"Not wrong that my daughter should meet you secretly!" Osborn exclaimed with sudden rage. "Are you foolish enough to imagine you and a member of my family could meet like equals?"

"I have not pretended to be Miss Osborn's equal. But the inequality I acknowledge is not what you mean."

Osborn shrugged with scornful impatience. "Pshaw! We'll let that go. You said you hoped things might change. Do you think any change of fortune could give you the tastes and feelings of a gentleman? Make you a proper husband for my daughter? You know the thing's impossible."

Kit colored and hesitated, and Peter signed him to be quiet.

"These meetings must be stopped. I'm as much against such a match as I think you are."

"Ah," said Osborn, who looked puzzled, "you hinted something of the kind! I don't know that your point of view's important, but I can't understand."

"My meaning's no varra hard to see," Peter answered. "The lass is bonny and, so far as I ken, weel-meaning and kind; but she has been badly browt up at an extravagant hoose. She'll not can help her husband, except mayhappen to waste, and she has niver learned to work and gan withoot. Weel, it seems we are agreed. Miss Osborn is no the lass I would welcome for my son's wife."

Osborn looked at him with frank surprise. Then he said, "We'll make an end," and turned to Kit. "If you speak to my daughter again, she will be forbidden to leave the Tarnside grounds; if you write to her, your letter will be burned. She cannot resist my control for the next three or four years. There's nothing more to be said."

He went out and Peter, who walked to the porch with him, came back and looked quietly at Kit.

"A proud and foolish man, but he's hit hard!" he said. "Mayhappen it will hurt, my lad, but you must be done wi' this. Osborn's daughter is none for you."

Kit looked straight in front, with his hands clenched. "So it seems, for some years. It does hurt. I cannot give her up."

Peter lighted his pipe and there was silence for a few minutes. Then as Kit did not move he remarked: "I ken something o' what you're feeling; aw t' same you've got to fratch. There's nowt against the lass except that she's Osborn's child, but she's none o' our kind and it's sense and custom that like gans to like."

"It would be easier if I could get away. I can't stop in the dale, knowing she's about and I mustn't see her."

Peter went into the next room and opened an old desk. He had for some time expected that the moment he now shrank from would come and his heart was sore, but he knew his son's steadfast character and meant to save him pain. Going back he gave Kit his brother's last letter.

"Mayhappen it's better that you should gan," he said quietly.

Kit read the letter and looked up with a strained expression. "I never thought I'd want to leave Ashness and I feel a selfish brute! All the same it would be a relief."

"Just that!" said Peter. "I'll miss you when you've gone, but it's no' my part to stand in your way. We'll write Adam to-morrow and tell him you'll come."

Kit crossed the floor and put his hand on his father's arm. "Thanks; I think I know what this means to you. It will cost me something; but I must go."

He went out and Peter sat still, looking gloomily at the fire. He felt old and knew he would be very lonely soon. The fire burned low and the kitchen got cold, but Kit did not come back and when Peter heard his housekeeper's clogs on the stones outside he got up and crossed the floor, to get his hat. Old Bella was curious and he did not want to talk, but there was something to be done in the barn and when his heart was sore it was a relief to work.



PART II—ON THE CARIBBEAN



CHAPTER I

THE OLD BUCCANEER

It was about four o'clock in the afternoon and Kit Askew lounged in a chair on the bridge-deck as the Rio Negro steamed slowly across the long swell of the Caribbean. The wrinkled undulations sparkled with reflected light in a dazzling pattern of blue and silver, and then faded to green and purple in the shadow of the ship. A wave of snowy foam curled up as the bows went down and the throb of the propeller quickened as the poop swung against the sky. Then the lurching hull steadied and the clang of engines resumed its measured beat.

The Rio Negro was old and ugly, with short iron masts from which clumsy derricks hung, tall, upright funnel, and blistered, gray paint. Her boats were dirty and stained by soot, and a belt of rust at her waterline hinted at neglect, but no barnacles and weed marred the smoothness of the plates below. Her antifouling paint was clean, and her lines beneath the swell of quarter and bows were fine. In fact, the Rio Negro was faster than she looked when she carried her regular load of two thousand tons and her under-water body was hidden. She traded in the Gulf of Mexico and the Caribbean, and at certain ports Customs officials carefully scrutinized her papers. At others, they smiled and allowed her captain privileges that strangers did not get.

Kit wore spotless white clothes, a black-silk belt, and a Panama hat of the expensive kind the Indians weave, holding the fine material under water. A glass occupied a socket in his chair, and when the Rio Negro rolled a lump of ice tinkled against its rim; a box of choice cigars lay on the deck. Kit, however, was not smoking, but drowsily pondered the life he had led for the last three years. He was thinner and looked older than when he left Ashness. He had lost something of his frankness and his raw enthusiasm had gone. His face was quieter and his mouth set in a firm line.

He remembered his surprise when he first met his uncle at a luxurious Florida hotel. Adam Askew wore loose white clothes, a well-cut Tuxedo jacket, a diamond ring, and another big diamond in his scarf. His skin was a curious yellowish brown and his eyes were very black; he rather looked like a Spanish Creole than an Englishman. He had nothing of his brother's quiet manner. Although he was getting old, he walked with a jaunty step; he had a humorous twinkle, and his laugh was careless. In fact, he had an exotic, romantic look that harmonized with Kit's notions of the pirates who once haunted the Gulf of Mexico. When Kit afterwards learned why Adam's friends called him the "buccaneer," he saw that his first impression was not extravagant.

Now he remembered that when they sat behind the imitation Moorish arches on the hotel veranda Adam studied him and laughed.

"You're certainly Peter's son," he remarked. "I can imagine I'd just left him at the end of the Ashness lonning thirty years since. Except that he's got older, I reckon he hasn't changed, and for that matter, Peter was never young. Well, you are surely like him, but if you stop in this country we'll put a move on you."

"If I'm like my father, I am satisfied," Kit rejoined.

Adam's black eyes twinkled. "Now I see a difference; there's red blood in you. But don't take me wrong. Peter's a white man, straight as a plumb-line, one of the best; he's a year the younger of us, but when the old man died he brought me up. There are two kinds of Askews and I belong to the other lot. I don't know why they called you after roystering Kit."

It was obvious that Adam knew the family history, for Christopher Askew was a turbulent Jacobite who lost the most part of his estate when he joined Prince Charlie's starving Highlanders in the rearguard fight at Clifton Moor. Afterwards the sober quietness at Ashness had now and then been disturbed by an Askew who inherited the first Kit's reckless temperament.

Three years had gone since Kit met Adam, and he had learned much. To begin with, Adam sent him to an American business school, and made him study Castilian and French. Then he sent him to Mexico and countries farther south, where he studied human nature of strangely varied kinds. He met and traded with men of many colors: French and Spanish Creoles, negroes, Indians, and half-breeds with some of the blood of all. He knew the American gulf ports and their cosmopolitan hotels and gambling saloons, but Adam noted with half-amused approval that while he was not at all a prig he developed Peter's character and not Kit the Jacobite's. Now they were going south across the Caribbean on a business venture.

By and by Adam came slowly along the bridge-deck. The three years had marked a change in him and Kit thought he did not look well. Adam suffered now and then from malarial ague, caught in the mangrove swamps. He was thin, his yellow face was haggard, and his shoulders were bent. Sitting down close by, he lighted a cigar and turned to Kit.

"We ought to raise the coast before it's dark and I reckon Mayne will get his bearings," he remarked. "The lagoon's a blamed awkward place to enter and I'd have waited until to-morrow only that Don Hernando is expecting us."

"It will save us a day if we can get in, since you want to land the B. F. cargo in the dark," Kit said thoughtfully. "We pay high wages and the Rio Negro is an expensive boat to run."

"That's so," Adam agreed with a smile. "You talk like a Cumberland flock-master. Counting every cent you spend is a safe plan, but I don't know that this trip will pan out much of a business proposition."

"Do you feel better for your sleep?" Kit asked.

"Some, though I've got a headache and a pain in my back. Guess they'll shake off when I get to work."

"I was surprised when you said you meant to sail with us."

"So I imagined," Adam rejoined dryly. "You wondered why I didn't, as usual, trust you to deliver the goods? Well, there's rather more to this job than that, and I meant to put you wise before we landed. You have heard me called a pirate, but I don't reckon on taking home much plunder now."

Kit mused while Adam beckoned a mulatto steward, who brought him a glass and some ice. His uncle's character was complex. Sometimes he was hard and exacted all that was his; sometimes he was rashly generous. Ostensibly, he was a merchant, shipping tools and machines, particularly supplies for sugar mills, to the countries round the Caribbean, and taking payment in native produce. Kit, however, knew the cases landed from the Rio Negro did not always hold the goods the labels stated, and that Adam's money sometimes helped to float an unpopular government over a crisis and sometimes to turn another out. It was a risky business, carried on with people who had a talent for dark revolutionary intrigue.

"Since Don Hernando Alvarez is president of the republic, I don't quite see why we need smuggle in his machine-guns," Kit remarked.

"On the surface, the reason isn't very obvious. Alvarez is president now, but mayn't be very long. It depends on whether he or his rival, Galdar, gets his blow in first. I reckon the chances are against Alvarez if Galdar puts up a fight, but the latter's not ready yet and Alvarez means to arm his troops before the fellow knows. I imagine about half the citizens are plotters and spies."

"Alvarez has been honest so far. I suppose if he wins he'll pay?"

"That's so," said Adam dryly. "If he goes down, we get nothing. Although I don't know much about his ancestors and suspect that one was an Indian, Alvarez is white, but the other fellow's a blamed poor sample of the half-breed nigger. Well, when Alvarez found things were going wrong, he sent for me."

"Ah," said Kit in a thoughtful voice, "I begin to understand."

He did understand, although he would not have done so when he met his uncle first. He had known Adam play the part of a merciless creditor, and thought few men could beat him at a bargain, but he kept his bargain when it was made, and now and then risked his money on lost causes. It looked as if he had inherited something from Christopher the Jacobite.

"You have known Alvarez long, haven't you?" Kit resumed.

