Little Lost Lambs, page 43
"Listen here," said Dave in a whisper, "you got to get outer here. I'll take you to your old man. They're keeping you here to make him give in to them. Understand?"
Whimpering, Clara admitted that she did not. She asked him, uncertainly, to leave the room.
"I can't." said Dave truthfully. "Anyway, you hurry up and dress. I'll be over by the window and I can't see nothing in the dark. Hurry."
Peering out through the shutters, he could make out men passing back and forth along the balcony and lights bobbing in front of the house. Presently the balcony was quiet and the lights moved out into the plaza as the pursuit drew further afield.
"You know where the back stairs is, don't you?" he grunted. "Well, come along. Oh—rats, don't worry. I'm taking you to a priest."
Gripping her slim hand in his, he moved out on the now deserted balcony to the rear of the house. A minute or two later they arrived at the Catholic Church fronting the plaza, passing unseen behind the buildings. Here the priests consented to take her in, as Dave had expected.
"Don't you worry about me," he answered her anxious question. "No cop that wears a dago sword can pinch me."
When Dave said this he was quite alone in the town except for Clara and the timerous negro. He had committed a grave offense in the law; moreover, Calbuco had determined to blot him out.
Yet that night Calbuco and his men, with the men of the alcalde, ransacked the town and the boats in the harbor. Punta has few streets and not so many buildings. It would have been impossible for Dave to leave without being stopped. The next morning every near-by ranch was visited, equally without result.
Dave was in the one place Calbuco did not think to look for him.
Walstrom and Quensel were really annoyed when they were held up on entering their quarters in the Kosmos Hotel near the water-front by the same man who had visited Calbuco's establishment.
"I don't want to hurt you gents," he informed them—Walstrom spoke good English. "But I got some talking to do, and I want you to listen."
"Very well," assented the giant explorer amusedly. We don't owe you anything, though. Won't you have a cigarette?"
"Sure. Look here, Walstrom, all you have to do to land me in the Punta cooler is to yell. But you're a square man—I came down on the schooner with you. I'll put away the gun if you'll gimme your word to sit quiet and see we ain't interrupted."
"I agree," Walstrom smiled. "But I advise you to do your best to leave Punta while it's dark. There is no American consul within a thousand miles, or any country-man. You've—ah—held up an alcalde and robbed Calbuco, who has a good deal of money and influence, besides a ship or two.
"He's my meat." Dave puffed at his cigarette seriously. "You was talking about the Tierra del Fuego mines when I busted in this evening. Did you see anything of the claim of John Bruce when you was over there?"
"The Isabella? Quensel, on one of his solitary rambles in search of fossiliferous deposits, saw the claim-stakes on the shore of the strait."
"Does it look like a paying proposition to you?"
Walstrom yawned and laughed.
"That is just what I was about to remark to your friend Calbuco. These so-called mines were discovered by amateurs. There are no actual gold deposits in Tierra del Fuego. We examined one or two of the sites."
"I didn't think Bruce could pick a winner," the boy sighed. "But he showed gold nuggets."
"Gold particles. My young brigand—I don't know your name—the gold of Tierra del Fuego can, literally, be picked up or rather washed by hand. It is produced solely by the action of the sea on the sands along the coastal barranca. The sea has been washing down that sand for hundreds of years. After a storm Quensel and I would light our pipes and go out and gather a little along the beach. But the gold itself would not pay the cost of tools or formation of a company—"
Walstrom shrugged. "Every decade or so the gold craze strikes Punta, and new sociedads auriferas are formed, only to be bankrupt. Now, am I to be shot or not?"
Dave met his searching blue eyes fairly. The boy was thinking that the gold mine of the Bruces was a myth, after all, and they were badly off as ever.
"You're a square man, Walstrom, the only one I know in Punta. I got a girl friend, and she's in trouble in this burg. Say, you come with me and hear her tell what she's up against. They won't stop me, in the dark, if I'm with you, see?"
"My lad," objected the explorer impatiently, "I have other things to do. Such as sleep. We're are sailing to-morrow."
