The Flying Girl and Her Chum/Chapter 17

Halfway up the road they noticed on the left a large clearing, in which stood a group of thatched huts. Some women and children—all with dark skins and poorly dressed—were lounging around the doorways. These stood silently as the strangers passed by. A little farther along three men, attired in exactly the same manner as the two who were escorting them, were cultivating a garden patch. They gave no indication they were aware of the presence of strangers.

There was something uncanny—wholly unnatural—about the manner of their reception and even about the place itself, that caused some of them to harbor forebodings that all was not right. Yet they had experienced no opposition, so far—no unfriendliness whatsoever.

Up to the broad veranda they were led, and this, now viewed closely, showed signs of considerable neglect. The house, built of rough boards, needed whitewashing again; the elaborate stained-glass windows were thick with dust; the furnishings of the wide veranda, which were somewhat prodigal, seemed weather-stained and unkempt. On a small wicker table was a dirty siphon bottle and some soiled glasses with bugs and flies crawling over them. Beside these stood a tray of roughly made cheroots.

The fat man at once disappeared through the open doorway of the dwelling, but the tall man faced the strangers and, spreading out his arms as if to forbid their entrance, pointed to the chairs and benches scattered in profusion about the veranda.

"Invited to sit," interpreted Mr. Cumberford. "Interesting—very."

Suddenly a huge form filled the doorway, inspecting the newcomers with a quick, comprehensive glance. The man was nearly as tall as Chesty Todd, but not so well built. Instead of being athletic, he possessed a superabundance of avoirdupois, evidently the result of high living. He was clothed all in white flannel, but wore a blue linen shirt with a soiled collar and a glaring red necktie in which glittered a big diamond. Jewels were on his fingers, too, and even on his thumbs, and a gold chain passed around his neck fell in folds across his breast and finally ended in his watch-pocket. On his feet were red slippers and on his head a sombrero such as the others had worn. A man of perhaps thirty-five years of age, rather handsome with his large eyes and carefully curled mustache, but so wholly unconventional as to excite wonder rather than admiration.

He had merely paused in the doorway for that one rapid glance. Immediately he advanced with a brisk step, exclaiming:

"Welcome, señors and señoritas—Americaños all—most joyous welcome. You the Spanish speak? No! It cannot matter, for I speak the English. I am so pleasured that my humble home is now honored by your presence. You make me glad—happy—in rapture. You do not know to where—to whom—you have come? Imagine! I am Don Miguel del Borgitis, and this"—extending his arms with a proud gesture—"my own Island of Borgitis—a kingdom—of individual property, however small, for it owes allegiance to no other nation on earth!"

This was spoken very impressively, while the shrewd eyes read their faces to determine the degree of awe created.

"Yes," he went on, giving them no chance to reply, "I am really King—King of Borgitis—but with modesty I call myself Don Miguel del Borgitis. As such I welcome you. As such I take you to my arms in friendship. Observe, then, all my kingdom is yours; you shall reign in my place; you shall command me; for does not Don Miguel ever place his friends above himself?"

This seemed cordial enough, certainly, but it was rather embarrassing to find an answer to such effusiveness. Don Miguel, however, did not seem to expect an answer. With merely an impressive pause, as if to drive the words home, he continued: "May I, then, be honored by a recital of your names and station?"

"To be sure," said Mr. Cumberford. "You—er—interest me, Don Miguel; you do, really. Quite a relief, you see, to find a gentleman, a civilized gentleman, in these wilds, and"

"My island kingdom is very grand—very important—Señor Americaño," interrupted Don Miguel, evidently piqued at the use of the term "wilds." "In effect have I reign over three islands—the one from which you now come, the one to the west of here, and—the Grand Island Borgitis! Three Islands and one owner—One King—with privilege to decree life and death to his devoted subjects. But you have more to say."

They were a bit startled to hear that he knew they came from the island of the owls. But they reflected that some of his people might have watched the progress of their launch.

