - -“I’m here to do what I can for you,” was the gruff response, “but I -don’t recommend your living in the Broadway Front. That’s too much to -have on my mind.” - -“I was in a hotel, before the goose was cooked, Mr. Tobin. I—er—I -don’t want to go back there, but I can go somewhere else.” - -“We can fix that up later,” said Jerry Tobin, peeling off his coat and -shoving back the top of the desk. “I can think better with a pencil and -paper. This destroyer kid met your ship off the coast of Costa Rica, -Mike tells me. And the voyage was a secret? Going to Buenaventura was -all a bluff?” - -“My old uncle bluffs in his sleep,” laughed Rubio. “He whispers to -himself through a keyhole. But he was never so head over heels in a -secret as this time.” - -“It makes ’em act that way,” barked Jerry Tobin, making marks with the -pencil. “If you hadn’t sort of knocked Mike off his pins by blubbering -in the bar-room, perhaps he would have put you wise. Wait a minute and -I’ll draw you a rough map. Panama Bay to the coast of Costa Rica and -then due west! I’ll put down a dot for an island that has made all kinds -of people as dippy as your uncle. An old pirate’s chart and some shovels -and dynamite—” - -Jerry Tobin broke off abruptly. A turbulent life he must have led, but -now he was staring at the open window like a man whose wits were frozen. -His seamed, forbidding visage reflected terror, hatred, helplessness. -The hard eyes were unwinking. - -Teresa Fernandez gazed at him in fixed fascination. She moved not so -much as a finger. She heard a voice at the open window, a wicked voice -that cut the stillness like a knife. - -“Hands up, Jerry, you —— —— I’ve got you cold. Now back yourself -over to the safe. Turn around and open her up. Come clean, or I’ll plug -you in the back. The whole bankroll! Make it snappy!” - -Burly John Tobin may have had some reason to recall that sinister voice. -Very cautiously he backed away from the desk with hands rigidly upraised -until his heel struck the safe. Then he knelt to fumble with the -combination knob. He was working as fast as he could. His face was gray. -Sweat bedewed it. - -Almost without breathing, Teresa Fernandez watched him. She dared not -turn her head toward the window. She was unseen by the man outside. He -had spied only Jerry Tobin in the room. From where he stood in the yard, -the girl in the chair against the wall was invisible. It was a blunder. - -From a corner of her eye, Teresa could perceive the window ledge. The -criminal was careful to stand a little way back from it, where he could -dodge for cover if the door should suddenly open. To steady himself, he -rested a hand upon the window ledge. Teresa could see this hand from -where she sat. She could have reached out and touched it. It was a hairy -hand with thick fingers and broken nails, a detestable hand. Teresa -looked at it, flattening herself in the chair. Then she looked at the -kneeling figure of Jerry Tobin who was removing a small drawer from the -open safe. - -This man who had befriended her was unable to defend himself. There had -been a worse menace than robbery in that sinister voice from outside the -window. It signified some old score to settle, a vengeance to be slaked. -It was as wicked as a snake. - -Jerry Tobin straightened himself and stood with the drawer in his hand. -His movements were as stiff and careful as those of a man with lumbago. -The drawer was filled with packages of bank-notes. His eyes roved to the -rolltop desk, but he could not reach the pistol in it. The voice outside -the window spoke again. - -“Come through, Jerry, you dirty dog. No funny business. You ain’t got -coin enough to square it this side of hell. I’m liable to blow your head -off yet.” - -It was the voice of a man lustful to kill, but not quite ready to risk -the consequences. Jerry Tobin’s life hung in the balance. The weight of -a feather might swing it either way. Teresa Fernandez could read in his -drawn, ashen face that he expected no mercy. It was the climax of a -mortal feud. - -Teresa put her hand to her breast. Her fingers felt the handle of the -antique dagger under the soft shirt, the two-edged weapon in the leather -sheath hung by a ribbon around her neck. No matter what Jerry Tobin -might have done to deserve a bullet, he was a friend, and she was loyal. -She stole a glance at the hairy hand upon the window ledge. - -Her own hand flew inside her shirt and whipped out the dagger. A jaguar -could have struck with no more speed and fury. The blade drove down -through the detestable hand upon the window ledge and quivered in the -soft wood. It was driven by a supple wrist and an explosion of energy. -It transfixed the evil hand and spiked it there. - -Jerry Tobin leaped for the desk and snatched a pistol from a -pigeon-hole. From a corner of his mouth he growled like a mastiff: - -“Guess again, you dumb-bell. Drop that gun.” - -The dumb-bell had forgotten that he possessed a gun. He was writhing and -cursing, his one idea being to pull that dagger out of the window ledge. -Jerry Tobin preferred to let it stay there for the moment. Mildly he -said to the girl in the chair: - -“On your way, señorita. You mustn’t get mixed up in this. Go upstairs -and wait there for me. Stay in your room. Tell Mike to come here. Excuse -me, but you’d better pull your shirt together. Rubio Sanchez is a dead -card.” - -Teresa clutched at the bosom of her shirt. A button had been ripped off. -It revealed no more than did her evening gown of black lace, but it was -enough to prove to Jerry Tobin that he had taken on the responsibilities -of a chaperon. The color dyed her face from chin to brow as she buttoned -the gray coat over the shirt. - -Looking neither at the window ledge nor at Jerry Tobin, she fled from -the office, whispered a hurried word to Mr. Mike as she passed the bar, -and stole into the hall and up the staircase. The straw hat was pulled -low over her eyes. Safely in her room, she shot the bolt and fairly -toppled over on the bed. To her ears came the thump, thump of the drums, -the frenzied wail of the saxophones, loud laughter, snatches of song. - -An hour passed before she was aroused by a knock on the door. It was -Jerry Tobin. He entered rather gingerly, as if to apologize for an -intrusion. As a chaperon he was evidently a novice. His change of manner -was amusing. He was like a man afraid. From a pocket he took the antique -dagger. The blade had been cleaned of stains. Awkwardly he ventured to -say: - -“Here’s something of yours. I didn’t want the police to find it. Sheeny -George, the bird you—ahem—left it with, don’t know how it happened.” - -“What did you say to the police?” fearfully asked Teresa. - -“No more than I had to. I made ’em a present of an outlaw with a record -as long as your arm, and they were tickled to death. He’ll get put away -for pretty near the rest of his life. So there’s that. You don’t show in -it at all.” - -“But I don’t want the dagger, Mr. Tobin. Throw it away.” - -“Not if you’ll let me keep it as a souvenir. You won’t have to pack any -more weapons. Understand? So cheer up, young lady. You’ve got a friend -to make the play for you. Do you mind telling me what name to call you -by?” - -“Teresa Fernandez. As a young man I was—I was a failure, Mr. Tobin.” - -“Oh, not so worse, until you just naturally blew up,” was his verdict. -“Now, Miss Fernandez, I can’t make your head of black hair grow again, -but they’re wearing it short. Against that, you can credit yourself with -a large, elegant’s night’s work. You saved my bankroll, twenty thousand -dollars. I run a game on the third floor. And you just about saved my -wife from being a widow. Sheeny George was working up steam to croak me. -It was the yellow streak that held him back just long enough for you to -get action.” - -“His voice told me so,” shakily replied Teresa. “Oh, Mr. Jerry Tobin, I -am going all to pieces. What can I do? You don’t know—you don’t know—I -did it to help you—I was so angry—but I never, never want to see a -pistol or a knife again, not in all my life. I used to be a happy girl -and I never harmed anybody—and I never dreamed of things like this—” - -This was too much for battling Jerry Tobin to handle. As he said to -himself, it was time to pass the buck. Fingering that iron jaw of his, -he issued his instructions. - -“Please scramble your stuff into that suitcase, Miss Fernandez, or let -me do it for you, seeing as it’s the duds of the late Rubio Sanchez. You -are going home with me. This is a job for Mrs. Jerry Tobin, a woman -that’s too good for this world. The best bet for you is a mother. Savvey -that? Have you got any other clothes?” - -“A trunk at the Hotel Las Palmas,” meekly answered Teresa. “What will -Mrs. Tobin say? My goodness, I am scared again.” - -“You scare easy, don’t you?” he grunted. “I know different. I ’phoned -the missus, but I didn’t tell her too much. I never do. You and she will -cuddle up like two kittens in a basket. My car is outside. Now let’s -make it _pronto_.” - -Teresa obeyed. Discussion seemed absurd. The boss had proclaimed an -edict. She had one question to ask. - -“That island, Mr. Tobin, where you said my uncle’s ship had gone? You -were going to show me with a pencil.” - -“Cocos Island? What’s the hurry? I’ll get you there. If I know anything -about these treasure-hunting nuts, this locoed uncle of yours will be -blasting rock and making the gravel fly from now till the Fourth of -July.” - -“Cocos Island?” murmured Teresa. “I never heard of any treasure on Cocos -Island. That was just my hard luck, Mr. Tobin, or maybe I am thick.” - -“Not thick, Miss Fernandez. For fast work you have me stopped. You -wouldn’t be so apt to hear this treasure dope over on the Atlantic side. -Leave the proposition to me. As a fixer, I’m good.” - -Jerry Tobin carried the shiny suitcase into the lower hall. Teresa had a -farewell glimpse of the devoted Mr. Mike. He was manipulating a cocktail -shaker and patiently listening to the sorrows of a stranger who clung to -the bar like a limpet to a reef. - -While they drove through the city and into a suburb of trim lawns and -bungalows, Jerry Tobin was taciturn. Teresa felt grateful for it. For -the time she had ceased to fret and suffer. Quietude enfolded her. -Through troubled waters and muddy, her pilgrimage had led her to a -haven. She was tolerant of the faults and follies of mankind as she had -known them on land and sea. God’s grace might visit the heart of a Mr. -Mike or a Jerry Tobin as well as the heart of a priest. Saints or -sinners, who was she to condemn, a woman who had yet to cleanse her own -soul of stain? - -Jerry Tobin marched her into a wide-roofed bungalow on the side of a -green hill. A woman came forward to meet them. She was slight and -plain-featured, insignificant to the eye. To Jerry Tobin she was the -Colleen Bawn. He kissed her like a knight paying homage to a lady love. -The Jerry Tobin, boss of The Broadway Front, was unknown inside this -threshold. - -His wife saw the slender girl who waited hesitant, uncertain of her -welcome. Mary Tobin took her hands as she said: - -“Jerry ’phoned me you were a lady and a darling, Miss Fernandez, and I -would love to have you in the house. Once in a while the lump of a man -says something real sensible. Now run away, Jerry, and leave us two -women alone. You have done your bit for to-night.” - - - - - CHAPTER XIX - - - THE INTRUDER FROM ECUADOR - -The voice of Señor Ramon Bazán cracked with excitement as he cried out, -from the bridge of the _Valkyrie_: - -“Behold our Cocos Island, my Ricardo! You have steered the ship as -straight as an arrow.” - -They were gazing at a lofty, rounded hill that lifted from the sea like -the cone of a dead volcano. For the most part its slopes were green, -with bare cliffs here and there or yellow gullies washed by the rains. -In the top of this hill was a bowl or crater which seemed to brim over -with water like a tiny lake, spilling many streams that leaped and -flowed to the strip of level land, close to the sea, which was luxuriant -with cocoanut palms. A pleasant island to visit, as the buccaneers had -found it when first their topsails had gleamed in the South Sea. - -It was no longer a secret to the _Valkyrie_’s crew that they were bound -in search of pirates’ treasure. Captain Richard Cary had told them so, -soon after the departure from Balboa. He had pledged them his word that -if they played fair with him they should receive a share of the booty. -They believed him. The Colombian sailors and firemen yelled with -enthusiasm. They had completely forgotten the conspiracy to take the -ship back to Cartagena and claim the reward offered for _El Tigre -Amarillo Grande_, dead or alive. It had been a foolish dream of very -stupid men, they admitted among themselves. Their huge captain had saved -the wretched steamer from perishing in the storm on the Caribbean coast. -After that, he had enforced such a discipline and mastery as they had -never known in their lives, the rule of a sea-lord who was both stern -and kind. He held them under his thumb. It was even a pleasure to obey -him for the sake of the sunny smile and the word of praise that followed -duty well done. - -With chart and sounding lead, the _Valkyrie_ slowly approached Cocos -Island to find the small bay which was indicated as an anchorage. As the -bay opened to view between its rock-bound headlands, the masts of a -schooner became visible. Señor Ramon Bazán was greatly disturbed. He -snatched up the binocular and squinted until the hull of the schooner -was disclosed. - -“By my soul, it is another treasure party!” he wildly shouted. “They -will find out my secret of the place where it is hidden.” - -“We can’t very well stick up no trespass signs on Cocos Island,” said -Cary, in his easy fashion. “It doesn’t belong to us.” - -Chief Officer Bradley Duff broke in to say: “No sense in borrowing -trouble, Señor Bazán. Of course you were all wrapped up in your own pet -scheme, but it is no great surprise to me to find another party here. -They have been at it on and off, all kinds of expeditions, as long as -I’ve known this coast. If you have the real information, then the rest -of ’em are out of luck. We won’t let this other outfit crowd us.” - -“We will make them mind their own business,” grumbled Señor Bazán, in a -very fretful humor. “I bought those rifles in Panama, Ricardo, to guard -the treasure after we find it, but nobody must interfere with us at all. -Do you understand that?” - -“Wait and look it over,” placidly advised Ricardo. “There seems to be -plenty of elbow room on the island. The schooner may have touched here -out of curiosity.” - -The _Valkyrie_ nosed her way inside the bay and let an anchor splash a -few hundred feet from the three-masted schooner which flew no colors. -Several South Americans lounged beneath an awning. They looked like -seamen left in charge while the rest of the company went ashore. One of -them flourished his big straw hat in a friendly gesture. - -“Better send the second mate over with a couple of men, Mr. Duff,” -suggested Captain Cary. “Mr. Panchito is a sociable cuss and perhaps he -can find out something.” - -The rotund, vivacious Mr. Panchito was delighted to oblige. As a former -officer of the Colombian navy, he flattered himself that he possessed -the aplomb, the diplomatic approach. He assured Mr. Duff that he would -turn those strangers inside out. They could conceal nothing from him. -Into a skiff he bounded and was rowed over to the schooner which -displayed no symptoms of excitement. - -Señor Ramon Bazán, on the contrary, was in a stew of impatience to be -set ashore. It was the noon hour, and the sun was insufferably hot for a -rickety old gentleman to explore the jungle and the rocky ravines. -Richard Cary advised waiting, but was met with sputtering obstinacy. -They were to take the precious chart drawn by the own hand of the -infamous Captain Thompson of the brig _Mary Dear_, also a compass and a -surveyor’s chain to measure the distances in rods and feet. After -finding the lay of the land they could rest much easier. At their -convenience they could unload the equipment and make a camp. - -Richard Cary kept his own misgivings to himself. It had strained his -credulity to accept the secret chart as authentic. Granted this, -however, the face of the island must have been considerably changed in a -hundred years. Naked scars showed where the rock and gravel had slid -from the steep hillsides. The water overflowing the crater-like bowl fed -by living springs had been eating the soil away and depositing it -elsewhere. The cliffs, however, might have resisted this erosion. If -there were natural caves in them, and these had not been buried too deep -in débris, possibly the treasure chart of Señor Bazán might be used as a -guide. - -The blurred notations and rude symbols had been inscribed on the chart -by the hand of a man familiar with Cocos Island. The safe channel for a -vessel entering the bay was correctly indicated. And in these first -glimpses of the rugged landscape, it was mightily persuasive to study -such detailed directions as “_N.N.E. 5 rds. to water-course. . . thence -9 rds. 7 ft. E. by W. ½ W. to face of cliff. . . thence follow ravine to -big boulder bearing S.S.W. from hump of Hill & due South from Stone on -beach which Stone is carved with letters H.M.S. Jason 1789_:. . .” - -There was some delay in getting the exploring party ashore. Señor Bazán -had to be humored. A pitiable agitation muddled his wits. He had to pore -over the chart again. Compass and surveyor’s chain were not enough, he -suddenly decided. They ought to carry axes, picks, and shovels, on the -chance of stumbling across the place where the treasure was unmistakably -concealed. Some of the crew must go with them and carry rifles. There -were strangers on the island. They might be lawless men. It was for -Ricardo to be prepared to drive them away if they came near enough even -to spy on the party from the _Valkyrie_. - -By this time Mr. Panchito was returning from his diplomatic mission to -the schooner. He was all animation and importance. Yes, he had found out -everything. It was a treasure expedition, from Guayaquil. They had been -three months on the island, and the sailors were very tired of it. Now -they felt in better spirits because their leader had been overheard to -say that he had given up hopes of finding any gold and silver. He would -soon be sailing back to Guayaquil. He was a most extraordinary man, this -leader. He had attacked Cocos Island as if he intended to tear it to -pieces, with powerful machinery that tossed the great rocks about like -pebbles and moved thousands of tons of gravel. He was a mining engineer -well known in Ecuador. - -“Did they tell you his name?” interrupted Chief Officer Bradley Duff. - -“Don Miguel O’Donnell, but he is not Irish,” replied Mr. Panchito. - -“Huh, I know that,” grunted Mr. Duff. “It’s like the O’Reilleys in Cuba -and the O’Higgins in Chile. They were Irish some ways back. And it still -crops out in their blood. And so we’ve run afoul of this O’Donnell -highbinder from Ecuador! Now what do you think of that! He calls himself -a mining engineer, does he? Maybe he is. All I know is that he has been -mixed up in trouble enough to please any Mike O’Donnell. Concessions and -politics and high-class devilment in Ecuador for years and years. I was -captain of a dredge in Guayaquil harbor one time. From the stories I -heard, it was Don Miguel O’Donnell that really backed General Eloy -Alfara in the revolution of 1905 that bumped President Cordero off his -perch. How about it, Señor Bazán? You may have the straight dope.” - -Ramon Bazán was more troubled than ever. He took hold of the ship’s rail -for support. Wearing a great cork helmet and leather gaiters, a canteen -slung over his shoulder, he looked like a queer little caricature of a -tropical explorer. - -“Don Miguel O’Donnell on Cocos Island?” he wheezed, in a gusty flare of -passion. “May he suffer ten million torments! Colombia knows him as well -as Ecuador, Mr. Duff. He is very wise and very bold, a man of brains. I -tell you, we must sleep with both eyes open. Bad luck has come to us. If -Don Miguel O’Donnell suspects us of knowing where the treasure is, he -will stop at nothing at all. A soldier of fortune, Ricardo? This one is -a _piratico_ of the most up-to-date pattern.” - -“He sounds entertaining,” hopefully suggested Ricardo. “He does things -in the grand manner. Just now he is tearing Cocos Island to pieces, or -pulling it up by the roots, according to Mr. Panchito. I like his -style.” - -“The grand manner is right,” grumbled Bradley Duff. “Somebody staked him -on this proposition. A