Quensel, who had been staring at Dave askance, also growled out an irritated oath. "Clear out!" he said."
"Calbuco's holding her old man a prisoner, pleaded the boy."And her father discovered the Isabella."
"If that is the case, I'll assure Señor Calbuco that the mine has no real value, and he will release this man." Walstrom did not desire to be involved in a quarrel in Punta; he had witnessed ugly terminations to such quarrels. But Dave's thin face, lined by hunger, was a mask of determination.
"No, sir," he responded promptly. "That —— dive-keeper has Bruce in his debt, and he can use Clara. He'll promise you anything, and forget it as soon as you sail. Clara and her old man have got to go on the ship with you. They're my friends, and I'm going to stick to them."
Walstrom shook his head grimly. "I heard you say you had a score to settle with Calbuco. What would the Norwegian Geological Society say if I helped a thief to even his score—besides, how am I to believe you?"
Dave's quick wit detected the slight note of indecision.
"You'll believe the girl. She's sitting up for you in one of the cathedral chapels that's open all night. You heard her crying, in Calbuco's place. You're a square sport, Walstrom. Listen to her, anyway.'
Gray dawn was creeping into the drawn shutters of the Kosmos, and Quensel had been snoring like the healthy animal he was for some time when Walstrom returned and woke him up to explain what he had promised the American boy and the outcast girl.
"It was the only way to be rid of him," he answered Quensel's growl. "God's thunder, man!" he burst into a hearty laugh. "It will be a good comedy, anyway."
"It's lucky we sail to-morrow," muttered the other.
At this point in the proceedings Dave Thornton had made a second friend in Punta, the first being the negro. Moreover, he had formed his plan, while pleading With Walstrom.
It was then the hour in early dawn when crimson was streaking the cloudy sky behind the bare hills overlooking the tin roofs of the sleeping town. A fresh breeze was sweeping in from the roads. Dave guessed that his pursuers were sleeping for a space. The solitary policeman on his route to the water-front saloon was easily dodged.
And Jamaica, awakened in his cubby in the rear of the saloon, rubbed his eyes at the feel of fifty dollars in good silver and bills.
"That's yours," whispered Dave in the dark, "if you take me to Mr. Bruce. It'll be dead easy—they're all pounding their ears."
John Bruce was more or less drunk when the two boys got to him in a locked cabin in one of the water-logged schooners laid up at a near-by jetty. The door being locked and barred from the outside, the sailors who were his captors had been enjoying a good night's rest.
Dave plied the Englishman with coffee at the saloon. But what the boy had to say about his daughter sobered Bruce within a moment. His red face paled and his weak lips tightened.
"I'll shoot him down, like the dog he is!" Bruce snarled.
"No," said Dave. "We'll do better 'n that. I got it fixed."
Three or four hours later in broad daylight the carriage of the alcalde who was the friend of Calbuco–the carriage that had been placed at the service of the Norwegians—rolled down to the water-front, and Walstrom picked up Bruce. Then they drove to the church, where Clara joined them.
Dave Thornton was still invisible.
Rumor of what was happening reached Calbuco through his men. Pedro and Manuel and others gathered at the mansion of the Portuguese to learn what was going to happen and to guard their patron against Bruce, who was known to be reckless.
Within the hour the victoria arrived at Calbuo's door. Four persons entered the house—Walstrom, Clara, John Bruce, and the alcalde. Calbuco received them politely, and Pedro and others waited in an adjoining room.
"Good morning, Señor Calbuco," said the girl timidly.
"Good day; Señor Calbuco," nodded Walstrom. "I have come to say good-by. My steamer weighs anchor at noon."
John Bruce said nothing, but his gray eyes were savage. The Portuguese looked at them all and licked his thick lips. He saw Bruce, apparently on good terms with Walstrom—Bruce, whom he had left locked in one of his schooners the night before. He bowed to Clara, who had been captive in one of his bedrooms twelve hours ago.
You see, Calbuco could not know what Clara had told her father, nor what John Bruce had told Walstrom. And he could not guess what the three of them might have confided in the alcalde.