Mr. Cumberford introduced his party to Don Miguel, one by one, afterward briefly relating the aërial trip of the two girls, the search for them by the yacht and the unfortunate beaching of the Salvador on the island during the recent storm, ending with the surprising reunion of the party and their desire to secure help to get the launch into deep water again, that they might return home.

To all this Don Miguel listened intently, his head a little to one side, his eyes turning critically to each person mentioned during the recital. Then said he, more soberly than before:

"How unfortunate that your ship is wreck!"

"Oh, it is not wrecked," returned Madeline. "It is merely stuck on those rocks—'beached' is, I think, the proper word."

"Then, alas! it is wreck."

"It is not injured in the least, sir," declared Steve.

Don Miguel's face brightened at this statement, but he controlled his elation and responded sadly:

"But it is no longer a ship, for you cannot get it off the land."

"Not without your kind assistance, I fear," said Miss Dentry.

"Make me obliged by resuming your seats," requested Don Miguel. Then he clapped his hands, and the red-bearded man appeared. "Refreshments, Pietro!" He offered the cheroots to the men, and when they refused selected one for himself and lighted it. Then, leaning back in his arm-chair, he regarded his guests musingly and said:

"It is laughable. Really, it amuses one! But under the Spanish Grant by which I hold my islands—my kingdom—I am exclusively owner of all wrecks on my shores. In fact, were you not my dear friends, I could take your yacht, which I now own because it lies wreck on my coast."

"But it is not wrecked!" asserted Steve, frowning, for he was beginning to suspect Don Miguel.

"Perhaps not, since you tell me so; but I will see. I will see for myself. Ah, the poor refreshments—the offering of hospitality to a king's friends. Partake, is my earnest implore, and so honor your humble host—Don Miguel del Borgitis."

The tall man and the short man brought wines, liquors and glasses, with a fresh siphon of clear water. Following them came a sour-faced woman of middle age and a pretty young girl of perhaps sixteen years—pretty in the Spanish fashion, with plump cheeks, languid dark eyes and raven hair. These last carried trays of fruits and cake, which they passed to the company. The woman's face was expressionless; that of the girl evinced eager curiosity and interest; but neither spoke nor seemed to receive the notice of the royal Don Miguel.

When they had all positively refused to accept any of the strong drink, the Don helped himself liberally to a milky liquor diluted with water, which he called pulque. As he sipped this he said to them:

"The life here on Borgitis is grand—magnificent—entrancing—as you will easily conceive. But it is also lonely. I have here no equals with whom I may freely associate. So it delights me to receive you as guests. May you long enjoy my hospitality—it is a toast which I drink with fervency."

"We return to the yacht at once," said Steve, stiffly.

"My mansion is roomy and comforting," continued the other, as if he had not heard, "and here are no owls to annoy one. Some day I will take you to visit the third island of my kingdom. It is called Chica—after my daughter, here." He glanced at the young girl, as he spoke, and she cast down her eyes, seeming frightened.

Mr. Cumberford arose.

"Sir," said he, "we thank you for your hospitality, which we regret we are unable to further accept. Let us come to the point of our errand. We need your assistance and are willing to pay for it—liberally, if need be. You have plenty of men here, I observe, and a large launch. Send a crew with us to our island"

"My island, señor, if you please."

"Very well. Send a crew of men to help us, and come along yourself, if you like. But whatever you do, kindly do it at once, as we have no time to waste."

He spoke positively, in a way that required an answer; but Don Miguel merely took a cake from the tray, and as he munched it said casually in Spanish, as if addressing the air: "Prepare my launch; have the men in readiness; lock the little boat securely."

Without a glance at his master, the one-eyed man deliberately left the veranda and walked down the path. Steve pricked up his ears. He understood the carefully veiled command, and it nettled him.

"What little boat do you refer to, sir?" he pointedly asked.

Don Miguel gave a start, but tossed off the contents of his glass, and rose.

"I shall prepare to go at once to visit your yacht, with my own men and in my own launch," said he. "You will be good enough to amuse yourselves here until I send you the word that I am ready to depart."

With this he lazily stretched his big body, yawned, and turned his back on his "beloved guests," to leave the veranda and proceed leisurely down the path to the inlet.