The Coast of Adventure Part 41

"To me it is equal where the senor goes, so long as I am paid for the days we spend upon the road."

"Very well," said Cliffe, taking out a handful of silver. "Do you know Don Martin Sarmiento?"

The peon looked doubtful, and Cliffe saw that, as he had suspected, the fellow had some dealings with the President's enemies.

"Don Martin is known to many," he replied cautiously.

Cliffe jingled the silver and awkwardly explained that he was no longer a friend of the President's and wished to see Sarmiento as soon as he could.

For a time the muleteer did not speak; then he looked up with an air of decision.

"It may be difficult, senor, but we will try," he said, and jerking the pack-mule's bridle abruptly left the road.

They pa.s.sed through a coffee plantation and a field of sugar-cane, and then as they reached thick forest the muleteer stopped and indicated the road that wound in loops down the hillside.

"It is well the President should think we have gone that way," he remarked with a smile. "He has, no doubt, been told how we left the town."

Cliffe looked back across the wide sweep of sun-scorched country to the s.h.i.+ning streak on the horizon. His path led into the mountains and he longed for the sea. Then he thought of Grahame and wondered where he was. Cliffe felt sure the man would help him if he knew his need. He was beginning to suspect what business Grahame had on the coast. He asked his guide about the _Enchantress_, but the fellow did not seem to understand, and it was obvious that he had not heard of Grahame. Then Cliffe urged his mule on and plunged into the steamy shade.

Two days later they rode into a deep gorge filled with giant, creeper-festooned trees, and the guide moved forward slowly, glancing into the shadow that shut in the winding track. It appeared that his caution was justified, for presently a hoa.r.s.e voice bade them halt, and as they pulled up two men with rifles stepped out into the sunlight.

For some time the muleteer disputed with them, using emphatic gestures and pointing to Cliffe; and then he went on with one while the other sat down watching the American, with his rifle across his knees. It was very hot, for the sun struck down through an opening in the branches, but although the perspiration dripped from him Cliffe did not think it wise to move. Indeed, he was glad that his mule stood quiet, whisking off the flies.

At last some one called in the forest and Cliffe's guard told him to ride on, though the man followed at a short distance, as if to prevent his escape. A few hundred yards farther on, the gorge widened into a level hollow, and Cliffe saw that he was in a camp.

It was not marked by military order. Men of various shades of color lay about, smoking cigarettes. Some were barefooted, and most were poorly dressed, but all wore red sashes, and good rifles lay ready to their hands. They looked more like brigands than soldiers, and it was hard to imagine they had been drilled, but while their att.i.tudes were slackly negligent, their faces were resolute. In the background, climbing forest, choked with fallen trees and trailing vines, rolled up the steep hillside. It was very hot, and the hum of insects mingled with the sound of drowsy voices.

Two men, better dressed than the others, came forward, and Cliffe dismounted and followed them to a seat in the shadow, where they gave him some cigarettes.

"Now, senor, you will tell us why you came here," said one.

Cliffe had not expected to be addressed in good English, and he looked at the man with surprise.

The Spaniard smiled.

"With us, the consequences of trying to serve one's country is that one finds it safer to live somewhere else. But we will keep to the point."

"I am looking for Don Martin Sarmiento," Cliffe said. "I expect you know where he is."

"That is so, but it would be difficult to reach him, and we leave this place to-night. In fact, it is hard to see what we ought to do with you, but it might help if you told us what your business is with Don Martin."

"I guess you're surprised I should want to see him," Cliffe remarked with some dryness.

"It is natural," said the other. "We know you are a friend of the President's, and we suspect that you have been financing him. The money you gave him would be used to put us down."

Cliffe thought for a few moments. The man seemed a person of some consequence, and apparently commanded the band of rebels. His permission must be obtained before Cliffe could proceed, and since he meant to ask Don Martin's help there was, perhaps, no cause for reticence.

"Very well," he said. "I will tell you why I am going to your leader."

He related what had led to his quarrel with the President, and when he had finished, the man translated the narrative to his comrade.

"It is fortunate, senor, you refused the loan, because you will never get the concessions; Altiera's rule will be over in a day or two. But you believed him when he said he did not know where your daughter is?"

"Yes. He seemed to speak without thinking, and was sorry afterward."