"When I met him first, he was a customs officer with some perquisites and a salary that paid for liquor and tobacco. Vanhuyten and I ran the old Mercedes then, and Van made a mistake that put us at the fellow's mercy. There was a good case for confiscating the schooner, which would have given Alvarez a lift while we went broke. In fact, the night of the crisis, I dropped Van's pistol overboard; he'd got malaria badly and was feeling desperate. Well, all we had given Alvarez didn't cover that kind of a job, but he'd promised to stand our friend and kept his word like a gentleman. Guess it needed some nerve and judgment to work things the way he did, and when we stole out to sea at daybreak past the port guard, I knew there was one man in the rotten country I could trust with my life. Now he's in a tight place, he knows he can trust me."

Adam got up and crossing the deck leaned against the rails. In the distance, where the glitter faded, there was a long gray smear that seemed to float like a smoke-trail above the water. Higher up, a vague blue line ran across the dazzling sky. The first was a fringe of mangrove forest; the other lofty mountains. A minute or two later, the fat, brown-faced captain came down from his bridge.

"Looks like the Punta; we've hit her first time," he remarked. "In about an hour I ought to get my marks. When d'you want her taken in?"

"Soon as it's dark," Adam replied. "You'll have to trust your lead and compass. Can't have you whistling for a pilot, and I'd sooner you put out your lights."

"It's your risk and not the first time I've broken rules. I guess I can keep her off the ground. We'll get busy presently and heave the hatches off. The B.F. cases are right on top."

Adam nodded, and beckoned Kit when the captain went away. "You haven't been in the Santa Marta lagoon yet. Stand by and watch the soundings and compass while Mayne takes her across the shoals. You may find it useful to know the channel."

Kit understood. Malaria and other fevers are common on low-lying belts of the Caribbean coast and skippers and mates fall sick. Moreover, the Rio Negro did not always load at the regular ports. Sometimes she crept into mangrove-fringed lagoons, and sometimes stopped at lonely beaches and sent loaded boats ashore when her captain saw the gleam of signal lights.

When it was getting dark, Kit and Adam went to the bridge and the former noted that his uncle breathed rather hard and seized the rails firmly as he climbed the ladder. The red glow of sunset had faded behind the high land and a gray haze spread across the swampy shore, but the water shone with pale reflections. On one side, a long, dingy smear floated across the sky. It did not move and Kit thought it had come from the funnel of a steamer whose engineer had afterwards cleaned his fires. Captain Mayne studied the fleecy trail with his glasses.

"I don't know if that's a coffee-boat going north; I can't make out her hull against the land," he said. "Sometimes there's a guarda-costa hanging round the point."

"Better take no chances," Adam replied, glancing at the Rio Negro's funnel, from which a faint plume of vapor floated.

Mayne signed to the quartermaster in the pilot house and the bows swung round. Half an hour afterwards, he rang his telegraph and the clang of engines died away while the throb of the propeller stopped. In what seemed an unnatural silence, a few barefooted deck-hands began to move about, and one stood on the forecastle, where his dark figure cut against the shining sea. The rest went aft with a line the other held, and when Mayne raised his hand there was a splash as the deep-sea lead plunged. A man aft called the depth while he gathered up the line, and Mayne beckoned another, who climbed to a little platform outside the bridge and fastened a strap round his waist.

"We're on the Santa Marta shelf, but I'm four miles off the course I set," Mayne remarked. "I want to work out the angle from the first bearing I got."

Kit went with him into the chart-room, for he knew something about navigation. They had taught him the principles of land-surveying at the agricultural college, and this had made his studies easier. When he came back the moon was getting bright, but the haze had thickened on the low ground and the heights behind had faded to a vague, formless blur. The trail of smoke had vanished, there was no wind, and the smooth swell broke against the bows with a monotonous dull roar as the Rio Negro went on. She was alone on the heaving water and steaming slowly, but the noise of her progress carried far. By and by a light twinkled ahead, leaped up into a steady glow that lasted for some minutes, and then went out.

"That's a relief," remarked Adam, who had struck a match and studied his watch. "The ground's clear and Don Hernando has somebody he can trust waiting at the lagoon. You can let her go ahead, Captain."

Mayne rang his telegraph and Kit went into the pilot house. The dim light of the binnacle lamp touched the compass, but everything else was dark and the windows were down. Kit could see the quartermaster's dark form behind the wheel, and the silver shining of the sea. There was a splash as the man on the platform released the whirling hand-lead. When he called the depth Mayne gave an order and the quartermaster pulled round the wheel. The swell was not so smooth now. It ran in steep undulations and in one place to starboard a broad, foaming patch appeared between the rollers. Kit knew the water was shoaling fast as the Rio Negro steamed across the inclined shelf. It was risky work to take her in, because the fire had vanished and there were no marks to steer for. Mayne must trust his compass and his rough calculations.

"Tide's running flood," he said to Adam. "She'd have steered handier if we'd gone in against the ebb; but there's a better chance of coming off if she touches ground."

"You don't want to touch ground and stop there with the B.F. goods on board," Adam replied.

After this, there was silence except when Mayne gave an order. White upheavals broke the passing swell on both sides of the ship. She rolled with violent jerks and at regular intervals the bows swung up. When they sank, a dark mass with a ragged top cut off the view from the pilot-house, and Kit knew it was a mangrove forest. He could see no break in the wall of trees that grew out of the water, but they were not far off when there was a heavy jar, and the Rio Negro stopped. The floor of the pilot-house slanted and Kit and the quartermaster fell against the wheel. Then there was a roar as a white-topped roller came up astern and broke about the vessel's rail in boiling foam. She lifted, struck again, and went on with an awkward lurch.

"Port; hard over!" Mayne shouted hoarsely, and Kit helped the quartermaster to pull round the wheel.

The order disturbed him, since it looked as if Mayne was off his course. The swell broke angrily ahead, but in one place, some distance to one side, the wall of forest looked less solid than the rest. A roar came out of the mist and Kit knew it was the beat of surf on a hidden beach. This told him where he was, because a sandy key protected the mouth of the lagoon; but he doubted if Mayne could get round the point. The tide was carrying the vessel on and there was broken water all about.

She went on, with engines thumping steadily; the hollow in the forest opened up until it became a gap and Kit could not see trees behind it. Mayne gave another sharp order, and Kit and the quartermaster pulled at the wheel. The dark bows swung, the speed quickened, and the rolling stopped. The throb of the screw and thump of engines echoed across misty woods and there was a curious gurgling noise that Kit thought was made by the tide rippling among the mangrove roots. The air got damp and steamy and a sour smell filled the pilot-house. Kit knew the odors of rotting leaves, spices, and warm mud.

In the meantime, he was kept occupied at the wheel for Mayne changed his course as the trees rolled past, until the telegraph rang and the engines stopped. Then there was silence until he heard the splash of the anchor and the roar of running chain. As the Rio Negro slowly swung round, the winches rattled and her boats were hoisted out. Kit got into one with Adam and landed on a muddy beach. Dark figures came down to meet them, horses were waiting at the edge of the forest, and a few minutes later they mounted and plunged into the gloom.



CHAPTER II

THE PRESIDIO

Dazzling sunshine flooded the belt of sand where the shadows of dusty palmettos quivered beyond the Moorish arch; the old presidio smelt like a brick-kiln and the heat outside was nearly intolerable. In the middle of the dirty patio a fountain splashed in a broken marble basin, and it was dim, and by contrast cool, under the arcade where Kit sat among the crumbling pillars. The presidio was a relic of Spanish dominion and its founders had built it well, copying, with such materials as they could get, stately models the Moors had left in the distant Peninsula. A part had fallen and blocks of sun-baked mud lay about in piles, but the long, white front, with its battlemented top and narrow, barred windows stood firm. In spite of the ruinous patio, the presidio was the finest building in the town.

The others, so far as Kit could see, were squares of mud, for the most part whitewashed, although some were colored pink and cream. The glare they reflected was dazzling, but a row of limp palmettos ran between them and the space in front of the presidio, and here and there Kit noted rounded masses of vivid green. Except for the splash of the fountain, all was very quiet, and although the shadows had lengthened it looked as if the half-breed citizens were still enjoying their afternoon sleep. Now and then a barefooted sentry noiselessly passed the arch. He wore a dirty white uniform and ragged palm-leaf hat, but carried a good modern rifle, and Kit knew where the latter had come from. The country was rich with coffee, rubber, sugar, and dyewoods. Its inhabitants, however, for the most part, preferred political intrigue to cultivation; its government was corrupt, and prosperity had vanished with the Spaniards' firm rule.

A table carrying some very small glasses and coffee-cups stood in the arcade. Don Hernando Alvarez occupied the other side, and Kit imagined it was not by accident he sat with his back to a whitewashed pillar, since he was in the shadow and as he wore white clothes could not be seen a short distance off. Don Hernando's hair was coarse and his skin dark. His face was well molded, although the cheek-bones were prominent; his black eyes were keen and his thin lips firm. He wore a plain red sash, with no other touch of color except a bit of riband on his breast. It was obvious that he was not a Peninsular, as pure-blooded Spaniards call themselves, but he looked like a man who must be reckoned on. Just then his dark face was moody.

"You have come in good time," he said to Adam Askew, in Castilian. "I think the curtain will soon go up for the last act of the drama, but the plot is obscure and I do not know the end."

"I imagine the action will be rapid," Adam replied. "Unless you have changed much, you are cut out for your part."

"Ah," said Alvarez, "one gets cautious as one gets old. One loses the young man's quick, sure touch."

"That is so, to some extent," Adam agreed, and indicated Kit. "It explains why I have a partner; my brother's son. Still, perhaps one sees farther when one is old."

Alvarez bowed to Kit. "You have a good model, senor; a man who seldom hesitates and whose word goes. A rare thing in this country; I do not know about yours." Then he turned to Adam with a hint of anxiety. "How far do you see now?"

"I see what I have to do and that is enough. The consequences come afterwards."

Alvarez's face cleared. "You were always a gambler, but you run some risk if you bet on me." He was silent for a moment and then resumed: "In a sense, I envy you; you have a partner you can trust, but I stand alone. My son was found in the plaza with a knife in his back, and the man who killed him goes unpunished."

"Galdar was somewhere behind that deed, although I do not see his object yet," Adam remarked.

"The people liked Maccario and his removal cleared the ground. My enemy is cunning and, I think, did not mean to force a conflict until my friends had gone. Now there are not many left and the time has come. Morales died of poison, Diaz of snake-bite, and Vinoles was shot by a curious accident. So far, I have escaped; perhaps because I was lucky, and perhaps because it was not certain the people would choose Galdar if I followed my friends."

