Henry grinned to himself as he noted the access of interest in the old man and of consideration for him, on the part of Pedro Zurita and the gendarmes, caused by the present of the coins. They shoved the more curious of the crowd roughly back from the wrecked wagon and began to carry the boxes into the jail.
Careful, senors, careful, the old one pleaded, greatly anxious, as they took hold of the big box. Handle it gently. It is of value, and it is fragile, most fragile.
While the contents of the wagon were being carried into the jail, the old man removed and deposited in the wagon all harness from the horse save the bridle.
Pedro Zurita ordered the harness taken in as well, explaining, with a glare at the miserable crowd: Not a strap or buckle would remain the second after our backs were turned.
Using what was left of the wagon for a stepping block, and ably assisted by the jailer and his crew, the peddler managed to get astride his animal.
It is well, he said, and added gratefully: A thousand thanks, senors. It has been my good fortune to meet with honest men with whom my goods will be safe only poor goods, peddlers goods, you understand; but to me, everything, my way upon the road. The pleasure has been mine to meet you. To-morrow I shall return with my kinsman, whom I certainly shall find, and relieve from you the burden of safeguarding my inconsiderable property. He doffed his hat. Adios, senors, adios!
He rode away at a careful walk, timid of the animal he bestrode which had caused his catastrophe. He halted and turned his head at a call from Pedro Zurita.
Search the graveyard, Senor Narvaez, the jailer advised. Full a hundred Tomas Romeros lie there.
And be vigilant, I beg of you, senor, of the heavy box, the peddler called back.
Henry watched the street grow deserted as the gendarmes and the populace fled from the scorch of the sun. Small wonder, he thought to himself, that the old peddlers voice had sounded vaguely familiar. It had been because he had possessed only half a Spanish tongue to twist around the language the other half being the German tongue of the mother. Even so, he talked like a native, and he would be robbed like a native if there was anything of value in the heavy box deposited with the jailers, Henry concluded, ere dismissing the incident from his mind.
In the guardroom, a scant fifty feet away from Henrys cell, Leopoldo Narvaez was being robbed. It had begun by Pedro Zurita making a profound and wistful survey of the large box. He lifted one end of it to sample its weight, and sniffed like a hound at the crack of it as if his nose might give him some message of its contents.
Leave it alone, Pedro, one of the gendarmes laughed at him. You have been paid two pesos to be honest.
The assistant jailer sighed, walked away and sat down, looked back at the box, and sighed again. Conversation languished. Continually the eyes of the men roved to the box. A greasy pack of cards could not divert them. The game languished. The gendarme who had twitted Pedro himself went to the box and sniffed.
I smell nothing, he announced. Absolutely in the box there is nothing to smell. Now what can it be? The caballero said that it was of value!
Caballero! sniffed another of the gendarmes. The old mans father was more like to have been peddler of rotten fish on the streets of Colon and his father before him. Every lying beggar claims descent from the conquistadores.
And why not, Rafael? Pedro Zurita retorted. Are we not all so descended?
Without doubt, Rafael readily agreed. The conquistadores slew many
And were the ancestors of those that survived, Pedro completed for him and aroused a general laugh. Just the same, almost would I give one of these pesos to know what is in that box.
There is Ignacio, Rafael greeted the entrance of a turnkey whose heavy eyes tokened he was just out of his siesta. He was not paid to be honest. Come, Ignacio, relieve our curiosity by letting us know what is in the box.
How should I know? Ignacio demanded, blinking at the object of interest. Only now have I awakened.
You have not been paid to be honest, then? Rafael asked.
Merciful Mother of God, who is the man who would pay me to be honest? the turnkey demanded.
Then take the hatchet there and open the box, Rafael drove his point home. We may not, for as surely as Pedro is to share the two pesos with us, that surely have we been paid to be honest. Open the box, Ignacio, or we shall perish of our curiosity.
We will look, we will only look, Pedro muttered nervously, as the turnkey prized off a board with the blade of the hatchet. Then we will close the box again and Put your hand in, Ignacio. What is it you find?.. eh? what does it feel like? Ah!
After pulling and tugging, Ignacios hand had reappeared, clutching a cardboard carton.
Remove it carefully, for it must be replaced, the jailer cautioned.
And when the wrappings of paper and tissue paper were removed, all eyes focused on a quart bottle of rye whiskey.
