Wyndham's Pal Part 39

"Do you want help?" he asked. "Can you hold her?"

"I think I can," said Wyndham, with an exultant note in his voice. "We have sailed some hard races, Bob, but none for a stake like this. If the masts will stand, she must go to-night!"

Marston nodded. "Looks as if we ought to win! I imagine the tug is not in harbor and Don Ramon is comfortably persuaded we're asleep at the mission. When he finds we're not, we'll be a long way off. I don't suppose they can march the troops to the port and embark them before it's dark." He paused and laughed when he resumed: "His promise to send the port-captain orders to let us go if we told him when we wanted to sail was clever. He knew, of course, we couldn't do so."

He sat down on a coil of rope and lighted his pipe. Now the long strain was over, a reaction had begun. His head was heavy; he felt very tired and limp. Showers of spray blew about and when he began to get wet he thought he would go to the cabin and study the chart. It was plain that they could not leave the schooner at the lagoon; besides a little mental exercise might rouse him.

When he lighted the lamp he found he could not see the small figures on the chart. His eyes and brain were dull, for two nights and a day of effort and suspense had worn him out. The coast-line, however, was clearly marked and indicated a number of bays and inlets. So far as Marston could remember, they were bordered by mangrove swamps with dark forest behind. Looking up at the compa.s.s, which was fixed in the skylight and allowed the glow of the binnacle lamp to shine through, he tried to calculate where Wyndham was steering. He could not fix the course within two or three points and presently gave it up. Then his head dropped forward, the chart fell on the floor, and sinking down on the locker cushion, he fell asleep.

CHAPTER X

THE BAT OWNS DEFEAT

At daybreak Wyndham entered the cabin and wakened Marston. The latter yawned, stretched his arms, and glanced at the compa.s.s.

"It's getting light. I expect I've been asleep," he said. "Where are we heading?"

Wyndham picked up the chart and indicated a spot. "This bay. She has made a good run, although the wind has nearly gone."

"You know where to find the Bat, I think?"

"I have a notion," Wyndham replied, indicating another spot some distance from the coast. "But come up on deck. The sun will soon rise and I must try to get our bearings."

Marston went up. The wind had dropped and was now very faint.

_Columbine_, carrying all the sail they could set, scarcely crept across the smoothly heaving sea. Ahead, a bank of mist hid the low coast; farther back, vague mountain tops rose against the pale sky. In places, rippling streaks lined the gray water. The picture had a strangely flat and lifeless touch that reacted on Marston. He felt dull, and shivered, although it was not cold. Turning to the galley, he saw a plume of smoke trail from the bent funnel.

"I'll get some coffee and then we'll talk," he said.

Coming back in a few minutes with a jug, he sat down on the stern-gratings.

"To begin with, can you hide the boat?" he asked.

"Not properly. There are one or two creeks, but they'd, so to speak, invite examination. On the whole, I'd sooner trust an open beach.

_Columbine_'s low hull and masts won't be very distinct against a background of forest. I'm steering for an anchorage behind some shoals."

Marston signed agreement. "Larrinaga can't keep the tug searching the coast; he'll send her back for supplies. I expect he knows how to reach the Bat."

"It's possible. He has spies and the German Colonel has, no doubt, made careful plans. There are two routes; east and west of the high ground, and I reckon he'll send the _cazadores_ up in two columns. The first will probably try to get behind the Bat's position."

"Then, we'll strike one column's line of march," said Marston, thoughtfully. "In fact, since we must come back, we'll strike it twice."

"Yes. I see some advantage in this. Our taking their path won't matter when we go up, because we'll be in front, and we agreed that the time of our arrival is important. We must give the Bat just long enough to reach the coast before the soldiers turn back and cut us off. I expect it will mean our pushing across the hills for some distance. When we cross their line we'll be in front again."

Marston signified his agreement by a nod. It was plain that they must leave much to luck, and lighting his pipe, he leaned against the rail.

As the sun rose the mist ahead began to melt. Wooded heights rose out of the streaming vapor and presently Wyndham found the marks he wanted and went off to sleep while Marston kept his anxious watch. It was now nearly calm. Sometimes a puff of wind ruffled the water; sometimes the sails hung slack and the ripple at the bows died away. The sun got hot, the smooth swell shimmered with reflected light, and nothing indicated when the sea-breeze would begin.