"I have wondered why you hold on. For a president of this country, you have had a good run. I think I would have left after a few prosperous years and located at Havana, for example."

Alvarez smiled. "There was a time when we had money in the treasury and I might have gone; but it was too late afterwards. Part of the revenue stopped in Galdar's hands—that was one way of embarrassing me—and I was forced to use the rest to undermine his plots. Now I am drawing on my small private estate."

"But why didn't you go while there was something left? You are not extravagant and do not need much."

Kit thought Adam's remark was justified. Alvarez lived with Indian frugality and looked ascetic; besides he had been long in power and had no doubt had opportunities for enriching himself at his country's expense. Kit liked Alvarez, but did not think him much honester than other Spanish-American rulers he had met.

"It was partly for my daughter's sake I remained," Alvarez replied. "She is at a Spanish convent and I would not leave her poor. Then I had my son's death to avenge." He paused and added with a deprecatory smile: "Moreover I have thought I can rule this country better than my rival."

"That's a sure thing," Adam agreed, in English. "Well, you had better tell me how you think matters are going. If I'm to help you properly I want to know."

Alvarez looked about. All was very quiet; there was nobody in the patio, and it was some distance to the nearest window in the wall that faced the pillars. For all that, he lowered his voice and answered in hesitating English with an American accent.

"It is hard to tell; a gamble in which one takes steep chances! Perhaps half the people with an object are for Galdar, and half for me. Those who have none will wait and back the man they think will win. So far, I have the soldiers, but their pay is behind and they are badly armed and drilled. They will stand by me if I can give them machine-guns and pay off arrears. But this must be done soon, without Galdar knowing. The next president will be the man who strikes before the other is ready."

"What will the thing cost altogether?" Adam asked.

He looked thoughtful when Alvarez told him, and then nodded. "All right. You'll get some of the guns to-morrow and another lot is on the way. Go ahead; I'll help you put the business over."

Alvarez filled the little glasses with a liquor that had a strong spicy smell and when his guests lifted them touched theirs with his.

"It is what I had hoped, my friend. If I live, you will not lose."

He drank and then held his glass slackly poised while he mused. Kit, who was nearest the arch, turned and glanced out. He saw the reflected light quiver across the trampled sand and the dusty green of the limp palmettos. Then, below the latter, there was a pale-yellow flash and the president's glass fell with a tinkle. A pistol-shot rang out and Kit, swinging round, saw that a flake of plaster had dropped on the table. There was some dust on Alvarez' brown face and on his clothes, but he looked unmoved.

Next moment Adam leaned on the table, steadying a heavy automatic pistol, and three quick flashes streamed from the perking barrel. Three small puffs of dust leaped up about the roots of a palmetto and as the empty cartridges rattled on the floor Kit thought an indistinct figure stole through the shadow of the fan-shaped leaves. He was not certain, because the light was dazzling and thin smoke drifted about his head.

He threw his chair back and plunging through the arch ran across the sand and stopped at the top of a narrow street. Men and women of different shades of color came out of the doors and began to talk excitedly, but there was nobody who looked like a fugitive. Kit went back after he got his breath and met two or three untidy, barefooted soldiers who ran past. When he entered the arch Adam was coolly reloading his pistol while the president dusted his clothes.

"It is nothing—they have tried again," the latter remarked. "Still, it looks as if Galdar felt himself stronger than I thought. Now, with your permission, I will go and give some orders." He smiled as he added: "There will be some prisoners by and by, men my guards do not like, but the fellow who fired the shot will not be caught."

"What about the sentry?" Adam asked.

Alvarez shrugged. "It is hot, and perhaps he was half asleep. I think the man is faithful, and just now I am the soldier's friend."

He went off and Adam filled his glass and looked at Kit. "I feel I'm getting old and want another drink. I got the bead on the fellow's dark head and missed him by a yard. Well, I guess you can't expect to have steady fingers when you've got malarial ague. It's a dramatic kind of country, anyhow."

Kit lighted a maize-leaf cigarette and mused. He had been startled, but his nerve was good and he knew something about the dark-skinned, reckless people of the South. They were robbed by their rulers, who spent the most part of the revenue to keep themselves in power; and sometimes, when the vote was useless, assassination seemed the only remedy. But it was on his uncle's promise Kit's thoughts dwelt. Although Adam was rich, the sum Alvarez needed was large. The latter was honest, in a sense, and Kit thought would not rob his friend, but he might be unable to make repayment. In fact, he had warned Adam that there was a risk and the bullet that struck the pillar was a significant hint. The venture looked rash, but Adam had stated that it was not a business proposition. He and the president were friends and this counted for much. The old Buccaneer had a sentimental vein.

Then Kit's thoughts strayed and he wondered what Peter was doing in the north country dale. Kit had prospered since he joined Adam and the latter had hinted that he might be rich, but he was tired of intrigue and excitement and the glare of the South. He wanted the bracing winds, and the soft lights that chased the flying shadows across the English hills. He smiled as he reflected that he was like the Herdwicks that never forgot their native heaf; but while he longed for the red moors and straight-cut valleys he felt a stronger call. He was young and had seen the daughters of the South; Louisiana Creoles with a touch of old French grace; dark-haired Habaneras with languid eyes, whose movements were a delight to watch; octoroons ready to welcome a lover who was altogether white, and half-breed Indian girls. All had charm and some had shown him favors that meant much, but their charm had left Kit cold.

He thought about Grace Osborn, steady-eyed and marked by English calm. She was frank and sometimes impulsive, but even then one got a hint of proud reserve. There was no touch of southern coquetry about Grace, she was not the girl to attract a lover and let him go, but if he came and proved his worth, she would go forward with him steadfastly through the storms of life. Kit sighed and pulled himself up. Grace was not for him and he must not be a romantic fool. He looked round and saw that Adam was quietly studying him.

"What are you thinking about, partner?" he asked and Kit knew the epithet meant much. Adam had not called him partner at first.

"I was thinking about Ashness," he replied.

"Ah," said Adam softly, "I often think about it too; the old house among the ash trees, and the Herdwicks feeding on the long slope behind. The red heath on the fell-top and the beck bubbling in the ghyll. Everything's clean and cool in the quiet dale, and the folk are calm and Slow." He paused and resumed with a curious smile: "Once I reckoned I'd go back when I got rich and make things hum, but when I had the money I saw that plan wouldn't work. Those quiet folk would have beaten me with their unchanging ways, and Ashness is too good to spoil. For all that, I allowed I'd see it again before I died, but now I don't know."

His smile faded and he gave Kit a keen glance. "Why did you pull out? It wasn't for my money. You haven't told me yet."

"No," said Kit, with some embarrassment. "I hardly think it's much of a story, but if you like I'll tell you now."

After a few moments he stopped awkwardly, and Adam raised his hand.

"Go on. I want to get the girl properly fixed."

Kit was not skilled at sketching character, but he drew Grace's portrait well and when he stopped Adam made a sign of sympathy.

"You have helped me place her. Don't know I'd have trusted another man's judgment when he talked about his sweetheart, but you're not a fool. Well, it seems to me the girl's worth getting."

"Miss Osborn is not my sweetheart. It is possible I shall never see her again."

"But you can't forget her?"

"No," said Kit quietly; "I can't forget."

Adam was silent for some moments and then looked up.

"You're like Peter, slow and staunch, but that's one reason you're my partner. Well, I know Osborn's kind; folk we have no use for in the United States. White trash, we call them; men with no abilities, whose foolish pride makes them think it's mean to work. Reckon they've first claim on the soft jobs and don't belong to the world of fighting men. But I guess they listen when money talks."

Kit said nothing, although he thought Adam's concluding remark significant, and the old man went on:

"Don Hernando helped me on my feet when Vanhuyten and I first came along this coast, with about a thousand dollars and a worn-out schooner. He's been my friend ever since and now he's hard up against it I've got to see him out. Guess it's going to cost me high, but when the job's put over there ought to be some money left and I don't know that you need forget the girl if she hasn't forgotten you. Well, perhaps I've said enough, and now I'll go and see where Don Hernando is."

Adam got up and as he crossed the patio Kit noted that his shoulders were bent and his movement slack. Adam had changed much since their first meeting at the Florida hotel. He had some very obvious faults, but Kit knew what he owed him and felt disturbed.



CHAPTER III

THE GOLD ONZA

Kit paused as he wound the long silk sash round his waist, and looked out of the window of his room at the presidio. Square blocks of houses, colored white and yellow, ran down the hill. Here and there a palm rose from an opening, and the dusty green of the alameda broke the monotony of the flat roofs and straight, blank walls that gave the town an Eastern look.

Kit noted the strength of the presidio's situation. The old building stood high, its battlemented roof commanded the narrow streets, and there was a broad open space all round. He thought a few machine-guns would make it impregnable, since a revolutionary mob was not likely to be provided with artillery.

Kit tucked the end of the sash under the neatly-arranged folds. Some time is required to put on a Spanish faja and at first Kit had thought the trouble unnecessary, but had found it is prudent to protect the middle of the body in a hot climate. When he was satisfied, he turned and looked about the room. There were no curtains or carpets, and two very crude religious pictures were fixed to the wall. Although the air was not yet hot, it was not fresh and a smell of spices, decay, and burnt oil came in through the window that opened on the patio.

A sunbeam touched a small earthen jar, holding a bunch of feather flowers. The jar was harshly colored, but the outline was bold and graceful, and Kit knew no pottery like that had been made in the country since the Spaniards came. He had bought it with the flowers for a few dollars, and remembered that the shopkeeper had included its contents when he offered it to him. "Todo loque hay," he said in uncouth Castilian.

Kit, turning over the jar carelessly, took out the flowers and as he did so something inside rattled and a large coin fell into his hand. The coin was old and heavy; indeed, he thought it weighed about an ounce. Taking it to the window, he rubbed its dull face and when the metal began to shine sat down with a thoughtful look. Unless he was mistaken, the coin was gold and did weigh an ounce.

When he finished dressing he went to the little dark shop. The shopkeeper was making coffee with a handful of charcoal on the doorstep, for the sake of the draught, and took off his hat politely as Kit came up.

"I found a piece of money in the jar I bought from you," Kit said in Castilian.

"Then your worship is lucky," the other remarked.

"But the money was not mine."

