South, West and North/Part 2/Chapter 6

HIS,” observed Job Warlock as he hacked at his beard, “is what you get for bein' smart with the señora; I hope she lands you up in a corner and gives you a piece of her mind! I bet she can give a feller plain worse'n any bucko mate. I wish El Hambre had stayed with us, instead of galivanting around with that silver knife. I like that Injun.”

“It may yet be due to his knife that we get away at all,” said Hampton grimly. “We have our backs against the wall, Job. If we're in the city tomorrow, we'll be located and clapped into jail, and we may rot there.”

“Well, we won't be here,” and Warlock chuckled. “The world's a good place, so hurray! We ought to get some action tonight, matey.”

Hampton grunted something about having had nothing but action all day, and fell to work removing his beard.

They had barely finished dressing, when d'Aquila brought in the boatman—a sullen, silent Indian. Job Warlock got the weapons put together, and then with unwonted seriousness turned to Hampton, who was rolling up the blankets.

“Matey, I reckon there's no sense in it, but I got that same feeling that we're steering the wrong course. I didn't want to say anything about it before, thinking maybe I'd et my dinner too fast—but it's more'n that. I'm scared o' that Doña Hermana, to tell the truth.”

“So am I,” said Hampton. “That's why I want to get off in a hurry; if you think it's the wrong course, suppose you stay and keep her company.”

“Not me.” Warlock grinned and swung the bundled weapons over his shoulder. “Ready?”

Hampton nodded and gestured to the Indian. The latter led the way from the room, d'Aquila met and conducted them by a rear door to an alley, and presently they reached the plaza. The streets were still riotous, for gambling halls, cock-pits and a fandango were in full swing, and groups of convivial adventurers filled the narrow ways. All this was soon left behind, however, and the three men approached the silent beach and waterfront where less wealthy and fortunate voyageurs to Eldorado were camped under open skies. Avoiding these tents and huts, the Indian led the way along dark warehouses to the shelter of a long wharf, where boats were drawn up. He silently indicated one of these, and the white men helped him get it into the water.

Hampton's spirits rose at once, for he saw the success of their scheme assured. A thin mist, a light and miasmatic vapor which foretold new corpses to feed the bay sharks, had settled down over shore and water, hiding the stars from sight and cloaking everything in gentle obscurity. This altered everything, promising a short fight aboard the schooner, and after that a safe evasion; the craft could be towed out to catch the breeze, if necessary. The moonlight, filtering through the mist, made all things more deceptive.

“Looks good,” observed Job Warlock softly, as they got into the boat and pushed out. “Looks good, Dick! Now we got Nelly Barnes dead ahead.”

“I hope so,” returned Hampton. The Indian made a gesture for silence, and laid out his oars. When he had wrapped these in cloths, he set to work rowing. The shore faded away, and around them was the opaline mist, while the water glistened luminously to the stirrings of the silent oars. Hampton's nostrils twitched to the tang of the salt air.

The Indian rowed stolidly, as if in perfect assurance of the way, driving the boat ahead steadily and with scarce a sound. Warlock sat in the bow, Hampton in the stern. After an interminable time, the Indian paused in his labor, leaned forward and touched Hampton's knee, and pointed. Hampton dimly descried a blur in the mist, a faint and ghostly shape, and knew that they must be close aboard the schooner.

They now drew down upon her slowly, drifting cautiously. No sound, no lift of voices, came from her; but Hampton was aware of a stirring in the mist, and knew that a breeze was rustling upon them. So much the better, he reflected happily, as they had need of a breeze to get away. The boat floated in under the dark bulk of the schooner.

Hampton, rising, fended off with his hands as the two craft touched, and prevented a bump or jar. The Indian moved her along slowly, and presently found what he sought—a Jacob's ladder left dangling over the taffrail. Not so much as a stamp of foot came from above. Hampton caught the ladder; as he did so, the mist about them cleared away suddenly, and the full open moonlight struck down and illumined everything.

It was no time to hesitate. Hampton swung up the rounds swiftly, got a leg over the rail, and dropped to the deck. At first he thought it deserted; then, lying against the rail at his very side, he discerned the figure of a man. It was the peon, the spy of Dias, with a pool of dark blood around him and a great black gash across his serape. Hampton turned to the rail to signal Job Warlock

Then, abruptly, all the decks seemed to leap into rushing life, the dark figures of men came sweeping in from every side. A yell split the night, and another. Hampton felt a noose encircle his body and jerk taut, then he was dragged backward, and went down under half a dozen men who piled upon him. Fighting, kicking, struggling vainly, he was dragged across the deck. The knot of bodies smashed into the farther rail and came to a halt; there, while they fell upon him and held him spread-eagled, Hampton had a momentary vision of what was happening at the opposite rail. The sight held him astounded, paralyzed.

