CHAPTER XXI
JOHN STUART WEBSTER'S agile brain was the repository of many conflicting emotions as he bathed, shaved, and changed from his soiled khaki field clothes to a suit of ducks before presenting himself before Dolores.
Had Billy's courage forsaken him at the last minute, with the result that he had gone back to the United States without having settled the question of Dolores's future? Had he proposed and been rejected, or had he proposed, been accepted, and had his plans for an immediate marriage vetoed by Dolores?
In either event, why had Billy failed to leave a note for him at the Hotel Mateo, or mailed him a letter to the Globo de Oro at San Miguel de Padua, advising him of the change in the plan of action outlined for him by Webster?
If Dolores had accepted him, then Billy Geary was just the sort of impulsive youth who could not rest until he had advised Webster of his luck; on the other hand, Billy was susceptible, in matters of love, to the deep melancholia which is as distinct a characteristic of the Hibernian nature as wit and light-heartedness, and in the event of disappointment he would not be apt to rush to his partner with the news; a feeling of chagrin would prompt him to keep his own counsel, to go away and stay away until he had Smothered the ache and could return and meet Dolores without restraint and embarrassment.
In the simplicity of his single-hearted devotion Webster was puzzled to understand how any woman in her right mind could fail to fall in love with Billy Geary. To begin, he was a fine-looking lad and would look finer when the chills and fever had been eradicated; he was far from being a runt, mentally or physically; he was gentle, well-mannered, kind, with the gift of turning a pretty speech to a woman and meaning it with all his heart and soul. A man he was, from heels to hair, and a man with prospects far above the average. To Webster's way of thinking, the girl who married Billy might well count herself fortunate.
Dolores greeted him with unaffected pleasure. “Well, Caliph!” she said. Just that. It made Webster sensible of a feeling of having returned to her after an absence of several years. “I'm so glad to see you, Miss Ruey,” he replied, and added boldly, “particularly since I didn't expect to.”
She knew what her reply would lead to; nevertheless, with that dissimulation which can only be practised in perfection by a clever and beautiful woman, she answered with equal boldness: “Indeed! Pray why?”
“Well, for a pretty good reason, I think. A few weeks ago, after examining Bill's concession very thoroughly, I told him he was a potential millionaire. Now, while I disclaim any appearance of braggadocio, when John Stuart Webster, E.M., makes any mine owner a report like that, he is apt to be taken very seriously. And having made Bill a potential millionaire and arranged to give him three or four months' vacation back home, I had a notion he'd present to you a very valid reason why you should accompany him.”
“You are very frank, Caliph.”
“That's because I'm curious. You do not mind being equally frank with an old cuss like me, do you, and telling me just why Bill's plans miscarried? Because he had a certain dream, and told me about it, and I did my little best to make it come true. You see, Miss Ruey, I'm a lot older than Bill, and I've known him since he was eighteen years old; I feel a responsibility toward him that is almost paternal.”
“I think I understand, Caliph. It would be very difficult, I think, for anybody to meet Billy without being attracted toward him. He's one of the dearest, most lovable boys in the world—and he did do me the signal honour of asking me to marry him. So there!”
“Well, and why didn't you?”
She smiled at his blunt insistence on forcing the issue. “For a number of excellent reasons, Caliph. In the first place, he wanted me to marry him immediately—and I wasn't ready to leave Sobrante, while Billy was. Indeed, it was highly necessary that he should leave immediately, for the sake of his health, and I had Billy's interest at heart sufficiently to insist upon it. You seem to forget that when a girl marries she must make some preparation for the event, and if she has any close relatives, such as a brother, for instance, she likes to have that relative present at the ceremony. You will recall, Caliph, that I have a brother and that you have promised to introduce me to him very shortly. Much as you love Billy, would you insist upon depriving me of the joy of meeting my brother on the day of his triumph—on the day of the triumph of our family—just to please Billy by marrying him on ten minutes' notice, and leaving on a honeymoon next day? That is what you would refer to as crowding my hand and joggling my elbow.”
“By Judas, I never thought of that, Miss Ruey,” the repentant Webster answered. “In fact, I wasn't thinking of anybody's interest in this matter but Bill's.”
“Not even of mine, Caliph?” reproachfully.
“That goes without saying. Could I have done anything nicer for you than fix it for Bill so he would be in position to marry you? Here you are, practically alone in the world—at least you were when Bill met you and fell in love with you—and I know that boy so well I was convinced, after meeting you, that his future happiness and yours would best be conserved if you married him. I hope you do not think I was presumptuous in thinking this, or that I am presumptuous now in speaking my mind so frankly. I realize this is a most unusual conversation——”
“Quite to be expected of an unusual man, Caliph. And I do not think you were one bit presumptuous. It was wonderfully dear of you, and I am profoundly grateful that Billy and I have such a true, unselfish friend, whose first thought is for our happiness. I knew I was going to like you before Billy introduced us—and I think more of you than ever, now that I know you're a dear, blundering old matchmaker. Of course you realize how badly I felt to think I couldn't accede to Billy's plan. Billy's such a dear, it quite broke my heart to disappoint him, but a little temporary unhappiness will not ruin Billy, will it? It makes me feel blue to talk about it, Caliph.”