The shopkeeper shrugged. "What matter? It is yours now. Was the coin worth much?"

"It was worth finding."

"Well," said the shopkeeper, "I do not know where the money came from, and it may have been there a very long time. The jar is old and I bought it from an Indian some years since." He paused and gave Kit a keen glance. "You will remember that I offered you the jar with all there was inside."

"You did; it held some feather flowers. Still, as you did know about the money—"

"Then you want to give it back, if the owner can be found!"

"Certainly," said Kit.

The shopkeeper bowed. "I will make enquiries. If you should need anything I sell, senor, perhaps you will remember that I am an honest man."

Kit went away, feeling puzzled and somewhat surprised. It looked as if the fellow was honest, but Kit thought he had studied him and there was something curious about his manner. Besides, a remark he made implied that he knew the coin was old.

When he ate his eleven o'clock breakfast with Adam and the President in the arcade, he took out the coin and told them about the shopkeeper's refusal to take it back.

"A Spanish onza," Adam remarked. "Worth nearly five pounds in English money, but a collector might give you more if it's as old as it looks. One used to see onzas in Cuba, and native merchants in Central America, who hadn't much use for banks, liked to get them. Now, however, they're getting scarce."

"In this country, all gold coins are scarce," Alvarez said dryly. "I agree with the shopkeeper that Don Cristoval is fortunate, and expect he feels that my people are honester than he thought."

"I was puzzled—" said Kit and stopped, for he saw the president's smile and began to understand.

"You are shrewd, senor; but that was to be expected from my old friend's nephew. To begin with, the man who keeps the shop is not a supporter of the Government."

"Ah," said Kit, "I think I see!"

Alvarez bowed. "One can trust your intelligence, and you can keep the coin. It looks as if my antagonists were curious about your character—the honor of a man who would take money that does not belong to him is open to doubt. The experiment was cheap."

Kit said nothing and the president filled a little glass with scented liquor. "I know my friends, Don Cristoval, and your uncle has stood much harder tests."

He touched Kit's glass with his. "Well, I am lucky, because I may need friends soon."

He got up and when he went down the long arcade Adam looked at Kit with a smile.

"When I was your age I wouldn't have taken the onza back. I'd have kept the money and my faith with the president; in fact, in those days, I kept anything I could get. Now the other fellow knows what you're like, I reckon he'll find the owner of the coin."

Adam went off after the president, and Kit pondered. A few days later, he sat one evening at a small table outside the cafe Bolivar. The cafe was badly lighted, hot, and full of flies. There was no door or window, and a few wooden pillars divided the low room from the pavement, which was strewn with cigarette ends and cardboard matches. In front, small palms, and eucalyptus lined the dusty alameda, where groups of citizens walked up and down. Inside the cafe somebody sang a Spanish song and played a guitar. It was not cool on the pavement, although a faint breeze made the palms rustle. The air was heavy and a smell of aniseed and new rum hung about the spot.

Presently a man who had been playing dominos got up and came to Kit's table. He was a white man, with pale blue eyes and yellow hair, and although rather fat he carried himself well. Kit had met Olsen before, and he nodded when he sat down.

"Nothing doing at the casino and the place was very hot," he said. "Besides, I don't quite trust the man who runs the bank. Taking them all round, these folks are clever crooks."

Kit agreed languidly and noted the order Olsen gave the half-breed landlord. The fellow did not look as if he indulged much, but Kit thought a large glass of the strong liquor was not often asked for. As a rule, the Americans he had met on the Caribbean coast were abstemious, while the half-breeds and Spaniards were satisfied with small copitas of fiery spirits distilled from the sugar cane. The English, German, and Scandinavian adventurers consumed them freely, and perhaps the Germans drank the most.

"How do you like it here?" Olsen resumed when he put down his glass. "It's a country that soon palls. Are you staying long?"

"I can't tell," said Kit, who decided not to state that he knew the country. "You see, I'm not in command."

"No," said Olsen. "I suppose you're a relation of the Buccaneer?"

"A poor relation. He gave me a lift when I needed it."

Olsen laughed. "Well, I guess he makes you hustle. A pretty lively old pirate, if all one hears is true! I reckon they don't call him the Buccaneer for nothing, but it's hinted that he's beginning to lose his grip. I see your copita's empty. Will you take another drink?"

"No, thanks; I've had enough," said Kit, who distrusted Olsen. He thought the fellow's careless remarks covered some curiosity and had tried to leave him in doubt. Olsen probably imagined he was Adam's clerk.

"You're cautious, but one soon gets reckless here," Olsen resumed. "We are all adventurers, out for what we can get, and the chances against our making good are pretty steep. My notion is to have the best time I can, pick up as much money as possible, and quit before fever, intrigue, or a revolution knocks me out."

"It's an exciting life," Kit agreed. "Money doesn't seem plentiful."

"You have got to hustle and back the right man. Since you're stopping at the presidio, it's obvious that Askew's on the president's side. Well, I suppose everybody knows my employers have put their money on Galdar."

"Then, I imagine you run some risk."

"Sure," said Olsen, smiling. "Alvarez doesn't like me, and if I wasn't an American citizen, I'd feel scared. Showed his secretary my naturalization papers when I put up my shingle. Took them out as soon as I reached the United States from Norway."

Kit pondered. Olsen spoke English and Castilian Well, but his accent was not American, nor, Kit thought, Scandinavian. There were a number of Germans in the country, engaged in extensive but rather dark commercial schemes, whom the United States consuls watched with jealous eyes. Kit knew that no one could transact much business without to some extent meddling with native politics, but while the other adventurers were satisfied with the money they could get, it looked as if the Germans wanted something else. It was perhaps significant that Olsen had, so to speak, insisted that he was a naturalized American and came from Norway. Kit doubted.

"Askew's judgment is generally pretty good, but he's getting old," Olsen remarked. "I don't see why he's backing the president; my notion is, Galdar's surely going to win." He paused and looked at Kit thoughtfully. "In fact, if I was holding a clerk's job on the other side, I'd consider if it wouldn't pay me to change."

Kit imagined this was a cautious feeler, made to find out if he could be bought, but he smiled.

"If Galdar does win, he won't have much to give his friends."

"He certainly won't have much money," Olsen agreed. "It's going to cost him all he can raise to turn Alvarez out, but he'll have something to give at the country's expense; sugar and coffee concessions, and perhaps monopolies. If I can get my share, it will pay my employers well and I allow they're generous."

He stopped, as if he thought he had said enough, and after ordering another drink looked up with a grin. Two girls in light dresses had passed the cafe once or twice with a male companion and a fat old woman who wore black clothes. Kit had not noticed them particularly, because other groups were moving about, but he now remarked that the man had gone and the duena was a yard or two in front. One of the girls looked round and he thought her glance searched the cafe and then stopped at his table.

"The senorita's a looker," said Olsen. "I wonder which of us she fancies. She's been round this way before."

"I'm not remarkably handsome and there are other people in the cafe," Kit replied. "Anyhow, I don't want to get a jealous senorita's knife in my back."

"You're a blamed cautious fellow," Olsen rejoined in a meaning tone. "However, you'll find me at the casino evenings if you feel you'd like a talk, and now I'll get along."

He went off and Kit smoked another cigarette. He thought Olsen had, so to speak, been sounding him; the fellow had certainly given him some hints. Kit imagined he had taken a prudent line by keeping the other in the dark about his partnership with Adam and their plans.

When he had smoked his cigarette he crossed the street to the alameda and went up a broad walk beneath the trees. The sky had cleared, the moon was high, and in front of the openings pools of silver light lay upon the ground. By and by Kit saw the group he had noticed a few yards ahead. They were moving slowly and although he walked no faster he soon came up with them. The girl who had looked into the cafe was nearest and the moonlight touched her face as she turned her head.

Kit gave her a half curious glance and felt some surprise, for he could see her better now and thought her a pure-blooded Spaniard. The Peninsulares were aristocrats, the girl had a touch of dignity, and her dress was rich. It was strange if a girl like that was willing to defy conventions and risk an intrigue with a stranger. Yet he imagined he had seen her smile, and she carried a little bunch of purple flowers in the hand nearest him. He looked again and saw that she was beautiful and moved with the grace that generally marks the Peninsulares when they are young. The path was broad and he could keep level with the group without exciting curiosity, but he thought it curious that the fat old woman, who ought to have guarded the others, was in front.

He resolved to go past, and just before he did so the girl gave him a glance that he thought was half amused and half provocative. Then she turned her head and next moment he saw a flower near his feet. He noted a faint smell of heliotrope and knew she had dropped the flower for him. This meant something, although it would not have much significance unless he picked up the heliotrope. He did not, and walking past with a quicker step, heard a soft laugh.

When he reached the presidio he sat down on the balcony that overlooked the patio outside his room. There was nobody about and he began to muse. It was rash to take things for granted, but he thought he had been made the subject of three experiments. Somebody had put a gold onza in the Indian jar; Olsen had tried to find out if he was ambitious; and the girl in the alameda meant to learn if he could be moved by beauty. Well, they ought to know something about him now, but they were not very clever or they would have extended their experiments over a longer time. It looked as if they thought him something of a fool, and this was, perhaps, an advantage.

Kit smiled as he remembered that when Janet Bell tried to flirt with him he had been rather humiliated and felt himself a prig. He was older now and had not been much embarrassed in the alameda, although he nearly picked up the flower. His curiosity was excited and he wanted to find out the girl's object. Indeed, it was hard to see why he had left the flower alone, but he had a vague feeling that it was unfair to use a charming girl in a dark intrigue. Since he had known Grace Osborn, he had given women a higher place. For her sake, he would not try to gain an advantage against his and the president's antagonist by embarking on an adventure with the Spanish girl.

Then he began to wonder whether he would see Grace again, but presently got up with an impatient shrug. Grace, in all probability, had forgotten their friendship and married Thorn. Anyhow, she was not for him and it was futile to indulge a barren sentiment.



CHAPTER IV

THE PRESIDENT'S BALL

Breakfast was over and Alvarez, sitting at a table in the arcade, smiled as he indicated the transformed patio. The broken pavement had been swept, the fountain scrubbed until the marble showed white veins, and the old brass rails of the balconies gleamed with yellow reflections where the sunshine fell. Small palms and flowering plants in tubs stood among the pillars, flags hung from crumbling cornices, and barefooted peons were fastening up colored lamps.

