The League of the Leopard Part 14

"Tolerably bad, was I not?" asked Dane; and the surgeon answered frankly.

"You were. In fact, on two occasions, I concluded you were going to beat me. Wouldn't even take a draught from--me, and one might compliment you on your determined obstinacy."

"I'm much obliged," Dane said slowly. "That's not quite all I mean, but it's the best I'm capable of just now. I don't know who you are, or why you did so much for me."

The surgeon laughed good-humoredly.

"If you must have a reason, you were an interesting case. I'm Dennis Ormond, of the Gold Coast service, and Dom Pedro asked me to look at you. I obliged him, and at first you were not a very encouraging spectacle. Of course, I did my little, but I may say that my medicine was not the only thing responsible for your cure. The senorita a.s.sisted me very ably, and--for a man must sleep sometimes--without her help it is quite probable we should have attended the expected funeral."

Ormond said this with an indifference which Dane, because he did not then know how much his little had been, or that his was an eminent name on the fever coast, thought hardly civil; but there was a warning gravity in his tone as he continued:

"It was, of course, my business; but not the senorita's; and you might have changed the p.r.o.nouns in your last sentence advantageously."

Dane was ashamed of several things he said and did that day, and his answer among them; but few white men are quite accountable for their actions when recovering from fever, and there was that in the surgeon's glance which aroused his indignation.

"Are you not taking an unfair advantage--considering how much I owe you!" he asked.

"Perhaps so!" said Ormond. "In this land one takes an advantage when and how one can. I dare say I'm a meddlesome idiot; but I conceived a certain respect for you, if only because of the spirited manner in which you resisted my attempts to cure you; and more for the senorita. Now, I don't think Miss Castro, curious combination of ministering angel, child, and--well, the angel's ant.i.thesis, as she evidently is, would have done so much for everybody!"

Dane answered nothing. One cannot rebuke the man one owes one's life to.

Ormond, however, had not finished with the subject.

"You crawled off your cot in delirium one night, and I found you groping among some papers scattered from your pocket-book about the floor," he said. "It required the a.s.sistance of two Krooboys to induce you to lie down again, and Miss Castro helped me to pick up the papers. I, however, found this among them first, and considered it well to take charge of it in the meantime. Miss Castro, you have heard, made an excellent nurse."

Dane felt that the surgeon noticed the way his fingers tightened on the little photograph handed him; but the man went on, with a smile:

"Your sister, presumably, for one could not help glancing at the picture. Still, I can't flatter you by saying that I recognize a family likeness. Therefore--I kept it aside."

Dane thanked him, and Ormond answered lightly:

"The rest of the papers Miss Castro returned to the pocket-book. All you have to do now is to lie still and recover."

"I will try," Dane said. "When can I start again?"

Ormond pointed out through the window toward the sea.

"In a week, if you are prudent--in fact, the sooner you start in that direction the wiser you will be. This country is not healthy for full-blooded Englishmen of your description. If you march inland again, cable anybody interested to double your life insurance."

Dane made a negatory gesture, but Ormond antic.i.p.ated his answer.

"Of course, I hardly expected you would take good advice, but it was my duty to give it. Just now I'll leave you to your own resources, because Dom Pedro is waiting with the chessmen below. Most gentlemanly old rascal, and you are indebted to him; but I wouldn't tell him too much respecting the supposit.i.tious treasure you rambled about if I were you.

Henceforward you will have to get better in your own way, because word has just been sent me that my n.i.g.g.e.rs are dying by dozens."

He went out, and left Dane staring at the photograph in his hand.

Although not improved by long exposure to tropic heat, or the dampness of the African climate, it had been a good portrait of Lilian Chatterton, and the eyes that looked out from the faded paper seemed to challenge the man. On inspecting the dim picture later he decided it must have been because he remembered them so well. They were clear and searching, honest above all things, but, as it were, demanding equal sincerity from whoever looked into them; and though perhaps this was due to the observer's fancy, the whole face seemed to possess a spiritual beauty. Dane, however, was certainly a little light-headed still, for as he gazed the face grew scornful.