syndicate, perhaps. He always talks big and gets -away with it.” - -It was apparent to Richard Cary that old Ramon Bazán had been shaken by -enough excitement for one day. Don Miguel O’Donnell was the last straw. -It was therefore sensible to suggest: - -“Why not sit tight aboard ship for a day or two and see if this other -outfit really intends to weigh anchor? Mr. Panchito has a notion that -they are about through. Unless we show our hand, this enterprising -gentleman from Ecuador won’t think of interfering with us.” - -“Right you are, Captain Cary,” agreed Bradley Duff. “Let’s wait him out. -It may avoid getting in a jam. Why not keep our business to ourselves?” - -This rational advice infuriated Señor Bazán. Wait in idleness on the -deck of a ship and look at the cliffs of Cocos Island with its fabulous -riches almost within his grasp? Why had he placed this giant of a -Captain Ricardo in command of the expedition? To smash through all -obstacles, to use his wonderful strength and courage. Was the Yellow -Tiger of Cartagena afraid of matching himself against this Don Miguel -O’Donnell? He, Ramon Bazán, was an aged man with one foot in the grave, -but he was eager to go ashore and begin operations. There were men and -rifles enough. . . - -The tirade was quelled by Ricardo, who thrust his employer into a -deck-chair, fanned him with the cork helmet, and announced: - -“If you rave any more, Papa Bazán, your heart will go funny, and then -where are you? Unless you take care of yourself, I can’t let you go -ashore at all. You are not fit to leave the ship to-day. Now please stay -in the shade and keep cool and collected.” - -This high-handed behavior dumbfounded poor Papa Bazán. He dashed the -cork helmet to the deck and kicked it like a football. Ricardo -pleasantly suggested tucking him in and locking the door. This ended the -tantrum. The owner of the _Valkyrie_ curled up in the chair and -disconsolately talked to himself. - -The boyish chief engineer, Charlie Burnham, came strolling along, -bright-eyed and eager to insert himself into whatever ructions might -show above the horizon. - -“Come along with me, Charlie,” said Captain Cary. “Let’s take a look at -this Cocos Island. I may pay Don Miguel O’Donnell a social call. Keep a -sharp watch, Mr. Duff, and let nobody aboard from the schooner.” - -“Atta boy!” blithely exclaimed Charlie Burnham. “Why not take the whole -crew and run these Ecuador outlaws plumb off the island? They have had a -fair crack at it, haven’t they? Three months is enough. Time’s up.” - -Woefully forlorn, Señor Bazán watched them set out for the beach in the -skiff. Before striking inland they paused to examine the boulders strewn -above high-water mark. On this one and that were roughly chiseled the -names of ships which had visited Cocos Island at various times. It had -become a custom singularly interesting. Richard Cary felt a thrill when -he discovered a massive stone on which the weather had almost -obliterated the lettering, but it was possible to decipher this much: - -“_H . . J . . . N-1-7-9_—” - -“Here we are, Charlie,” cried Richard Cary. “We couldn’t ask anything -better than this. This must be ‘_H.M.S. Jason 1789_.’ Now we head due -north to what the chart calls ‘the hump of the hill.’ We are going at -the thing backward, but this is good enough for to-day. I want to work -out a rough position and select a place for a camp. We may have to cut a -trail and so on.” - -To their surprise and uneasiness, a trail already led due north from the -stone on the beach. The trees and undergrowth had been chopped out, -holes filled with broken stone, two or three small water-courses bridged -with logs and plank. Wheeled vehicles had worn deep ruts in the soil. -The crew of the schooner must have dragged heavy burdens over this -pathway through the cocoanut groves and jungle. Observant Charlie -Burnham picked up an iron bolt and a pipe coupling of large dimensions. -He remarked that it knocked the romance out of treasure hunting when you -made an engineering job of it. - -Curiosity urged them along at a breathless gait. They emerged into the -wide bed of a dry ravine and followed the path until it climbed to a -small plateau or level area barricaded on one side by crumbling cliffs. -They could hear the noise of rushing water. It was as loud as a -cataract. They halted to reconnoiter. Charlie Burnham craned his neck to -stare up at the broken slope of the great hill that towered far above -the cliffs, the hill that loomed so conspicuously from seaward like a -dead crater. - -“Do you see that rusty streak that runs down the hill, Captain Cary? -I’ve guessed it. This Don Miguel O’Donnell has tapped the little lake -way up yonder. That streak is a line of pipe. He has a dandy head of -pressure for hydraulic mining. Tearing the island to pieces? I’ll say he -is. He’s trying to wash the treasure out. Some stunt!” - -They followed the noise of rushing water and came to chaotic banks of -gravel and a wooden sluice-box that poured its muddy torrent into a -brook. A little way beyond it was a tent, and several huts built of -boards. What fascinated them was a heavy steel nozzle at the end of the -iron pipe leading down the hillside. A solid stream of water leaped from -the nozzle. One man easily guided and turned it as a gunner lays his -piece on the mark. - -The water was like a projectile. It bored into the looser soil of the -hill where it had slid down to pile up at the base of the cliff. Gravel -and broken rock were swept down to the sluice or flung aside. - -“And to think we have got to break our backs with the old pick and -shovel, or drilling holes for blasting charges,” lamented Charlie -Burnham. - -“But this bright scheme hasn’t found any treasure for him,” replied -Cary. - -They advanced toward the tent. A hammock was swung near it. In it -reclined a man who smoked a cigar and read a book. He glanced up, was -quickly on his feet, and walked to meet the visitors. Don Miguel -O’Donnell was much nearer sixty than fifty years old, but physically he -appeared to be in his prime. He was well-knit, vigorous, and taller than -the average. His cheek was ruddy. At the corners of his eyes, however, -the wrinkles spread in a network of fine lines. He looked more like an -O’Donnell than a native of Ecuador. - -It seemed odd to hear his courteous greeting in Spanish. Richard Cary -fumbled a few phrases in response. Don Miguel apologized and his smile -was engaging as he said in fluent English: - -“I saw the Colombian flag on your steamer, my dear sir. But there is not -a man in all Colombia like you. You are—” - -“I am Captain Cary of the _Valkyrie_, and this is the chief engineer, -Mr. Burnham.” - -“An excursion for pleasure to Cocos Island?” observed Don Miguel, -watching them closely. “You are interested in my mining operations? -There is nothing to hide. I have been disappointed.” - -“And you are going home soon, sir?” - -“Perhaps. It may amuse me to stay and look at you. One of my men reports -that you sent an officer to the schooner. The second mate? A fat young -man with curly hair who chatters like a parrot.” - -“Quite correct. That was Mr. Panchito,” replied Cary. “I wanted to find -out.” - -“And you found out? My men asked some questions of your Mr. Panchito. He -was delighted to tell them. Señor Ramon Bazán has come to camp on Cocos -Island for his health?” - -The manner was genial, but the voice conveyed a certain amusement, -ironical and patronizing. Thus might the wandering Ulysses, crafty and -vastly experienced, have addressed beguiling words to his own -simple-minded sailormen on some other desert island of a blue sea. - -Young Charlie Burnham was nothing if not direct. He broke in to say: -“Quit your kidding. You know exactly what we came for, and we expect to -get it. Mr. Panchito is as leaky as a basket. I’ll bet he told your men -all he knew and then some. But there’s no harm done.” - -“I will be frank with you, gentlemen,” cordially exclaimed Don Miguel -O’Donnell, who showed no resentment. “My own chart of this pirates’ -treasure was made by the boatswain of Benito Bonito’s ship. The rascal -died in prison in Guayaquil. The chart was found by accident, a few -years ago, in a pile of old prison records and papers. As you say, Señor -Burnham, I knew exactly what I came for and I expected to get it. May -you have more success. My Cocos Island Exploration Company has wasted -its money.” - -The visitors from the _Valkyrie_ eyed each other dubiously. If the chart -of Benito Bonito’s boatswain had failed to locate the treasure, what -about the chart of Captain Thompson of the brig _Mary Dear_? This was -poor news for Señor Ramon Bazán. They would say nothing about it. - -“If you decide to stay longer, Don Miguel,” said Cary, “I see no reason -why we should get in each other’s way. We shall be digging a good many -rods from here.” - -The adventurer from Ecuador had been shrewdly appraising the massive -candor of the Yankee shipmaster. Plausibly he suggested: - -“Why not a partnership, Captain Cary? You have your own secret -information. I have the machinery, with more iron pipe in the hold of my -schooner if we need a longer line.” - -“Señor Bazán will not agree to that,” said Cary, rather curtly. “He -prefers to go it alone.” - -“Ah, old Ramon has a long memory and a short temper,” chuckled Don -Miguel O’Donnell. “I was a young man then, when he had an ambition to be -the president of Colombia. To some extent I helped his enemies. It hurt -him to spend money. He might have had my support, but no matter—I know -your Ramon Bazán, as it happens. If he comes to Cocos Island he bets on -a sure thing. But you will find it enormous labor, so much rock and -gravel have tumbled from the hill since the pirates buried the treasure -of Lima. My bargain is a good one, Captain Cary. I beg you to consider -it.” - -“Señor Bazán wouldn’t trust you, sir,” frankly declared Cary. “His -dislikes are very violent.” - -“Is it necessary to obey his orders?” suavely returned Don Miguel -O’Donnell. “Why not arrange this business without him? I include your -chief engineer, Mr. Burnham. He will be most useful. To let a greedy old -man expect most of this treasure for himself, to let him stand in the -way of a partnership with me, is absurd, Captain Cary. Your Colombian -sailors will soon be tired of digging in this gravel. Even a man like -you will fail unless you let me help you. You see my equipment. Think of -the money it has cost me.” - -“Do you intend to take it with you?” asked Charlie Burnham. - -“A bright young man,” smiled Don Miguel. “You can use it for yourself? -Wait a minute. What do you say, Captain Cary?” - -“My owner will have no dealings with you, and that goes for his -officers,” was the brusque response. “I should say that he has you sized -up about right. You ask me to be disloyal to him, do you, to make a -private dicker and throw him over? Then how do I know you would be on -the level with me? Nothing doing. We play our own game and I warn you to -keep clear of it.” - -“Most big, strong men are stupid,” amiably observed Don Miguel. “You -have no objections if I stay and guard my property?” - -“Not as long as you leave ours alone,” declared Cary. - -His voice had a deeper note. The blue eye had a frosty glint. Charlie -Burnham nudged him. It was time for them to put their heads together. -They bade Don Miguel O’Donnell good-day. He was affable, polite, and -apparently entertained by the crassness of youth. Until the arrival of -these ingenuous Americans, one could see that he had been bored to -extinction. - -As they scrambled down to the dry ravine, Charlie Burnham remarked, with -some heat: - -“One smooth guy, Captain Cary. He would double-cross his own -grandmother. What’s the answer? It don’t look much like waiting him out. -Shall we go ahead?” - -“It looks that way, Charlie. I don’t know how many men he has. After we -begin work, is he liable to jump us? I can’t put our whole crew in camp. -It would be foolish to leave the steamer without protection.” - -“Sure it would. And I mustn’t let the fires go dead. If it came on to -blow hard, we might have to steam out of the bay. And you’ll need an -anchor watch, of course.” - -“Well, we can get organized by to-morrow. Now let’s see what we can do -with this next bearing, from the hump of the hill and along the ravine.” - -They floundered through dense growth and over gullied ground until they -had traversed the estimated distance in rods. No attempt was made to -measure it accurately. This brought them to a lower rampart of cliff, -crumbled and rotten, in which bushes and creepers had found root. There -were wide fissures, as though an earthquake had shaken the limestone -formation. Richard Cary made a hasty calculation. There was no other -“face of cliff” nearby. They could not be very many rods from the spot. -Here was an agreeable camp site in a grove of cocoanut palms, with a -spring of clear water just beyond it. - -“We shall have to make our own trail to the bay,” said Cary, “but it’s -not as rough as I expected. We don’t want to pack our stuff in over Don -Miguel’s road.” - -“Leave him alone,” agreed Charlie Burnham. “I don’t feel neighborly. -He’ll have me sitting up nights.” - -“Why, there would be no fun in it without him,” cheerfully protested -Richard Cary. “It would be a chore, like digging post-holes back on -those New Hampshire farms of ours. I didn’t dare expect anything as good -as this Don Miguel O’Donnell. This may turn out to be livelier than -Cartagena.” - - - - - CHAPTER XX - - - RICARDO PLAYS IT ALONE - -Twenty-four hours sufficed to cut a trail with machetes, and pitch the -tents in the cocoanut grove. One of them was promptly occupied by Señor -Bazán, who was elated at seeing things move in such brisk and orderly -fashion. His faith in his yellow-haired captain was restored. There had -been no waiting upon the movements of the interlopers from Ecuador. If -Don Miguel O’Donnell should presume to interfere, so much the worse for -him. Ricardo was the man to conquer him. - -Privately Ricardo was not so certain of this. He had his moments of -serious apprehension. He could not quite imagine the resourceful Don -Miguel as sailing away empty-handed if there was the smallest chance of -finding hints or clues more promising than his own. Might was right on -Cocos Island. And the bold O’Donnell had never been hampered by scruples -or lack of wit. - -It was difficult to ascertain how many men were in his party. They were -scattered, a few on the schooner, others carrying supplies, the rest in -camp or working on the hydraulic pipe-line along the hillside. They kept -away from the _Valkyrie_’s company, nor did Don Miguel himself display a -neighborly spirit. The inference was that he considered himself too much -the gentleman to intrude. It had been conveyed to him that he was -unpopular with Señor Bazán. - -After painstaking measurements, Captain Cary felt satisfied that he had -chosen the likeliest spot to begin digging. To a certain extent it was -guesswork. The “great tree” noted on the chart had disappeared. There -was more than one “big boulder” in the ravine. Three of the bearings, -however, were accurately established, the H.M.S. _Jason_ stone on the -beach, the “hump of the hill,” and the face of the cliff. The compass -and chain helped to fill the gaps. Stakes were driven. Señor Bazán -turned the first shovelful of gravel. Not content with this, he -furiously plied the shovel until he wilted with a touch of fever. - -Captain Cary took command of this party, leaving Mr. Duff in charge of -the ship. A dozen men were picked for the hard labor at the camp. No -more could be spared at one time. They were willing and industrious. Why -not? It meant filling their pockets with pirates’ gold. The treasure -would soon be uncovered. _El Capitan_ Ricardo had shown them where to -dig. He knew all things. - -With the prevailing breeze the camp was in the sultry lee of the cliff. -This made the days intensely hot and the nights breathless. Señor Bazán -complained of his asthma. Mosquitoes tormented him when he moved out of -his tent. Ricardo urged him to spend a night or two on the ship where -the air had some life. He consented without much argument. A hammock was -slung from a pole, and two stout Colombian sailors bore the old -gentleman over the trail to the beach. - -Captain Cary went with him, planning to return in an hour or so. He -wished to find out from Mr. Duff how things were going on board the -ship. Charlie Burnham was left in camp with orders to post a couple of -sentries now that dusk was coming on. Mr. Panchito had appeared for -supper and was delighting the weary sailors with songs and stories of -the raciest description. He was excellent for their morale. He made them -forget aching backs and blistered palms. - -There was nothing to cause anxiety. Don Miguel O’Donnell had committed -himself to a policy of watchful waiting. For the present no trouble was -anticipated. The discovery of the treasure might provoke a crisis. -Meanwhile it was prudent to be vigilant. - -Mr. Duff was eager for gossip, having been low in his mind for lack of -company. Cary found it refreshing to sit down for a chat with him on the -breezy deck of the _Valkyrie_. There had been no stir on the schooner, -he reported, a few men coming and going, but nothing to indicate an -early departure. A gray-haired, soldierly man had come off in the -afternoon for a brief visit, presumably Don Miguel himself. - -Richard Cary was relating the news of the camp when the sound of a rifle -shot made him jump to his feet. It came from the interior of the island. -Another shot, then the staccato reports of a magazine emptied as fast as -a man could pull trigger. They reëchoed from the cliffs like a -fusillade. A rocket soared from the jungle and traced a scarlet line -against the evening sky. - -Captain Cary roared a command and two men popped into the boat at the -gangway. He delayed to say to the chief officer: - -“Stand by, Mr. Duff. If you need me, blow the whistle. We don’t know -what mischief the schooner may be hatching. We have to divide our -forces. Charlie Burnham is in a mess. Watch out for my signal from the -beach. We may want to shove off in a hurry.” - -“You will find the old hooker right here, sir,” hoarsely rumbled Mr. -Duff. “I wish I could go with you.” - -The two seamen tugged madly at the oars while Richard Cary, standing in -the stern, listened to the renewed rat-tat-tat of rifle fire. It -subsided before he leaped to the beach and dashed into the narrow trail. -Soon he heard a man cry out with pain, and the ferocious hubbub of -fighting at close quarters. He upbraided himself for his folly in -leaving the camp. He had been caught napping and tricked into a false -sense of security. - -Stumbling over roots and stones, he ran with the thin beam of a little -flash-light to reveal the path cut through the undergrowth. He shouted -mightily as he ran. He thought he heard answering voices. There was no -more rifle fire. He was some distance from the camp when he saw a figure -coming toward him. It swayed like a drunken man and fell to the ground. -The fugitive was found to be a Colombian sailor whose sweat-soaked shirt -bore darker stains of blood. Two others came staggering along the trail. -Between them they carried a comrade whose head wagged grotesquely. Cary -flashed his light on the round, pallid features of Mr. Panchito who -dangled a useless arm and was gashed in the thigh. His gayety was -eclipsed. - -Behind them came the rest of the _Valkyrie_ party, in tragic disorder. -Charlie Burnharn was limping with the rear guard, using his rifle as a -crutch. He blubbered at sight of Captain Cary and was ashamed to meet -him. - -“The b-bastards jumped us, and it’s all my fault,” he sobbed. “They -crept up on us just after dark. One sentry got his, with a machete, -before he could squeak. We put up the best scrap we could, sir, but we -had to beat it. For God’s sake, Captain Cary, get the men from the ship -and we’ll go back and clean up.” - -“Steady, Charlie. You couldn’t help it,” said Cary, putting an arm -around him. “Did you leave any men behind?” - -“One, sir. We started to lug the sentry, but he croaked a little ways -back yonder and we hid his body in the bushes. I don’t know how many are -hit. They caught us from three sides and rushed us. We couldn’t hold the -camp. These Colombian ginks of ours put up a dandy scrap. You can’t tell -_me_ a South American revolution is vaudeville stuff. I know better.” - -Cary had stripped off his shirt and was tearing it into strips. The -able-bodied men were quick to imitate him. As best they could they -bandaged the wounded who laughed and swore and begged cigarettes. For -those unable to walk or faint from loss of blood, litters were contrived -from boughs and saplings, using their leather belts for lashings. Cary -slung Charlie Burnham over his shoulder and strode ahead of the others. -He was sad and silent. It was for him to square the account with Don -Miguel O’Donnell. Now that the thing had happened, he comprehended the -motive. As soon as the _Valkyrie_ party had begun digging, the place -where they expected to find the treasure was clearly indicated. It told -the secret of their own pirates’ chart. Don Miguel had concluded not to -wait, perhaps for weeks and weeks. He preferred to do his own excavating -and make speedy work of it. There was no law on Cocos Island. A little -bloodshed? It was of no great consequence. - -Richard Cary spoke his thoughts aloud to the hapless chief engineer who -could not help groaning now and then. - -“He out-guessed me, Charlie. He was marking time until we showed him -where to set up that hydraulic squirt-gun of his and get busy again. He -thinks Señor Bazán has a sure thing. He told us so.” - -“That’s my notion, Captain Cary. Ouch, I got a hole drilled clean -through my leg. Chasing us into the bushes didn’t bother that sudden -_hombre_ one little bit. He bats ’em high, wide, and lively.” - -“I wish I had stopped those bullets myself,” sighed the master of the -_Valkyrie_. - -He came out on the open beach well ahead of his forlorn company. -Carefully he laid Charlie Burnham on the sand and flashed a signal to -the steamer. Chief Officer Duff answered with a blast of the whistle. He -must have had the yawl manned and ready. The refugees heard the rattle -of oars. Presently the wounded were lifted in over the bow and stowed -against the thwarts. Mr. Duff handled the boat himself. Efficiently he -transferred this sorry freightage to the deck of the _Valkyrie_. Richard -Cary fairly rocked with exhaustion, a man sick in mind and body. -Doggedly he pulled himself together to act the amateur surgeon. The -colored steward displayed a competency unexpected. Between them they set -about sterilizing and dressing the bullet wounds and machete cuts. One -sailor’s chest had been ripped by a blade and required a dozen stitches. -Poor Mr. Panchito had an ugly fracture to set. A coal-black fireman was -moaning with the torture of a bullet embedded in his back. Captain Cary -had to probe and extract it. He did these things as well as he could, -slowly, carefully, with fingers singularly deft. He had seen them done -by other shipmasters with no surgeon on board. Including those less -seriously hurt, seven men bore testimony that it had been a furious -affray in camp. - -Richard Cary dreaded an interview with Ramon Bazán, who was a trifle -flighty with fever. He had emerged from his room and was flitting about -in pajamas, very much in the way, and sputtering questions to which no -one paid the slightest attention. At length, Cary found time to say, -rather roughly: - -“Why not thrash this out to-morrow? No use crying over spilt milk. You -ought to be in bed.” - -“But I am not blaming you for anything, my son,” was the surprising -answer. It was a chastened, frightened Papa Bazán who, for once, had -forgotten his greed of phantom gold. “It may be true, Ricardo, that the -pirates put a curse on their treasure. It poisons men and makes them -kill each other. You would have been killed in the camp to-night. You -are too big for bullets to miss. And these wounded men—they suffer and -are so brave—and I am the one that brought them to this wicked Cocos -Island.” - -The accents were mournful. Señor Bazán was lamenting for his children of -the sea. He was the sinner that repenteth at the eleventh hour. - -“You certainly do not seem like yourself, Papa Bazán,” gravely returned -Ricardo. The symptoms were as alarming as one of those sudden heart -seizures. “I’m glad you appreciate the loyalty of your ship’s company. -And it is very decent of you to make it easy for me. What it amounts to, -though, is that Don Miguel O’Donnell was too wise and bold for me. You -were afraid of it, remember?” - -“You will try to make him pay for it, Ricardo. I see it in your eyes. -More men will be bleeding with bullets. You yourself may be dead. I made -you come on this voyage when you wished to get out of Cartagena and find -your sweetheart, that girl of mine, Teresa Fernandez.” - -“I shall find my girl. The world isn’t big enough to keep us apart,” -said Ricardo, his scowl fading. “But I am not ready to quit Cocos -Island. The only curse on the treasure is Don Miguel O’Donnell. You must -let me work it out, sir. You don’t have to strike your colors yet.” - -“Promise me you will not get yourself killed, Ricardo,” implored the -affectionate Papa Bazán. “I would not leave you buried on Cocos Island, -not for the riches of Captain Thompson and Benito Bonito.” - -“My own funeral is not on the programme,” replied Ricardo to whom this -was an unfamiliar Papa Bazán. “Please don’t interfere with my orders. I -shall have a good deal on my hands. Don Miguel rubbed me the wrong way. -I don’t like the way he did it.” - -The old gentleman consented to go to bed. Captain Cary made a tour of -his patients. With luck he expected to pull them all through. He found -the steward faithfully on duty as nurse. Climbing to the bridge, he -stood gazing at the shadowy outline of the hostile schooner, only a few -hundred feet away. His solid composure of mind had returned. He was -putting his shattered self-confidence together again. It made him wince -to know that Don Miguel was laughing at him. It was his first -humiliating defeat. His men deserved better of him than this. - -While he stood musing in the starlit night, he seemed to hear the voice -of Teresa Fernandez as she had told him the tale of the great galleon -_Nuestra Señora del Rosario_ and her ancestor Don Diego Fernandez—the -tale of the two little English ships that had throttled the galleon like -bulldogs. - -The little ships of Devon, lubberly, as round as an apple, gaudy -pennants floating from their stumpy masts, wallowing off to leeward, -daring the devil and the deep sea! - -The blood coursed through Richard Cary’s veins. He paced to and fro, -head erect, heart beating high. Was he to be balked of Spanish treasure? -He was a Cary of Devon. - -This Don Miguel O’Donnell was a worthy foeman. How many of his men were -aboard the schooner? To-night was the time to carry her by boarding, -before Don Miguel could entrench the camp and send more men to his -vessel to hold her against surprise. - -The _Valkyrie_ had no Devon lads with hearts of oak, experienced at this -game of swarming over a ship’s side and clearing her decks. The -Colombians had been demoralized by wounds and disaster. A respite was -necessary, to inspire the rest of the crew, to drill them, to show what -was expected of them. They were bewildered, fatigued, and ignorant of -the tactics of such an adventure as this. Another day, and they could be -led against the schooner. Reluctantly the attack was postponed. - -Mr. Duff tramped to the bridge and urged his skipper to turn in until -daylight. The ship didn’t need him. The wounded men were quiet. - -“All right, Mr. Duff. I’ll go below soon. I am not worried about the -ship. You will look after her, but I feel like a daddy to those poor -fellows that got hurt. It sort of cheers them up if they happen to be -awake when I go the rounds.” - -“You take it too hard, Captain Cary,” bluffly replied the battered -veteran of a chief officer. “The men might have been stove up as bad as -this in a shindy ashore in some port. I had a ship in Valparaiso one -time—Lord love you, the police and the sailors fought it to a -fare-ye-well.” - -“That wasn’t Cocos Island, Mr. Duff. Now keep this to yourself. If -things break wrong for me, you understand, you are to take this steamer -back to Cartagena, subject to the owner’s orders. And you can keep the -command of her, I have no doubt, if she can be made to earn her way in -coastwise trade. You have made good with me and with Señor Bazán.” - -“Thank you, sir. What’s the oration about? Going to run some fool risk, -are you? It isn’t worth it, let me tell you. You are young and husky, -and there’s a fine life and a long life ahead of you. Why get bumped off -in a tuppenny rumpus like this? Hell’s bells, why don’t you let me do -the dirty work? Give me a chance to pay you back, Captain Cary. You -fished me out of the garbage can and put me on my feet. I’ll go up -against this Don Miguel O’Donnell the minute you say the word.” - -Richard Cary shook his head. He had said all he had to say. Daylight -found him again on the bridge, intently studying the schooner. He was -astonished and chagrined. Outwitted for the second time! Forestalled and -beaten! During the night two machine guns had been mounted on the -schooner’s deck, one well forward, the other near the after cabin. No -boats could hope to approach the vessel and throw men on board. To -attempt it even by night would be bloody suicide. Richard Cary’s -intentions were snuffed out. The stout lads of Devon never had to reckon -with streams of bullets sprayed from machine guns. - -The day passed uneventfully. Men were always loafing near the schooner’s -machine guns. Another midnight hour came. The tide was flooding into the -bay. The sky was slightly overcast. The stars were mistily veiled. The -bay slept in a soft obscurity. - -Captain Cary called Mr. Duff aside to confide: “This seems to be up to -me. Please keep the ship quiet. Look and listen. If you hear me yell for -you, bring your men over in the yawl.” - -“Blast my picture, sir, what do you mean? Are you going to tackle that -armed vessel alone?” - -“You do as I say. Watch me swim for it.” - -“The sharks’ll get you. I wish I was big enough to put you in irons.” - -“Come along aft and see me off, Mr. Duff.” - -They halted at the taffrail. Cary took off his canvas shoes and stripped -himself to the waist. All he had on was a pair of thin khaki trousers. -At his belt was a holster. The flap covered a Colt’s revolver of the old -navy pattern. It was long-barreled, with a heavy butt. The two men shook -hands. Mr. Duff whispered a blessing almost tearful. - -Cary footed it down a rope ladder. Mr. Duff peered over and heard a -small splash. For the first time in many years he piously, genuinely -invoked his Maker. He saw Cary come to the surface and swim steadily to -make a wide détour and approach the schooner bows on. Very soon the -swimmer vanished from view. Mr. Duff hurried forward and awoke his men -with orders to be _alerta_, and to jump for the yawl when he said so. - -Richard Cary was swimming at a leisurely pace, saving his strength, -taking advantage of the favorable drift of the tide. He held the same -course until he was well inshore and the schooner’s masts were in line. -Then he moved directly toward her, paddling gently and almost submerged, -as silent as a bit of flotsam. - -Thus he floated until high above him loomed the bowsprit. He was -screened from discovery. Catching hold of the anchor chain, he steadied -himself and rested for several minutes. He could hear two men talking -somewhere forward. - -Hand over hand he hauled himself up the cable until he could grasp a -bowsprit stay. Another effort and he found a foothold, crouching between -the stays directly beneath the heavy timber upon which the folds of a -headsail had been loosely secured. - -Again he paused and listened. He had at least two men to deal with up -here near the forecastle. Their conversation still flowed in drowsy -murmurings. They were not far from the forward machine gun, he surmised. -He knew how to operate machine guns. During the war he had been a chief -petty officer of the American Navy. - -He took it for granted that the two machine guns were loaded and ready -for instant action. Don Miguel O’Donnell was not a man to be careless in -matters of this sort. To get his hands on one of them, long enough to -sweep the schooner’s deck with it, this was the hazard upon which -Richard Cary was gambling his life. - -Clambering over the bowsprit, he crept as far as the anchor winch. -Between him and the two men on watch near the forward machine gun was -the deck-house in which the sailors were quartered. It was his -assumption that most of them were ashore in the camp to hold it against -a possible sortie from the _Valkyrie_. He had first to surprise the two -men just beyond the deck-house. They were standing close to the -starboard bulwark. From where they were, the deck ran flush to the after -cabin and the raised quarterdeck upon which the other machine gun was -mounted. - -The intruder was silent and invisible. He took the heavy revolver by the -barrel but, on second thought, shoved it back into the holster. It might -be better to have both hands free. - -Like a yellow tiger he leaped from his ambush behind a corner of the -deck-house. His bare feet slapped the deck in three great strides. The -two sailors of Ecuador had no more than time to whirl and face him. He -stooped as he ran and grasped one of them around the legs. The fellow -seemed to rise in the air as if he had wings. He soared over the bulwark -in a graceful parabola. Into the placid waters of the bay he shot as -prettily as a man diving. He was yelling when he went under, and he -yelled when he came to the surface. He made as much noise as a riot. - -Meanwhile the active Ricardo had lunged to get a grip on the other -seaman and toss him overboard in the same fashion. This one had a -moment’s warning, however, and he was wonderfully nimble. He dodged like -a rabbit and fled around the machine gun. At this game of tag there was -no catching him. He scudded under Ricardo’s outstretched arm and flew -like mad to seek refuge with his friends in the after part of the -vessel. A bullet might have stopped him, but the yellow tiger had -business more urgent. Every second of time was precious. - -He dropped to his knees behind the machine gun. His questing fingers -told him that the belt was filled with cartridges. He swung the weapon -to rake the quarterdeck and drive the enemy from that other machine gun -before they could open fire on him. - -He pulled the trigger. Brrrr-r-r—prut—prut—prut—prut, the mechanism -responded in a ferocious tattoo amazingly sharp and loud as the -headlands of the bay flung the reports to and fro. Checking the -fusillade, he looked and listened. He heard shrill shouts, the scamper -of feet, a man wailing that he was killed. The other machine gun was -dumb. In this brief burst of fire he had driven Don Miguel’s men to -cover, but he could not hope to hold them there long. They could snipe -at him with pistols and rifles from the cabin windows, from behind the -mizzenmast, from the rigging. - -He was in the open, kneeling at his machine gun, his body naked to the -waist as a target discernible in the darkness. There was this to be said -for him, that the schooner was his, from the bow all the way aft to the -quarterdeck. He glanced behind him at the open doors of the forecastle. -If any seamen were in there, they had too much respect for a machine gun -to poke their heads out. - -The voice of Richard Cary rolled out in a tremendous shout of: “Ahoy the -_Valkyrie_! Boarders away! Shake a leg. I can’t hold ’em long. Come over -the bowsprit. Do you understand?” - -The jubilant bellow of Chief Officer Duff announced that he understood. -His men were in leash, awaiting the summons to cast off. They had an -account of their own to square. Richard Cary heard their oars bang -against the pins as they shoved clear and put their backs into it while -Mr. Duff hurled profane exhortations at their devoted heads. Captain -Cary saw the shadow of the boat as it surged toward the schooner. It was -for him to maintain the mastery a few minutes longer. What he dreaded -and expected was a swift rally to snatch the after machine gun, find -shelter for it, and sweep the _Valkyrie_’s boat. The possibility of such -a disaster made him desperate. His hands would be stained with the blood -of his own comrades if he should lead them into such a wicked trap as -this. - -Now he recognized the voice of Don Miguel O’Donnell who was driving his -men up from the cabin into which they must have piled helter-skelter. -This made the situation more critical than ever. The reckless soldier of -fortune would not hesitate to pistol his own ship’s officers or men if -they refused to do his bidding. They would try to make quick work of it, -reflected Cary. - -A rifle flashed and then another. He threw himself flat. A bullet kicked -a splinter from a plank beside his head. Several whined over him. He -watched the flashes. Don Miguel had shrewdly scattered his men in -various hiding-places. Without fatally exposing himself, Ricardo was -unable to look over the bulwark and gauge the progress of the -_Valkyrie_’s boat. He dared withhold his machine gun fire not another -minute. It was the card he held in reserve, but if a rifle bullet should -kill or cripple him, Mr. Duff and his shipmates would be exposed to -slaughter. - -He knelt behind the gun and carefully marked the flashes of the rifles. -A bullet grazed his left arm. Another chipped an ear. Then he let drive -with all the cartridges remaining in the belt. It was a sustained, -furious chatter of explosions. He sprayed the quarterdeck from starboard -to port and back again. It silenced the enemy’s fire and granted him a -fleeting opportunity. - -Jumping to his feet, he lifted the machine gun in his arms and tossed it -overboard. This one, at least, could not be reloaded and turned against -his own crew. Then he ran aft, jerking out the heavy revolver. - -For an instant he halted behind the mainmast, in the middle of the ship, -to reconnoiter. It was as he expected. Don Miguel’s men knew he had -blown away all his ammunition. They were coming out from cover, but not -eagerly. Don Miguel was roaring at them from the cabin roof where he had -been trying to pot Cary with a rifle. It was he himself who leaped down -to aim the after machine gun. He was guilty of a blunder. His intention -was to rake the _Valkyrie_’s boat before it passed from sight under the -schooner’s bows, leaving his men to dispose of Richard Cary. - -Instead of this, he saw a tall, glimmering figure dart from behind the -mainmast and come charging aft. His attention was diverted. He -hesitated. Then he opened fire at the swiftly moving wraith of a man, -expecting to crumple him in his tracks. Ricardo was too canny to make -himself an easy target. He ran a zigzag course, on a headlong slant -toward one side of the deck and veering toward the other side. It was a -disconcerting, bewildering onset even to an experienced campaigner like -Don Miguel O’Donnell. - -Cary was running like the wind, and as he ran he blazed away with the -revolver which barked like a small cannon. A machine gun on a deck -deeply shadowed was a clumsy weapon with which to stop a man determined -to capture a ship single-handed or perish in the attempt. Don Miguel -stood stoutly at his post, loudly swearing at the men who were ducking -the bullets from that infernal revolver. The yellow tiger swerved again -and bounded to the quarterdeck. He hurled the empty revolver at the man -behind the machine gun. It was a missile propelled by an uncommonly -powerful arm. - -Unseen by Don Miguel, it struck him in the face. He reeled and fell. One -of his men stumbled over him. Another lurched into them. In this moment -of confusion, Richard Cary laid hands on the machine gun and wrenched it -around to command the quarterdeck. A touch of the finger and he could -have riddled the nearest group of three, huddled as they were, but the -deed was abhorrent. Don Miguel had shown no mercy for the luckless -_Valkyrie_ party at the treasure camp, but this modern Richard Cary felt -inclined to offer quarter. A machine gun was a detestable weapon for men -who loved good fighting. - -“Get below, you swine,” he shouted, “before I turn loose on you! -_Pronto_, now, and drop your rifles.” - -The two sailors with Don Miguel dragged him to the companionway, and he -went bumping down into the cabin. Others were still skulking in the -dark. Two or three came forward with hands upraised. They were glad to -surrender. Cary called out a final summons. From the other side of the -deck, a die-hard took a futile snap-shot at him with a pistol. Picking -up the machine gun, Cary climbed to the cabin roof and deliberately -swept the quarterdeck with a hurricane of fire. It smashed through -woodwork and searched out the dark corners. It was the blast of death. - -A wounded man came whimpering from his hiding-place. Another sprang up -with a scream and hung limp over the rail. It was enough. Richard Cary -shouldered the machine gun and ran forward with it. He had achieved the -vital purpose. His comrades had been saved from destruction. With a -thankful heart he shouted to them: - -“All clear. Come along and take the schooner.” - -The first man from the _Valkyrie_’s yawl was just coming over the bow. -Wound about his waist was a rope ladder which he made fast and dropped. -Up they swarmed, so fast that they were treading upon one another’s -shoulders. - -Rifles slung on their backs, pistols in their fists, they crowded around -their captain and clamored to be led against the thieves and assassins -from Ecuador. Mr. Duff crawled over the bowsprit, the last man aboard. -His years and his girth had hampered him. The others had rudely shoved -him aside. He was puffing and blowing, and his temper was ruined. - -“The scoundrels, they pranced all over me, Captain Cary. Where’s this -scrimmage of yours? Here we stand like a bunch of idiots at a tea party. -What’s that you’re lugging on your shoulder? A machine gun?” - -“One of them,” laughed Richard Cary, affectionately thumping his chief -officer. “I had to chuck the other one over the side. You might have got -hurt with it. Hop along aft and finish it up. If you find any loose -_hombres_, throw them into a hatch.” - -“Then you didn’t scupper the lot?” eagerly exclaimed Mr. Duff. - -“I had no chance to count noses,” answered Captain Cary. “Take a look in -the forecastle first.” - -“Let’s go, boys,” thundered Mr. Duff. “_Viva Colombia!