"Then, as the senorita is not in his hands, she is probably in ours, but our forces are scattered, and at present we cannot make inquiries.

However, I imagine you will find her quickest by remaining with us--and you will excuse my saying that it would not suit us to let you go. If you were seized by the President's soldiers, he might make some use of you. Have I your promise that you will not try to escape?"

Although the man was courteous, Cliffe thought an attempt to run away would lead to trouble, but this was not what decided him to stay. He had been bred to business, but now deep-rooted impulses were stirring. The President and Gomez had cheated him, and he felt very sore about it, but they had, moreover, carried off and, no doubt, terrorized Evelyn. The thought of this filled him with a fierce desire to get even with them.

"Senores," he said grimly, "you not only have my word not to attempt to escape but you have my pledge to help you in every way I can."

"We start for Rio Frio to-night," the rebel answered in a significant tone.

"Good!" Cliffe said, and glanced about at the little groups of determined looking men. "I'll confess I'm curious to know how you got such good rifles," he added.

The rebel studied him keenly for a moment; and seemed satisfied.

"A countryman of yours bought and landed them for us in small quant.i.ties."

"Grahame!" Cliffe exclaimed, and laughed, for he found the situation ironically humorous. He liked Grahame, and suspected that Evelyn was interested in him; and now it was obvious that the man had helped the revolutionaries to ruin his plans.

"I know him," he said. "As a matter of fact, he's an Englishman."

"At present he is Gomez's prisoner. That is one reason we strike the first blow at Rio Frio."

"Ah! Well, if you mean to rescue him, you can rely on my doing the best I can."

The rebel changed the subject, but Cliffe imagined he had gained his confidence. He was invited to the officers' frugal four o'clock dinner, and afterward sat talking with them while the shadows filled the hollow.

Although still anxious about Evelyn, he felt less disturbed, and was sensible of a strange but pleasant thrill. Feelings he thought he had long grown out of were reawakening; there would be no more trucking with the rogues who had cheated him and carried off his daughter. When they next met, he would demand satisfaction with a rifle in his hands. Cliffe admitted that there was something rather absurd and barbarous in the pleasure the thought of the meeting afforded him, but, for all that, the adventure he was embarking on had a strong attraction.

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE PRESIDENT'S DESPATCHES

The sun had set when Walthew urged his worn-out mule up a narrow track that twisted along the hillside through thick timber. The evening was very dark, and thin mist drifted among the giant trees. Creepers streamed down from their interlacing boughs, damp brush projected from the sides of the trail, and Walthew growled savagely when he was buffeted by cl.u.s.ters of dewy leaves. His head ached, the perspiration dripped from his hot face, and he was sore in every limb, while he found the steamy atmosphere almost unbreathable.

The cut on his head was healing, but after a long, forced march from the coast, he had at sunrise left the camp where he and the revolutionaries had spent the night. The country ahead was reported to be watched by the President's soldiers, and as the party was not strong enough to fight, they had separated, hoping to slip past the pickets singly and meet at a rendezvous agreed upon. Walthew reached the spot without being molested, but although he waited for an hour n.o.body else arrived. It seemed possible, however, that he had mistaken the place, and he determined to push on to Rio Frio, trusting that his companions would rejoin him there. He had been told that as the President had dealings with foreigners he might be allowed to pa.s.s by any soldiers he fell in with when they saw he was an American.

He was, however, still a long way from Rio Frio, his mule was exhausted, and he doubted if he were going the right way. There was nothing to be seen but shadowy trunks that loomed through the mist a yard or two off, and faint specks of phosph.o.r.escent light where the fireflies twinkled.

Rocking in his saddle with a painful jar, Walthew thought that if the jaded beast stumbled again as badly it would come down, and he half decided to dismount. He felt that he would be safer on his feet; but the mule, recovering, turned abruptly without his guiding it, and a few moments later the darkness grew thinner.

The trees now rose on one side in a dense, black ma.s.s, the ground was more level, and Walthew saw that the animal had struck into a road that led through a clearing. He followed it, in the hope that there was a _hacienda_ near, and soon a light shone in the distance. The mule now needed no urging, and in a few minutes a building of some size loomed against the sky. Walthew rode up to it, and as he reached the arched entrance to the _patio_ a man appeared, while another man moved softly behind him as if to cut off his retreat.