The Dust of Conflict Part 20

"No, senor," said the other, as Appleby had expected. "Since the war makes pesetas scarce one drinks the thin red wine and cana here. Still, I have a few bottles with the seal on."

Appleby laughed. "Well," he said, "as it has been observed, sugar is dear, and Vermouth is a wine I have a liking for. It is conceivable that these gentlemen would taste it with me."

The men appeared quite willing, and one of them brought out a handful of coa.r.s.e maize-husk cigarettes when the host laid down the bottle with the white Savoy cross upon it and a few little gla.s.ses.

"It is not the tobacco the senor usually smokes, but his cigar has gone out, and one offers what he has with the good will," he said.

The man was clearly a peon, a day laborer, but Appleby fancied his manner could not have been improved upon, for it was free alike from undue deference or any a.s.sertion of equality. He took one of the cigarettes, and when he had handed round the little gla.s.ses sat with his face towards the door. The light from it, as he was pleased to notice, fell right across the narrow street, and he sat with his back to it. He had also not long to wait, for a patter of footsteps flung back by the white walls grew louder, and Appleby noticed that while they had rung sharp and decided they appeared to slacken as the man approached the wine-shop. This appeared significant, since it suggested that the man did not wish to cross the stream of light.

It was, however, evident that he must either stop or pa.s.s through it, and in another moment Appleby saw him. There was nothing especially noticeable about him except that the broad felt hat was pulled down a trifle lower than seemed necessary, and Appleby wondered if his suspicions were causeless, until the man turned his head a trifle. The movement was almost imperceptible, but Appleby felt that the dark eyes had rested on him a moment. Then as the stranger pa.s.sed on he saw one of the men in the wine-shop glance at his companion, who made a little gesture of comprehension. It was, however a few moments later, and there was once more silence in the shadowy street when he turned to Appleby.

"It is getting late, senor," he said significantly. "You sleep at the 'Four Nations'?"

"No," said Appleby, who wondered if this was intended as a hint. "Still, I am going there."

The peon, he fancied, glanced at the landlord. "Then it would perhaps be better to go round by the calle Obispo."

Appleby reflected a moment, for he fancied there was a meaning in this, but he knew the calle Obispo would be almost deserted at that hour; while by going through the carniceria he would shorten the distance, and, at least, have the man he suspected in front of him.

"I think I will go straight on," he said.

"Then you will find it convenient to walk in the middle of the road,"

said the peon.

Appleby glanced sharply at the man. He had seen sufficient of Spanish towns to know that there were reasons quite unconnected with the safety of foot pa.s.sengers or their property which warranted the warning; but the olive face was expressionless, and with a punctilious salutation he left the wine-shop. Glancing over his shoulder a moment or two later, he saw the men silhouetted black against the light as they stood in the doorway, and swung into faster stride. He felt he had nothing to fear from them, but their hints had been unpleasantly suggestive.

In two or three minutes he reached the dark slaughterhouses, which were faced by a wall with one or two unlighted windows high up in it, and as, treading softly, he strained his ears he once more caught a faint patter behind him. This was somewhat astonis.h.i.+ng, as it was evident that if the man who pa.s.sed the wine-shop still desired to keep him in view he must have made a considerable round. Appleby stopped suddenly, and made up his mind when the footsteps ceased too. The spot was lonely, and shut in by the slaughter-houses and high blank walls; while the feeling that somebody was creeping up behind him through the darkness was singularly unpleasant, so much so, in fact, that it changed the concern he was sensible of into anger. He had also distinct objections to being stabbed in the back, and decided that if an affray was inevitable he would, at least, force the a.s.sailant's hand, and to do that cover of some kind was necessary. Sooner or later he would find a doorway he could slip into, and he went on again softly and hastily.

He had made another fifty yards, and the footsteps were plainer still behind, when a pillar partly bedded in it broke the bare line of wall, and pulling out the little pistol from his hip pocket he turned sharply and flung himself into the gloom behind it. Then he realized his blunder, and that he had two men to deal with instead of one, for a strip of heavy fabric was flung about his head, and hard fingers fastened on his throat. Appleby gasped, and drew the trigger convulsively, while there was a crash as the pistol exploded. Then he felt it slip from his fingers, for the strength seemed to go out of him, and he was only sensible that he was fighting hard for breath. How long the tense effort lasted he did not know, but his faculties had almost deserted him when a cry he could scarcely hear rose from the street, and was followed by a sound of running feet.

Then he was flung against the pillar, and there was a crash as a shadowy object leapt into the doorway. A man reeled out of it in a blundering fas.h.i.+on, another sped down the street, and Appleby, staggering out, leaned, gasping, against the wall. It was some moments before he could make anything out, and then he saw two men standing close in front of him. One held something in his hand, and by their voices he fancied they were the peons he had met in the wine-shop. Looking round him as his scattered senses came slowly back, he saw another man apparently crawling out of the gutter. Then there was a rapid tramp of feet further up the street, and one of the men seemed to look at his companion, who made a sign of agreement.

