The Buccaneer Farmer Part 20

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

He drank and then held his gla.s.s 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 gla.s.s 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 n.o.body 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 gla.s.s 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, a.s.sa.s.sination 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 embarra.s.sment. "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...o...b..rn 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 s.p.a.ce 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.