“Not at all, not at all, Miss Ruey. Bill is one of the impulsive, whirlwind kind, up in the clouds today and down in the slough of despond to-morrow. He'll survive the shock. Of course, it would have been pretty nice if your affairs had permitted you to accompany Bill; I never had a honeymoon myself, but it must be a great institution, and I was all wrapped up in the notion of seeing Bill have what I'd never had myself—a honeymoon and a wife and kids and money enough to enjoy 'em all the way that God intended a real man and woman to enjoy them. However, I'm glad to know everything will come out all right. Seeing you here gave me a momentary chill; thought a cog had slipped somewhere, so I helped myself to Cupid's license and asked. A man cannot learn very much from a woman unless he asks questions, can he? I mean on the subject of love.”
She smiled a little, wistful, knowing smile. “No, Caliph,” she answered seriously, “somehow the Master of Things ordained that on the subject of love man must do all the talking.”
“Yes, but on the other hand, woman has the last word—as usual. However, the only thing in your case and Billy's that worries me is the thought that since Bill left his magnet behind he will be drawn back here before he is in the kind of shape, physically, that I want him to be in before he relieves me on the job so I can go away.”
“Do not worry on that point, Caliph. I am your ally there; between us both I think we can manage him.”
“Fine business! Miss Ruey, if that boy Bill ever gets a notion in his head that you haven't forgotten more than he'll ever know, I'll break his neck. And with those few kind words we'll dismiss William until you care to talk about him again, although if you're as deep in love as Bill you'll not stay off the subject very long.”
“How is Don Juan Cafetéro, Caliph?”
“Coming out in the wash and without his colours running. I've sweated the booze out of him, hiking him over the hills, and bullied him into eating solids, and a few days ago I shut off the firewater forever, I hope. However, I'll have to watch him very closely for a long time yet—particularly in town. Out at the mine he'll be away from temptation. Hard work is the best cure for Don Juan. There's a deal of truth in the old saying that Satan will find mischief for idle hands to do. I imagine you've been rather idle lately. Hope you haven't been into mischief.”
“I haven't been idle. I've made several dresses for Mother Jenks and done a lot of fancy work and begun the study of my mother tongue. If my brother should become president of this country, it would ill become his sister not be able to speak Spanish. By the way, Billy told me you were going to remain up in the hills quite a while yet. What brought you back to town so soon?”
“Expected I'd have some freight arriving shortly: besides, I wanted to make certain the title to Bill's property didn't have any flaws in it.”
“How long will you remain in Buenaventura?” Considering the fact that he was no longer subject to temptation, since the object of his temptation was now definitely promised to his friend Billy, Webster suddenly decided to remain until the political atmosphere should be cleared, although prior to his conversation with Dolores he had cherished a definite plan to go back to the hills within forty-eight hours. He could not suppress an ironic grin, despite the pain and misery of his predicament, as he reflected how often, of late, he had made up his mind to a definite course of action, only to change it promptly at some new whim of fate.
“I'm going back,” he replied soberly, “after I have kept my promise and introduced you to your brother in the government palace. If I cannot introduce him to you there, the title to our mining concession will be clouded, in which event it will not be necessary for Billy or myself to fuss with it further.”
He related to her the information gleaned from her brother two days previously.
“It's no use for an individual to fight a government despot in courts controlled by the latter,” he concluded. “Your brother must win and depose the Sarros; then with the title to the property certified by the government as without a flaw, I may dare to spend fifty thousand dollars developing it.”
“And if my brother doesn't win?”
“I may never have an opportunity to present you to him. We mustn't be squeamish about this matter, Miss Ruey. If Ricardo doesn't turn the trick, he may go the way of his father, unless he can manage to get out of the country.”
She was silent a minute, digesting this grim alternative. “And you?” she queried presently. “What will happen to you? As I understand it, you are existing now under a temporary license.”
“I shall endeavour to leave also—with dignity. I can always land a pretty good job back home, and wherever I'm superintendent the next best job belongs to Billy. The Lord is our shepherd; we shall not want.”
“As I understand it, then, Caliph, Ricardo hopes to win his revolution when he strikes the first blow.”