He saw El Hambre there, surrounded by striking men, and Captain Garcia. Where they had come from, he had not the least idea then or afterward; but as he looked, Garcia plunged reeling across the moonlight with a knife-haft protruding from his breast, and El Hambre went down under the mob of men. The silver knife flashed once, and twice, and the Indian broke free—then went headlong over the rail. As the others rushed to peer after him, Job Warlock came into sight, only to vanish under a flash of blue steel.

This was all that Hampton saw, for now he was rolled into the scuppers with a line knotted around and around him, and a gag thrust cruelly between lips and teeth, while over him was flung ancient and reeking tarpaulin that closed him in foul darkness. He was sickened by the frightful completeness of the disaster; yet gradually, as his mind came from chaos to realization, he managed to piece together some details.

Garcia had not betrayed them, for the Mexican had died there—and yet the schooner had been as a trap, vomiting unsuspected men. Whose guile had set this trap? Not that of the crafty peon spy, for he had died under the silver knife, obviously. As he lay thus wondering, Hampton suppressed a sudden groan; around him were men stamping on the deck, voices issuing orders, the click of capstan pawls and the squeak of ungreased sheaves. Movement thrilled all the deck. The schooner was getting under way!

It seemed to Hampton, as he lay there, that he heard Warlock calling him, then came a shot and another. The schooner heeled over a trifle—the fog must have been dissipated by the coming breeze. Now came a pounding of naked feet, a rush of excited voices, the rattle of oars alongside; men going down into a boat, Hampton knew. Therefore, some of that crowd abroad were going ashore. He strove desperately, frantically, for freedom, biting at his gag, tearing at the rope which wound about him, but all in vain. When the spasm of furious despair wore itself out, he lay weak and trembling. He was alone on this schooner, a captive, and whither bound?

As if in response to this thought, came the dull boom of a heavy gun from the castle, but whether in salute or alarm remained undetermined. The schooner lay over more and more to the wind; the cant of deck, the rushing foam past the lee rail where he lay, the squeak and groan of straining timbers, all informed Hampton that she was close-hauled and with all sail set, doubtless running for shelter from the guns of the castle. She was certainly a prey to pirates.

Presently there was a new burst of shouts and trampling of feet. Whatever her objective, the schooner had attained it, for now she wore around; Hampton could catch the orders, which were in Spanish, and by these and the level deck detected that she was running wing-and-wing before the breeze. Then, almost at once, the stifling tarpaulin was jerked from above him and he found himself in full moonlight, with a group of men around. All were strangers.

They regarded him with an oath or two; he was commented upon as a gringo and in still less favorable terms—then the group opened up and fell away. A single figure advanced and stood looking down at him. With this, Hampton comprehended everything; the figure was that of Doña Hermana.

“So, my brave Basque!” said the woman, clicking her fan at him, her voice filled with soft mockery. “You decided to hurry north, as I thought you would! Well, you shall go north, and you shall interview that friend of yours, that Americano named Day, whom you wanted to see!”

A guffaw from the men answered this. Hampton now perceived the whole trap—the woman had outwitted them, that was all. He stifled a groan. A soft laugh broke from the señora, as she leaned forward and tapped Hampton's face with her fan.

“You shall see him, my charming Basque adventurer!” she taunted him, and somehow the gentle nuances of her voice held more menace than any threat. “You shall see him, you and I together, my dear Señor Hampton! And perhaps you shall see your brother also—no? Oh, I recall him very well indeed! A pleasant journey, my caballero; a pleasant journey to you, and you may reflect at leisure upon the ability with which a poor woman can fight—and learn! Hasta la mañana, my caballero!” 

She curtsied mockingly and withdrew. The circle of men fell away, then gathered in again, sweeping vast bows in the moonlight.

“Hasta la mañana, caballero!” they echoed her words. “Until morning, brave señor, enjoy our hospitality! Until we have suitable apartments prepared for so brave a caballero, so great a man, a true rico hombre, enjoy our food and wine! All that we have is yours, señor Basque, and our master will give you welcome when he receives you.”

So, with a last volley of taunts, they separated and went away to their work. Hampton lay in his bonds, eyes closed, in the shadow of the mainsail; and against the bellying canvas above him he heard the soft flapping of the reef-points, like an echo of the rat-tat-tat of frozen points against hard canvas off the Horn.