Twenty-Four Hours/Chapter 9

TTENDED by the “engineer officer,” Kelly took his deliberate way to the port, meanwhile sizing up men and affairs. To Veinte Cuatro, surprized by his prompt appearance, he had carelessly remarked that he desired a mouthful of air, and that, since the solving of the difficulty with the engine would take but a moment, it might as well be attended to now;, a suggestion to which the raider had cordially assented. With the nimbleness which seemed characteristic of him, Gordo had already put his mind to other things; and now, feeding himself with one hand—his appetite evidently unimpaired by the recent execution—he was using the other to check up a list of commandeered funds and supplies. The table was loaded with canvas bags bulging with silver specie; reluctant but inevitable contributions by the townsmen to “liberty and justice”; and men were toiling to lift the lid of a locked iron chest which undoubtedly formed the federal strongbox. Thus pleasingly engaged, the conqueror gave only a moment to the matter of the boat.

Outside it was breakfast time. Campfires burned in the plaza, and from every house came the varying scents of cookery and the impatient tones of hungry men. The search for the hated jefe civil evidently was suspended, if not entirely given up; and to all appearance, the spectacular shooting of a few minutes ago was already forgotten. Yet the observer knew that it was stamped deep on every mind, and that these men would be exceedingly slow to fire on any one unless ordered to do so by an officer. With this thought in mind he covertly studied the officer walking beside him.

This gentleman, a head shorter than he, was a slick looking rascal who obviously thought very well of himself, and whose attitude betokened decided unfriendliness toward the foreigner who had just belittled his knowledge. He walked with stiff back, unpleasant sidelong glances, and an occasional caress of the revolver and knife on his broad waist-belt. The bigger man felt an impulse to slap his face and kick him; but he restrained it. Unspeaking, they walked on to the bowldery waterfront.

There Kelly looked about with some surprise. He had expected to find the port choked with floating craft. Instead, it held only a few canoes and the launch. Near at hand slouched a couple of heavy-eyed sentries, posted to watch the river, but giving it scant attention.

“Teniente, when do we get relief?” growled one of these. “Do we never rest or eat?”

The slick lieutenant seemed to swell. Here was a chance to show authority.

“What! You were not relieved at daybreak? Go, you, at once—at once, understand me!—to the sargento of the guard! Tell him that I, yo, Teniente Mendez, command him to post new men here immediately! Vaya!”

“I go,” grinned the other.

And he briskly departed. The second sentinel brightened up, took a few languid steps, hen [sic] stopped and slouched again.

Kelly, turning his back on the loitering picket, let his gaze rove along the bank below. He saw no other watchers. A glint came into his eye and was gone. Yawning, he said:

“You came here by land, I see. There are no boats.”

“Plenty of boats,” disputed the other, his tone superior. “They are above here. You did not suppose we made a blind landing at so open a spot as this?”

“I did think so. But I understand now.”

The officer gave a supercilious smirk, plainly intimating that the American knew little of military strategy. Kelly bit back a grin and looked as stupid as he could. They straddled into the launch, which rode snugly at the edge of the mud bank. Kelly took a look at the fore deck and saw that it was daubed with muddy tracks around the fuel instake [sic]; sniffed, and caught the reek of gasoline. The tank had been filled to overflowing by the men whose footmarks disfigured the drab paint. Inside, at the bow, stood several unopened five-gallon cans.

“You say the tank has been filled?” he asked, as if too dense to deduce the meaning of the litter forward.

“Sí.”

“Bien. Then the only trouble is that the engine is cold. One must pour a little gasoline in this cup—see?—and open this cock—so—and push this heavy wheel over—so—to suck it in; then bring it back hard—see? Then comes the explosion. Oh, yes, there is another thing. One must first turn on the electricity from the battery over here, and—Cra!”

He stared as if astounded; took a couple of long steps, lifted the cover of the battery compartment, looked outside again at the wiring; turned an angry face on the Venezuelan.

“What have you done to the switch?”

“Qué? What? What have I— Ajo! What do you mean?”