“I think so. I dare say Ricardo hopes to take Sarros by surprise, bottle the city garrison up in the cuartel and the government palace and there besiege them. Having secured nominal control of a seaport, he can import arms and ammunition; also he can recruit openly, and at his leisure hunt down the outlying garrisons. The Sarros crowd doesn't suspect his presence in Sobrante, and by a quick, savage stroke he should be able to jerk this one-horse government up by the heels in jig time—particularly since the citizenry feel no loyalty toward the Sarros régime and are only kept in subjection through fear and lack of a leader. I'm going to play Ricardo to win, if he isn't killed in the opening row, for I'm certain he'll lead his men.”
“I dare say he is greatly like his father—not afraid to die for his country,” she replied presently. “I am glad to be here when he takes that risk.”
“Oh, but you mustn't be here,” Webster protested.
“Why?”
“Because there'll be street fighting—probably of a desperate character, and I understand your countrymen go rather war-mad and do things not sanctioned by the Hague tribunal. If there's a steamer in port at the time I'll put you aboard her until the issue is decided. She'll have to remain in port because while the fighting goes on she cannot load or discharge.”
“I could go to the American consulate,” she suggested.
“You could—but you'll not. That consul would give you up to the first mob that called for you—and I'm not so certain that even the sister of an archtraitor (for patriots and revolutionists are always traitors when they lose) would be safe from the Sarros fury. However, I'm going to see Ricardo tomorrow night and learn the details of his plan of campaign; after that I'll be able to act intelligently.”
CHAPTER XXII
RICARDO RUBY, with Doctor Pacheco and Colonel Caraveo, were engaged in consultation when Jack Webster, having left the Hotel Mateo via his bedroom window in order to avoid possible espionage and made his way to El Buen Amigo on foot, was announced by Mother Jenks. The three conspirators greeted him joyously, as indeed they should, for his loyal friendship had thus far been one of their principal bulwarks.
“Well,” Webster inquired, after greeting them and carefully closing the door behind him, “here I am in Beunaventura, marking time and, like Mr. Micawber, waiting for something to turn up.”
“You will not be required to wait long,” Colonel Caraveo assured him. “Thanks to your kindly offices, the trap is already baited.”
“Our friend Ruey has, since our first meeting, insisted on dispensing with my consent when using me to promote his enterprises, Colonel. Strange to say, I have been unable to berate him for his impudence. I was down at Leber's warehouse this afternoon. You have enough road-making tools consigned to me there to build a pretty fair highway to the gates of the government palace, I should say. I hope you have all pondered the result to me, an innocent bystander, if your enemies should take a notion to open one of those cases of shovels.”
Colonel Caraveo favoured him with a benignant smile. “You forget, my friend, that I am second in command in the Intelligence Department, and that, during the absence of your particular friend Raoul Sarros, in New Orleans, I am first in command. Since I already know what those cases contain, naturally I shall not take the trouble to investigate.”
“Well, that's a comfort, Colonel.”
“You have investigated your mining concession, Webster?” Ricardo Ruey asked.
“You bet.”
“What did you find?”
“A couple of millions in sight.”
Ricardo shook his head slowly. “It is not in sight, old man,” he reminded Webster. “Without our aid—and you cannot have our aid unless our revolution is successful, when you shall have it freely—your millions are, most positively, not in sight. If you want those millions, friend Webster, there is but one way to get them—and that is to close your eyes and play our game to the limit.”
“It seems to me I've been showing a pretty willing spirit right along—and that without being consulted in the matter, Rick:”
“You're one man in a million. I wonder if you'd go further—about forty thousand dollars further, to be exact.”
“I might, but I never go it blind for a wad like that. What's your trouble?”
“The revolution will fail if you decide to deny my request. I realize I have the most amazing presumption to ask anything of you, and yet I am moved to stake my all on your goodness of heart, having already had ample evidence of that goodness. In other words, I am going to apply the old principle of driving a willing horse to death.
“The individual in charge of the funds of the revolutionary junta in New Orleans was murdered last night; the funds were deposited to his credit as agent in a certain bank, and before the junta can obtain legal possession of them again the psychological time for their use will have passed.
“We have a steamer chartered, and two hundred men, whose business it is to fight under any flag at five dollars gold per day and no questions asked, are now marking time on the Isle of Pines, off the coast of Cuba, waiting for our steamer to call for them and land them, with their rifles and ammunition and six seventy-five-millimeter field-guns and some rapid-fire Maxims, at San Bruno, some eighteen miles up the coast from here.
“The guns and munitions are now in Tampa, having been shipped to our agent there on sight draft, with bill of lading attached; the steamer is chartered and en route to Tampa from Norfolk, Virginia, and we must pay the owners ten thousand dollars the day she begins taking on her cargo, and ten thousand dollars before she unloads it on lighters at San Bruno.
“We must also pay two hundred men one month's pay in advance—that is, thirty thousand dollars; we cannot meet this expense and still take up that sight draft now awaiting our attention in the bank at Tampa.