"When the people are discontented they must be amused," the president remarked. "In Rome, they gave them circuses and I had thought of a bull-fight. There is a Spanish quadrilla in Cuba but I found it would cost too much to bring the company across. Besides, I do not know if strong excitement would be good for the citizens."

"A ball is safer," Adam agreed. "While they have the function to talk about they'll forget to plot."

"For a week, perhaps! Well, it ought to be some help, if your agents are prompt."

"They're hustlers and know they've got to get busy. I expect the Rio Negro back in fourteen days, and then it will be your business to rush her cargo up. Mule transport's slow on your swamp tracks, and it's perhaps unfortunate you didn't give my friends the concession for the light railroad. You might have found it useful now."

Alvarez shrugged. "A railroad can be cut, and locomotives break down at awkward times when their drivers are bribed. Then, I have granted so many concessions that there is not much that foreigners think worth getting left in the country. One must keep something to bargain with."

"Governing a people like yours is an expensive job. However, since they make it expensive, they oughtn't to grumble if you tax them high."

"They do not always pay the taxes," Alvarez rejoined with a twinkle. "If they run me out, they will probably disown their debts, and then there will be trouble with the foreigners. Still, that is not very important, because I shall be gone and the Americans will not let the others' consuls use much pressure. The speculators understand the risks."

"That's so," said Adam and added meaningly: "Some of the speculators are American."

Alvarez put his finely-shaped hand on Adam's arm. "My friend, if it is possible, you will be paid. If not, it will be because I am dead."

"I know," said Adam. "I'm not scared to take chances and when they go against me I don't grumble. Anyhow, time is important and if you work this ball properly it ought to give us another week. You'll get the money for your soldiers shortly afterwards and Mayne will land your guns."

The president's dark face softened and he smiled.

"I know whom I can trust," he said and went away.

"If it's possible for a half-breed to be an honest man, Don Hernando meets the bill," Adam remarked. "Anyhow, he's a better president than these folks deserve, and they'll be blamed fools if they turn him down." He was silent for a few moments and then resumed: "I gave you a share in my business, Kit, and now, if you are willing, I'll buy you out."

"But I'm quite satisfied; I'd much sooner stick to our agreement," Kit said with surprise.

"Well, I guess you're rash. Your share isn't large but it would go some way to buy an English farm. Raising Herdwick sheep is a pretty tame occupation, but I reckon it's safer than backing Alvarez."

Kit thought hard and imagined he saw Adam's object. "Of course," he said, "if you want to get rid of me—"

"I don't know that I'm keen. You're some help, but you came out to forget the girl in England, and not to stay. Well, if you mean to go, now's your time."

"The trouble is I haven't forgotten her," Kit answered quietly.

Adam's eyes twinkled. "If you go home, you may get her, and I allow she's probably worth the effort, but you're not going to side-track me like that. If you quit now, I can buy you out and you'll have something to help you make another start; afterwards I mayn't be able. You needn't hesitate about taking the money; I guess you've earned it."

"I suspected where you were leading. Still you see, I'd sooner stay. For one thing, I hate leaving an awkward job half finished. You're beginning to feel the job is bigger than you thought it was when you undertook it?"

"It certainly is," Adam agreed. "However, since you insist, I'll talk plain. Alvarez has no claim on you, although he has a claim on me, and I pay my debts. The last to fall due is going to strain my finances, but it must be paid, a hundred cents for every dollar. All the same, the liability is not yours. There's no reason why you shouldn't pull out while you're safe."

Kit shook his head. "I see a reason. I don't know if it's sound, but after all one's self-respect is worth something."

"Oh, well!" said Adam, "we won't quarrel. You're very like Peter and he's the staunchest man I know."

He got up and when he went off, Kit, feeling somewhat moved, lighted a cigarette and smoked thoughtfully. It looked as if Adam did not think the president would win, but for all that meant to stand by him. Although not fastidious about his business methods, Adam had his code and was not afraid, when friendship demanded it, to fight for a lost cause. Moreover, Kit meant to fight with him. Then he got up and smiled. Adam meant well, but he was clumsy; if he had wanted to save Kit from sharing his risk, he might have made a better plan.

When evening came Kit entered the arcade and sat down in a quiet spot to look about. The moon was nearly full and flooded half the patio with silver light; the rest was in shadow and rows of colored lamps twinkled in the gloom. A band played behind the pillars, the rattle of castanets breaking in on the tinkle of the guitars when the beat was sharply marked. The music was seductive, unlike any Kit had heard in England, and he thought it tinged by the melancholy the Moors had brought, long since, from the East to Spain.

At one end of the patio, groups of young men and women moved through the changing figures of an old Spanish dance. Their poses were strangely graceful, and some had a touch of stateliness. This vanished when the music changed and the well-balanced figures, raising bent arms, danced with riotous abandon. In a minute or two the melancholy note was struck again and the movements were marked by dignified reserve. Kit got a hint of Southern passion and, by contrast, of the austerity that often goes with Indian blood.

In the meantime, he noted the play of moving color, for the women wore white and pink and yellow. Some had flowers in their dark hair and some covered their heads with a lace mantilla. The men's clothes were varied, for a number wore shabby uniforms, and others white linen with red silk sashes, while a few had chosen the plain black, and wide sombrero, of the Spanish don.

At the other end of the patio, portly senoras with powdered faces sat among the pillars, and grave, dark-skinned citizens moved about the pavement in talking groups. A heavily-built man with a very swarthy color and thick lips went to and fro among them, bowing and smiling, and Kit knew this was Galdar, the president's rival. Kit did not like the fellow and thought his negro strain was marked. He looked sensual, cruel, and cunning. For the most part, the president stood outside the crowd, although now and then a group formed about him. He was tall and thin, his face was inscrutable, and Kit thought he looked lonely and austere.

By and by an officer Kit had met told him he must dance and took him along the arcade. The officer stopped where two girls sat under a string of lamps, with a man in black clothes and a fat old woman behind. At first, Kit could not see them well, but when they got up he started as he recognized the girl who had dropped the flower. Then he tried to hide his embarrassment as he was presented to Senorita Francisca Sarmiento. She was handsomer than he had thought and as she made him a stately curtsey her eyes twinkled.

Kit imagined the other girl studied him carefully and wondered whether she knew about the flower. It was, however, his duty to ask the senorita to dance, and after a few moments they crossed the pavement. Kit had some misgivings, because the dance was involved and one used a number of different steps, but the girl guided him through its intricacies and when he took her back signed him to sit down. He obeyed, for Francisca Sarmiento had an imperious air. Other young men came up when the music began again, but passed on, and Kit imagined the girl had made them understand they were to do so since one or two frowned at him.

"Well," she said, looking at him across her fan, "how do you like this country?"

"It has many attractions," Kit replied.

"But some drawbacks?"

"The drawbacks are not very obvious now."

"Ah," she said, giving him a mocking glance, "for an Englishman, you are polite, but it looks as if you were as cautious as I thought."

"I'm flattered that you thought about me at all." Kit rejoined.

She laughed and played with her fan. "Oh, well; we are curious about strangers, particularly when they are friends of the president's. One wonders why they come."

"I imagine most of us come to get money."

"In this country, one gets nothing unless one runs some risk, and you are cautious," Francisca remarked.

Kit noted her insistence on this trait of his. He thought her remarks had a meaning that did not appear on the surface.

"I wonder what grounds you have for thinking so," he said.

"Are they not obvious?" she answered. "Not long since you hesitated to pick up a sprig of heliotrope."

"I durst not think the compliment was meant for me."

Francisca glanced at him with quiet amusement. "You are modest, senor; it looks as if you had a number of virtues. For one thing, I imagine you are honest, and honesty is not very common here." She paused and resumed in a meaning tone: "It is a drawback, if one wants to get rich."

"I don't know that my character is worth your study," Kit replied carelessly.

"You are of some importance, senor. Although I have admitted that you are modest, it is strange you do not know."

"Why should I know?" Kit asked.

Francisca studied him over her ebony fan, which hid half her face and emphasized the curious glow of her black eyes. "I do not think you are as dull as you pretend. Have you not been experimented on recently?"

"I think I have," said Kit. "After all, a gold onza is not a great temptation. I found another—a spray of heliotrope—harder to resist."

"But you did resist!" she replied in a quiet voice.

"Yes," said Kit, fixing his eyes on her face. "I am an adventurer like the rest, but it is rather a shabby thing to try to gain an advantage in a battle with a woman. Besides, as I'm not clever, I might have failed."

With a languid movement of her head Francisca looked round and Kit imagined she saw the others were too far off to hear. Then she made him a half mocking bow.

"We need not quarrel, senor, and I will give you a hint. Since you are incorruptible, this town is not the place for you. Strangers from the North sometimes get fever. And I would not like you to suffer because you are honest, and have chosen the losing side."

"Ah," said Kit, "you think our side will lose?"

Francisca moved her fan, as if to indicate Galdar, who stood in the moonlight near the fountain. He was smiling urbanely and a number of men and women had gathered about him. Kit knew they were people of importance. At the end of the patio, the president stood alone in the advancing gloom.

"You see!" she said. "Well, I am engaged for the next dance. You have my leave to go."

Kit left her and sat down in a quiet spot. On the whole, he thought the president's antagonists had been foolish when they tried to use the girl; she was, so to speak, too good, and perhaps too proud, for the part they expected her to play. This, however, was not important; he imagined she had meant well when she gave him a hint, although the hint was not worth much, because Kit thought Adam saw how things were going. Then he reflected with some amusement that he need not bother much about deceiving the enemy, since Galdar's friends would not suspect that Buccaneer Askew had knowingly chosen the losing side.

Presently Kit joined Adam, who sat near a lamp. His face was damp and looked pinched.

"Let's go and get a drink," he said. "I'm thirsty; got a dose of intermittent fever again."

Some tables behind the pillars were laid out with wine and fruit, and Adam beckoned a mulatto waiter.

"Tinto and siphon. Bring some ice."

"There is no siphon, senor. We have sherry, vermouth, and some very good anisado."

"You have plenty siphon" Adam declared. "Go and look."

The waiter went away and Adam frowned. "I can't stand for their scented liquors; I want a long, cool drink."

After a few minutes, the waiter came back with a large glass, in which a lump of ice floated in red wine and mineral water. Adam, sending him away, remarked: "That's a stupid fellow. I wanted to mix the stuff myself."