The emptiness of the pretensions of the “engineer” was palpably evident. Quite likely he knew how to operate a cheap automobile (until it broke down), but of motor-boats he had only the faintest comprehension. Staring at Kelly and following the pointing finger, he looked perturbed.

“The switch, hombre!” Kelly glared accusingly. “You have ruined the switch! Without it the boat will never run! What did you do with it?”

“Ah, the sweetch!” parroted Mendez, striving to conceal his ignorance. “Por Dios, I did nothing to it! I have disarranged nothing—”

“Then who did? You are in charge of this boat. You have been in it since I left it. If you did not ruin it, who did? Caramba, the general shall hear of this at once!”

The lieutenant paled. The lone sentinel, keenly interested in the loud accusations, came out of his slouch and glided closer. On him the officer's eyes fastened.

“You, hombre!” he barked. “Who has been in this boat?”

“Nobody. Nobody but you and those you brought here to work on it.” The man's response was prompt and certain.

“You are sure? Nobody in the night? You did not sleep?”

“No!” The answer came angrily. “Cra, I wish I had slept! Hours of useless walking and watching, and nothing to watch but crocodiles! And not even a crocodile touched the boat.”

“Aha,” sneered Kelly. “You can not blame the men, teniente. It is for you to explain this damage. We shall go to the general at once—”

“No, no! A moment! Sangre de Cristo, what a calamity! I have not injured anything—but he may not believe me. Is there not some way of repairing the cursed thing? I am—I am not familiar with this kind of arrangement—it is different from all engineering I have known—a very peculiar type, yes. But there must be a way of making repairs. And the general is most busy. I command you to make this boat ready to go!”

With difficulty Kelly swallowed a snicker. The mental scrambling of this coxcomb in an effort to save his face amused him hugely. Gritting his teeth, he frowned at the engine until his inward mirth passed.

“Your commands do not change the matter,” he countered, roughly. “Can I take a new switch out of my ear, hombre, and fix it in place? You bray like a burro! That switch must be made right or the boat does not run! It is for you to make it right!”

The officer scowled portentously, but his eyes were distinctly scared. He must clear himself somehow— Ah! An idea! He would tell Veinte Cuatro that this American had slyly disabled the boat and—

“But wait,” said Kelly, in a tone somewhat less harsh. “Possibly el capitân—the fight-haired man—may know of some way of making a repair. He is the captain of this boat. It will do no harm to ask him. If the matter can be mended the general need not know of it. He only wants the boat to run.”

“Sí!” Mendez snatched the bait like a hungry trout. “It is as you say. The general must not be troubled by small matters. Bien. Let us go.”

“Huh!” A disgusted grunt. “Shall I walk up the hill only to walk down again? And can el capitân say what shall be done without seeing the boat? He must come here. Until he comes I shall test the other parts. The man who ruined the switch may have done other damage. You go.”

An instant of hesitation; then came realization that, in a dead boat and without his companions, the American would hardly take leave. There was the sentry, too, on guard. He hopped ashore, gave the rifleman a significant look, and hastened townward.

“And that's that,” Kelly said to himself. “Now for the next step, as the guy said when he crep' upstairs with a jag on. Can I talk this guy over, I wonder?” He eyed the guard, who was watching with an air of grim readiness. Then he looked beyond and saw two new men swinging sulkily down the hill. The self-important Mendez met them, stopped them, gave some snappish order, and went on. The pair resumed their approach.

“Not so good,” amended Kelly. “This is the relief.” Turning, he began fussing around the battery.

Meanwhile, up at headquarters, Hart had quietly said to Jean:

“Kelly's got something up his sleeve. We'd better stroll down by and by, as inconspicuously as possible; and maybe we'd better go separately. I'm pretty sure that you'd be safe enough alone just now, because, for certain reasons, the gang's very much on its good behavior for the present—particularly toward anybody in the good graces of the Spanish cavalier.”

She gave him a laughing look and a comprehending nod.

“I can invent a perfectly good excuse to go down there,” she responded. “And I'm not afraid. Last night I was really scared for a little while, but now I feel quite at ease in the lion's den—or the ant's nest. Do you suppose he really bites?”