“In return for this favour to the provisional government of Sobrante, you shall have the note of the provisional government, signed by the provisional president, myself, and the provisional cabinet, Doctor Pachecho, Colonel Caraveo, and two other gentlemen whom you will meet in due course unless in the interim they should be killed. And as a bonus for saving this country from a brutal dictator, who is pillaging its resources for his personal profit, you shall have a deed of gift to that mining concession you and your friend Geary are so desirous of working; also the title shall be certified by the government and the Supreme Court of Sobrante and absolutely secured to you against future aggression in the event that the new régime should be overthrown at some future date. Also you have my profound gratitude and that of my people.”
“Tell me your plan of campaign,” Webster suggested.
“In a secret rendezvous in the mountains I have one thousand picked men—my father's veterans. They are armed with modern rifles and machetes. The nitrate company, which has been suffering from heavy export duties imposed by Sarros, would help us financially, I think, but it is not well for a provisional government to begin by asking financial favours of a huge foreign corporation; so, much to the surprise of their local manager, to whom I have confided my plans, I have merely asked for the loan of all the rolling stock of the railroad for one night. It will be mobilized at San Miguel de Padua by next Saturday night; my troops will arrive late the same afternoon and entrain at once.
“In the interim all telephone and telegraph communications with Buenaventura will be severed. The night previous our steamer will have discharged her cargo of men and munitions at San Bruno; a chain of outposts will at once be established and all communication with the capital will be shut off.
“On Saturday night, also, the Consolidated Fruit Company's steamer La Estrellita will make port with thirty Americans in her steerage. These men will be road-makers and miners imported by Mr. J. S. Webster, and in order to make certain that they will come, you have already ordered them by cable. I took the liberty of seeing to it that the cable signed by you was sent to New Orleans several days ago, and as part of the bluff of keeping all of your movements under surveillance, a copy of this cablegram was furnished to the subordinate of our good Colonel Caraveo, charged with reporting on your movements. We have arranged with the port doctor to give La Estrellita a clean bill of health the very night she arrives. Hence the ship's authorities will not be suspicious, I hope, when we remove our men after dark and house them in Leber's warehouse, where they will spend the night unpacking those spades, picks, and shovels of yours and getting the factory grease off them.
“At four o'clock in the morning various citizens of Sobrante, with rebellion in their hearts, will begin to mobilize at Leber's warehouse, where they will be issued rifles and ammunition and where they will wait until the action is opened to the south by the detachment from San Bruno, which, having marched from San Bruno the night before, will have arrived outside, the city, and will be awaiting the signal from me. I will attack from the west—cautiously.
“Now, there are five thousand government troops in the city and in various cantonments on the outskirts. These cantonments are to be rushed and set afire; I figure that the confusion of our sudden attack will create a riot—particularly when I do something that isn't very popular as a war feature down this way, and that is charge—and keep on coming. Down this way, you know, Webster, a battle consists in a horrible wastage of ammunition at long range, and casualties of three killed and twelve wounded. The good, old-fashioned charge isn't to their liking; they hate cold steel.
“These government troops will start to fall back on the city, only to find themselves flanked by a fierce artillery fire from the San Bruno contingent; the troops from the arsenal, the Guards at the palace and the Fifteenth Regiment of Infantry, now stationed at the Cuartel de Infanteria, next the government palace, will be dispatched post haste to repulse the attack, and four hundred men, with the machine-gun company waiting in Leber's warehouse, will promptly move upon them from the rear and capture the arsenal. There are a few thousand rifles and a lot of ammunition stored there; I miss my guess if, as soon as the news of its capture by the rebels spreads through the city (and I shall have men to spread it), I shall not have a few thousand volunteers eager to help overthrow Sarros.
“When the government troops find themselves under the kind of shell-fire I've prepared for them, and with machine guns and Maxims playing on them, in close formation from the rear, they'll surrender in droves—if they live to surrender.
“Once cut off from the arsenal and the palace, Sarros must fight his way out of the city in order to have the slightest chance to suppress the rebellion, for he will have no refuge in the city. And with the railroad and all the rolling stock in our hands, without a commissary for his troops, without a base of supplies, even should the government troops fight their way through, they leave the city in my hands and I'll recruit and arm my men and hunt them down like jack-rabbits at my leisure. Once let the arsenal and the palace fall into my hands, once let me proclaim myself provisional president, once let the people know that Ricardo Ruey, the Beloved, lives again in the person of his son, and I tell you, Webster, this country is saved.”
“You lead the army from San Miguel de Padua, Ricardo. Who leads the detachment from San Bruno?”
“Colonel Caraveo.”
“And the machine-gun company from Leber's warehouse?”
“Doctor Pacheco. How do you like my plan of campaign?”