He drank thirstily and put down the glass.

"Tastes bitter; too much resin in the wine, or perhaps it's imagination." He lifted the glass but stopped and threw the rest of the liquor on the pavement. "Reckon I've had enough. About the meanest drink I've struck. Give me a cigar. The taste stops in my mouth."

Kit gave him a cigar, but after a few minutes he threw it away.

"I don't feel much better and think I'll go to my room. You might come along; the stairs are steep."

He got up awkwardly and leaned upon the table, breathing rather hard while big drops of sweat started from his forehead. "This confounded ague grips me tight. Don't know when I've felt so shaky. Better give me your arm."

They started, and keeping in the shadow, reached the outside stairs without exciting much curiosity, but Kit felt disturbed. Adam went up slowly, stopping now and then, and stumbled across the balcony at the top. Bright moonlight shone into the bare room, where a small lamp burned, and Kit saw that Adam's face was wet.

"Leave me alone," he said. "You can come back by and by and see how I'm getting on."

Kit did not want to go, but gave way when Adam insisted. He met the president soon afterwards.

"Where is Don Adam?" the latter asked.

Kit told him and added that his uncle had seemed to get worse after drinking some wine.

"Ah," said Alvarez thoughtfully. "Fresh lime-juice is better when one is feverish. Did he drink anything else?"

"No," said Kit. "The waiter wanted to bring some anisado, but he insisted on the wine."

Alvarez took him to the table where the refreshments were served and clapped his hands. A waiter came up, but Kit said, "That is not the boy."

"Where are your companions?" the president asked.

"One is washing the glasses, senor. I do not know where the other has gone."

Alvarez opened a door and Kit saw a man putting small copitas into a pail.

"It was another fellow who brought the wine," he said, and Alvarez beckoned the waiter.

"Call the mayor-domo."

A man dressed in plain black clothes came in, and Alvarez asked: "How many of these fellows did you send to serve the wine?"

"Two, senor. It was enough."

"Three came. It will be your business to find the third," said the president sternly and turned to Kit. "What was the fellow like?"

Kit described the waiter and Alvarez said to the mayor-domo, "You will be held accountable if the man has got away. Send Doctor Martin to the bottom of the stairs."

The mayor-domo went away and Alvarez knitted his brows.

"Galdar's friends are bold, but I had not expected this. However, Don Adam's drinking wine may have balked them and Martin is a good doctor."

Kit asked no questions, for he could trust the president and thought there was no time to lose. They crossed the patio and found a man waiting in the shadow at the bottom of the steps. Alvarez said a word or two and they went up. When they entered the room Adam glanced up from the bed.

"I see you have brought the doctor," he said with an effort.

"In this country, one takes precautions," Alvarez replied. "You look ill, my friend."

"I'd have looked worse if I'd drunk anisado," Adam remarked. "Anyhow, you had better light out and let Senor Martin get to work."

The doctor, who felt Adam's pulse, made a sign of agreement, and then writing on a leaf of his pocketbook gave it to the president.

"Will you send that to my house? I need the things at once."

Alvarez moved away and Adam looked at Kit with a forced smile. "You needn't be anxious, partner. I didn't drink all the wine; reckon they haven't got me yet."

Then they went out and left Adam with the doctor.



CHAPTER V

OLSEN'S OFFER

For a time, Kit wandered about the arcade, talking now and then to people he knew. The doctor had forbidden him to return to Adam's room and the president said it was important the guests should not know that anything unusual had happened. Although Kit watched the stairs anxiously, nobody came down, but he saw the mayor-domo going quietly about and servants came and went on mysterious errands. When he looked out he found the sentries had been doubled on the terrace and one stopped when, for a few moments, Kit left the arch, but the soldier knew him and marched on. While it was obvious that the waiter was being looked for, Kit thought the search had begun too late.

At length, Alvarez sent for him, and although his heart beat as he followed the messenger he felt some relief when he saw the president.

"I have good news," the latter said. "The doctor is no longer anxious and you may see your uncle in the morning. It looks as if Don Adam's caution saved him."

"You mean when he refused the anisado?"

Alvarez nodded. "It is a strong-smelling liquor and one drinks a small quantity, taking water afterwards, if one wants. Don Adam knows the country, and after all my enemies have not much imagination. To offer him anisado was a rather obvious trick."

"I'm thankful they failed," Kit said sternly, and clenched his fist with sudden passion. "If they had not—"

"One understands, Don Cristoval; I have felt like that when the plotters did not fail," Alvarez answered with grim sympathy. He was silent for a moment or two and Kit imagined he was thinking about his murdered son. Then he resumed: "Well, we shall have a reckoning and it will be bad for the dogs when I send in my bill. But that must wait, and I would like you to dance. I see Senorita Sarmiento is not engaged and she dances well."

"I doubt if Dona Francisca would care to dance with me again."

"Ah," said Alvarez, "one should not be too modest! Francisca is a politician, but she is a woman. Perhaps you found she is not on my side?"

"I imagined she was not."

Alvarez shrugged. "Well, I do not fight with women, although they are sometimes dangerous. Try again, my friend. Just now we are all playing at make-believe."

Kit obeyed and found Francisca gracious. She danced with him and afterwards allowed him to sit by her. By and by she remarked: "I have not seen Senor Askew for some time."

"He was not very well," said Kit.

Francisca studied his face. "I hope his illness is not serious. I thought I saw Doctor Martin."

"Fever. My uncle gets it now and then."

"I think I warned you against our fevers," Francisca replied meaningly. "There are two or three kinds, but all are not dangerous."

"Some are?" Kit suggested.

"Yes; to foreigners. We others take precautions and are acclimatized."

"Well," said Kit in a thoughtful voice, "I have not had fever yet, but I suppose an unacclimatized adventurer runs some risk."

Francisca played with her fan and Kit imagined she was pondering.

"A risk that leads to nothing is not worth while," she remarked. "I think it would be prudent if you left the country while you are well."

"I should be sorry if I thought you wanted me to go," said Kit.

"That is cheap, senor. I gave you good advice."

"Oh, well," said Kit, "I really think you did. There are matters about which we do not agree; but I believe you are too kind to let a rather ignorant antagonist get hurt."

Franciscans eyes twinkled as she rejoined: "I like the compliment better than the other. But I am engaged for the next dance and as you are intelligent there is not much more to be said."

Kit went away, thinking rather hard. The girl had some part in the intrigue against the president, and it would obviously be an advantage to her friends if he could be persuaded to leave the country now Adam was ill. Admitting this, he thought her warning sincere. On the whole, he liked Francisca Sarmiento and believed she did not want him to be hurt. If Adam did not get much better and he had to look after things, he would certainly run some risk of a cunning attack by the president's enemies.

When the guests began to leave, Kit went to his room and after some hours of broken sleep was told that Adam wanted him. He found Alvarez in the room and Adam lying, with a flushed face and wet forehead, in a big cane chair. When Kit came in Adam gave him a friendly smile and turned to Alvarez.

"If I'd taken that drink at a wineshop, I'd have deserved all I got," he said. "I allowed I was safe at the presidio."

"It is a stain on my hospitality for which somebody shall pay."

"That's all right," said Adam; "you're not accountable. Looks as if the other fellow was too smart for both of us; but I had a feeling I'd better stick to tinto and siphon. You can generally taste anything suspicious in that mixture and I've been doped before. But, as I'm an American citizen and American influence is powerful, I didn't expect they'd be bold enough to get after me."

Alvarez smiled. "Our climate is unhealthy, but if you had died and suspicion was excited, your countrymen would have made the president responsible. That would have been another embarrassment and I have enough."

"Galdar's friends are a cunning lot," Adam replied. "Well, I think your doctor has fixed me up for a time. What about your plans?"

"I had some talk with my supporters last night and we agreed to strike when the Rio Negro's cargo arrives. We need the guns and money to pay my troops, and when we get them we will arrest the leading conspirators. This will start the revolution, but it will fail if my blow is struck before Galdar is ready."

"Yes," said Adam. "We can trust Mayne; he knows he's got to hustle. I've fixed it for him to get the Spanish money at Havana and that will mean losing a day or two, but the old Rio Negro can hit up a pretty good pace and Mayne won't spare his coal. I reckon we'll hear from him soon."

Adam stopped and Kit, seeing that it cost him an effort to talk, took the president away. They met the doctor on the stairs and Kit waited at the bottom until he came down. Senor Martin was a fat, dark-skinned, Spanish Creole.

"Your uncle is an obstinate man and will not take a hint," he remarked. "I had some trouble to save him and he may not escape next time."

"Then you imagine there will be another time?"

Senor Martin shrugged expressively, "I am a doctor not a politician, but in this country much depends upon the risk of being found out. Senor Askew is old and not strong. One must pay for leading a strenuous life and he has had malaria for some years. He ought to remain in the North. It is your business to persuade him, but do not disturb him yet."

"I will try," Kit said doubtfully. "You think it needful?"

"If he does not go soon, he will not go at all," the doctor replied in a meaning tone.

He went away and some time afterwards Kit returned to his uncle's room. The shutters were pushed back from the balcony window and the strong light, reflected by the white wall, showed the thinness of Adam's figure and the deep lines on his face. His skin was a curious yellow color and his eyes were dull.

"You haven't been well for some time and the stuff you got last night has shaken you rather badly," Kit remarked with a touch of embarrassment. "I think you ought to go back with Mayne."

"You imagine you can manage things better without me?" Adam rejoined.

"No," said Kit, coloring. "It's a big and awkward job, but perhaps I can manage. I feel you ought to go."

"It looks as if the doctor had put you on my track. He's been arguing with me. What did he say?"

Kit hesitated and Adam smiled. "I can guess, partner, and perhaps he was right. Well, I'm getting old and have a notion I won't live long, anyway. Don't see that it matters much if I go or stay, and I've a reason for staying you don't know yet. Besides, I hate to be beaten and mean to put over my last job." He paused and gave Kit a steady look. "There's one drawback; putting it over may cost you something."

"That doesn't count," Kit said quietly. "What you have is yours; I expect you earned it hard."

"I certainly did," Adam agreed. "I earned part of what I've got by jobs that cost me more than my health. I'd wipe out some of my early deals, if I could. Well, I don't know if playing a straight game on a losing hand will cancel past mistakes, but I feel I've got to play it out. My wad and yours are in the pool."