_” - - - - - CHAPTER XXI - - - THE HAPPINESS OF PAPA BAZÁN - -For once in his career, Don Miguel O’Donnell was a battered, defeated -soldier of fortune. He had lost his schooner and was bound to accept -whatever terms might be dictated, or face the unpleasant alternative of -being marooned on Cocos Island. A prisoner in the cabin, he was -stanching the blood from a cut on his cheek when Richard Cary came down -from the deck and said: - -“Here, let me fix that for you. My steward is coming aboard to help -patch up your men. Sorry, but two or three of them are past mending. It -was a dirty job you forced on me.” - -“I wish I had left you alone, Captain Cary,” replied Don Miguel, without -a trace of animosity. “I was the stupid one. It was in my mind that you -might try to capture this vessel, but those machine guns made me feel -easy. I lose and I must pay.” - -Cary smiled. He could afford to. It was a waste of breath to denounce -this veteran adventurer as a murderous blackguard who had brought -disaster upon himself. He had behaved according to his own code which -gave the spoils to the victor. - -“Aye, you lose,” said Captain Cary. “You have until sundown to get your -shore party and supplies aboard and make sail. If there is no breeze, I -will tow you to sea.” - -“And if I am not ready to sail by sundown, what then?” - -“I shall sink your schooner. And I won’t feel at all backward about -using the machine gun you made me a present of.” - -“Machine guns are trumps,” said Don Miguel. “I am leaving Cocos Island -before sundown. It will not be healthy to stay longer. To wait for -another ship to take me off would be too much like Robinson Crusoe. Six -months, a year? _Quien sabe?_” - -“You are fed up with Cocos Island?” observed Cary. “I feel something -like that myself, but I shall stick a while longer.” - -“To find the treasure, my dear young man? Yes, I see you are in a hurry -to go back to your camp and dig, just as soon as my schooner is on the -ocean again.” - -“Right you are. I expect to occupy the camp to-night. Señor Bazán will -be fidgeting to get ashore again.” - -“I hope you will find something,” very courteously replied Don Miguel. -“Perhaps you will find something to-night. Señor Bazán seems to know -exactly where to look for the treasure. I was not so lucky with my chart -of Benito Bonito’s boatswain.” - -Soon after this interview, Captain Cary returned to the _Valkyrie_. Mr. -Duff was left as prize master with a guard of five men. Señor Bazán was -found asleep in a deck-chair after wearing himself out with fears and -anxieties. Ricardo felt his pulse. It relieved him to find that the old -gentleman had survived such a racking night as this. His heart was -behaving far better than could have been expected. Apparently the sea -voyage had been good for it. - -Well, there would be no more clashes and alarms on Cocos Island. The -argonauts from Cartagena could remain as long as it should please Ramon -Bazán to hunt for the pot of gold at the rainbow’s end. They had found -an awkward neighbor in Don Miguel O’Donnell, but he was departing bag -and baggage. - -Captain Cary slept late into the forenoon. The black cares had lifted. -His own wounded men were on the way to recovery. His was the -satisfaction of having fought and maneuvered his way out of an -exceedingly tight corner, with the favoring aid of the goddess of -chance. He felt a young man’s pride in defying the odds and smashing a -way through adverse circumstances. - -When he came out of his heavy slumber, Ramon Bazán hovered beside the -bunk. His spectacles were on his nose. He was examining the chipped ear -and the grazed arm which Ricardo had covered with strips of plaster. - -“All’s well,” yawned the hero. “What do you say? Shall we shove off to -the camp to-night?” - -“I hope so,” chirruped Ramon, who was in high spirits. “The men have -told me all. Do not trouble yourself to talk too much now. Do you know -what I have decided? To give you half the treasure as soon as we find -it. It will be my gift to you and Teresa, three millions besides the -gold ingots. You must chase after that girl and marry her, Ricardo, if -it will make you happy. With this treasure you can live quiet and safe. -If you keep on fighting like this, Teresa will be a widow. Of course, -when I die you will get my treasure, too, you and your sweetheart, -except what I give to the splendid officers and sailors of the -_Valkyrie_. There is nobody to leave it to, only you and Teresa. Now you -will have some fun in digging up this Cocos Island.” - -“Oh, I have had fun enough already, and a bully good run for my money,” -Ricardo assured him. “It is very fine of you to feel this way, but what -do I want with three million dollars? Supposing we let it rest until we -turn up the treasure.” - -“If we miss finding it,” uneasily pursued Papa Ramon, “I have not much -to leave Teresa. There is my house in Cartagena, and some more land, but -this steamer and the voyage have cost me many thousands of dollars.” - -“Please forget it,” urged Ricardo. “If I can find Teresa and she still -loves me, what else in the world do I want?” - -“That girl used to tease me and call me a horrid old monkey, but I will -never scold her again,” said Papa Ramon. “Yes, Ricardo, perhaps there -are more precious things than money. I have been learning it for myself. -Loyalty? Is that the word? It is bigger than life itself. Why did you -capture the schooner? Why will these men follow you anywhere you say? It -is not for money at all.” - -“It is never too late to learn,” smiled Ricardo. “I should call this a -liberal education for all hands of us. Travel and entertainment, with -frequent trips ashore. It puts it all over a cruise in a banana boat.” - -It was late in the afternoon when the watchers on the _Valkyrie_ saw Don -Miguel’s party come down the road to the beach, dragging the last -cart-loads of the stuff they wished to take with them. Their boats -carried it off to the schooner. Prize-master Duff, at a signal from -Captain Cary, withdrew his guard and returned to the steamer. A light -breeze was sighing off the land. Shortly before sunset the tall sails -were hoisted and the anchor weighed. - -The schooner rippled slowly past the _Valkyrie_ to trim her sheets and -follow the fairway out beyond the headlands of the bay. Don Miguel -O’Donnell paced the quarterdeck, a straight, vigorous figure of a man -who bore himself gallantly. He raised his hat and bowed in courteous -farewell. As he turned away, however, his hand went to his cheek, to -touch the ugly cut that had marked him for life. It was a gesture which -did not escape the scrutiny of Richard Cary. He made up his mind to -steer clear of Ecuador. Soon the schooner caught a stronger draught of -wind and heeled to its pressure as she made for the open sea. - -Captain Cary mustered a landing party and beckoned Señor Bazán. Alas, -the old gentleman was the picture of unhappiness. It had occurred to -him, as an appalling possibility, that the _piraticos_ of Don Miguel -O’Donnell might have discovered the treasure during their one day in -camp. Perhaps it was some of the bullion in canvas bags that they had -been trundling in the carts. To soothe Papa Ramon it was advisable to -lose not a moment in investigating the camp. And so they lugged him -along in the hammock slung from a pole. - -To his immense relief, the excavation which they had begun close to the -face of the cliff was found to be no deeper, nor had the gravel been -disturbed elsewhere. Captain Cary’s first task, after they had put the -tents to rights, was to detail a burial party for the body of the -Colombian sailor which had been hidden in the bushes during the forced -retreat. Papa Ramon wept. He had turned quite sentimental. He would pay -for many masses to be said in the cathedral of Cartagena for the soul of -this valiant mariner. - -The air was uncommonly cool at dusk. The wind suddenly shifted and swept -in from the sea. It was a refreshing night for tired men to rest their -bones in sleep. They were eager to be up with the dawn and resume the -toil with pick and shovel. Therefore most of them were in their hammocks -as soon as darkness fell. Señor Bazán was snoring in his tent, after -pottering about until his legs rebelled. Richard Cary wandered to a -smooth rock and sat down to smoke and ponder. His nerves were still -taut. It was difficult to relax. - -The camp became silent. The only sounds were the rustle of the cocoanut -palms and the music of falling water. For some time he sat there, and -then prowled to and fro. The sky presaged fair weather. The sky was -brilliant with stars, and almost cloudless. Little by little he felt -lazily at ease. He decided to go to his tent. - -Just then he heard a bell. Its notes were sonorous. The air fairly -hummed with them. They were lingeringly vibrant. They were the tones of -such a bell as had hurled its mellow echoes against the walls of -Cartagena when the galleons of the plate fleet had ridden to their -hempen cables. To Richard Cary’s ears the sound of this bell seemed to -come from a distance, and yet it throbbed all about him. It was the bell -of the _Nuestra Señora del Rosario_ which had been mounted upon the roof -of the _Valkyrie_’s forecastle. - -He was accustomed to hearing it daily on shipboard as it marked the -passing hours and changing watches, but even there it never failed to -thrill responsive chords in some dim recess of his soul. Until now, -however, it had not been heard as far inland as the camp. The fresh -breeze blowing across the bay and the silence of night were conditions -peculiarly favorable, thought Cary, but he stood in an attitude of -strained attention. - -_Dong-dong—dong-dong!_ - -_Four bells!_ Richard Cary scratched a match and looked at his watch. -The hands pointed to a quarter after nine. By the ship’s time, two bells -had struck and it was not yet three bells. - -DONG-DONG—DONG-DONG! - -The galleon bell tolled again, Four bells! So far away and yet so -dangerously insistent, as loud in his ears as though he stood upon the -ship’s deck. He seemed also to hear Teresa’s voice attuned in harmony -with it, to hear her saying in the _patio_: - -“There is something about this old bell, very queer, but as true as true -can be. If anything very bad is going to happen to the one it belongs -to, this bell of the _Nuestra Señora del Rosario_ strikes four times, -_dong-dong, dong-dong_. Four bells, like on board a ship. When there is -going to be death or some terrible bad luck! It has always been like -that, ’way, ’way back to my ancestor Don Juan Diego Fernandez.” - -While Richard Cary listened, the bell sounded its warning once more, and -then was mute. He was not dreaming, nor was he under the spell of those -visions which had so often disquieted him. He rubbed his eyes and stared -at the tents, the bare cliff, the yellow streaks of gravel. The sailors -were asleep in their tents. For a long moment he stood bewitched and -helpless. He refused to believe and yet he dared not disobey. He was -pulled two ways. Common sense flouted it. What shook him free of this -trance was the voice of Ramon Bazán who called out piteously. Cary ran -to the tent and found the old man sitting up in his cot. - -“Thank God, you have come, Ricardo. In my sleep I had a fearful dream. -Four bells! I heard it and then I was awake, and I thought I heard it -again. I feel very sick. Has the time come for me to die? You didn’t -hear any four bells, did you, Ricardo? I am shaking all over.” - -“Nonsense, Papa Bazán,” exclaimed Ricardo, patting the bony little -shoulder. “I heard the bell, but it just happened that the wind brought -the sound to us. Four bells? Perhaps the ship rolled in a ground swell -and swung the clapper.” - -“Then you did hear it, too?” quavered Ramon, clutching Ricardo’s arm. -“It is no nonsense, not when the bell sounds like that. We must get out -of this camp and go back to the ship. It is the safest place to be. Not -for six million dollars will I stay here to-night. We must all go to the -ship, I tell you. Will you take care of me, Ricardo?” - -“Back we go to the ship, Papa Ramon,” readily agreed Richard Cary. “I -feel like a fool, but I’ll confess I am creepy. I am whistling to keep -up my courage. If there is a curse on this Cocos Island, we may as well -get out from under. When it comes to fighting with spirits, a machine -gun is no use at all.” - -“Quick, Ricardo! Get the sailors to carry me in the hammock. I cannot -walk out of the tent.” - -Cary lifted him from the cot. He clung like a frightened child. At the -lusty shout of all hands, the men came boiling out of the tents. They -slept with one eye open. Was it another attack? They crowded around -their captain. He was at a loss to explain it. The thing seemed too -preposterous for words. While he hesitated, Ramon Bazán plucked at his -shirt and implored him to make haste. - -“Jump out of this. Vamoose! To the ship! On your way, boys!” thundered -Captain Cary. - -They obeyed on the instant. Some new danger threatened. _El Capitan_ was -very much alarmed. When he gave an order like this, it meant something. -Excitedly they straggled toward the trail. A grotesque exodus for brave -men, if they had known it, and Richard Cary reproached himself as a -womanish coward, but he was in a cold sweat of impatience, nevertheless, -to set foot on the deck of his ship. Trudging behind his men, he found -himself glancing back like an urchin in a haunted lane. - -The pace slackened. One or two sailors ventured timid questions. He was -still evasive. He gruffly mentioned a warning message. They inferred -that perhaps Don Miguel O’Donnell had come sailing back to make a -stealthy landing. Bewildered but trustful, they plodded on, swinging -lanterns and sleepily chattering. The two who bore Señor Bazán in the -hammock halted to ease their shoulders. The others waited. - -A terrific explosion rocked the earth. The detonation stunned them. The -first thought was that a volcanic eruption had blown up through the dead -crater. They rushed to the nearest opening in the jungle. They could see -the dark loom of the hill climbing to the little lake in the bowl at the -top. It was undisturbed. - -They turned to look in the direction of the camp. The sky was a glare of -crimson. They could hear the crash of rock falling from the cliff, of -débris raining from the air. Then came a roaring, grinding sound like a -landslide. Huddled together, the fugitives were dumb until Captain Cary -spoke up: - -“I have a notion we pulled out just in time. Let’s go take a look.” - -They rushed back to the end of the trail and out into the clearing -beyond the ravine where the tents had stood. There were no tents and no -cocoanut palms. They had to climb over huge heaps of broken rock which -had been jarred from the crumbling, fissured face of the cliff. Their -excavation was buried many feet deep in earth and stones dislodged from -the steep slopes above the cliff. Great ragged holes yawned in the -gravel banks. Richard Cary took a lantern and explored the chaos. He -returned to report to Señor Bazán who had been laid on a blanket found -wrapped around the splintered stump of a tree. - -“Four bells was right,” said Ricardo. “The camp is blown to glory. And a -big piece of the hill is dumped on top of it. This Don Miguel was a poor -loser. I wish I had killed him with his machine gun. It’s easy enough to -figure how the trick was done. He had a lot of dynamite left, so he told -his gang to mine the camp. They cut the fuse long enough to burn several -hours. I stumbled over one of his iron pipes. They ran the fuse through -it, I suppose. An excellent joke, said Don Miguel, eh, Papa Ramon? -‘_Perhaps you will find something to-night_,’ said he. He has a sense of -humor.” - -“He couldn’t forgive you for whipping him,” feebly piped the old man. -“Four Bells, Ricardo! Now I do not have to die.” - -“I should say not. Now you can live to be a hundred. And we’ll have to -give you a vote of thanks for putting the galleon bell on the steamer. -Not that I am convinced, but it was a most extraordinary coincidence.” - -“You are a fool, Ricardo,” snapped Papa Ramon, with a flash of the old -temper. “And Teresa would call you worse names than that. It was the -intercession of the Blessed Lady of Rosario for whom the galleon was -named.” - -A sailor exploring the débris with a lantern suddenly went insane, or so -it appeared. He screeched, slid into a hole on his stomach, and wildly -waved his legs. His comrades scampered to haul him out. Instantly they, -too, became afflicted with violent dementia. Cary went to investigate. -He caught up a lantern and peered into this fresh excavation torn by the -explosive. A frenzied sailor was filling his straw hat with tarnished -coins. Another was struggling to lift a heavy lump of metal, but had to -drop it for lack of elbow room. Cary reached down and jerked the two men -out of the hole. They danced around him, spilling Spanish dollars from -their hats and shirts. He slid down and tossed out the weighty lump -which looked like bullion fused and roughened by heat. - -He ran to fetch Papa Ramon and to spread his blanket close to this -miraculous gravel pit. The sailors darted off to search for bits of -board to dig with. One of them was lucky enough to find a broken shovel. -By the light of the lanterns they made the gravel fly like infuriated -terriers. They turned up more coins, hundreds of them, and a closely -packed heap of those roughened lumps of bullion. They discovered rotten -pieces of plank studded with iron bolts and braces. They piled the booty -upon Señor Bazán’s blanket. He let the blackened Spanish dollars clink -through his fingers. He fondled the shapeless lumps of bullion. - -He was a supremely happy old man, nor was his emotion altogether sordid. -He was happy for Ricardo and Teresa. And the spirit of romance, the -enchantment of adventure had renewed, for this transient hour, the -bright aspects of his youth. - -“We have found it,” he gasped, his voice almost failing him. - -“Don Miguel found it for us,” replied Ricardo. “The laugh is on him, -after all. I wish I could send him the news. It would make this the end -of a perfect day.” - -Ramon Bazán chuckled and tried to say something. After a thickened, -stammering word or two, his voice died in his throat. He swayed forward, -his hands filled with Spanish dollars. They slid from his helpless -fingers. Ricardo caught him in his arms and gently laid him down. The -wizened brown face had turned ashen. It was pinched and very old. - -In his shirt pocket was a little leather case with a vial in it. Richard -Cary found it and forced a capsule between the bloodless lips. It failed -to revive him. A second capsule was no more effectual. - -The worn-out heart, which had been so often spurred by the powerful -drug, had made its last rally. Presently Cary discovered that it had -ceased to beat. He told the sailors that Señor Ramon Bazán was dead. -They were shocked and very sorry. Crowding around the blanket, they -bared their heads and crossed themselves, earnestly muttering the -prayers of the Church. - -Even their simple souls comprehended that fate had not been unkind to -this