“It couldn't be any better if I had planned it myself. You might accept my suggestion and armour that little motor truck of mine. It arrived on yesterday's steamer.”
“And some armour sheet steel with it—sheet steel already loopholed for the barrels of the two machine guns it will carry!” Doctor Pacheco cried joyously.
“Have you provided a chauffeur, Doctor?”
“I have—likewise an armoured sheet-steel closet for him to sit in while chauffeuring.”
“Don't forget the oil and gasoline,” Webster cautioned him quizzically.
“How about that loan to the provisional government?” Ricardo demanded pointedly.
Webster did not hesitate. After all, what was money to him now? Moreover, he was between the devil and the deep sea, as it were. Billy had gone away, his hopes raised high, already a millionaire after the fashion of mining men, who are ever ready to count their chicks before they are hatched, provided only they see the eggs. Besides, there was Dolores. Full well Webster realized that Billy, tossed back once more into the jaws of the well-known wolf of poverty, would not have the courage upon his return to Sobrante to ask Dolores to share his poverty with him; should the revolution fail, Ricardo Ruey would be an outcast, a hunted man with a price on his head, and in no position to care for his sister, even should he survive long enough to know he had a sister. Webster thought of her—so sweet, so winsome, so brave and trusting, so worthy of all that the world might hold for her of sweetness and comfort. She would be alone in the world if he, John Stuart Webster, failed her now—more than ever she needed a man's strength and affection to help her navigate the tide-rips of life, for life to a woman, alone and unprotected and dependent upon her labour for the bread she must eat, must contain, at best, a full measure of terror and despair and loneliness. He pictured her through a grim processional of years of skimping and petty sacrifices—and all because he, John Stuart Webster, had hesitated to lend a dreamer and an idealist a paltry forty thousand dollars without security.
No, there was no alternative. As they say in Mexico, Ricardo had him tiron, meaning there was no escape. If his friendship for Billy was worth a sou, it was worth forty thousand dollars; if his silent, unrequited love for Dolores Ruey was worthy of her, no sacrifice on his part could be too great, provided it guaranteed her happiness.
“Ruined again,” he sighed. “This is only another of those numerous occasions when the tail goes with the hide. How soon do you want the money?”
Ricardo Luiz Ruey leaned forward and gazed very earnestly at John Stuart Webster. “Do you really trust me that much, my friend?” he asked feelingly. “Remember, I am asking you for forty thousand dollars on faith.”
“Old sport,” John Stuart Webster answered, “you went overboard in Buenaventura harbour and took a chance among those big, liver-coloured, hammerheaded sharks. And you did that because you had a cause you thought worth dying for. I never knew a man who had a cause that was worth dying for who would even espouse a cause worth swindling for. You win—only I want you to understand one thing, Ricardo: I'm not doing this for the sake of saving that mining concession the Sarros government gave my friend Geary. I'm above doing a thing like this for money—for myself. It seems to me I must do it to guarantee the happiness of two people I love: my friend Geary and the girl he's going to marry. I reject your promissory note and your promise of a deed of gift for that concession, and accept only your gratitude. There are no strings to this loan, because it isn't a loan at all. It's a bet. If you lose, I'll help you get out of the country and absolve you of any indebtedness to me. We'll just make a new book and start making bets all over again, Rick. However, if you should win, I know you'll reimburse me from the national treasury.”
“And you do not desire a bonus?”
“Nothing that will cost the citizens of this country one penny of their heritage. I'm going to bet this money—bet it, understand, not loan it, because a loan predicates repayment at some future date, and for the sake of my self-respect as a business man I'd hate to make a bum loan of that magnitude on no security. However, if you want to be a sport and grant me a little favour in return, you can.”
“Name it, friend.”
“As soon as you have been recognized by the United States, I want you to have your ambassador in Washington make representations to my government that the present American consul in Sobrante is not acceptable to your government. That fellow is a disgrace to my native land and I want him fired.”
“It shall be my first official act after freeing my country from a tyrant's yoke.”
“Another little favour also, Ricardo.” This time Webster spoke in English.
“Eire away.”
“After I give you this money, I don't want the Doctor and the Colonel to kiss me to show how grateful they are.”
“You wonderful fellow! Jack Webster, if I had a sister I should want her to marry you.”
“Shows how little you'd think of your sister—staking her to a sentimental jackass. Shall I cable the money to New Orleans in the morning? I have a letter of credit for my entire bank-roll, and I can give a draft at the Banco Nacional, and have them cable a New Orleans bank.”
“That will do very nicely.”
“To whom shall I cable the money?”
“Send it to the Picayune National Bank of New Orleans, with instructions to credit account Number 246, J. E. P., trustee. In this little game we are playing, my friend, it is safer to deal in numbers and initials rather than names. The local cable office leaks quite regularly.”