How excellently is it composed, Pedro murmured in tones of awe. It must be very good that such care be taken of it.
It is Americano whiskey, sighed a gendarme. Once, only, have I drunk Americano whiskey. It was wonderful. Such was the courage of it, that I leaped into the bull-ring at Santos and faced a wild bull with my hands. It is true, the bull rolled me, but did I not leap into the ring?
Pedro took the bottle and prepared to knock its neck off.
Hold! cried Rafael. You were paid to be honest.
By a man who was not himself honest, came the retort. The stuff is contraband. It has never paid duty. The old man was in possession of smuggled goods. Let us now gratefully and with clear conscience invest ourselves in its possession. We will confiscate it. We will destroy it.
Not waiting for the bottle to pass, Ignacio and Rafael unwrapped fresh ones and broke off the necks.
Three stars most excellent, Pedro Zurita orated in a pause, pointing to the trade mark. You see, all Gringo whiskey is good. One star shows that it is very good; two stars that it is excellent; three stars that it is superb, the best, and better than beyond that. Ah, I know. The Gringos are strong on strong drink. No pulque for them.
And four stars? queried Ignacio, his voice husky from the liquor, the moisture glistening in his eyes.
Four stars? Friend Ignacio, four stars would be either sudden death or translation into paradise.
In not many minutes, Rafael, his arm around another gendarme, was calling him brother and proclaiming that it took little to make men happy here below.
The old man was a fool, three times a fool, and thrice that, volunteered Augustino, a sullen-faced gendarme, who for the first time gave tongue to speech.
Viva Augustino! cheered Rafael. The three stars have worked a miracle. Behold! Have they not unlocked Augustinos mouth?
And thrice times thrice again was the old man a fool! Augustino bellowed fiercely. The very drink of the gods was his, all his, and he has been five days alone with it on the road from Bocas del Toro, and never taken one little sip. Such fools as he should be stretched out naked on an ant-heap, say I.
The old man was a rogue, quoth Pedro. And when he comes back to-morrow for his three stars I shall arrest him for a smuggler. It will be a feather in all our caps.
If we destroy the evidence thus? queried Augustino, knocking off another neck.
If we destroy the evidence thus? queried Augustino, knocking off another neck.
We will save the evidence thus! Pedro replied, smashing an empty bottle on the stone flags. Listen, comrades. The box was very heavy we are all agreed. It fell. The bottles broke. The liquor ran out, and so were we made aware of the contraband. The box and the broken bottles will be evidence sufficient.
The uproar grew as the liquor diminished. One gendarme quarreled with Ignacio over a forgotten debt of ten centavos. Two others sat upon the floor, arms around each others necks, and wept over the miseries of their married lot. Augustino, like a very spendthrift of speech, explained his philosophy that silence was golden. And Pedro Zurita became sentimental on brotherhood.
Even my prisoners, he maundered. I love them as brothers. Life is sad. A gush of tears in his eyes made him desist while he took another drink. My prisoners are my very children. My heart bleeds for them. Behold! I weep. Let us share with them. Let them have a moments happiness. Ignacio, dearest brother of my heart. Do me a favor. See, I weep on your hand. Carry a bottle of this elixir to the Gringo Morgan. Tell him my sorrow that he must hang to-morrow. Give him my love and bid him drink and be happy to-day.
And as Ignacio passed out on the errand, the gendarme who had once leapt into the bull-ring at Santos, began roaring:
I want a bull! I want a bull!
He wants it, dear soul, that he may put his arms around it and love it, Pedro Zurita explained, with a fresh access of weeping. I, too, love bulls. I love all things. I love even mosquitoes. All the world is love. That is the secret of the world. I should like to have a lion to play with
The unmistakable air of Back to Back Against the Mainmast being whistled openly in the street, caught Henrys attention, and he was crossing his big cell to the window when the grating of a key in the door made him lie down quickly on the floor and feign sleep. Ignacio staggered drunkenly in, bottle in hand, which he gravely presented to Henry.
With the high compliments of our good jailer, Pedro Zurita, he mumbled. He says to drink and forget that he must stretch your neck to-morrow.
My high compliments to Senor Pedro Zurita, and tell him from me to go to hell along with his whiskey, Henry replied.
The turnkey straightened up and ceased swaying, as if suddenly become sober.
