The Buccaneer Farmer Part 31

It was dark when he heard breakers and saw the glimmer of surf. There were shoals all round him, but he had been told about a bay where a creek flowed through a sheltered channel. He did not know if he could find the channel, and if not the boat might be wrecked, but something must be left to luck and they pulled on before the curling swell. She struck, and stopped until a comber rolled up astern. It broke and half buried her in rushing foam, but she lifted, lurched ahead, and did not strike again.

The men were nearly knee-deep as they baled the water out and one was afterwards idle because his oar had gone. In spite of this, they made the creek and drifted quietly into the gloom of the mangroves with the flowing tide.

After a time, the water got shallow and they pushed her across the mud while leaves and rotting branches floated up the creek. No light pierced the forest, and the feeble beam of Kit's lantern scarcely touched the shadowy trunks that moved past until they came to an opening. Kit thought this was the spot he had been told about and turned the boat. She would not float to the bank and he and his four men got out and lifted the coffin. They sank in treacherous mud, but reached a belt of sand riddled by land-crab's holes. All was very quiet except for the ripple of the tide and the noise made by the scuttling crabs. The sand, however, was dry and warm and they sat down to wait for morning when the boat went away.

CHAPTER X

THE ROAD TO THE MISSION

The sun was high when Kit and his tired men reached the village. He was wet with sweat and the moisture that had dripped upon him from the leaves in the early morning, and the men gasped when they put down their load.

Two wore greasy engine-room overalls, and two ragged suits of duck; their soft hats were stained and battered and they looked like ruffians.

Although Mayne paid good wages, respectable seamen avoided the _Rio Negro_ and her crew were, as a rule, accustomed to fight with knives and sandbags on disorderly water-fronts. Now they carried pistols, hidden as far as possible, but ready for use.

Small, square mud houses occupied the hole in the forest. Where the plaster had not fallen off, their white fronts were dazzling, but they were dirty and ruinous and the narrow street was strewn with decaying rubbish. Although the _pueblo_ had once prospered under Spanish rule, it was now inhabited by languid half-breeds of strangely mixed blood, engaged in smuggling and revolutionary plots. They stood about the doorways, barefooted and ragged, watching Kit with furtive black eyes.

"I want porters and a guide to the mission," he told the _patron_, who lounged against a wall smoking a cigar.

"It is a long way, senor, and the road is bad. Besides, one cannot travel when the sun is high."

"The road is, no doubt, safer then than in the dark."

"That is true," agreed the other with a philosophic shrug. "The country is disturbed."

"I must start at once," Kit said firmly. "I am willing to pay for the risk."

The _patron_ spoke to the others in a harsh dialect, but none of the loafing figures moved.

"They say the risk is great," he remarked. "There has been fighting and the president's soldiers are in the woods."

"The president's soldiers will not meddle with us," Kit answered, incautiously.

For a moment the half-breed's eyes were keen, but his dark face resumed its inscrutable look.

"Then the senor is a friend of the president's?"

"If we meet his soldiers, they will let me pa.s.s."

"The soldiers are not the worst. There are the _rurales_; men without shame, who shoot and ask no questions. However, we will see if I can find porters, if the senor will wait until the afternoon."

Kit distrusted the fellow and thought he had an object for putting off the start. He had been warned that the _Meztisos_ sympathized with the rebels, and imagined that his party's safety depended on its speed. But he did not want to look impatient, and, imitating the other's carelessness, sat down and lighted a cigarette while he pondered. To begin with, he suspected that the _patron_ would prevent his meeting any of the president's soldiers who might be about, and it would be prudent to finish his business and get back to the ship before Galdar knew he was in the woods. His men claimed to be American citizens and Mayne knew where he had gone, but the latter's statements might be doubted if the party disappeared. It was known that Askew was engaged in a risky trade and the captain's story would look more romantic than plausible.

Kit saw he must depend upon his own resources and presently noted that a man was leaving the village. The fellow kept behind the group in the street as far as he could and moved quickly. There was something stealthy about his movements and when he looked back, as if to see if Kit were watching, the latter got up.

"Stop that man," he said.

"But he is going to his work, senor," the _patron_ objected.

"In this country, one does not work while the sun is high," said Kit, who rather ostentatiously pulled out his pistol. "Call him back!"

The _patron_ shouted and the man returned, but Kit kept his pistol in his hand.

"n.o.body must leave the _pueblo_ until I start," he said. "I want porters and am willing to pay."

"Very well," the patron agreed, shrugging. "Perhaps I can find a few men, but they will want the money before they go."

For a time, Kit bargained. The sailors were tired, and few white men are capable of much exertion in the tropic swamps. He must have help, and doubting if the _Meztisos_ could be trusted, thought it best to offer a sum that would excite their greed, but stipulated that half would not be paid until they returned. When the _patron_ was satisfied Kit turned to the sailors.

"You'll have to hustle, boys," he said. "The sooner we make the mission, the sooner we'll get back, and I reckon n.o.body wants to stop in these swamps. There's something beside your wages coming to you."

"That's all right, boss," one replied. "The old man drove hard, but he paid well and he was white. You can go ahead; we'll put the job over."

The peons took up the stretcher-poles lashed to the coffin, a relief party went behind and they set off. n.o.body spoke and the _Meztisos'_ bare feet fell silently on the hot sand, although Kit heard the dragging tramp of the sailors' muddy boots. In the open s.p.a.ce round the village, the sun burned their skin and they pushed on as fast as possible for the twilight of the woods.