“Very well, Ricardo, I'll attend to it first thing in the morning. Where are you going to armour that motor truck?”
“If you'll have it run over to the nitrate company's machine shop at the railway terminus the foreman there will attend to the job and keep the truck under cover until Friday night, when they'll run it back to Leber's warehouse for the machine guns Sunday morning.”
“Is Leber in on this deal?”
“He is not. What Leber doesn't know will not worry him. He doesn't live in his warehouse, you know. We're just going to take possession after dark, when the water-front is absolutely deserted. There's a concert on the Malecon that night, and everybody who can ride or walk will be out there listening to it.”
Webster nodded his approval of Ricardo's clever plans. “All right, old man, go to it and win, or there'll be several new faces whining around the devil, not the least of which will be mine. When you charge, remember you're charging for my forty thousand dollars—and go through with it. I worked rather hard for that forty thousand, and if I must lose it, I do not want to do it in a half-hearted fight. Give me, at least, a bloody run for my money. I'll have a reserved seat somewhere watching the game.”
“If you'll take my advice, you'll go aboard La Estrellita and stay there until the issue is decided. When the first gun is fired, it signals the open season on mining engineers who butt in on affairs of state.”
“What! And me with a healthy bet down on the result! I hope I'm a better sport than that.”
“You're incorrigible. Be careful, then, and don't get yourself potted by a stray bullet. When these brownies of mine get excited, they shoot at every head in sight.”
“Shall I see you fellows before the blow-off?”
“I scarcely think so.”
“Then if you're through with me, I'll bid you all good-bye and good luck. I'll have dinner with you in the palace Sunday evening.”
“Taken.”
“May I bring a guest?”
“By all means.”
Webster shook hands with the trio and departed for his hotel. For the first time in many years he was heavy of heart, crushed. “Neddy Jerome was right,” he soliloquized. “This is the last place on earth for me to have come to. I've made Neddy sore on me, and he's lost patience and put another man in the job he promised me; I've raised Billy's hopes sky-high and had to bet forty thousand dollars to keep them there; I've been fool enough to fall in love with my friend's fiancée; I'm a human cat's-paw, and the finest thing I can do now is to go out next Sunday morning with that machine-gun company from Leber's warehouse and get killed. And I would, too, in a holy second, if killing a dozen of these spiggoties were part of a mining engineer's business. I just don't belong in this quarrel and I cannot kill for pleasure or profit. All I get out of this deal is gratitude and empty honour, where I dreamed of love and a home in my old age. John Stuart Webster, the family friend! Well, after all, it isn't every old sour-dough that has an opportunity to be a liberator, and even if I have lost Dolores, I have this melancholy satisfaction: I have a rattling good chance of getting that scrubby American consul.”
CHAPTER XXIII
THE following morning Webster informed Dolores fully of his interview with her brother and his confrères the night before, concealing from her only the fact that he was financing the revolution and his reasons for financing it. He was still depressed, and Dolores, observing his mood, forbore to intrude upon it. Intuitively she realized that when a man is worried and harassed by matters he cannot or dares hot divulge, he dislikes being talked to, but prefers to be alone and wrestle with them in silence. Accordingly she claimed the prerogative of her sex—a slight headache—and retreated to her room, In the privacy of which she was suddenly very much surprised to find herself weeping softly because John Stuart Webster was unhappy and didn't deserve to be.
It was impossible, however, for Webster long to remain impervious to the note of ridiculousness underlying the forthcoming tragic events. Here was a little two-by-four poverty-stricken hot-bed of ignorance and intrigue calling itself a republic, a little stretch of country no larger than a couple of big western counties, about to indulge in the national pastime of civil war and unable to do it except by grace of an humble citizen of a sister republic!
Five thousand ignorant, ill-equipped, ill-drilled semi-brigands calling themselves soldiers, entrusted with the task of enabling one of their number to ride, horse and dog, over a million people!
How farcical! No wonder Ricardo, with his northern viewpoint, approached his patriotic task with gayety, almost with contempt. And when Webster recalled that the about-to-be-born provisional government had casually borrowed from him the sum of forty thousand dollars in order to turn the trick—borrowing it, forsooth, in much the same spirit as a commuter boarding his train without the necessary fare hails a neighbour and borrows ten cents—his natural optimism asserted itself and he chuckled as in fancy he heard himself telling the story to Neddy Jerome and being branded a liar for his pains.
“Well, I've had one comfort ever since I first saw that girl,” he reflected philosophically. “While I've never been so unhappy in all my life before, or had to tear my soul out by the roots so often, things have been coming my way so fast from other directions that I haven't had much opportunity to dwell on the matter. And for these compensating offsets, good Lord, I thank thee.”