"It's not my wad," Kit objected. "You have treated me generously."

"Oh, well!" said Adam. "Perhaps I'll ask you to remember that by and by. In the meantime, I've no use for arguing and am going to stop. We'll say no more about it, but if I'm too sick to handle things, you'll take control. You know my plans, and that's enough; I don't need your promises that you won't let me down. Now you can get out. I'm going to sleep."

Kit went away, feeling moved, but anxious. His uncle trusted him and he had got strangely fond of the Buccaneer. Adam had his faults and his career had been marked by incidents that were hard to justify, but he was staunch to his friends. Kit did not know how far Alvarez deserved his staunch support, and suspected that Adam was, to some extent, moved by pride. He meant to make good before he let things go. Kit resolved that when the old man's hands lost the grip he would take firm hold.

Next day Adam was obviously worse and when two or three more had passed the doctor looked anxious. Then, one hot evening, the president brought Kit a letter addressed to his uncle.

"Don Adam is asleep and must not be disturbed," he said. "Perhaps you had better read this. It may be about the Rio Negro."

Kit opened the envelope and frowned. The letter was from Mayne, who stated that he had met bad weather soon after leaving port and the racing of the engines in a heavy sea had caused some damage. He had, however, reached Havana, where he had received the Spanish money, and did not know what to do. Some time would be required to repair the damage, but it would be risky to resume the voyage with disabled engines. Kit gave the letter to the president, whose dark face flushed, and for a few moments he stormed with Spanish fury.

"This dog of a sailor has been bought!" he cried, clenching his hands as he walked about the floor. "If the money does not arrive soon, it will be too late; my soldiers will not take our notes. Galdar has paid him to ruin me."

Kit, knowing the emotional character of the half-breeds, let him rage. Alvarez did not often lose his self-control and he had some grounds for feeling disturbed. When he stopped, Kit said quietly, "The captain is honest, but if he loses his ship with the guns and money on board, it will not help us much. If my uncle is better in the morning, I will see what he thinks; if not, I will decide about the orders to send."

When Alvarez left him he went into the town and after walking about the alameda sat down at a table in front of the cafe and ordered some wine. This was safer than the black coffee and scented cordials the citizens drank, but he tasted it carefully and gave himself up to anxious thought without draining his glass. The insurance on the Rio Negro did not cover all the risks Mayne would run if he left port with disabled engines, and the coast was dangerous. The loss of the ship would be a blow, but if Mayne did not leave Havana soon the freight might arrive after the president's fall. Kit, feeling his responsibility, shrank from the momentous choice, and while he pondered Olsen came up and occupied a chair opposite.

"Drinking tinto!" he remarked. "Well, I guess that's prudent. But how's the Buccaneer? He's been looking shaky and I heard he was ill."

Kit wondered how much Olsen knew. He said Adam's fever came and went and he would, no doubt, be better soon. Olsen smiled and shook his head.

"There's no use in giving me that stuff; I know the climate! Askew's going under fast and will never be fit again. I reckon the old man knows he's got to let up, if you don't. What are you going to do when he pulls out?"

"It will need some thought," Kit answered cautiously, since he had grounds for believing the other imagined he was Adam's clerk.

Olsen ordered some vermouth, and then remarked in a meaning tone: "I don't have to be careful about my drinks. There's an advantage in taking the popular side."

"Are you sure yours is the popular side?"

"Wait and see," Olsen rejoined, "though that plan's expensive, because it may be too late when you find out. My employers don't often back the wrong man and I trust their judgment now. If you'll listen, I'll show you."

Kit signed him to go on and Olsen resumed: "The Buccaneer will drop out soon and you'll be left to do the best you can for yourself. Well, I don't suppose you'll get another chance like this; we'll pay you ten thousand dollars if you can keep the Rio Negro back for a week."

"That doesn't indicate that you're sure of winning," Kit remarked dryly. "Besides, I wouldn't trust Galdar to put up the money."

"I don't ask you to trust Galdar; my people will find the money. In a sense, it doesn't matter to us who is president, except that we want the concessions Galdar promised, and they're worth an extra two thousand pounds. We'll give you American bills for the sum if your steamer lands her cargo too late to be of use."

Kit thought hard. It looked as if Olsen knew the Rio Negro had broken down. If so, he was obviously well informed and his employers were persuaded that the probability of the president's downfall was strong enough to justify the bribe. Two thousand pounds would go some way to making Ashness a model farm, while it was plain that Adam might lose the money he had hinted he meant to leave Kit. Kit, however, did not feel tempted, although he wanted to find out something about Olsen's plans.

"You seem to take my agreement for granted," he remarked. "You must see that I could embarrass you by telling Alvarez."

Olsen laughed. "You could put him wise; but you couldn't embarrass us. The president knows whom he's up against. The trouble is he isn't strong enough to get after us."

"Well, suppose I refuse?"

"You'll be a blame fool. That's all there is to it."

Kit doubted. He knew what had happened to Adam, and, in spite of Olsen's statement, imagined Galdar's friends would not let him warn the president.

"Anyhow, you must give me until the morning. I want to think about it," he said, in order to test his suspicions.

"We can't wait; the thing must be put over now. There's no use in trying to raise my offer. You know our limit."

"Oh, well!" said Kit, "I'm afraid I'll have to let it go. There are difficulties, and if you can't wait—"

Olsen looked at him with surprise, and Kit saw he had not expected his offer to be refused. The fellow had a cynical distrust of human nature that had persuaded him Kit could not resist the temptation; his shallow cleverness sometimes misled him and had done so when he took it for granted that Kit was Adam's clerk.

"You don't mean you're going to turn my offer down?" Olsen said sharply.

"You force me. I can't decide just yet."

Olsen hesitated, knitting his brows. "Oh!" he exclaimed, "that's ridiculous! The thing will cost you nothing, and I'll come up a thousand dollars. You ought to see you must accept."

"I don't see," Kit replied as carelessly as he could, and got up. "Since you can't wait, I understand the matter's off."

He went away, and glancing back as he crossed the street, saw that Olsen's pose was curiously fixed and he seemed to be gazing straight in front. Some of the customers now left the cafe and Kit lost sight of him. The moon was high and clear, but the black shadows of the trees fell upon the walk through the alameda and there were not many people about. Kit would sooner not have crossed the alameda, although this was his nearest way, but thought he had better do so. Olsen might be watching, and Kit did not want the fellow to imagine he was afraid, since it would indicate that he knew the importance of his refusal. Yet he was afraid, and it cost him something of an effort to plunge into the gloom.



CHAPTER VI

THE PRESIDENT'S WATCHERS

When Kit was half way across the alameda he stopped and looked about. Dark trees rose against the sky; he could smell the eucalyptus and their thin shadows covered the ground with a quivering, open pattern. There was a pool of moonlight, and farther on the solid, fan-shaped reflections of palms. Nobody was near him, although he heard voices across the alameda, and he stood for a few moments, thinking, while his heart beat.

Since he had refused Olsen's offer, caution was advisable, because Kit felt sure the fellow had expected him to agree, and it was obvious that he knew enough to make him dangerous. He distrusted Olsen, who was not a native American, and probably not a Norwegian, as he pretended. There was a mystery about his employers, but Kit suspected that they were Germans, and as a rule the latters' commercial intrigues were marked by an unscrupulous cunning of which few of their rivals seemed capable. This was admitting much, since the foreign adventurers did not claim high principles.

On the surface, it was obviously prudent to take the shortest line to the presidio, but Kit reflected that Olsen would expect him to do so. It might be better to put him off the track by going another way and Kit was anxious to know if he had left the cafe. Stepping back into the shadow, he made for another path and a few minutes afterwards returned to the street. He glanced at the cafe as he walked past and saw that Olsen was not there. He thought this ominous, since it indicated that the fellow had gone to consult his revolutionary friends and Kit imagined they would try to prevent his reaching the presidio. He seldom carried a pistol, which was difficult to hide when one wore thin white clothes. On the whole, he had found a suspicious bulge in one's pocket rather apt to provoke than to save one from attack; but he was sorry he had not a pistol now.

Kit went back across the alameda, hoping he had put Olsen's friends off the track. If so, he would be safe until he got near the presidio, when he must be cautious. He passed two or three groups of people, and now and then heard steps behind, but the steps were followed by voices that relieved his anxiety. For all that, he was glad to leave the alameda and turn up a street.

The street was narrow, hot, and dirty. There was a smell of decaying rubbish and the rancid oil used in cooking. One side was in shadow, and almost unbroken walls rose from the rough pavement. For the most part, the outside windows were narrow slits, since the houses got light from the central patio. Here and there an oil-lamp marked a corner, but that was all, and Kit kept in the moonlight and looked about keenly when he passed a shadowy door. Perspiration trickled down his face and he felt an unpleasant nervous tension. Yet nobody came near him and when he cautiously glanced round nobody was lurking in the gloom. He began to think he had cheated Olsen, but admitted that it was too soon to slacken his watchfulness.

At one corner, he saw two figures in shabby white uniform, and hesitated. In Spanish-American countries, the government generally maintains a force of carefully picked men, entrusted with powers that are seldom given to ordinary police. They patrol in couples, carry arms, and are sometimes called guardias civiles and sometimes rurales. Kit knew he could trust the men, but doubted if they could leave their post; besides he did not want Olsen to know he thought it needful to ask for protection. Now he came to think of it, he had seen the rurales outside the cafe and at another corner. Perhaps this was why he had been left alone.

He went on, rather reluctantly, and by and by reached the broad square in front of the presidio. The old building was clear in the moonlight; Kit could see a sentry on the terrace and a faint glow in the slit in the wall that marked Adam's room. It was hardly two-hundred yards off and he would be safe before he reached the arch, but a grove of small palms and shrubs ran between him and the square. There were rails behind the trees and the nearest opening was some distance off. A high blank wall threw a dark shadow that stretched across the road by the rails and met the gloom of the trees.

Kit looked about, without stopping or turning his head much. There was nobody in sight, but he somehow felt that he was not alone. It was a disturbing, and apparently an illogical, feeling that he must not indulge, and pulling himself together he went on, with his fist clenched. He was not far from the gate, and although he listened hard could only hear his own steps and voices in a neighboring street. Yet his nerves tingled and his muscles got tense. In front, a thick, dark mass that looked like a clump of euphorbia or cactus stood beside the path, and just beyond it a bright beam of moonlight shone between the drooping branches of the palms.