He was powerless, in his present situation, to molest father or daughter. The Norwegian consul general had run down from the Chile coast to say farewell to the explorers, who were terminating their brief stay in Punta to seek the richer field of the Upper Amazon: and the alcalde himself had been commissioned to do honor to the Scandinavians.
"And your friends," Calbuco nodded affably at Bruce and his daughter, "do they also sail on the steamer?"
"Assuredly;" Walstrom took it on himself to reply: "Mr. Bruce has information regarding the mineral deposits of the straits—most interesting information."
And he looked at the Portuguese. Calbuco squirmed, thinking of the Isabella claim and the nuggets he had seen. He had never succeeded in bullying the information he wanted from the Englishman.
Moreover-his conscience made him afraid. Imprisoning Bruce might be explained to the authorities; but kidnaping the Englishman's daughter was quite a different matter. Calbuco felt that a sword was suspended over his head; yet it was his own imagination that visioned it.
If he had held his peace he might have suffered nothing. But even in his fear his greed rose up and voiced itself. While Walstrom was making his adieus Calbuco stepped nearer to Bruce.
"I was anxious to help you," he whispered. "Do not misunderstand me, my friend. What are you going to do with your claim?" .
Bruce's gray eyes were hostile.
"I've been talking to Walstrom about that. I don't want to talk to you. You are a dog and a thief.'
Calbuco, out of the corner of his eye, made certain that the alcalde had not heard this. He put his plump hand that quivered with anxiety on the other's shoulder. Mention of the Norwegian geologist in connection with the Isabella, coupled with the abrupt departure of the two men together, could mean only one thing in his mind. Bruce was selling out to Walstrom.
"I'll pay you more," he whispered, "if you'll show me the claim and let me examine it."
"How much of a fool do you think I am?" Bruce laughed. "You'll pay my price now."
Walstrom and the alcalde turned around. Calbuco read their faces and imagined that an enormous fine would be inflicted upon him—if Bruce had made complaint against him. The flame of his greed still warmed his brain.
"How much, Walstrom," he demanded, do you think Señor Bruces claim is worth?"
The Norwegian shrugged.
"Three thousand pounds," said Bruce, "to you, Calbuco."
The Portuguese still watched Walstrom, whose beard was strangely agitated, as if he were profoundly moved.
"If you work it long enough," amended the Norwegian.
"I'm selling you the biggest thing in the strait," growled Bruce. "It's on one of western islands."
Walstrom looked at his watch and raised his brows.
"We must go," he said.
That was what decided Calbuco. If he could tempt Bruce, who was penniless, with ready cash, unseen by Walstrom, he might make the Englishman sell out. If Bruce took his money, no claim for damages could be brought against him. So he reasoned, impelled alike by caution and greed. The others, still queerly non-committal, were watching him.
At the dock Calbuco tendered Bruce a hastily drawn-up title deed to sign, and another paper indicating the location of his claim. Bruce was to sell all riparian and mineral and other rights.
Bruce signed the deed without a smile and filled in the directions by which Calbuco was to find his new purchase, starting from a given point on the western end of the strait—on the shore where a claim-stake marked the Isabella. Calbuco's lawyer, Pedro and others witnessed this.
Waldstrom did not see it because he was busy smuggling a young American aboard the steamer's launch.
When the steamer got under weigh and Punta vanished around the bend in the strait, John Bruce and his daughter sought for Dave Thornton and did not find him. Nor did Waldstrom know where he was.
It was not until they assembled in the dining saloon in the evening that they discovered Dave in the white jacket of a mess-boy. John Bruce went straight to him.
"You helped us out," the Englishman said. "We're going home with a good deal of money, you know. What part of the three thousand pounds is yours?"
"Bosh!" Dave replied. "I'm working my way back to N'Yawk. Say, you don't want me to lose my job,do you—talking this way? I guess not."
One thing Dave wanted badly. He desired to see Calbuco's face when the man sought out the location that had been given him and found that he had bought the Evangelistas, lighthouse and all.