He was John Stuart Webster again when Dolores saw him next; during the succeeding days his mood of cheerfulness and devil-may-care indifference never left him. And throughout that period of marking time Dolores was much in his society, a condition which he told himself was not to his liking but which, nevertheless, he could not obviate without seeming indifferent to her happiness. And to permit his friend's fiancee to languish in loneliness and heart-break did not appear to John Stuart Webster as the part of a true friend or a courtly gentleman—and he remembered that she had once called him that.
They rode together in the cool of the morning; they drove together on the Malecon in the cool of the evening; chaperoned by Don Juan Cafetéro and a grinning Sobrantean, they went shark-fishing in Leber's launch; they played dominoes together; they discussed, throughout the long, lazy, quiet afternoons, when the remainder of their world retired for the siesta, books, art, men, women, and things.
And not once, throughout those two weeks of camaraderie, did the heart-racked Webster forget for a single instant that he was the new friend, destined to become the old friend; never, to the girl's watchful eyes, did he betray the slightest disposition to establish their friendly relations on a closer basis.
Thus did the arrival of The Day find them. Toward sunset they rode out together along the bay shore and noted far out to sea the smear of smoke that marked the approach of La Estrellita—on schedule time. As they jogged homeward in the dusk, her red and green side-lights were visible as she crept into the harbour; above the sobbing murmur of the Caribbean wavelets they heard the scream of her winches and the rattle of chain as her anchor bit the bottom.
“You will go aboard her to-night,” Webster said very quietly to Dolores.
“And you?”
“I shall go aboard with you. I have arranged with Don Juan for him to stay ashore and to come out in Leber's launch with the first reliable news of the conflict. If Ricardo wins the city, he wins the revolution, and you and I will then go ashore—to dine with him in the palace. If he loses the city, he loses the revolution, and we will both do well to remain aboard La Estrellita.”
“And in that event, what will become of my brother?”
“I do not know; I forgot to ask him, but if he survives, I imagine he'll have sense enough to know he's whipped and will retreat on San Bruno, fighting a rear-guard action, embark aboard the steamer that brought his men there, and escape.”
“But he has so few men,” she quavered.
“Two hundred of them are white soldiers of fortune—and you must remember how Walker manhandled Nicaragua with that number of men.”
“I'm worried about Mother Jenks.”
“I have asked Mother Jenks to dine with us at seven-thirty this evening, and have ordered a carriage to call for her. When she comes I'll tell her everything; then, if she wishes to stay ashore, let her. She's been through more than one such fracas and doesn't mind them at all, I dare say.”
And in this Webster was right. Mother Jenks listened in profound silence, nodding her approval, as Webster related to her the story of the advent in the country of Ricardo Ruey and his plans, but without revealing the identity of Andrew Bowers.
At the conclusion of his recital the old publican merely said: “Gor' bli' me!”
After a silence she added: “My sainted 'Enery used to s'y the proper hodds for a white man in a bally row o' this nature was forty to one. 'The spiggoty,' says 'e, shoots from 'is 'ip, but the wisitin' brother's spent 'is 'prenticeship at the butts some-w'ere or other an' 'as bloomin' well learned to sight an' 'old his breath 'arf in an' 'arf out when 'e pulls. Gor', but how my sainted 'Enery would henjoy bein' 'ere this night to 'elp with the guns.” She sighed.
“How about a little bottle of wine to drink peace to your sainted Henry and luck to The Cause?” Webster suggested.
“That's wot I calls talkin',” Mother Jenks responded promptly, and Webster, gazing reflectively at the old lady's beard, wondered why she had not been born a man.
Dolores, fearful for her benefactor's safety, urged Mother Jenks to accompany them out aboard La Estrellita, but the old dame indignantly refused, and when pressed for a reason gave it with the utmost frankness: “They'll be tykin' Sarros, an' when they tyke 'im they'll back him ag'in the same wall he backed my sainted 'Enery and your father against, my dear. I've a notion that your father's son 'll let Mrs. Colonel 'Enery Jenks come to the party.”
At ten o'clock Webster accompanied Mother Jenks home in the carriage, which he dismissed at El Buen Amigo—with instructions to return to the hotel while he continued afoot down the Calle San Rosario to the bay, where Leber's huge corrugated-iron warehouse loomed darkly above high-water mark. If there was light within, it was not visible, but Webster, pausing and listening at one corner of the great structure, could hear the confused murmur of many voices, with an occasional hearty oath in English rising above the murmur.
He slipped along in the deep shadow of the warehouse wall and out on the end of the little dock, where he satisfied himself that Leber's launch was at its moorings; then he went back to the warehouse and whistled softly, whereupon a man crawled out from under the structure and approached him. It was Don Juan Cafetéro.
“They're all inside,” he whispered and laid finger on lip. “A lad came down at eight o'clock, took Leber's launch an' wint out to the steamer afther thim. They got in half an hour ago, an' divil a sowl the wiser save meself.”
