A Son of the Sahara Part 16

CHAPTER VII

At six o'clock in the morning the road that joins the port and the city of Las Palmas shows very little sign of the peaceful English invasion.

It is given over to the Islanders. To peasant women with baskets of produce on their heads; to men driving donkeys laden with fruit and vegetables, and creaking bullock carts.

The early morning was Pansy's favourite time; the world was a place of dew and brightness with the sun glinting gold on sandy hills and air that sparkled like champagne.

She trotted along on her big horse towards the white city, its flat roofs, low houses and palms giving it an oriental aspect. Biding through the town, she crossed a wide bridge and went upwards through a grove of palms, past banana gardens, into a deserted world, with a blue sky overhead and an endless stretch of sea behind.

As she mounted higher, the hill grew vine-clad, and great ragged eucalyptus trees stood in tatters by the roadside. Here and there was a stunted pine, the deep green of a walnut tree, a clump of bamboo, a palm and occasionally, a great patch of p.r.i.c.kly cacti, whose flaming flowers stood out red against a dazzling day.

She rode without spurs or whip, when necessary urging her horse with hand and voice only.

A village was reached, where black-browed men in slouch hats and blanket cloaks lounged in groups, smoking and gossiping, and swarthy women with bright handkerchiefs around their heads stared at the girl astride the big horse.

In the dust of the road a little group of half-clad, bare-footed children dragged a trio of unfortunate lizards along by strings around their necks, and screamed with delight at the writhings of the tortured reptiles.

The sight brought a look of distress to Pansy's face.

Reining in her horse, she slipped of and went towards the group.

In indifferent Spanish she gave a brief lecture on cruelty. There was a sprinkling of small coins, and the lizards changed owners.

Pansy stooped. Loosening the strings from their soft throats, she picked them out of the dust. They were pretty, harmless little things, each about eighteen inches long and bright green in colour, that hung limp in her gentle hands, and looked at her with tortured eyes.

Holding them carefully, she went back to her horse, and with the reins over her arm, made her way through the village.

Once well out of sight of the place, she seated herself on a bank at the side of the road, and laid the three limp little forms on a warm, flat, sunny rock. Then she tried to coax them back to life and their normal state of bright friskiness.

As she sat rubbing, with a gentle forefinger, their soft, panting throats, crooning over them with pitying words, too intent on her task to notice what was going on around her, a deep voice said with an unexpectedness that made her jump:

"They'll do exactly the same with the next lizards they catch."

She looked round quickly.

In the middle of the road, mounted on a huge black horse, was the man whose life she had saved.

Pansy's gaze rested on him for a moment before she replied. He made such a picture on the black horse, with his strong, sunburnt face and well-cut khaki riding suit; the most perfect combination of horse and man she had ever seen.

"I know they will," she said. "But still, I've done my best for these three."

"Do you always try to do your best for everything that comes your way, Pansy?" he asked tenderly.

"Only a few privileged people are allowed to call me 'Pansy,'" she said tartly.

"What else can I call you, since you refuse to tell me your name?"

"You mean to say you haven't found out yet?" she exclaimed.

"I never gossip," he replied in a haughty tone.

"I don't know yours," she answered, "so we're what is called in English 'quits.'"

"What exactly does 'quits' mean? I don't know much English."

As Pansy petted the lizards she explained the meaning of the word.

During the explanation one of her proteges recovered, and darted off in a most thankless manner into a crevice in the rocks.

"My name is Le Breton," he said when he had grasped her meaning.

"Raoul Le Breton."

Pansy stared at him.

She had surprised him on the occasion of their first meeting, but he had turned the tables on her.

During her stay in Teneriffe she had heard of Raoul Le Breton. He was a French millionaire, an African merchant prince, so rumour said.

She had had a feeling that he had followed her that morning, and she was inclined to be angry about it. Now she saw that if he sought her out, it was not from mercenary motives, since he was quite as wealthy as she was. What was more he had no idea who she was.

"I'm always interested in millionaires," she said, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"All women are," he responded grimly.

"But you're not the only millionaire in the islands," she remarked.

"So I've gathered. There is, or was, one here quite recently. An Englishwoman of the name of Langham. I detest women with money. They are invariably ugly and conceited."

Pansy laughed--a ripple of sheer enjoyment.

"Perhaps their independence annoys you," she suggested. "I believe you're what is known as the 'masterful' type."

With that, her attention went back to the lizards.

Dismounting, Le Breton came to her side.

"You speak French remarkably well," he commented, as the moments pa.s.sed and no notice was taken of him.

"I was educated in Paris."

She glanced at him, her eyes br.i.m.m.i.n.g with mischief, and, as she glanced, another of her proteges frisked thanklessly away.

"Wouldn't you like to know my name?" she asked.

"At present it's sufficient that you are 'Pansy.' 'Heart's Ease,'

don't you say in English?"

"I wish I could ease this one poor little beast," she said, touching the remaining lizard. "But I fear it's hurt beyond redemption."

Stooping he picked up the little reptile and examined it. It hung limp in his grasp; a hopeless case.

"The best thing to do with it is to kill it," he commented.