The calm, however, would not stop the tug, and Marston pictured her steaming up from San Cristobal with engines thumping hard and the empty lighters astern. News of _Columbine_'s departure had, no doubt, reached the mission; bugles would be calling and the _cazadores_ strapping on their equipment ready to start. Still it was a long march to the harbor and Marston hardly thought the troops would embark before nightfall. If wind would come, Wyndham might keep in front of them, but in the meantime _Columbine_ hardly moved. Marston wondered whether they ought to hoist out the gig and tow, although the labor would be exhausting and they could not make much progress.

A dark streak broke the glittering surface, a cool draught touched Marston's face, and the slack sails swelled. _Columbine_ began to move, and presently gathering speed, listed over to the fresh sea-breeze.

After an hour or two, he wakened Wyndham, who got another bearing and changed the course. At dusk they steered for the coast and towards morning anch.o.r.ed behind a shoal. There was nothing but the background to hide the vessel and Marston knew the risk when they landed with four of the crew. In the steamy heat of the forest, exertion soon wears a white man out, and the negroes were needed to carry food and some shelter from the dew at night.

After dark on the second evening, they reached the Bat's headquarters, in the company of a gang of savage negroes. They were exhausted by the journey, their clothes were torn, and they did not know if the negroes were their captors or their guides. So far as one could see, the village looked mean. A few small mud huts stood among mahogany trees and big cottonwoods. There was no light in the huts, but a fire burned outside one, and although the night was warm, indistinct figures crouched about the blaze. They vanished and appeared again when the light leaped up, and Marston remembered the factory boys squatting round the fires in Africa. But the Kroo laborers sang, and these fellows were strangely silent. In fact, a daunting quietness brooded over the spot.

The Bat's hut was larger than the rest and a rude veranda occupied the front. There was no furniture except some mats and stools, and a badly-cleaned paraffin lamp gave a dim light. The Bat sat on a carved stool and wore a striped tennis jacket over his dirty white clothes. His legs and feet were bare; his lips stuck out and his nostrils were wide, and Marston felt that to fear and shrink from him was ridiculous. Yet he did shrink. Then he noted with some surprise that Father Sebastian occupied a mat in the corner. Next moment the Bat looked up with a mocking grin.

"Why you lib for my village? It d---- poor place," he said.

"We'll explain that later," Wyndham replied. "In the meantime, why is Father Sebastian here?"

"I take care of him," said the Bat. "Fool black man rob his church." He paused and added with a cruel smile: "Them fool man pay."

Wyndham turned to the priest. "Will you give us a few minutes, _padre_?

We will send for you soon."

Father Sebastian got up and the Bat nodded, as if he gave him leave to go. He went out and Wyndham sat down on a mat.

"Now," he said, "suppose you drop this negro mummery and talk like an Englishman. I want to remember you are Rupert Wyndham. No doubt you meant to keep the missionary for a hostage, but it's not important. I imagine you did not expect to see us?"

Rupert's face changed. Something of its coa.r.s.eness vanished, his lips straightened, and he looked less like a mulatto.

"I did expect you. Anyhow, I heard white men were coming, although I could only account for one," he said and added with an ominous smile: "I sent to meet you because I did not want you to lose your way."

Marston knew that in Africa the negroes can signal news across the bush with remarkable speed. It looked as if Rupert had learned how this was done and taught his people.

"Whom did you expect?" he asked.

"Peters. He is a fool, but he has pluck. Some pluck is needed when one tries to blackmail me!"

"I imagine Peters will come later, but not to bargain with you," Marston said dryly. "We have some grounds for believing he means to sell you to the Government."

Rupert's glance got very keen. "Ah," he said, "this is interesting!

Perhaps it explains your visit, which rather puzzled me."

"Before long you will get some fresh news," Wyndham interposed.

"Larrinaga and the German colonel, with two or three companies of _cazadores_, have landed and are marching for your village."

For a few moments Rupert did not move and his face was inscrutable. Then he looked up and the red veins in his eyes were very plain.

"Is this true? You will find it dangerous to cheat me!"

Wyndham told him what they had found out and stated the conclusions they had drawn. When he stopped Rupert nodded.

"It looks plausible; you are cleverer than my spies, but we will wait.