aged man. His departure was not essentially mournful. It could even -be regarded as a felicitous ending. He had achieved the goal of his -desire, which bright fortune is vouchsafed to few. Most men spend their -lives in search of some treasure, hidden or elusive, and rarely do they -find it. Nor do they understand that the joy is in the quest and not in -the possession. - - - - - CHAPTER XXII - - - THE FACE OF THE WATERS - -They wrapped the body of Ramon Bazán in the blanket, and Richard Cary -took the light burden in his arms to carry it back to the ship. It was -right and proper that he should be the bearer. It appealed to him as an -affectionate duty. In the morning they would build a coffin and find a -burial-place beyond high-water mark on the beach. It was a pleasanter -spot to lie than in the unholy desolation of this torn landscape near -the cliff, with its recent memories of bloodshed and commotion, and its -ancient memories of abominably evil deeds. - -A subdued procession followed Richard Cary down the dark trail. The -Colombian sailors whispered uneasily and were very willing to await the -friendly light of day before trying to find more treasure. Could it be -that the very touch of the Spanish dollars and bullion had killed Señor -Bazán? Had an unearthly vengeance smitten him because he had led them -straight to the place where the treasure was, with that pirates’ chart -of his? If he had not come to Cocos Island, the secret hoard would still -be undisturbed. - -There were things that no man could explain, said they. What was the -message that had warned _El Capitan_ Ricardo to flee from the camp? How -had it been brought to him? It had saved them all from being as dead as -poor Señor Bazán. It was a question whether honest sailormen had not -better let that treasure alone. Life was sweet to them. However, it was -for _El Capitan_ Ricardo to tell them what should be done. - -When morning came, the _Valkyrie_ displayed the Colombian colors -half-masted. The owner of the ship reposed in his own room, a peaceful -old man whose fevered anxieties were stilled, who had acquired a certain -dignity denied him in life. Chief Officer Bradley Duff stole in to look -at him. Emotional in such circumstances, he blew his crimson nose and -wiped his eyes. He did not know just why, for there was no reason to -give way to grief. In his time he had seen many a better man slip his -cable. Dutifully he muttered aloud: - -“The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, and what do you know about -that? Anyhow, you got what you wanted, didn’t you, Papa Ramon, and you -sailed off into the great beyond as happy as a kid with a Christmas -stocking. There is only one drawback. Coin to blow and no chance to blow -it! It breaks my heart to think of a thing like that. But, hell’s bells, -what could an old man blow it on? Here’s hoping you have laid up -treasure in heaven, for it’s your only bet—” - -Richard Cary interrupted this impromptu elegy and beckoned the chief -officer outside to say: - -“All hands will go ashore that can be spared from duty, Mr. Duff. Clean -clothes—make them look as smart as you can. At ten o’clock this -forenoon.” - -“At four bells, sir?” - -“Yes, at four bells. It seems appropriate. Have the bell tolled during -the burial service.” - -“Right, Captain Cary. Let me tell you, though, the prickles ran up and -down my back when the man on watch banged out four bells at six o’clock -this morning. If it’s all the same to you, I won’t have four bells -struck after to-day.” - -“I am not very anxious to hear it myself, Mr. Duff. And so you heard it -last night when I did? The bell actually rang itself? Did you look at -the clock?” - -“I looked at the clock with my two eyes as big as onions,” earnestly -answered Mr. Duff. “It was eighteen minutes after nine. I had come on -deck after saying good-night to the chief engineer. Charlie was fussing -and cussing some because his leg hurt him, and he was missing all the -excitement. _Dong-dong—dong-dong_, went the silly old bell, and I -walked as far as the bridge to bawl out the anchor watch. Nobody was -near the bell. Says I to myself, one of those Colombians has an extra -drink under his belt and is skylarkin’ to get a rise out of me. - -“I stood there looking at the shack of a fo’castle we knocked together -and the bell hanging in the frame on top of it. I’m a son-of-a-gun if -the bell didn’t ring again. I was as flustered as a woman with a mouse -in her petticoats. I had heard the yarn—why Señor Bazán insisted on -fetching this old relic along. Well, sir, I was froze to the deck like a -blasted dummy, my mouth wide open, and I’m a liar if she didn’t hammer -out four bells _again_. Three times is out, says I, and something is due -to happen. It did. That infernal explosion made my teeth rattle. From -here it looked as if old Cocos Island had split herself wide open. I was -never so thankful in my life as when you showed up on the beach with all -hands accounted for except poor Ramon Bazán. That was his own private -signal the bell tapped off, as I figure it.” - -“And you examined the bell?” asked Cary. “I haven’t had a chance to look -it over.” - -“Yes, sir. I made myself go for’ard and I climbed on the roof. I laid on -my back and felt inside of this spooky bell. It was a brave deed, -Captain Cary. Please enter it in the log that Bradley Duff was -meritorious. The tongue of the bell is hung on a swivel bolt and there -is a lot of play in it, due to wear and corrosion. The ship was rolling -last night, a strong breeze blowing straight into the bay and -considerable ground swell. The tongue might possibly have swung to -strike the rim of the bell, but it never happened before, not even in -that gale off the Colombian coast. That’s all I can say, sir, and I have -to believe it or admit that I’ve gone clean dotty.” - -“What else can we say, Mr. Duff? The more we guess the less we know.” - -“But who will it warn next time, now that it has done its duty by Señor -Bazán? What about that, sir?” - -Ricardo was immensely startled. This had not occurred to him. He look -frightened as he replied: - -“Señorita Teresa Fernandez, his niece? I wonder if I shall hear four -bells if any misfortune hangs over her. I may not know where she is. -Suppose I am not there to help and protect her. You and I are certainly -going dotty, Mr. Duff. I want to get this ship to sea again.” - -“First time I ever saw you down-hearted,” said the sympathetic chief -officer. “Sit tight and forget it. Señor Bazán was due to pass out -anyhow. He was living on borrowed time. It’s different with a healthy -girl that knows her way about, though I know there’s nothing worries a -man as much as a sweetheart. Lord love you, I used to have ’em from -Singapore to Rio.” - -Cary turned away. The talk was getting too intimate. He called himself -an idiot for letting such strange fancies distress him. He had lost a -devoted friend in Ramon Bazán, for all his whims and crotchets, and he -felt badly shaken by it. When later in the morning the ship’s company -decorously assembled on the beach, he was deeply affected. Solemnly the -bell tolled on the _Valkyrie_. A prayer-book was lacking, but Ricardo -said the verses he had learned at his mother’s knee. And when the grave -was filled, the sailors covered it with gorgeous wreaths of tropical -flowers. An assistant engineer, with cold chisel and hammer, cut the -dead man’s name and the emblem of the Holy Cross. This they did for -Ramon Bazán who had fared venturesomely forth from Cartagena to find his -journey’s end on this lonely, storied island of the wide Pacific. - -It was not demanded of them that they should any longer be idle. And so -Richard Cary led them to the devastated camp to view it by daylight. -They were bold and eager again. The terrors of darkness had faded from -their minds. Instantly they fell to enlarging the hole in which they had -discovered the silver. They expected to uncover tons of it. -Disappointment was their lot. In all they uncovered no more than three -hundred weight. This seemed trifling. They were uncertain where next to -explore. At random they shoveled the gravel and threw out scattered -coins and bars of bullion. - -The greater part of the treasure might be underneath the vast heap of -rock which had fallen from the cliff, or it might be buried far under -the landslide from the higher slope. All the rest of the day they -toiled, but it was a gigantic task for a few men, and they felt baffled -and discouraged. They doubted the truth of the saying that faith can -remove mountains. There was no inclination to remain away from the ship -after the sun went down behind the lofty hill. The shadows of night were -fearsome company. - -For Richard Cary the enterprise had lost its zest. He kept his thoughts -to himself until evening when he went to Charlie Burnham’s room. These -two were kindred spirits, in a way, youthful tropical rovers who had -wandered far from rugged New Hampshire farms. They were sprung from the -same kind of stock. They spoke the same language and were ballasted with -like traits of character. Because they understood each other, Cary could -lay aside the masterful pose of one whose word was law. It was safe to -make a confidant of Charlie Burnham. - -“Instead of raising such a row, you ought to be thankful you didn’t lose -a leg,” said Cary as he pulled a chair close to the bunk. - -A grin was on the homely, honest face of the chief engineer. - -“Little old New Hampshire was never like this,” said he. “Give me -another week and I can steam slow speed ahead on a crutch. All that -really bothers me is that I never got a crack at those outlaws. You’ll -have to hand it to Don Miguel O’Donnell. The trick of bumping you off -with dynamite was neat. He was a mining engineer, all right. What’s the -big idea now? Do we get rich quick or not?” - -“A tremendous lot of rock and dirt to move, Charlie, and then we don’t -know what’s under it. Too much for this short-handed crew to tackle.” - -“I can swing the job, Captain Cary,” eagerly exclaimed Charlie. “It -means a trip to Panama to get me a donkey boiler, for one thing. I can -shift a winch engine ashore and rig a derrick to handle that rock. Then -I’ll want some more iron pipe to run Don Miguel’s hydraulic line over to -our location. We can wash that dirt out in no time. Gosh, we’ll root -that treasure out like a pig in a manure pile. It’s a cinch, now we know -it’s there or thereabouts.” - -Cary was unresponsive. His mind was far away. After a long pause he -said: - -“Listen, Charlie. Your scheme is good enough, and I don’t propose to -stand in your way. And I waive all claim to any more treasure you may -find. Out of what you have dug up already, I shall take the share that -was promised me as master of the steamer when we sailed from Cartagena. -That will be stake enough.” - -“You sound as if you meant to quit us,” was the reproachful accusation. -“Please don’t do that. Why, I can see us cleaning up millions! And there -isn’t a man in the ship that wouldn’t be tickled to death to give you -half of it. You are the whole works, sir.” - -“There is nothing to hold me, now that Ramon Bazán is dead,” explained -Ricardo. “I had to stand by—there was an obligation—but now I am free -to look after my own affairs and go my own way. You raise a question -that puzzles me. This steamer is left on my hands. I am Señor Bazán’s -agent, I presume, until I get in touch with Cartagena, or find his -niece. He left no instructions. You can have the vessel for a small -charter price, if you like, to go ahead with your plans. I see no -objection to that. She will be earning something, and Mr. Duff can take -the command. If it costs too much to operate her, why not take her home -to Cartagena and then come back in a small schooner?” - -“Great Scott, Captain Cary, we can’t lose all that time!” excitedly -protested Charlie Burnham, rumpling his hair with both hands. “The boys -will want me to charter this old hooker. They have dug up enough silver -to keep things going for some time. But see here, sir, you’ve got me -puzzled, too. How much of this treasure stuff honestly belongs to us? -What if we do find the rest of it? Señor Bazán outfitted the voyage, and -it was his chart that steered us to the right place on Cocos Island. We -might not have found a thing, though, if Don Miguel hadn’t blown the -scenery upside down. What’s the answer?” - -“Send me word when you find your millions,” laughed Ricardo. “Then we -can talk it over. I swear I don’t know what the answer is just now. It -is too thick for me. As far as I am personally concerned, I don’t want -to touch any more of the cursed plunder than I can help. All I ask is -enough to send me on my way. A week more, shall we say? This will give -them time to dig their fool heads off and tire themselves out. And by -then you will be able to get down to the engine-room.” - -“Huh, the only thing to make you talk this way is a girl,” snorted -Charlie. “It’s all right, Captain Cary, and you have handled this -proposition like a wise guy from start to finish, but the best of us -skid. It’s Cocos Island for mine.” - -“Well, I think I got what I was looking for,” said Ricardo, with a -cryptic twinkle. “I have only one fault to find with Don Miguel -O’Donnell. He was born about two hundred years too late. I wish I might -have met him, in these same waters, before machine guns were invented.” - -“He would have been there with the goods,” heartily replied Charlie. - -Captain Cary spent little time ashore after this. Mr. Duff was delighted -to take charge of the volunteers who grilled in the sun and made slaves -of themselves with pick and shovel. He had been a boss stevedore, among -his various employments, and his Spanish vocabulary was like hitting a -man with a brick. Tremendously he told them what to do and how to do it. -They accomplished prodigies in moving rocks and gravel. He had to admit, -however, that it was a job for Charley Burnham’s ingenuity and -equipment. - -They did find more scattered bullion, blown hither and yon from some -undiscovered hiding-place. It handsomely rewarded them for their pains, -but made them more than ever dissatisfied. Not a gold ingot had they -found. Gold was the word to conjure with. It tormented them. At the end -of a week they packed their silver hoard in canvas sacks and weighed it -on the scales in the ship’s storeroom. Captain Cary calculated that they -had scraped together something like eight thousand dollars’ worth of -coins and bullion. - -They held a conference. Mr. Panchito, the cheery second mate, addressed -them with his arm in a sling. As a compatriot he was able to bombard the -crew with an oration. He persuaded them to demand no more than their -wages, to be paid them on arrival at Panama. The greater part of the -booty was to be entrusted to the chief engineer as the managing -director. He would make all the necessary arrangements for a return -voyage to Cocos Island. - -“Alas, my brave men, we must lose _El Capitan_ Ricardo,” passionately -declaimed Mr. Panchito. His eloquence was hampered because one arm was -in a sling. “What shall we do without _El Tigre Amarillo Grande_ who -conquered Cartagena with an iron bar in his hands, who has conquered -this Cocos Island with nothing but his courage in his hands, who has -conquered his brave shipmates with the goodness of his heart, who laughs -at us naughty children and punishes us when we deserve it. _Viva El -Capitan!_ Shout as loud as you can.” - -They shouted, and Ricardo blushed. In this manner the finish of the -chapter of Cocos Island was written for him. The _Valkyrie_ sailed at -daybreak, her engines complaining loudly as she plodded out to sea. -Charlie Burnham sat on a stool in the stifling compartment and luridly -told the engines what he thought of them. The firemen briskly fed the -coal to her and, for once, there was no grumbling. They were rich men -and they expected to become vastly richer. - -It seemed as though ill omens and misfortune had been left astern. An -ocean serenely calm favored the decrepit _Valkyrie_ as she laid a course -for Panama. Only one of the wounded men was still confined to a bunk. It -was a ship whose people had been welded together in a stanch -brotherhood. Nothing could dismay them. - -They made light of it when Charlie Burnham sent up word that the crack -in the propeller shaft didn’t look any too healthy to him, and he -thought he had better tinker with it. Give him a day and he could fit a -collar and bolt it on the shaft before it broke clean in two and punched -the bottom out of the ship or something like that. - -Captain Cary approved. The engines were idle while the _Valkyrie_ rolled -with an easy motion, and Charlie’s assistants hammered and forged and -drilled. Night came down with clouds and rain, and strong gusts of wind. -There was nothing to indicate seriously heavy weather. It was murky, -however, with a rising sea. Soon after dark Captain Cary went to the -bridge to relieve Mr. Duff. - -“With no steerage way she slops about like a barge,” said the latter. -“It may turn a bit nasty before morning. The barometer doesn’t say so, -but my feet ache more than usual.” - -“It will be a thick night, and some sea running, most likely,” remarked -Cary. “I don’t look for a gale of wind.” - -“In a steamer not under control it feels worse than it is, sir. How is -Charlie coming along with his shaft collar?” - -“He’ll have us shoving ahead by morning, Mr. Duff. And a couple of days -more will see us in Panama Bay.” - -Walking the bridge alone, Captain Cary had never seen a blacker night -than this, with the rain beating into his face and the spray driving -like mist. Her engines stilled, the ship felt helpless and dead, while -the seas swung her this way and that. It was a tedious watch to stand -while the captain fought off drowsiness as the hours wore on. - -It was almost time to go below when he saw a steamer’s lights so close -at hand that it startled him. Invisible at a distance, they suddenly -appeared, glimmering red and green, out of this shrouded night. They -indicated that this other steamer was on a course to strike the disabled -_Valkyrie_ which could do nothing to avert collision. - -Cary held his breath, expecting to see the vessel turn in time to pass -ahead of him. Instead of this, she threw her helm over too late. -Blundering hesitation and a poor lookout made a smash inevitable. -Richard Cary gripped a bridge stanchion and awaited the shock. There was -nothing else to do. He heard a confused shouting in Italian. Then the -vague shadow of a prow loomed a little way forward of the _Valkyrie_’s -bridge, moving slowly as the other steamer trembled to the thrust of a -propeller thrashing hard astern. - -They came together with an infernal din of fractured plates and twisting -frames. With a fatal momentum, the stranger clove her way deep into the -_Valkyrie_’s side. It cracked her like an egg. Here was one peril of the -deep which she was entirely too decrepit to withstand. It could not -fairly be expected of her. She heeled over with a lugubrious lamentation -of rivets snapping, of beams buckling and groaning. It shook the bridge -like an earthquake. Captain Cary clung to his stanchion for dear life -and stared with a horrified fascination. He was wondering whether this -misbegotten Italian freighter proposed to cut clean through the -_Valkyrie_, like a knife through a cheese, and proceed on her way. The -crumpled bow could drive ahead no farther, however, and the two ships -hung locked together. - -“Hold where you are!” roared Captain Cary. “Keep the hole plugged! Don’t -back out! Let me get my people off before this vessel sinks.” - -The frightened Italian skipper was more concerned with investigating his -own damages. Paying no heed, he kept his engines reversed and sluggishly -backed out of the gap he had torn. Hysterically blowing his whistle he -drifted off in the darkness until his lights were lost to view. - -Richard Cary lost no time making signals of distress. His job was to get -the crew off a ship that was dropping from under their feet. He could -hear the sea rushing into the hold. - -His first thought was for the men in the forecastle. He made his way -over the splintered deck which was humped like a cat’s back. Beyond the -chasm in the ship’s side, he found the wooden structure still intact, -but tipped at a crazy slant. Already the men were bringing out the one -wounded comrade who was unable to help himself. They were excited and -noisy, but ready to do whatever _El Capitan_ said. He drove them aft -ahead of him, telling them to find their stations just the same as at -boat drill. - -By now the others came rushing up from the engine-room