He thought the spot the beam touched was dangerous. As he crossed it his figure would be strongly illuminated and he would have his back to the dark bush. He wanted to move aside and go round the bush, but this might give somebody time to spring out and get between him and the gate. The gate was close by and he was strangely anxious to reach it. For all that, he was not going to indulge his imagination.

He plunged into the gloom, without deviating from his path, and conquered a nervous impulse that urged him to run. When he had nearly passed the bush he thought he heard a movement and a thick stalk of the cactus shook. Half instinctively, Kit leaped forward and felt something soft brush against his shoulder. As he swung round, in the moonlight, with his mouth set and his hand drawn back to strike, he saw a blanket on the ground. There was nothing else and he breathed hard as he searched the gloom. The blanket had not been there before.

Next moment, a dark figure sprang from the shadow and a knife flashed in the moonlight; then he heard a heavy report and a puff of smoke blew past his head. The figure swerved and, staggering awkwardly, fell with a heavy thud. It did not move afterwards, and while Kit gazed at it dully a man in white uniform ran past and stooped beside the fellow on the ground. Kit vacantly noted that a little smoke curled from the muzzle of his pistol.

"One cartridge is enough," he said coolly. "Your worship did not escape by much."

Another rural came out of the bushes and when they turned over the body Kit saw a dark face and a long, thin knife clenched in a brown hand. He understood now that the blanket had been meant to entangle his arm or head; half-breed peons often carry a rolled-up blanket of good quality on their shoulder.

"It is Gil Ortega," the rural remarked. "A good shot that will save us some trouble, comrade!"

"How did you come here when you were wanted?" Kit asked as calmly as he could.

The rural smiled. "By the president's order, senor. We were watching the cafe."

"But it looks as if you had got in front of me."

"It is so, senor. We thought it best to follow this fellow. He lost you when you turned back."

Kit nodded, for he remembered that he had instinctively avoided one or two dark lanes that would have given him a shorter line than the streets. Ortega and the rurales had taken the shorter way. He thought it curious the report had not drawn a crowd, but although he heard voices nobody came near and he imagined the citizens were used to pistol shots. Giving the rurales some money, he crossed the square to the presidio and going to his room lighted a cigarette. He thought a smoke might be soothing, for he had got a jar.

After a time, he went to look for Alvarez and found him sitting in front of a table in the patio. A soldier stood not far off, but the president was alone and the light of a shaded lamp fell upon a bundle of letters and documents. Alvarez worked hard and had inherited a rather austere simplicity from his Indian ancestors. Kit thought his plain white clothes and quiet calm gave him dignity.

"It looks as if my enemies meant to lose no time," he said, in English, when Kit told him about his adventure.

"It's their third try in a few weeks," Kit agreed. "Don't you find the uncertainty about where they'll strike next rather wearing?"

Alvarez shrugged. "One gets used to these affairs; a custom of the country, and there is something to be said for it. If the plot succeeds, it is an easy way of turning out a president and changing the government. Perhaps it is better to kill a man or two than fight round barricades and burn the town."

"In the North, we find it possible to change our government by vote."

"You are cold-blooded people and don't understand the passions of the South," Alvarez rejoined with cynical humor. "We have tried your plan, but one must be rich to buy the votes. Besides, if one is beaten at the polls, there remains the last appeal to the knife. But you will let this go. We have something else to talk about."

"That is so," said Kit. "To begin with, I must thank you for sending your rurales to look after me."

"It is nothing," Alvarez replied in a deprecatory tone. "You are my guest and we try to take care of foreigners, because if they meet with accidents their consuls ask embarrassing questions. Besides, watching them serves two objects."

"Then, I expect you know I met Olsen at the cafe?" Kit suggested dryly.

Alvarez smiled. "Yes; I know. But I was not suspicious."

"After all, one doesn't generally conspire in a public place. In fact, I don't understand why Olsen met me there."

"He may have meant to compromise you; to put doubts in my mind."

"It's possible, now I think of it," Kit assented. "I hope he didn't succeed."

"I know my friends, Don Cristoval. But what did the fellow want? I do not know all."

"Your spies are pretty smart, but I expect our colloquial English puzzled them," Kit remarked, smiling. "However, I was going to tell you—"

He narrated what Olsen had said and Alvarez looked thoughtful.

"Galdar must be nearly ready; he has been quicker than I imagined. What are you going to do about the steamer?"

"I'll wait until tomorrow. If my uncle is well enough, he must decide."

"But if he is no better?" Alvarez asked.

Kit gave him a level glance. "Then I will send Mayne orders to run all risks and start, whether his engines are repaired or not."

"Ah," said Alvarez with a bow, "Olsen was foolish when he tried to bribe you! I suppose this is your answer! Well, it is lucky that a fast schooner sails to a port from which a telegram can be sent. When your orders are ready I will see that they go."

Next morning Kit found Adam lying half awake after a night of delirium. The old man's eyes were heavy, his brain was dull, and the doctor, who came in, made Kit a sign not to disturb him. Kit went out and spent some time writing a message to Mayne. It was necessary that the captain should know what he must do, but Kit was anxious to give no hint about the importance of speed that others would understand. He meant to guard against his orders being read by spies in Olsen's pay.

When he had sealed the envelope and addressed it as the president had told him, he went down to the patio and found a peon talking to a guard.

"This man is the mate of the Catalina and wants to see you," said the guard, and when he went off Kit turned to the other, who looked like a sailor.

"My wife lives in the town and I have been at home for a day or two," said the man. "I am going back to the schooner now and was told you had a letter for the patron."

Kit put his hand in his pocket. Although he had expected the mayor-domo would come for the message, there was not much formality at the presidio, and the fellow was obviously a sailor. Yet Kit hesitated and as he stood with his hand on the envelope thought the other's eyelids flickered. The flicker was almost too slight to notice, but it hinted at nervousness and Kit dropped the message back.

"Very well," he said. "Wait a few minutes."

He went along the arcade and stopping near the end looked back. The sailor had sat down on a bench and was lighting a cigarette. This looked as if he did not mind waiting, and Kit wondered whether it was worth while to disturb the president, who was occupied. He went on, however, and Alvarez signed him to sit down when he entered his room. After a minute or two, he put down the document he was reading to his secretary.

"Well," he said, "have you written your message for Captain Mayne?"

"It is here. The Catalina's mate is waiting."

Alvarez turned to the secretary. "My order was that the patron should come."

"That is so, senor. I sent him word."

"The man told me his wife lived in the town and he was starting back," Kit interposed.

"The patron has a house here," Alvarez replied. "We will see the man. But first send an order to the guard to let nobody go out."

He waited for a minute after the secretary went off and then beckoned Kit, who followed him downstairs and into the arcade. When they reached it Kit stopped and Alvarez turned to him with a meaning smile. There was nobody on the bench.

"It looks as if my order was sent too late," Alvarez remarked. "You had better tell me exactly what happened?"

Kit complied and Alvarez sent for the guard and asked: "How did you know the sailor was the Catalina's mate?"

"He told me he was, senor. Afterwards, when Don Cristoval did not come back, he said it was not important and he would not wait."

Alvarez dismissed the man and shrugged as he turned to Kit. "The plotters are clever, but they made a mistake. The fellow was too modest; he ought to have said he was the patron. Well, we must try to find him, although I expect we are late. Now give me the message for Captain Mayne. It looks as if our antagonists knew its importance."

Kit gave him the envelope and went back to Adam's room.



CHAPTER VII

ADAM RESUMES CONTROL

Although the shutters on the balcony window were open, no draught entered the small, bare room and the heat that soaked through the thick walls was nearly intolerable. There was not a sound in the presidio and a drowsy quietness brooded over the dazzling town. It was two o'clock in the afternoon, and the citizens were resting in their darkened houses until the sun got low and work and intrigue began again. Adam and Kit, however, had been talking for some time when the former, leaning back in a big cane chair, frowned at his nephew. His thin face was wet with sweat, but he shivered and his hands shook.

"You can quit arguing; I've got to go," he said. "I don't get much better, anyhow, and can't stand for lying off when there's a big job to be done."

"I believe I could see the job through," Kit answered quietly.

Adam's dull eyes sparkled. "You might; I guess you're anxious to try your powers, but so long as I can get about I'm in command."

"It's doubtful if you can get about," Kit insisted.

"I'm going to try. You'll have a quiet mule ready when it's getting dark, and I'll ride out of town; then, if the saddle shakes me, I'll go in a hammock. You can cut out your objections. The thing's fixed."

"Very well," said Kit. "We had better make for Corrientes, since the point commands the port and the lagoon. Mayne will stop for an hour or two, looking for a signal, when he picks up his marks."

"We'll start for the port and take the other track afterwards. There's no use in telling the opposition where we're going. I imagine they don't know if the Rio Negro has sailed or not."

"For that matter, we don't know," Kit remarked.

"Oh, shucks!" Adam exclaimed. "Mayne understands what we're up against and he'd pull out when he got your telegram. If he can't use his damaged engine, he'll disconnect and bring her along with the other." He stopped Kit with a frown. "If you're going to tell me the Rio Negro can't steam across on one cylinder, you can cut it out. I've taught the men I put in charge that when a job's needful it has got to be done."

He paused and when Kit said nothing, went on quietly: "Well, I reckon Galdar's crowd will expect the boat to make for the port. It's easier to land cargo there and there's a better road. With good luck, we'll have the goods delivered before they know she's gone to the lagoon. Now you can go along and get busy."

Kit went away in a thoughtful mood. He agreed with Adam that secrecy and speed were essential, because if the rebels got a hint of their plans they might strike before Alvarez could ensure the loyalty of his troops by distributing their back pay. Much depended upon which party got in the first blow. In fact, if the guns and money reached the town before the rebels knew they were landed, Kit thought the president's chance of winning was good. All the same, he imagined that Adam, whom the doctor had forbidden to get up, would run a dangerous risk.

At dusk a few barefooted soldiers paraded on the terrace, with two mules and three or four peons. Since it was impossible to evade the watchfulness of Galdar's spies, Adam had resolved to set off openly and not to give them a hint that his journey had an important object by trying to hide it. He mounted awkwardly, with an obvious effort, and when he was in the saddle set his lips for a moment or two. Then he turned to Alvarez and smiled.