“Thank you, John. Now that I know the coast is clear and the launch ready, I'll go back to the hotel for Miss Ruey.”
“Very well, sor,” Don Juan replied, and crawled back under the warehouse.
Half an hour later the sound of hoofbeats warned him of the approach of Webster and Dolores in a carriage, and he came forth, loaded in the launch such baggage as they had been enabled to bring, and held the gunwale of the boat while his passengers stepped aboard.
While Don Juan cast off the painter, Webster primed the motor and turned it over; with a snort it started, and under Webster's guidance the launch backed swiftly out into the bay, where Don Juan lighted the side-lights and riding-light, and loafed off into the darkness.
About a half a mile off shore Webster throttled down the motor until the launch barely made steerage way. “It would never do to go aboard the steamer before the fracas started ashore,” he explained to Dolores. “That would indicate a guilty knowledge of coming events, and in the event of disaster to the rebel arms it is just possible Senor Sarros might have pull enough, if he hears of our flight six hours in advance of hostilities, to take us off the steamer and ask us to explain. So we'll just cruise slowly around and listen; the attack will come just before dawn; then shortly thereafter we can scurry out to the steamer and be welcomed aboard for the sake of the news we bring.”
She did not answer, and Webster knew her thoughts were out where the arc-lights on the outskirts of Buenaventura met the open country—out where the brother she could scarcely remember and whom, until a month previous, she had believed dead, would shortly muster his not too numerous followers.
In the darkness Webster could hear the click of her beads as she prayed; on the turtle deck forward.
Don Juan Cafetéro sprawled, thinking perchance of his unlovely past and wondering what effect the events shortly to transpire ashore would have on his future. He wished Webster would relent and offer him a drink some time within the next twenty-four hours. In times of excitement like the present a man needs a drop to brace him up.
Five times the launch slipped lazily down the harbour along the straggling two mile water-front; five times it loafed back. The moon, which was in the first quarter, sank. For the hundredth time Don Juan Cafetéro chanted dolorously “The Death of Sarsfield” and the tuneful glories of the late O'Donnel Abu—and then to Webster's alert ear there floated across the still waters the sound of a gentle purring—the music of an auto-truck. He set the launch in toward Leber's little dock, and presently they saw the door of Leber's warehouse open. Men with lanterns streamed forth, lighting the way for others who bore between them heavy burdens.
“They're emplacing the machine guns in the motor-truck,” he whispered to Dolores. “We will not have to wait long now. It's nearly four o'clock.”
Again they backed out into the bay until they could see far out over the sleeping city to the hills beyond in the west. Presently along the side of those hills the headlight of a locomotive crept, dropping swiftly down grade until it disappeared in the lowlands.
A half-hour passed; then to the south of the city a rocket flared skyward; almost instantly another flared from the west, followed presently by a murmur, scarcely audible, as of a muffled snare drum, punctuated presently by a louder, sharper, insistent puck-puch-puch-puch that, had Webster but known it, was the bark of a Maxim-Vickers rapid-fire gun throwing a stream of shells into the cantonments of the government troops on the fringe of the city.
Webster's pulse quickened. He was possessed of that feeling which actuates a small boy to follow the fire-engines. “There goes the 'tillery to the south, sor,” Don Juan called, and even as he spoke, a shell burst gloriously over the government palace, the white walls of which were already looming over the remainder of the city, now faintly visible in the approaching dawn.
“That was to awaken our friend Sarros,” Webster cried. “I'll bet a buffalo nickel that woke the old horsethief up. There's another—and another.” The uproar swelled, the noise gradually drifting around the city from west to south, forming, seemingly, a semicircle of sound. “The government troops are up and doing now,” Webster observed, and speeded up his motor. “I think it high time we played the part of frightened refugees. When that machine-gun company with its infantry escort starts up through the city from Leber's warehouse it may encounter early opposition—and I've heard that Mauser bullets kill at three miles. Some strays may drop out here in the bay.”
He speeded the launch toward La Estrellita, and as the craft scraped in alongside the great steamer's companion landing, her skipper ran down the ladder to greet them and inquire eagerly of the trend of events ashore.
“We left in a hurry the instant it started,” Webster explained. “As Americans, we didn't figure we had any interest in that scrap, either way.” He handed Dolores out on the landing stage, tossed their baggage after her and followed; Don Juan took the wheel, and the launch slid out and left them there.
At the head of the companion ladder Webster paused and turned for another look at Buenaventura. To the west three great fires now threw a lurid light skyward, mocking an equally lurid light to the east, that marked the approach of daylight. He smiled. “Those are the cantonment barracks burning,” he whispered to Dolores. “Ricardo is keeping his word. He's driving the rats back into their own holes.”