The Make-Weight
ARTHUR KENT breathed a sigh of relief as the last trick of the last hand was turned. He had been lucky. Indeed lucky, if neither of the other two players at the green-covered table in the billiard room of the officers' club had seen him cheat that last hand.
Checking up the score, Kent held it out for the others to see. His dark eyes were half closed, his full, handsome face impassive. The moisture around his eyes came only from the early evening heat that enveloped Rawal Pindi, in Upper India.
"'Fraid I'm winner, gentlemen. Sorry Captain Gerald has had enough."
The third man, a nervous subaltern, tried to smile as he wrote out an I.O.U. for seventy pounds. With a nod Kent folded the sheet of paper on the table and fell to shuffling the cards together until the subaltern had left the room.
Into the pack of cards he deftly slipped the three discards that he had secreted. He smiled, for now there would be no proving that he had cheated. Luck usually ran his way. His was a clever mind and quick to seize advantage—consequently he had made a name as political agent. True, two years ago when native under-officials had complained of extortion, Kent had been transferred from a Bengal province to the small frontier post of Dalgai, near Rawal Pindi. But here he had married a first-rate American girl with a little money.
"Well?" he observed.
Captain Fred Gerald, surgeon, attached to the cavalry regiment at Dalgai—called Daktar Sahib by the natives to whom he sometimes administered aid—took a five-pound bank-note from the breast pocket of his tunic and thrust it across the table. "I'm riding up into the gorges to attend a patient." His gray eyes hardened swiftly. "Wouldn't you better return that—paper to the young cub, and explain that a mistake was made in the score?"
"Eh?" Kent flushed as he grasped the other's meaning. "Kindly explain what the devil you're getting at?"
The Daktar Sahib counted off on his fingers "Three cards. You palmed them, you know."
A curious smile played under Kent's mustache. So he had been seen! And by the one man in the world who did not want to denounce him publicly as a card cheat. His luck was still good. He called to the one house boy who lingered near the window lattice by the table and sent him to fetch Gerald's stick and pith helmet.
When the two were alone Kent pocketed the promissory note.
"What do you propose to do about it, my dear fellow," he asked, a strained note in his full voice, "make a fuss or keep quiet?"
Gerald took his hat and stick from the boy who had returned, dismissed the native and rose. His alert, tanned face was emotionless. No one in the border station or Rawal Pindi guessed, for instance, that the surgeon worshipped the girl who had married Kent a year ago.
He paid her no marked attention, avoided meeting her in fact. The only one who suspected his feeling for Ethel Kent was the man who sat by the table before him—the man, in fact, whom he had just seen cheating.
No one better than the Daktar Sahib knew the rigid code of ethics that bound the men of the army stations of India. To denounce Kent would inevitably make misery for Ethel Kent.
The luck of the political agent still held good, you see. When Gerald started to speak, shrugged and turned away, Kent sprang up, his smile hardening. To the shifting mind of Kent it was whispered that the man who would avoid open quarrel with the husband must have an understanding with the wife.
For a long moment gray eyes clashed with black; the cold anger of the surgeon and the gnawing fury of the political agent were on the verge of being unleashed. The heat that day had been wearing. "I shall say nothing about the cards—now—Kent," the surgeon observed evenly, "for your wife's sake. I warn you, though. The hill natives have an apt proverb. They say that one who digs a pit for others will find that he has made his own grave."
Glad that the tension was broken, Kent pocketed the cards, veiling the suspicion that flamed in his eyes at mention of his wife. "You forget, my Daktar Sahib," he pointed out ironically, "the little thing called proof. Whatever your chums the hill beggars say, proof is required by the white man's law when you accuse a man. I have not forgotten that."
Gerald's deep eyes studied curiously the man who could make his way conqueringly in the world without thought of the rights of others. It did not occur to the straightforward mind of the surgeon that Kent's words were aimed at him. Because it was impossible for Gerald to conceive that any man could think evil of Ethel Kent.
"True," he nodded. "There is, however, one court that requires no proof of evil before administering justice. And that is Providence, or the judgment of God."