Here and there a bright gleam pierced the gloom, but for the most part deep shadow filled the gaps between the trunks. Creepers laced the great cottonwoods, tangled vines crawled about their tall, b.u.t.tressed roots, and hung in festoons from the giant branches. Some of the trees were rotten and orchids covered their decay with fantastic bloom. The forest smelt like a hothouse, but the smell had an unwholesome sourness. Growth ran riot; green things shot up, choked each other, and sank in fermenting corruption.

Kit did not know if it was a relief to escape from the glare of the clearing or not. The sun no longer burned him, but he could hardly breathe the humid air, and effort was almost impossible.

All the same, he pushed on, floundering in muddy pools and sinking in belts of mire. The road had been made long since, by slave labor, when the Spaniards ruled, and had fallen into ruin, like the country, when their yoke was broken. Kit could trace the ancient causeway across the swamps and wondered when another strong race would put their stamp on the land. The descendants of the conquerors had sunk into apathetic sloth; the blood of the dark-skinned peoples that ran in their veins had quenched the old Castilian fire.

When the light was fading, the porters declared the swamps in front were dangerous and put down their load, and after some trouble the white men lighted a fire. A heavy dew began to drip from the leaves and the blaze was comforting in the gloom that swiftly settled down. Kit had brought a piece of tarpaulin and spread it between the roots of a cottonwood. He did not mean to go to sleep, but his head ached and he was worn out by physical effort and anxious watching. By and by his eyes got heavy and he sank down in a corner of the great roots.

The fire had burned low when he looked up and a bright beam that touched a neighboring trunk indicated that the moon was high. All was very quiet but for the splash of the falling dew; the glade was a little brighter, and rousing himself with an effort, he glanced about. He saw the white men's figures, stretched in ungainly att.i.tudes on a piece of old canvas.

They were all there, but he could not see the _Meztisos_. Getting up, he walked into the gloom and then stopped with something of a shock. There was n.o.body about.

For a few moments, Kit thought hard. To begin with, he had been rash to pay half the porters' wages before they started. The money was a large sum for them and they had stolen away; perhaps because they were satisfied and afraid of meeting the president's soldiers, or perhaps to betray the party to the rebels for another reward. If the latter supposition were correct, Kit thought he ran some risk. Galdar's friends knew he could not be bribed and that Adam was ill, although it was hardly possible they knew he was dead. They would see that Kit had now control and since his help was valuable to the president might try to kill him.

His best plan was to push on.

He wakened the sailors, who grumbled, but picked up the coffin when he tersely explained the situation. Wet bushes brushed against them, soaking their thin clothes, trailers caught their heads, and the road got wetter and rougher until they came to a creek. Kit could not tell how deep it was; the forest was very dark and only a faint reflection marked the water.

"We must get across, boys," he said, and the others agreed. They were hard men, but the dark and silence weighed them down and excited vague superst.i.tious fears. It was a gruesome business in which they were engaged and they did not like their load.

They plunged in and one called out hoa.r.s.ely when he stumbled and the lurching coffin struck his head. Another gasped, as if he were choking, while he struggled to balance the poles. The current rippled round their legs; it was hard to pull their feet out of the mud, and when there was a splash in the dark they stopped, dripping with sweat that was not altogether caused by effort. One swore at the others in a breathless voice.

"Shove on, you slobs!" he said. "The old man's getting heavier while you stop. I want to dump him and be done with the job. Guess I've had enough."

Splashing and stumbling, they went forward and when they struggled up the bank Kit wiped his wet face. For a moment or two he had thought the men would drop their load and as it jolted, vague and black, on their shoulders, the creaking of the poles had jarred his nerves. He was going to keep his promise, but he sympathized with the man who had had enough.

After they left the creek, the road got very bad and in places vanished in belts of swamp. They sank in mud and stagnant water and no light pierced the daunting gloom, but it was not hard to keep the proper line, because one could not enter the jungle without a cutla.s.s to clear a path.

At length, when the men were exhausted, the trees got thinner and the moonlight shining through touched the front of a ruined building. The rest was indistinct, but the building was large and had evidently belonged to a sugar or coffee planter. The sailors stopped and Kit studied a gap in the wall.

The gap did not look inviting and there were, no doubt, snakes and poisonous spiders inside, but he could go no farther and the broken walls offered some protection. Perhaps Kit was moved by an atavistic fear of the dark forest, and he owned that he was influenced by the civilized man's longing for the shelter of a house. They went in, and after putting down the coffin in a room where vines crawled about the ruined wall, the sailors entered the next. One frankly stated that they wanted to get away from the coffin; Kit could stop and watch it if he liked, but it bothered them to have the thing about.

Kit let them go, and sitting down in a corner among the rubbish lighted a cigar. A moonbeam rested on the opposite wall and the room was not dark.

Some light came in through holes, although there was impenetrable gloom beyond the door by which the men had gone. He could see the wet leaves of the vines, and the black coffin, covered by the flag. But he was not afraid of it; the man who lay there had been his friend and claimed the fulfilment of his promise.

At the same time, it was soothing to hear the sailors' voices, until they got faint and stopped. Afterwards the silence was burdensome, although a small creature began to rustle in the wall. Kit did not know if it was a snake or a spider, and was too tired to feel disturbed. By and by his cigar fell from his mouth. He picked it up, but it fell again and his head drooped.