and stoke-hole. -The safety-valve had been opened to let her blow off. This was the only -farewell ceremony that any one had delayed to perform. The water had -been splashing to their knees when they scrambled for the ladder. -Luckily the crippled Charlie Burnham had turned in for a nap and came -hobbling from his room in the state of mind of a young man who regarded -this as one thing too many. - -There was no panic. As a ship’s crew the habit of obedience was more -than skin deep. This was the finish of the old hooker and it was time -for them to go. Two boats were promptly swung out. There was room and to -spare in them. - -“Mr. Duff takes the number one boat,” said Captain Cary. “Stow Mr. -Panchito carefully and look out for his broken arm. The chief engineer -goes in the other boat.” - -“What about our treasure?” demanded Charlie Burnham, in anguished -accents. “If we have to lose it, this shipwreck is a mighty serious -affair, let me tell you, sir.” - -“Let ’em go get it then,” rapped out Captain Cary, “but you’ll all be -drowned if you fiddle here five minutes longer.” - -Jubilantly they dragged the canvas sacks from the storeroom and flung -them into the boats. Even this brief delay was perilous, but Cary had -not the heart to refuse them. So fast was the steamer sinking that the -waves were even now breaking across her well deck. She was going down by -the head, and her stern was cocking high in air. Had they stayed too -long? As he shouted to lower away, Cary wished he had parted the fools -and their money. - -One boat plopped upon the back of a crested wave and was safely shoved -away from the perishing ship. The other waited for the captain, but he -told them to let go and pull clear. Glancing forward, he saw the -_Valkyrie_’s bow plunge under in a ghastly smother of foam. Were all -hands accounted for? He had to satisfy himself of this before he was -willing to quit the ship. It was the imperative demand of duty, the -final rite of a commander faithful to his task. Had any of those -reckless idiots been left in the storeroom wrestling with their cursed -bags of silver? He felt sure he had shoved or thrown them all into the -boats, but he could not afford to carry the smallest doubt with him. - -The ship was deserted. This he ascertained in a minute or two. Running -to the side, he was thankful to find the second boat well away without -mishap. They were yelling to him to jump. Just then a tall wave flashed -and toppled across the deck. It washed him from his feet, rolled him -over and over, and flung him against a skylight. The breath was knocked -out of him. He felt the ship lurch and quiver in the last throes. A -rending concussion tore her apart. Clouds of steam gushed through -gratings and hatches. The stern rose until it stood almost on end as the -_Valkyrie_ plunged under the sea. - -Whirling like a chip, Richard Cary was sucked down with her. He was -unable to help himself. Some convulsion of water spewed him to the -surface in an eddy of foam and vapor. He was too feeble to swim or to -cry out. Instinctively he kept himself afloat. All sense of direction -was lost. He did not know where the boats were. The sea was much rougher -than had appeared from the deck. It battered and strangled him. It bore -him down into dark, seething valleys of water and tossed him up again. - -A broken piece of timber scraped his shoulder. He thrust an arm over it -and so eased his exertions. He tried to shout, but his voice was weak -and broken. Frequently the water submerged him. Suffocation constricted -his lungs. The strength had been hammered out of him. Once he caught a -glimpse of the masthead light of the steamer which had sunk the -_Valkyrie_, as though she were groping about to find the survivors. - -He took it for granted that his own boats were searching for him. So -black and windy was the sea that it was very possible to miss him. They -would expect to be guided by his strong voice calling to them. He was -drifting away from the spot where the ship had gone down. His energies -were so benumbed that the loudest sound he could make was like the cry -of a gull, unheard above the hissing clamor of the seas that broke over -his head. - -For perhaps an hour Richard Cary clung to the drifting piece of timber. -Once or twice he fancied he saw the shape of a boat, but it was well to -windward of him and his voice was blown away. Finding a man afloat in -such a night as this was merest chance. Loyal as his shipmates were, -they were men accustomed to the hazards of the sea and it would be -concluded that he had been drowned with his ship. It was a miracle, as -he well knew, that he had been cast up alive. - -He did not see the masthead light again. Probably the Italian freighter -had picked up the boats and resumed her voyage. All hope of rescue was -gone. Unless the sea quieted, he could not struggle much longer. -Daylight was far away. Ramon Bazán and his ship, both gone, and now it -was Richard Cary’s turn. But they were old and worn-out. They had lived -their lives. He had been so strong in the sense of invincibility, so -secure in the supremacy of youth and strength. Life and youth, love and -strength and ambition, the sea extinguishes them all. - -Tenaciously enduring, refusing to surrender until the last gasp, he -heard the galleon bell! It was tolling for him. He was too far gone to -wonder. It seemed not in the least fantastic that the bell should be -tolling his requiem, even though it had gone to the bottom of the sea. -At first faint and far away, it was growing louder. A phantom bell that -tolled in mockery! Its grave reverberations rose above the commotion of -the waves to signal the passing of the soul of Richard Cary. - -It tormented him to listen to the bell that had been drowned fathoms -down. Why could it not let him go in peace? He rallied from his stupor. -A phantom bell? He wildly denied and denounced it. - -He became conscious of a curious illusion that the bell was drifting -past him. Could he be wrong? Was it calling to him with a voice of help -and guidance instead of mockery? It had saved him from death on Cocos -Island. Was this another intervention? - -He released his hold of the piece of timber and swam in the trough of -the sea, gaining strength for this last effort. What difference if he -hastened the end by this much? The bell tolled in the air above his -head. It was so near that it could not elude him, he babbled. - -Like surf on a rock, the waves spouted over some dim floating object -that bulked large. Richard Cary saw the wan flicker and curl of them. He -put out an arm to fend himself off. His hand slipped along the edge of a -board. He groped again and caught hold of a massive upright. Painfully -he hauled himself up on a platform of boards awash with the sea. There -he sprawled flat. - -Soon he was able to sit and maintain his grasp of the upright which was -firmly fastened to the platform. He could breathe and rest, although the -water gushed over him. Reaching up, he touched the rim of the galleon -bell. It vibrated to the strokes of the heavy tongue as the platform -tossed and pitched with a motion giddily violent. - -His refuge was the roof of the wooden forecastle house which had been -torn bodily from the bolts securing it to the _Valkyrie_’s deck. -Loosened by the collision, it had been carried down and later brought to -the surface by its own buoyancy, perhaps not until after the boats had -abandoned the search for their lost captain. - -A haunted bell, but one that could be kind as well as cruel. Twice now -it had preserved Richard Cary from the immediate certainty of -extinction. He clung to his wave-washed raft with the bell clanging over -him, but he had ceased to despair of rescue. He was granted a surcease -from the unavailing struggle to survive. He dared hope to see another -blessed dawn. With clearing weather and a falling wind, he might hang on -and keep alive for two or three days. Other castaways had done so with -much less pith and endurance than his own. - -Meanwhile the galleon bell, riding in its frame, would be a conspicuous -beacon by day. At night its brazen-throated appeal would carry far over -the face of the waters. - -His courage was hardened, the spark of confidence rekindled, and he felt -strong in the faith that this was not to be the end of Richard Cary. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIII - - - THE CASTAWAY - -By conventional standards, Jerry Tobin, owner of The Broadway Front on -the liveliest street of Panama, was a disreputable person. The queer, -turbid world in which he moved had its own rigid standards of appraisal, -however, and by these he was rated as a person of solid integrity. He -was on the level. This verdict is sometimes denied those who sit in -higher and more sanctified places. - -In the era before the darkness of prohibition had dimmed the bright -lights of his café on the Broadway of Manhattan, he had enjoyed the -esteem of politicians, actors, race-track magnates, prize-ring -celebrities, and gentleman idlers who respected his opinions and often -accepted his judgments. - -Prosperity had attended his tropical exile, but dollars could not -altogether solace a homesick heart. Mrs. Mary Tobin was even more -unreconciled, but she was never one to complain. Seldom questioning -Jerry about his own affairs, she lived her life apart from them. When -she had first known him he was a serious-minded, athletic young -policeman on a Sixth Avenue beat and she was the daughter of a desk -sergeant of the precinct station. In that neighborhood were her friends, -her church, and her lifelong associations. In middle age she had been -pulled up by the roots, and it was hard adjusting herself to this -remote, exotic environment. - -Blown by the winds of chance, Teresa Fernandez had been borne in to her. -Mary Tobin’s loneliness and unspoken discontent were banished. This -dark-eyed, handsome girl from Cartagena, bright and sad by turn, who -seemed to confide so much and yet paused on the brink of revelation, was -a figure of fascinating romance. She flamed against Mary Tobin’s quiet -background. - -Jerry was tight-lipped by habit. Teresa felt grateful for his reticence. -Finding her in trouble, he had befriended her. Nothing was said about an -impetuous antique dagger which had literally stayed the hand of an -intruder called Sheeney George. With a delicacy that did him credit, -Jerry inferred that it wasn’t the kind of thing a lady liked to have -told on herself. - -It was distressing enough, as Mary Tobin viewed it, that Teresa had felt -compelled to cut off her lovely hair and go wandering about as a young -man. That Jerry proposed to find some way of sending her to Cocos Island -did not seem quixotic. Mary Tobin was eager to aid and abet. This -relieved Jerry’s mind. The situation might have been awkward. - -“Of course you will be helping her to get to her lover, Jerry,” said -sweet-voiced, motherly Mary Tobin. “And how can you manage it? ’Tis -worth the money whatever it costs.” - -“I have found a gasoline yacht that’s fit for to live in,” he replied. -“All I want now is the right skipper, and I have sent word to Captain Ed -Truscoe that had a Canal towboat and quit her last week. He’s a buddy of -mine. You know him, Mary.” - -“A fine man, Jerry, but will we want to let Teresa go alone? I was -thinking I might ask myself along, but I’d be seasick every minute -and—” - -“And you’d be in the way after she meets up with this walloper of a -sweetheart of hers. The old crab of an uncle will be chaperon enough and -more too. They’ll want to wring his neck.” - -“But does it seem right to send her off by herself, even with Captain Ed -Truscoe?” persisted Mary. “An older woman ought to be kind of looking -after her.” - -Jerry permitted himself a grin as he gruffly exclaimed: “Miss Fernandez -can look after herself, take it from me. Don’t let that worry you. So -it’s all right to blow her to the trip, is it? It will set me back some -berries. She wants to put her own money in it, but I said nothing doing. -This is Jerry Tobin’s joy-ride. Drop in and see us when you come back, -said I, and show us your prize exhibit. We’ll tell you whether he is -worth it. If he isn’t the goods, I will have to go get you another one.” - -“What do I care what it costs?” smiled Mary Tobin. “’Tis more real -pleasure than I have got out of anything since we said good-bye to the -flat on the West Side. From what Teresa tells me, this man of hers is -the finest one that ever trod the green earth. Here’s a woman that said -the same when Jerry Tobin was courting her.” - -“’Tis worth something to have you blarney me like that,” said Jerry, -whose harsh face could soften with tenderness. “Well, we are young but -once, Mary girl, and when we’re young we want what we want when we want -it. So I will get that gasoline yacht away from here in a couple of days -if I have to shanghai Captain Ed Truscoe.” - -Thus it happened that Teresa Fernandez was whisked away to sea with no -say in the matter beyond the affectionate gratitude that welled from the -depths of her heart. The gasoline cruiser was small for an offshore -voyage, but Teresa was too seasoned a sailor to mind the long Pacific -swell. Captain Truscoe, veteran towboat man, was unperturbed in anything -that would stay afloat and kick a screw over. He was a thick-set, -bow-legged chunk of a man, hard and brown, who seldom smiled, and talked -with an effort. Teresa perplexed him. At table together in the little -cabin, with a Japanese steward dodging about like a juggler, Captain -Truscoe stared and pondered. Now and then he bit off a brief question or -two. - -“What about this uncle? Who let him loose?” - -“He ran away from home like a naughty boy and I must coax him back,” -replied the amused Teresa. - -“Better had. They tuck ’em in padded cells for less. Jerry mentioned a -young man, master of the ship. What about him?” - -“I am sure I don’t know why he went away on this crazy trip, Captain -Truscoe. That is one thing I must find out. It is all very much mixed -up.” - -“Sounds so. None of my business, I suppose. Known Jerry and his wife -long?” - -“Not very. They were wonderfully good to me.” - -“They like you, Miss Fernandez. Jerry told me to keep on going if I -missed your people at Cocos Island. The limit is off, says he.” - -“But how will I know where to go next?” cried the troubled Teresa. “I am -sure we shall find them there. Good gracious, Captain Truscoe, don’t you -suggest such things to me.” - -By way of diverting her, he brought out photographs of his wife and -three young daughters in San Francisco. His comments were terse. - -“Nice woman. Thrifty. She saves my money. Good kids. I meant to go home, -but Jerry grabbed me. You ought to get married and settle down, Miss -Fernandez. Best thing for a pretty young woman.” - -Teresa blushed at this and turned the topic. There were long hours when -she was solitary, and somber moods oppressed her. The sense of fear and -uncertainty was like a crushing weight. Jealously guarded was the secret -of the real purpose of her quest. She was afraid of murmuring it in her -sleep. It stood beside her as a dark shadow in the likeness of Colonel -Fajardo. - -Such were her meditations when the yacht sighted the lofty hill of Cocos -Island and stood in to approach the black headlands that guarded the -bay. Soon the passage opened to view, and the sheltered water with the -glistening beach, the jungle, and the cocoanut palms. Captain Truscoe -was at the wheel. Teresa stood at his elbow. Tensely anxious, she dared -not say what was in her mind. The skipper bit off a chew of tobacco and -rapped out: - -“No vessel in here. What about that? A wild-goose chase!” - -“Is there no other anchorage?” implored Teresa. “Why, I was sure we -would see the rusty old _Valkyrie_!” - -“No other holding ground for steam or sail. Look at the chart for -yourself.” - -“But they were bound to Cocos Island,” panted Teresa. “My friend the -gunner’s mate—the young man I met in The Broadway Front—he saw the -_Valkyrie_ heading this way when he spoke her in his destroyer. And Mr. -Jerry Tobin was absolutely certain of it.” - -“Come and gone, maybe,” said Captain Truscoe, “but I never heard of -these treasure bugs scamperin’ off like that. We’ll take a look ashore.” - -He ordered the motor dory made ready. No sooner had the yacht dropped -anchor than he went to the beach with Teresa. She felt a quivering -apprehension of misfortune. - -They crossed the level sand and came to the boulders strewn in stark -confusion. Teresa saw wreaths of flowers, black and withered, on a -yellow mound and the name of Ramon Bazán cut in the face of a huge, -rough stone. - -With a cry she ran to kneel beside the grave, her face buried in her -hands. Her grief was genuine, her remorse a torment that she had been no -more affectionate toward this fretful old man who, in his own way, had -been fond of her. It was incredible that he should have ceased to live. -From childhood she had taken it for granted that he would always -continue to sputter and to flit about on his furtive errands. He had -seemed as permanent as the ancient house in which he dwelt. - -She was bewildered, all adrift. There was nothing to explain it, merely -this pitiful grave amid the primeval desolation of Cocos Island. Captain -Truscoe was both sympathetic and observant. He was studying the -inscription on the boulder. The date was chiseled beneath the name of -Ramon Bazán. - -“Only two days ago,” said he. “If your information checks up right, Miss -Fernandez, they couldn’t have been here much more than a week. And we no -more than just missed ’em. A kettle o’ fish and no mistake! Sorry about -your uncle. You found him, didn’t you, but it’s a shock.” - -“Yes, he will never run away any more,” sadly smiled Teresa. “He was -very old, and I suppose it was time for him to rest. But how did he die, -Captain Truscoe, and where is Captain Cary and the ship and all her -people?” - -“Gone somewhere, Miss Fernandez. Would it be back to the Isthmus? How do -you feel? Want to go aboard or shall we rummage about?” - -They moved away from Ramon Bazán’s boulder and discovered the well-worn -road with the wheel ruts, and a clutter of small carts and lumber. In so -short a time this road could not have been made by the _Valkyrie_ party. - -“Another crowd, but their vessel has gone, too,” said Captain Truscoe. -“Here’s a trail off to the left that is fresh cut. That looks more like -your outfit.” - -They entered the leafy path which had been chopped by the Colombian -sailors. They advanced slowly with a certain caution. At length they -discovered the devastated camp close to the shattered cliff, a torn -upheaved waste of rock and gravel. They found fragments of canvas, bits -of clothing, battered cooking-utensils, broken tools scattered far and -wide. Captain Truscoe picked up an empty brass shell from a magazine -rifle. He tossed it in his hand as he said: - -“This was a violent place to be. Blown up and shot up. Quite recent. Any -sensible man would leave it in a hurry and put to sea. I guess it was -too much for your uncle.” - -Teresa was speechless. It was too much for her. She was frowning at a -broken galvanized pail on which was stenciled _S.S. Valkyrie_. What was -buried underneath those horrid masses of stone and earth from which -uprooted trees protruded? - -“I don’t blame you for feeling upset,” said the skipper. “This gets my -goat.” - -“Oh, I don’t want to stay here,” Teresa found voice to tell him. “Please -help me get back to the yacht.” - -She had been living in the hope that Cocos Island would be her journey’s -end, but now the road was blinder, blacker than ever. Later in the day -she ventured as far as the verdure near the beach and gathered fresh -flowers to leave on the grave of Uncle Ramon Bazán. Captain Truscoe -sturdily explored the road built by Don Miguel O’Donnell and returned -with an extraordinary story of the abandoned hydraulic pipe-line and -elaborate equipment. - -“All hands scurried away, like rats from a hulk,” he reported, very hot -and tired. “What next?” - -“I wish I knew,” mourned Teresa. “I can tell you nothing. You are much -wiser than I am. I am finished. Now my poor uncle is dead, there is -nothing to guide me. Is Captain Cary in command of the _Valkyrie_, or is -he also dead on Cocos Island?” - -“It does look mighty random,” agreed Captain Truscoe. “There’s this -comfort—somebody was alive and able to take the steamer to sea. She -never rambled off by herself. When it comes to figuring where she went, -your guess is as good as mine.” - -“I can guess nothing. We had better go back to Panama. Is it not so? And -I will thank Mr. Jerry Tobin and say good-bye.” - -“Better stay with ’em until you get your bearings, Miss Fernandez. Maybe -the _Valkyrie_ will turn up there.” - -“Perhaps. If not, I won’t try to find the ship and Captain Cary any -more. I have done all I could. If the ship does not come to Panama, I -must go back to Cartagena. It is where I belong. I thought I could get -away from Cartagena—from something very unpleasant for me—but it is no -use. It must be as God wills.” - -“Stay away, if it’s as bad as that, Miss Fernandez. All right, we sail -first thing in the morning. Homeward bound means better luck sometimes.” - -They made a smooth run of it until a thick night with rain and a -boisterous wind compelled the small cruiser to reduce her speed. She was -tossed about more and more until Captain Truscoe hove to before his -decks were swept. - -Toward morning, Teresa Fernandez was in the drowsy state between waking -and dreaming. She heard a bell. It was distant, almost inaudible. Her -heart throbbed painfully as she listened. The sound came to her again, -the ghostly whisper of a bell, but deep-toned and familiar. It was like -no other bell in all the world, by land or sea. - -Was she dreaming? No, this was the stateroom of the yacht, with the -water surging against the round ports. After some time, the far-away -lament of the galleon bell came to her ears again. It seemed as though -its intervals were cadenced, that it was tolling a message which she -dreaded to hear. _Four bells! Dong-dong—dong-dong!