"The civiles!" he said.

Then they fell upon the man in the gutter, dragged him to his feet, drove him before them with kicks, and stood still again while he reeled away in an unsteady fas.h.i.+on which suggested that he was at least half dazed. In the meanwhile the rapid tramp behind them had been growing louder, and the shuffling steps had scarcely ceased when a light was flashed into Appleby's face, and he saw a man with a lantern in trim white uniform standing a few paces away, and another who carried a pistol behind him. Then the light was turned aside, and revealed the two peons from the wine-shop waiting quietly to be questioned.

Appleby recognized the men in uniform as civil guards, and knew that almost every man in that body had won distinction in the military service.

The street was now very silent again, and it was evident that the peons did not consider it advisable to put the civiles on the track of the fugitive just yet. The one who held the lantern looked at them, standing erect, with knee bent a trifle and a big pistol projecting from the holster at his belt.

"There was a shot, and by and by a shout," he said. "An explanation is desired. You are warned to be precise."

"It is simple," said one of the peons. "Comes this senor the American, into the wine-shop of Cananos where we are sitting. There he takes a gla.s.s of Vermouth and goes away. Then comes a man slipping by where it is darkest, and we go to warn the senor taking the cana bottle. It appears there is another man waiting in this doorway, there is a struggle, and Vincente strikes down one of the prowlers with the bottle.

He gets to his feet again, and they go in haste when they hear you coming. Then we find the senor faint and short of breath."

The civile stretched out his hand for the cana bottle, which was apparently corked, and balanced it. "It would serve-a man might be killed with it," he said. "But you had a knife!"

"With excuses," said the peon. "We respect the law. The knife is forbidden."

There was a little grim twinkle in the civile's eyes, but he fixed them on Appleby. "I will not ask you to shake your sleeve, or question your comrade, because his tale would be the same," he said. "That is what happened, senor?"

"Yes," said Appleby, "so far as I can remember. I was going from the banker's to the 'Four Nations' when I became aware that there was a man following me. To avoid him I slipped into this doorway, where another man was waiting. It was my pistol you heard, but the other man, whom I had not expected, had his fingers on my throat, and I was helpless when these others appeared."

The civile made a little gesture of comprehension, and then, tilting up his chin, laid his fingers on his throat. "The head drawn back-and the thumb so! With the knee in the back at the same time it was as sure as the knife. The senor is to be felicitated on his escape. But the motive?

Even in Santa Marta men do not fall upon a stranger without a purpose."

Appleby, who was on his guard at once, felt his pockets, and was sensible of a vast relief when he found the letter the banker had given him was still in his possession. The other in his outer pocket had, however, as he expected, disappeared.

"I think their purpose was evident. It is for money one usually goes to a banker's," he said. "It is also known that I have dealings with the Senor Suarez. Still, thanks to the promptness of the gentlemen here, nothing of importance has been taken from me."

The civile with the lantern glanced at his comrade, who nodded.

"It would be wiser to go there in the daylight another time," said the latter as he held out Appleby's pistol, which he had un.o.btrusively looked for and picked up. "One cartridge burned-it confirms the story!

You would not recognize the men who attacked you?"

"No," said Appleby, and the peon whom the civile turned to shook his head emphatically.

"It was very dark," he said.

The civiles asked a few more questions, and then one of them insisted on escorting Appleby, who apparently failed to make the peons understand that he desired a word with them, to the "Four Nations." The man, however, left him outside the hotel, and Appleby had spent a few minutes there waiting for his mule when one of the peons came quietly up to him in the patio.

"The senor lost this letter not long ago?" he said.

"I did," said Appleby, taking the envelope. "Where did you find it?"

The peon smiled in a curious fas.h.i.+on. "It seems you know our country. I took it from the man Vincente felled, but it did not seem wise to mention it before the civiles. They have sharp eyes, those gentlemen."

"I am indebted," said Appleby. "It is, however, of no importance."

The peon smiled again. "And yet you knew you had lost it, and said nothing. Why would one run a risk to seize a letter?"

"I don't know," said Appleby. "Nor am I sure why you and your companion should take so much trouble to guard a stranger. I would not, of course, offend you by suggesting that you did it to repay me for a gla.s.s of Vermouth."

"For the charity then?" said the peon, smiling.

"I do not think so," said Appleby, who looked at him steadily.

The man laughed. "Well," he said reflectively, "there may have been another reason. It is known to a few that Don Bernardino is a friend of liberty."

Appleby was a trifle astonished, but not sufficiently to show it, since he had already had vague suspicions.

"It is," he said, "a thing one does not admit in Santa Marta, but if one might reward a kindness with money I have a few dollars."

"It is not permissible, senor-not from a comrade," and the man straightened himself a trifle. "Still, one might be grateful for a little bottle."

Appleby laughed, though he was not quite at ease, and entering the hotel came back with two bottles of somewhat costly wine, which he thrust upon the man.

"If I can be of service I think you know where I am to be found," he said.