Very well, senor, he said, then passed out and locked the door.
In a rush Henry was at the window just in time to encounter Francis face to face and thrusting a revolver to him through the bars.
Greetings, camarada, Francis said. Well have you out of here in a jiffy. He held up two sticks of dynamite, with fuse and caps complete. I have brought this pretty crowbar to pry you out. Stand well back in your cell, because real pronto theres going to be a hole in this wall that we could sail the Angelique through. And the Angelique is right off the beach waiting for you. Now, stand back. Im going to touch her off. Its a short fuse.
Hardly had Henry backed into a rear corner of his cell, when the door was clumsily unlocked and opened to a babel of cries and imprecations, chiefest among which he could hear the ancient and invariable war-cry of Latin-America, Kill the Gringo!
Also, he could hear Rafael and Pedro, as they entered, babbling, the one: He is the enemy of brotherly love; and the other, He said I was to go to hell is not that what he said, Ignacio?
In their hands they carried rifles, and behind them urged the drunken rabble, variously armed, from cutlasses and horse-pistols to hatchets and bottles. At sight of Henrys revolver, they halted, and Pedro, fingering his rifle unsteadily, maundered solemnly:
Senor Morgan, you are about to take up your rightful abode in hell.
But Ignacio did not wait. He fired wildly and widely from his hip, missing Henry by half the width of the cell and going down the next moment under the impact of Henrys bullet. The rest retreated precipitately into the jail corridor, where, themselves unseen, they began discharging their weapons into the room.
Thanking his fortunate stars for the thickness of the walls, and hoping no ricochet would get him, Henry sheltered in a protecting angle and waited for the explosion.
It came. The window and the wall beneath it became all one aperture. Struck on the head by a flying fragment, Henry sank down dizzily, and, as the dust of the mortar and the powder cleared, with wavering eyes he saw Francis apparently swim through the hole. By the time he had been dragged out through the hole, Henry was himself again. He could see Enrico Solano and Ricardo, his youngest born, rifles in hand, holding back the crowd forming up the street, while the twins, Alvarado and Martinez, similarly held back the crowd forming down the street.
But the populace was merely curious, having its lives to lose and nothing to gain if it attempted to block the way of such masterful men as these who blew up walls and stormed jails in open day. And it gave back respectfully before the compact group as it marched down the street.
The horses are waiting up the next alley, Francis told Henry, as they gripped hands. And Leoncia is waiting with them. Fifteen minutes gallop will take us to the beach, where the boat is waiting.
Say, that was some song I taught you, Henry grinned. It sounded like the very best little bit of all right when I heard you whistling it. The dogs were so previous they couldnt wait till to-morrow to hang me. They got full of whiskey and decided to finish me off right away. Funny thing that whiskey. An old caballero turned peddler wrecked a wagon-load of it right in front of the jail
For even a noble Narvaez, son of Baltazar de Jesus y Cervallos è Narvaez, son of General Narvaez of martial memory, may be a peddler, and even a peddler must live, eh, senors, is it not so? Francis mimicked.
Henry looked his gleeful recognition, and added soberly:
Francis, Im glad for one thing, most damn glad
Which is? Francis queried in the pause, just as they swung around the corner to the horses.
That I didnt cut off your ears that day on the Calf when I had you down and you insisted.
CHAPTER VI
Mariano Vercara e Hijos, Jefe Politico of San Antonio, leaned back in his chair in the courtroom and with a quiet smile of satisfaction proceeded to roll a cigarette. The case had gone through as prearranged. He had kept the little old judge away from his mescal all day, and had been rewarded by having the judge try the case and give judgment according to program. He had not made a slip. The six peons, fined heavily, were ordered back to the plantation at Santos. The working out of the fines was added to the time of their contract slavery. And the Jefe was two hundred dollars good American gold richer for the transaction. Those Gringos at Santos, he smiled to himself, were men to tie to. True, they were developing the country with their henequen plantation. But, better than that, they possessed money in untold quantity and paid well for such little services as he might be able to render.
His smile was even broader as he greeted Alvarez Torres.
Listen, said the latter, whispering low in his ear. We can get both these devils of Morgans. The Henry pig hangs to-morrow. There is no reason that the Francis pig should not go out to-day.
The Jefe remained silent, questioning with a lift of his eyebrows.