_ - -She could interpret it. Uncle Ramon Bazán was gone. To her had been -bequeathed the galleon bell. It was sending her its warning of some -impending disaster. It meant that she was fated to return to Cartagena -and so accept the penalty for the deed she had done. The bell had been -taken from its frame in the _patio_ and carried to sea on the -_Valkyrie_. No matter where the ship might be, she would hear the bell -sound its tidings at the appointed time. How could she doubt it? The -legend had dwelt among her kinfolk for centuries. It was interwoven in -the fabric of her inherited beliefs. And now that she heard the bell, -she felt certain she would never see Richard Cary again. - -The little stateroom suffocated her. She resolved to go on deck in spite -of wind and weather. She dressed and snatched an oilskin coat and -sou’wester from a hook. Sliding back the cabin hatch, she crawled out -into the welter of rain and spray. The yacht was still hove to, riding -buoyantly. Teresa groped her way forward to the wheel-house and wrenched -open the door. Beside the hooded binnacle lamp stood Captain Truscoe -steadying himself while the flying water swashed against the windows. He -grasped Teresa’s arm as he said: - -“Lonesome down below? Nothing to worry about. This flurry will blow -itself out with daylight.” - -“Did you hear a bell?” besought Teresa, trying to speak calmly. “A -ship’s bell? No, you would not hear it. The bell was for me and nobody -else.” - -“I can’t hear much in here. Too much racket outside. What’s this about a -bell, young lady?” - -“I heard it,” she answered. “And then I thought—perhaps it might be -just ringing inside my head—” - -“I’ll step on deck. There is nothing in sight,” he replied, willing to -humor her. - -They went out together and held fast to a railing. In a vessel as small -as this, the sea was very near and clamorous. Stolidly Captain Truscoe -waited and listened, but he could hear no distant bell. - -“You imagined it,” he shouted in Teresa’s ear. “Dishes and glasses -banging about in the pantry, possibly.” - -“It is not ringing now,” said she. “Yes, it may have been imagination. -It was a strange thing to hear. It frightened me.” - -“Better go back to bed. The sea is quieting. I’ll be shoving her along -soon.” - -She hesitated and then went aft to the cabin, the captain escorting her. -As yet there was no sign of dawn in the watery obscurity of the sky. - -“If you hear a bell, you will call me?” she asked. - -“Sure thing, Miss Fernandez. Hope you get to sleep. Your berth is the -most comfortable place to be.” - -Troubled sleep came to her nor did she hear the phantom bell again. The -sea was turning gray outside the ports when she felt the engines pick up -speed. Rolling heavily, the yacht swung off to resume the course to -Panama. To Teresa it seemed fantastic that she should have paid such -serious heed to the fancied message of the galleon bell. It was a -warning of another kind, that her nerves were all jangled. The -hallucination ought to be dismissed. - -This she was trying to do when there came a knock on the door and -Captain Truscoe was saying: - -“You were right. I heard the bell just now, off the starboard bow. It’s -not bright enough to see far, but I’ll try to find out what that bell -is.” - -“But I never heard it again,” she exclaimed. “Are you sure?” - -“Positive. You are all battened down like a bottle, inside here. There -is no trouble about picking up the sound of the bell on deck.” - -Teresa flew into the oilskin coat. She was out of the cabin in a -twinkling. Clear and musical came the voice of the galleon bell. It was -ringing persistently, flinging out a brazen appeal, nor could Teresa -detect the cadenced and ominous intervals of four bells. She understood -why she alone had heard it so faintly in the night. Her ear was -sensitively attuned to its vibrations. They had been an intimate part of -her existence. - -Now the bell was ringing for all to hear. It was somewhere in the gray -waste of sea, mysterious and invisible. Teresa was reminded of the -miracle of the marble pulpit which had been wonderfully borne up to -float with the fickle currents until it was cast ashore under the wall -of Cartagena, to be carried to the cathedral in devout procession. - -“Santa Marta and the angels!” she piously exclaimed, crossing herself. -“But I can see no ship at all, Captain Truscoe, and what is the bell of -_Nuestra Señor del Rosario_ doing out there in the ocean and making so -much noise?” - -“Gone mad, I should say. It may be on the bottom and a mermaid is -pulling the clapper.” - -“It is floating, I tell you!” joyously cried Teresa, who was not mad at -all. “For once it rings good news. You can know that by the way it -sounds. It is time for a blessed miracle to happen to poor Teresa.” - -Captain Truscoe wiped his binocular and gazed again. Daylight was -driving the mists away. The lowering clouds were lifting. A clear -sunrise was heralded. A dark speck was discovered against the heaving -sea. The yacht plunged toward it, flinging the green water aside. The -speck grew larger. Underneath it was a white ruffle of foam like surf -playing on the back of a reef. - -Soon they could distinguish the galleon bell suspended between two -upright timbers which swayed wildly to the thrust and swing of the -waves. The timbers projected from a platform like a raft. Huddled -between them was an object that moved. It was a man who waved something -white to let the yacht know that a castaway was on the raft. - -Teresa Fernandez needed no binocular. Inner vision told her that Richard -Cary was found. It could be no one else. For whom else would the galleon -bell have wrought this marvel? - -She watched him very slowly haul himself to his feet, like one dead with -exhaustion, but indomitable. He stood holding himself erect, his arms -around the cross-piece from which the bell was hung. His shirt fluttered -in rags. He was drenched and bruised and battered. As a young god he -towered in the sight of Teresa Fernandez, and his yellow hair was like -an aureole. - -The yacht swept to leeward of the raft and slackened way. Captain -Truscoe and two men jumped into the motor dory. Richard Cary paid them -not the slightest attention. All he saw was a girl in an oilskin coat -and sou’wester, a girl who unconsciously held out her arms to him. Ah, -she knew Ricardo loved her! It illumined his face even before his voice -came huskily down the wind: - -“My girl ahoy! This is the luckiest treasure voyage that ever was.” - -She blew him a kiss. Captain Truscoe watched his chance and jockeyed the -motor dory close to the raft. Stiffly Richard Cary released his grip of -the timber and poised himself with a seaman’s readiness. Into the boat -he lurched and fell like a log. His tremendous vitality enabled him to -revive and to gain the deck of the yacht with two sailors heaving at his -shoulders. They helped him to the cabin where he sprawled upon a couch. - -Teresa followed. Maternally her first desire was to have him warm and -dry, and tucked in bed where she could nurse him. She stood aside while -Captain Truscoe ordered the steward about, demanding hot whiskey, -blankets, and clean clothes from the biggest man on board. Shakily, with -a man to lean on, Richard Cary was able to reach the captain’s room. - -“Please wait until the sea is smooth enough to hoist that bell aboard,” -said he. “Don’t let it go adrift. It has been a good friend to me.” - -While watching the door for Teresa, he fell blissfully asleep. She -tiptoed in an hour later. She had felt no great impatience. It was -enough to know that he was safe and near to her. Leaning over him, she -let her fingers lightly brush his ruddy cheek. Brave and simple and -honest he looked as when she had first known him. She wondered what he, -too, had dared and suffered while they had been parted. In a word or two -he had told Captain Truscoe of the loss of the _Valkyrie_. All hands -saved in the boats. This would be like her Ricardo, preferring not -himself. - -She summoned her courage to meet the ordeal of her confession. The warm -tint faded from her olive cheek. She was like the Teresa, grave and -resigned, who had fingered a rosary in her room of the _Tarragona_ -before she had gone to the wharf to confront Colonel Fajardo, when she -had been willing to pay the price as a woman who had loved and lost. - -Ricardo opened his eyes and smiled. He was not too weak to open wide his -arms and draw her close, so that her head was pillowed upon his mighty -shoulder. She sighed and whispered: - -“You _do_ love me, Ricardo, everything and always? As I love you?” - -“More than when I loved you and lost you in Cartagena, Teresa mine,” he -told her. - -“And are you too tired to talk to me?” she anxiously entreated him. - -“I had a rough night, but I feel strong enough to start a riot if you -dare to leave me,” he replied with the laugh that she so delighted to -hear. - -“Please don’t look at my hair,” she implored. “It is all gone. Now I -look like an ugly black-headed boy. But I cut it off for you. Will that -make you forgive me?” - -“All I can see is that you are beautiful, Teresa dear. I thought you -might have been ill with fever.” - -“Yes, Ricardo, if love is a fever. And I am not cured of that. I was -trying to find you. And in Panama I was a young man in a bar-room -hunting for news of you and your ship.” - -“The Lord save us!” he exclaimed in dismay. “Is that my reputation? And -I got into all this trouble trying to find _you_ in Cartagena! You went -to Cocos Island, I hear, so you know Señor Bazán is dead. But how did -you know where to look for me? What did you think? Did you get the -letter I wrote in your uncle’s house?” - -“Not a word, Ricardo. All I had to tell me anything was the briar pipe -you left there. Then I knew you were alive, and so I followed you. It -was because I could not understand—because I had to find you—” - -Her solemn demeanor perplexed him. She drew away and took a chair, her -hands clasped, one little shoe tapping the rug. For his own part he had -so much to explain that he burst out: - -“No wonder you couldn’t understand. It is a long story, and I can give -you only the first chapter of it now. That night when I failed to come -back to the ship? You warned me to be careful, and so did old McClement, -the chief engineer, but I had a grand opinion of myself. Colonel Fajardo -decided to blow out my light. I annoyed him. His bravos bungled the job. -They left me dead in the street, or so they thought.” - -“Did Colonel Fajardo think so? Tell me, did he think he had killed you, -Ricardo?” asked Teresa in a tense voice. - -“He must have felt upset about it that night, because I wasn’t quite as -dead as a mackerel. But I was supposed to die in jail where they threw -me. So he must have been cheerful enough next morning. Did he show up at -the ship before she sailed?” - -Teresa’s body relaxed. A tremulous sigh fluttered from her lips before -she said: - -“Yes, Ricardo, he came down to the ship. I asked him and he lied to me. -I knew he lied.” - -Her eyes were so wistful, so profoundly tragic, that Ricardo, greatly -mystified, clasped both her cold hands in one of his and forbore to -break her silence. She was struggling with the temptation to withhold -the secret from her lover, now that her justification had been -vouchsafed. Why tarnish her fair name in his sight and perhaps repel -him? Men were very jealous of the goodness of the women whom they truly -loved. She fought down the temptation. Better to live without Ricardo -than to live with a shadow between them. She was about to speak when -Ricardo said, with visible embarrassment: - -“It will never trouble me, but you ought to know. I can’t go back to -Cartagena. I suppose you might call me a fugitive from justice. The -world is big enough to get away from it, but I was not very gentle with -Colonel Fajardo’s bravos. Two or three of them are not singing and -playing the guitar any more. And there was a fight on Cocos Island, but -that incident is closed. I can forget it all if you can, Teresa darling, -but I have to confess to you.” - -“You are a strong man who was fighting for his life, Ricardo,” firmly -returned Teresa Fernandez. “And I am only a woman who saw her lover dead -and knew there was no other way to punish the wicked one who had killed -him. If you say I should go back to Cartagena and suffer the punishment -of the law, I will go. You have only to say one little word. There is no -more Colonel Fajardo. Do you understand?” - -Richard Cary gazed at her in great pity and love and admiration. Who was -he to judge? Had he not taken justice into his own hands when he had -boarded Don Miguel O’Donnell’s schooner and courted fatal conflict? Had -he slept any more uneasily for it? He had waged private war from the -galleried streets of Cartagena to the palm-fringed bay of Cocos Island, -like a roving Cary of Devon. Was there one law of justification for a -man and another for a woman? - -“If you believe in your heart that you did wrong and ought to pay for -it, Teresa,” he slowly responded, “then we will go back to Cartagena -together. You and I walk hand-in-hand from now on. But for the life of -me, I can’t see it that way. Is it going to make you remorseful and -unhappy? Mind, I go with you if it ought to be done.” - -“Ricardo, I am not a bad woman,” she earnestly answered, “but I swear to -you I feel no sorrow or shame. When it happened, I was willing and ready -to pay the price, but it was not asked of me. And it was doing penance -when I went back to Cartagena, just because I had to find out about you. -What you have told me, that death did strike at you in the dark, is -enough to make me at peace with myself and with God who must judge me. -You know how you felt and what you said when you sailed across the -Caribbean in the _Tarragona_, and saw my old city of Cartagena. It was -just like you had lived and loved and fought there long ago. Perhaps it -was that same Richard Cary that went to Cocos Island. And who knows but -what I was another Teresa Fernandez, of the very long ago, that took it -into her hands to punish the man who had killed her lover? If it had not -been for her, there would have been no punishment for him at all. Does -it make a difference, Ricardo, in what you think of me?” - -“Only to make me love you more,” said Ricardo. “We are not going back to -Cartagena. Life begins now. We have had enough of the past.” - -“Then I can be happy,” smiled Teresa, but she also sighed. “If I have -been wicked and must suffer for it, there is something that will tell -me, and it is not my own conscience. Some day and somewhere, we will -have a home, with a garden, Ricardo, and the galleon bell will hang -there as it did in my uncle’s _patio_. It is a joyful bell now, for it -has learned to ring good news. But if the day ever comes when Teresa -hears it toll four bells for her, then she will know it is time for her -to go. And she will go very gladly, for it will be enough, my precious, -my splendid Ricardo, to have lived and loved with you.” - - - - - CHAPTER XXIV - - - A TRANQUIL HAVEN - -Richard Cary’s younger brother William was waiting at the railroad -station with a noisy little automobile in need of paint. The New -Hampshire hills were no longer blanketed with snow as when he had driven -the tall sailor to the train in the pung and had bidden him good-bye for -the voyage to the Caribbean. In drowsy summer heat, the village street a -shimmering canopy of green, William seriously reflected: - -“It was right here, by gosh, that Dick busted the big guy’s arm and -slapped him into a snowdrift for playing a dirty trick on a stray collie -dog. Huh, I guess I’d better watch my step while he’s home this time. -But mother’ll put him in his place. He dassn’t get gay with _her_. And -she’s got something to say to Dick. He never wrote her for weeks and -weeks—and now he’s fetchin’ home a wife, a Dago girl he found -somewheres down there. And he never consulted mother at all. I s’pose he -figures he can get away with it. I don’t think!” - -The wandering Richard may have been in a state of trepidation when he -swung Teresa from the parlor car, but he masked it with that lazy, -amiable demeanor that had so annoyed William. The youngster displayed -both admiration and embarrassment as he caught sight of Richard’s -foreign bride. “Snappy and mighty easy to look at,” was William’s silent -verdict of approval, “and she sure would knock ’em cold in little old -Fairfield. Dick might act dumb sometimes, but he knew how to pick a -peach.” - -And now Teresa won the boy’s undying allegiance by kissing him on the -cheek and exclaiming in English, instead of the Dago gibberish he had -dreaded to hear: - -“My gracious, Bill, but I am so very glad to see you! Ricardo has told -me much about you, but it will give you the swelled head if I repeat -it.” - -William blushed to the very last freckle and impetuously replied: - -“He don’t have to tell me a thing about you, Mrs.—Mrs. Dick Cary. You -win.” - -Teresa laughed and glanced, with a vivacious interest, down the quiet -street, at the square Colonial houses, the three or four stores, the -brick post-office, and the Grange hall, all shaded beneath the arching -elms. She turned to Richard to say: - -“It is almost as sleepy as my old Cartagena, but different. It is your -home, where your ancestors have lived, and I shall love it.” - -“For a while, perhaps,” smiled Richard Cary. “It will be soothing. I am -homesick for it myself, like finding a safe harbor to rest in.” - -He went to look after the luggage while Teresa chose to sit in the front -seat of the battered little car with William. She had questions to ask, -by way of forewarning herself, and the younger brother answered them -artlessly. - -“Well, it’s this way, Mrs.—Mrs.—do you really want me to call you -Teresa, honest?—all mother knows is what Dick wrote her from Panama -after he got shipwrecked or something. He didn’t spill much news—he -never does—about all he said was that he had made a voyage in the -Pacific and came near going to the bottom—and he was coming home to see -the folks for a spell before he beat it off somewheres else. Then he -mentioned that he had got married in Panama to a Miss Fernandez. And -there’s that.” - -“And was his mother angry with him, Bill?” demurely inquired Teresa with -the air of a timid saint. - -“Oh, not mad, but upset. Dick has always kept her guessing, and this was -one thing too much. Why, he told her last time he was home that he was -off the girls for keeps. She don’t think Dick is fit to look after -himself. Mothers get some funny ideas, don’t they? But say, -Mrs.