To most Europeans in that country there comes a time of mental weakness and black dejection, and Dane's courage had melted before the fever which left him unstable as water, and fanciful as a child. Thus it was that, in a sudden access of bitterness, he slipped the picture back into its case. Lilian, he decided, had cruelly misjudged him, and now doubtless enjoyed the sunny side of life in the cool British air, careless of the fact that for her sake he risked life and reason in the pestilential steam of Africa.

There was a rustle of draperies, and Bonita Castro swept into the room with the grace of movement and carriage which characterizes her mother's race. There was, however, nothing spiritual about Miss Castro's beauty, which was of the flesh and of the glowing south, appealing to the senses, delighting the eye; and Dane's pulse throbbed a little faster as she came toward him with a low cry of pleasure. It was the first time he had risen from his trestle cot in the adjoining room. Stooping, she held toward him a great cl.u.s.ter of the spotless African lilies--which, scented ambrosially, spring up wherever decay is rankest--then sank with lithe gracefulness into a chair near his side.

"It is very good to see you better, Don Ilton," she said.

"It is the result of your kindness, senorita. Unfortunately, I don't know how to thank you----"

"Then you will not try." Miss Castro raised a restraining hand. "We do not leave the sick to die. Even if it had been another, there is always enjoined on us the charity."

Dane had lost his sense of humor, and just then Bonita Castro looked all ministering angel, and his att.i.tude expressed rather reverential respect than personal admiration, which, it is possible, did not please the lady so well.

"But you have done so much for one who is almost a stranger," he persisted.

Miss Castro's mood changed swiftly, and spreading out her hands with a gesture of amus.e.m.e.nt, and a smile which Dane fancied most men would have given much to win, she was again all a woman, and a very alluring one.

"It is true that you English have not the graceful speech. Are we, then, the mere stranger, Don Ilton? _Carramba!_ One takes pride in what one save from the fever, and it was on my lips to call you _carino_."

Dane had acquired sufficient knowledge of Castilian in South America to appreciate the possible significance of the substantive; and he afterward remembered that he was not wholly displeased with it.

"You make me a vain man, senorita," he said lightly.

Miss Castro laughed again, and Dane lay silent for a while.

"I am the more indebted to your care because every day is precious, and I must rejoin my comrade as soon as possible," he said at last.

The damask warmth deepened just a trifle in his companion's cheek.

"You two still go on into the forest--why?" she asked.

"Because I am a poor man, and, as you have guessed, my comrade believes there is treasure waiting up yonder."

Bonita Castro smiled scornfully, and answered him with the a.s.surance of one stating a definite fact.

"The Senor Maxwell will never bring gold out of the Leopards' country.

Two white men have try already and, both of them, they die. You must not go back there, Don Ilton, nor let your comrade go, though I know he is a very clever and fearless man."

"How do you know that?"

Dane found it hard to conceal his astonishment at her tranquil answer:

"I try if he is fearless on board the steamer. I can use the pistol well."

"It is fortunate you did not test my courage in the same fas.h.i.+on. But was there not a third man?"

Miss Castro's fingers closed viciously, and the questioner experienced an instinctive shrinking as he saw the hatred in her deep black eyes.

"The third was not a white man, though he call himself so," she said, with a quietness that was ominous. "_Maldito sea el perro!_ To-day again he infect this factory."

Dane could not help feeling that, unless the gentleman were prudent, he might have cause to regret his visit to the factory. He was inclined to admire high-spirited women, but Miss Castro looked more than dangerous just then; though Dane learned afterward that her hatred was justifiable.

Following her glance, he saw a short and very sallow-faced gentleman, neatly dressed in spotless duck, cross the compound below and disappear into the salt shed, evidently in search of Dom Pedro. There was nothing particularly noticeable about him; but another taller figure, draped in blue and white cotton and wearing a crimson turban, followed, and squatted in the hot dust outside the shed. This man was an African, but lighter in color than the seaboard tribes, and his movements reminded Dane of those of the midnight a.s.sa.s.sin. He decided, however, that the resemblance was fanciful.