—Miss—Teresa, you don’t have to worry. I’m hard to please myself, -and mighty particular when it comes to women. And you’ve put it across -with me already, let me tell you.” - -This time it was Teresa who colored with pleasure. The omens seemed more -auspicious. When Richard rejoined them, he insisted upon riding in the -back seat with the luggage. William protested. He was expecting to make -a parade of it, with Dick and his pippin of a bride conspicuously -together in the tonneau. Fairfield would certainly sit up and take -notice. He, William, would give ’em an eye-full. - -He accepted defeat with good grace because the consolation prize was -seated beside him. As he spurred the flivver down Main Street, he flung -over his shoulder to Richard: - -“Did you have any adventures this trip? When I asked you last time you -joshed me something fierce, and I got sore. I hope you’re going to act -decent and loosen up to a fellow.” - -“Well, Bill, it was exciting in spots down yonder in the Caribbean,” -answered the deep, leisurely accents of brother Dick. “Why, I went -ashore one night at Cartagena to buy some picture postcards to send you, -and first thing you know, I—” - -Teresa gasped. It was no tale to tell in Fairfield. - -“And then what?” eagerly demanded William. - -“I had the most awful dose of prickly heat you ever saw in your life. -Hold on, Bill, stop the car. Here _is_ something really exciting—a new -porch on the minister’s house, and Charlie Schumacher has painted his -barber shop, and Frank Morrison is building an addition to the livery -stable. And you dare to tell me, Teresa, that my town is as dead as -Cartagena. Here comes Colonel Judah Mason to get his mail! Spry as ever -and ninety-five years old last Christmas Day.” - -“You make me awful tired,” sulkily muttered William. “Just because -you’re bigger than a house, you think you can treat me like a kid -without any good sense.” - -Teresa mollified him with flattering words and a deference that -indicated he had found a kindred soul who could appreciate him. She -became silent, however, when the car jolted into the lane between the -stone walls and approached the low-roofed farmhouse snuggled close to -the ground upon a windy hill. Her heart sank. She faced an ordeal more -disquieting than when she had ventured into The Broadway Front in the -guise of young Rubio Sanchez on pleasure bent. She fancied the mother of -Richard Cary to be a woman of formidable stature, harsh and imperious, -who ruled her household with a rod of iron. - -Richard caught a glimpse of his mother’s face at a window, sitting there -in her best black gown where she had aforetime kept watch for him, or -had fluttered a handkerchief in farewell. Now she came quickly to the -granite doorstep, a wisp of a woman whose thin features were set in -lines of apprehension. Her mouth was austere, her eyes questioning. They -dwelt upon the huge figure of Richard Cary with an expression commingled -of affection and rebuke. Before she could greet him, he had leaped from -the car and picked her up in his arms like a feather-weight of a burden. -It was a rite of his home-coming and, as always, she objected: - -“Bless me, Richard, that’s a trick you learned from your father that’s -dead and gone. I used to tell him it was dreadful undignified.” - -He let her down at the threshold and turned to present his wife. Teresa -stood wistful and uncertain, yet with a certain amusement that she -should have felt terrified of meeting this gray-haired little woman who -looked as if a breath might blow her away. Richard cried, in a mood of -boyish elation: - -“Didn’t I tell you I simply had to make the southern run, mother? -Something was pulling me. Now I know why. Teresa was at the other end of -the tow-rope.” - -“I am pleased to meet your wife, Richard,” primly replied Mrs. Cary. -“We’ll do our best to make her comfortable and happy here, I am sure. -Your room is ready, and dinner will be on the table in half an hour.” - -“All I ask is to make your son happy,” said Teresa, her emotions near -the surface. Her smile was disarming, and the inflections of her voice -stirred the mother’s heart. Presently Teresa went upstairs, but Richard -lingered below. Anxiously his mother exclaimed: - -“You don’t know how thankful I am to have a few minutes alone with you. -Seems as if I couldn’t wait. I don’t mean to fret, but who is she and -who are her folks, and how did it happen? She don’t act as foreign as I -expected and she’s as pretty as a picture and has sweet, ladylike ways, -but—” - -“Better get acquainted before you borrow trouble,” drawled the beaming -Richard. “To begin with, she is an orphan, which ought to appeal to your -sympathy. The last near relative she had, an uncle, died not long ago. -He was the old gentleman I sailed for in the _Valkyrie_ that was lost in -collision. When it comes to family, she can match ancestors with the -Carys and Chichesters and have some left over.” - -“And where did you meet her, Richard?” - -“On shipboard going south. It was a case of love at first sight.” - -“Hum-m! I never set any great store by hasty marriages, but there’s -exceptions to every rule and let us hope and pray this will be one of -them. Isn’t Teresa a Romanist? Does she have to confess to a priest -every so often? Did you tell her we didn’t have such a thing in -Fairfield?” - -“No; she confesses her sins to me and I grant her absolution,” -truthfully answered Richard. “Anything more?” - -“Don’t be frivolous,” she admonished him. “I have a right to know. She -dresses real elegant, I must say—in good taste, but expensive. I’m -saying nothing against your wife, but if she’s extravagant and slack how -can you support her and keep her contented? Has she means of her own?” - -“I didn’t marry her for money,” carelessly returned the son. “As far as -I know, she didn’t have a penny when I met her. Now please take time to -get your bearings and you’ll bless the day I first laid eyes on Teresa -Fernandez.” - -Mrs. Cary sighed, brightened a little, and tripped to the kitchen to -look in the oven. In the low-raftered dining-room the table was already -set with the pink luster ware, the Canton cups, the thin silver spoons, -the hand-woven linen cloth treasured in Grandmother Cary’s cedar chest. -When Teresa came downstairs she wore a white waist and skirt much like -the uniform, plain, immaculate, in which Richard had first beheld her. -She appeared so briskly efficient, so different from Mrs. Cary’s -conceptions of the indolent ladies of Spanish America, that it was like -a rift in the cloud. - -At the dinner table it was Teresa, alert and light of foot, who left her -chair when anything was needed from the sideboard or kitchen. To Mrs. -Cary’s objections she replied, like a gay mutineer, that she was one of -the family and expected to earn her passage. So gracefully did she wait -on them that the infatuated young William could not eat for watching -her. Richard Cary’s mother, a martinet of a New England housekeeper of -the old school, felt her doubts and scruples fading. - -They were nearer vanishing entirely when, after dinner, Teresa donned an -apron and insisted upon washing the dishes and tidying up the kitchen. -Sweetly but firmly she refused to listen to the mother’s protestations -and sent her to the porch to sit and talk with Richard. William hovered -in the doorway until he was permitted to ply a dish-towel, subject to a -rigid supervision of his handiwork. Teresa sang lilting snatches of -Spanish ballads as she toiled. These New England women, she reflected, -so proud of their housekeeping? Pouf! Had they ever lived in a steamer -of a first-class passenger service? - -When, at length, Ricardo’s mother was permitted to enter the kitchen -from which she had been so amazingly evicted, her demeanor was critical -in the extreme, as if expecting to have to do the work all over again. -The competent Teresa, still singing, was wiping the last specks of dust -from remote shelves and corners. William was polishing the copper -hot-water boiler for dear life. - -“Captain’s inspection?” cried the blithe Teresa. “We are not quite -ready, Bill and I, but to-morrow—_Valgame Dios_, I will help you make -your house shine from the main deck to the top.” - -Mrs. Cary inspected, marveled, and was conquered. It was beyond belief -that her careless, absent-minded Richard should have shown the -surpassing judgment to select a jewel of a wife like this! Inherited -reserve breaking its bonds, the mother exclaimed: - -“Teresa, my dear, you are smarter than chain lightning. First thing you -know, I’ll be bragging about you to every woman in Fairfield. I intend -to propose you for membership in the home economics department of our -Woman’s Club.” - -“And I will dance the fandango with William to amuse them,” said Teresa, -with a naughty twinkle in her eye. - -In the afternoon she walked with Ricardo across the rolling fields of -the Cary farm. With a pair of black horses William was mowing a thick -stand of red clover. The strident clatter of the cutter bar was like a -familiar song to the elder son, to carry him back to his boyhood. His -mind was at peace, relaxed and untroubled by turbulent memories. - -The tranquil landscape had laid its spell also upon the heart of Teresa. -Her eyes filled and her voice had a pensive cadence as she said: - -“Is this a dream, Ricardo mine? Or was all that a dream, down by the -Caribbean Sea, and is this true? I feel just like you, that perhaps I -have had two lives to live. Ah, how I beseech the dear God and the Holy -Mary to let this life last, maybe not here, but anywhere with you. This -is what I told you when I found you drifting with the galleon bell.” - -“Forget the galleon bell,” he told her, “I am sure it will never ring -again. And we will say no more about the Spanish Main. Let my mother -guess and wonder what happened.” - -“Yes, Ricardo, it could not be told in Fairfield,” sighed Teresa, “not -the least little bit. Already I can see that. We will be a mystery, you -and I—” - -Like a processional vestured in beautiful garments of green, the days of -the brief New England summer went gliding by. Brawny and untiring, -Richard helped William with the haying and did the work of three hired -men. Teresa took more and more of the household routine upon herself, -and the mother was affectionately compelled to enjoy the first vacation -in years. In their leisure hours the married lovers wandered through the -countryside in the disreputable little car, or went fishing on the pond. - -To his mother Richard made no mention of future plans. She was -accustomed to his indifferent moods when at home from sea, but now he -was a man with new responsibilities. These ought to arouse his ambition -and make him bestir himself. Therefore she ventured to inquire: - -“Are you calculating to spend the winter with me, Richard? Not but what -you and Teresa are as welcome as the flowers in May, but she is used to -more comforts and luxuries than we can give her on this old farm, and -how do you intend to take care of her? What money I’ve saved in the bank -belongs to you, and I don’t begrudge your spending every penny of it, -but, well, it kind of worries me. You told me she had no means of her -own—” - -“That reminds me, mother,” her son replied, blandly unconcerned. “I -found a letter from Cartagena in the mail-box. Teresa has gone to the -village with Bill, so she hasn’t seen it yet. It is from a Señor Alonzo -de Mello, a banker who looked after the business interests of Teresa’s -uncle. I sent him a report from Panama of the loss of the _Valkyrie_ and -the death of Señor Ramon Bazán. He encloses a letter to Teresa in -Spanish. Here is what he writes me:” - - DEAR CAPTAIN CARY: - - I send you my joyful congratulations on your marriage to Teresa - Fernandez whom I have always loved like my own daughter. Your - report was received, informing me that both the ship and poor - Ramon Bazán were no more. It will interest you to know that on - the day before he sailed from Cartagena he made a will, properly - executed, leaving everything he possessed to his niece. There - had been other wills like this, but he had torn them up in fits - of temper. - - Your report was confirmed in all respects by the officers and - crew of the _Valkyrie_ who, as you know, were landed at Corinto - by the Italian steamer _Giuseppe Balderno_ which sank your - vessel in collision. They made their way back to Panama, - arriving there soon after you sailed for New York. My agent - interviewed them in behalf of the estate of the deceased owner. - They proposed chartering a sailing vessel in all haste and - returning to Cocos Island. This information was confidentially - imparted. - - The insurance underwriters have accepted the evidence of total - loss, with no negligence on the part of the masters and crew of - the _Valkyrie_. I am therefore remitting, as per draft enclosed - to the order of Señora Teresa Cary, the sum of thirty thousand - dollars in settlement of the marine policies issued against the - vessel. I am also writing Teresa regarding the house and - contents and such other property as belonged to her departed - uncle. Peace to his soul! My cordial salutations to a gallant - shipmaster who deserves better fortune on his next voyage. - Placing myself at your disposal, I am - - Faithfully yours - ALONZO DE MELLO - -Richard Cary’s mother was tremulous with excitement as she gasped: “Why, -Teresa is an heiress—_thirty thousand dollars_ right in her hands, and -other property besides. And she never so much as hinted that she might -be a rich woman!” - -“Teresa didn’t know,” explained Richard. “There was no putting your -finger on poor Ramon Bazán. He was very flighty. Here comes Teresa now. -This ought to please her.” - -“If she doesn’t get all stirred up, I shall feel like shaking you both.” - -The heiress gracefully descended from the antique flivver, assisted by -the adoring William. - -To her Richard calmly announced: - -“Here is a draft for thirty thousand—insurance on the _Valkyrie_. Uncle -Ramon forgave you for all your insults.” - -“And he did leave his money to me?” cried Teresa in accents of -self-reproach. “And I was so awful horrid to him! It is from Señor de -Mello? What does he say?” - -Richard gave her the enclosure in Spanish. She read it swiftly to the -end and looked up to observe: - -“He even left me the little brown monkey, Ricardo. That is too much. I -will send word to give that monkey to somebody that will be good to it, -with a pension, eh? The house he can sell or rent, Señor de Mello says, -if we do not wish to live in Cartagena. Poor Uncle Ramon! I am sad and -ashamed of myself because I was not always nice to him. I guess I must -cry a little.” - -Presently the heiress brightened and went on to announce, with headlong -ardor: - -“First I will buy William a big, new, shiny automobile and give him -plenty of money to go through college with. Then I will put an electric -light plant in this old farmhouse, and a tiled kitchen and plenty of -bathrooms and—let me see—I think I will give your heretic church in -Fairfield a new organ. How much money have I got left, Ricardo?” - -“Quite a package, sweetheart. Don’t stop yet. I am enjoying it.” - -Mrs. Cary raised her hands in horror, shaken to the depths of her -thrifty soul. - -“For the land’s sake, child, keep the money for yourself. What sense is -there in spending it on us? I declare you make my head spin like a top.” - -“Then I will talk it over with Ricardo,” said Teresa. “He can help me -find some more ways to spend it.” - -These profligate intentions could not be thwarted, nor did Richard Cary -attempt to do so. He realized that gratitude and affection impelled her; -also that it was more than this. When alone in the world and earning a -living at sea, she had been anxious to gain money and save it. Now she -had a shield and a protector in her yellow-haired giant of a husband who -could master all things. And there was a sense that in doing good to -others she was doing penance for a certain tragic episode which the -fates had darkly, inscrutably thrust upon her. - -Not many weeks after this sensational shower of riches, another letter -came to Captain Richard Cary. It had been mailed from a Costa Rican -port. The writer was the unterrified Charlie Burnham, late chief -engineer of the _Valkyrie_. - - DEAR SKIPPER: - - Here we are again, on Cocos Island, and all hands sorry you - aren’t bossing the outfit. Mr. Bradley Duff is still going - strong and sober, and is a good old scout. He didn’t fall off - the wagon even when we blew into Jerry Tobin’s dump in Panama. - You sure did put the fear of God into him. Mr. Panchito, the - second mate, bought a hundred dollars’ worth of fancy shirts and - neckties. He is one natural-born strutter. All hands are well - and still with us. You ought to have heard us yell when we - learned you had not been drowned in the silly old _Valkyrie_. We - had to give you up that night she went down. Bradley Duff - punched the Italian hophead of a skipper in the jaw because he - wouldn’t stick around the wreckage and hunt for you any longer. - - Now about the treasure! Better come back and watch us root it - out. I extended Don Miguel O’Donnell’s hydraulic pipe-line and - it works pretty. We have been washing for two weeks and the - nozzle kicks the gravel out in great style. The dynamite that - Don Miguel touched off under us mussed things up something - frightful. What makes the worst trouble is the tremendous chunk - of cliff that was jarred loose and spilled all over the place. - The rock is soft, but hard to break up and handle. - - Anyhow, we have uncovered some more silver, but no gold ingots - so far. What we are getting out now isn’t so scattering, but in - solid lots of bullion—sometimes as much as we can load into one - of Don Miguel’s two-wheel carts. You don’t see us quitting, do - you? Atta boy! The agreement stands, and all hands have signed a - paper to that effect. Half of what we get goes to you. Jerry - Tobin told us in Panama that you had married Papa Ramon’s niece, - and how the wedding was pulled off in his bungalow. - - Now if Señor Bazán left his property to this Miss Fernandez, as - perhaps he did, you and she will have to split your fifty per - cent of the treasure. That is how Bradley Duff and I dope it - out. Your wife has a look-in because it was her uncle’s chart - that steered us to where the treasure was buried. And you draw - down your slice because if you hadn’t chased Don Miguel - O’Donnell off the island, where would we be at now? - - This letter is sent in a Costa Rican fishing schooner that - touched here for fresh water, being blown offshore. We filled - the crew full of rum and kept them close to the beach so they - didn’t get wise to our finding any treasure. They thought we - were just another bunch of loonies that had come to rummage - Cocos Island. - - I will send you another report as soon as I get a chance. Please - tell your wife that we have built a nice stone wall around her - uncle’s grave. _Adios_, and here’s looking at you! - - Sincerely yours - CHARLES R. BURNHAM - Chief Engineer - -There came a September day when summer lingered in the warm haze and the -soft westerly winds. A wanton touch of frost had painted the foliage, -here and there, in tints of yellow or crimson. Teresa and Ricardo -motored farther than usual nor turned until they reached the seacoast, -many miles from Fairfield. A small surf crooned among the weedy rocks or -ran hissing up the golden sands. On the distant horizon was a sooty -banner of smoke from a steamer’s funnel. A coasting schooner lifted a -bit of topsail as small and white as the wing of a gull. - -Hand-in-hand, the lovers climbed the nearest headland. While they stood -there, the wind veered. Instead of breathing off the land, with the -scents of field and woodland, it blew strongly from the eastward. It -came sweeping over the salt sea, with a tang and a boisterous vigor -unlike the soft airs of the summer that tarried reluctant to depart. - -Cool, pungent, it seemed to Richard Cary such a wind as had whipped the -Caribbean to foam and pelted the decks with spray when he had joyously -faced it upon the bridge of the swinging _Tarragona_, the wind that long -ago had blown the clumsy ships of Devon across to the Spanish Main. - -He sighed and brushed a hand across his eyes. Teresa stood with parted -lips and face aglow. A long silence and she said: - -“I feel it, too, Ricardo. Shall we go south again? Not to Cartagena, -but—” - -His arm swept toward the south in a gesture large and eloquent as he -exclaimed: - -“Nor to Cocos Island, Teresa dear. But you and I belong in those seas, -somewhere. We have always belonged there. We have been at anchor long -enough.” - -“The wind and the sea,” she murmured. “Yes, they are calling us. We had -better go.” - - THE END - - - - - TRANSCRIBER NOTES - - -Mis-spelled words and printer errors have been corrected. Where multiple -spellings occur, majority use has been employed. - -Illustrations have been relocated due to using a non-page layout. Page -numbers have been removed due to a non-page layout. - - - - - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOUR BELLS *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. 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