“You bet! Deep, hard and quick, if he feels like it.”

HE arrival of servants with breakfast broke off their conversation. Both ate eagerly. Before they were half through, however, Mendez arrived.

“Capitân,” he said hurriedly, “I have discovered that the sweetch in your boat is in bad order. Your friend, the other man, says you can make a quick repair. I could do it myself, naturally—I am engineer officer—but you perhaps can manage it more quickly, as you know this particular boat better than I. Let us go immediately.”

Hart eyed him, noting signs of nervousness.

“The switch is not in order? Hum! That is serious. You have notified the general?”

“I—no, Capitân. It is not necessary, since the matter can be made right. Let us go—quietly, without disturbing him.”

“Ah. Well, I shall see what can be done, after breakfast. You will join us?”

“No, no. I ate earlier. Let us waste no time. You shall finish your meal when the repair is made—”

“I finish one thing before starting another, hombre. Take a seat.”

Despite the impatience of the lieutenant, the meal proceeded with exasperating deliberation. Hart suspected that Kelly had sent the fellow in order to get rid of him; so he dawdled, meanwhile probing the other with questions and showing much concern over the mysterious ailment of the switch, until the snippy officer was in a nervous sweat. As a matter of fact, Kelly had not desired this delay. It served one good purpose, however; for, if Mendez had thought there might be any prearrangement in summoning the blond man, the suspicion was banished by the latter's laziness in starting. When at length Hart deigned to arise, the teniente almost ran in his eagerness to be gone.

“Follow on,” Hart muttered to Jean as he departed.

“Soon.”

Taking his time, he passed out. At the door of the office he glanced in, finding Veinte Cuatro absorbed in some discussion with several others. Outside, those who looked his way saw that he was escorted by Mendez and soon forgot him.

Down in the launch, Kelly had been making exceedingly good use of his time. First he had tinkered uselessly, making a show of activity, until the curiosity of the new sentries had worn off, meanwhile informing the world that some sanguinary son of abysmally degenerate denizens of unnamable resorts had ruined the motor in the night. His lurid language evoked appreciative grins from the outlaws and satisfied them that there was little need of intent vigilance on their part. Wherefore they looked longingly for some near-by shade, found none, and fell to growling. They had missed their breakfast, it seemed; and now they must stand in the blazing sun (rapidly rolling higher and hotter) because of that sleek pup of a Mendez. They were exceedingly sour just then on the life of a revolucionario.

Kelly took this in and looked them over, dallying with the idea of making them allies. But he decided against it; they looked too treacherous. So he tinkered again. And, as he tinkered, he proceeded with cool audacity to replace the switch.

This work he masked by keeping his burly body between switch and watchmen, pretending meanwhile to be engrossed in fiddling with the battery. He fastened it firmly, connected up the battery, and even made a tentative test. At the responsive burr he instantly disengaged it; and as the sentries caught the sound and peered quickly toward him he straightened up and swore a blue streak at the boat in general and the battery in particular. The guards chuckled gruffly and looked away. The Americano was having the of a time trying to fix his boat, cra!

“And a good job done,” muttered Kelly. “That teniente is such a simp he won't even know the switch is back; or if he does spot it I can kid him out of it. Wonder where Hart is. Ought to been here before now.”

He got out his priming can and set it handy; laid a hand on the engine, finding it well warmed by the slanting sun; put the gear in reverse. Another burst of oratory for the benefit of the guards. Then he turned on them and, with manner purposely offensive, ordered them to wash off the muck left on the fore deck by the feet of their fellows. The appropriate response was immediately forthcoming, to the effect that he could wash it himself or go to Hades with it. After a further interchange of compliments he took an empty can, crawled out, and went to washing the paint—with his right hand. His left rested on the prow to steady himself; and in it nestled a small pocket-knife with a keen open blade.

A stout piassava rope, running from the boat to a stump ashore, held it secure. The strength of this bond now became materially weakened, as the concealed blade stealthily cut through strand after strand close to the bow. When it had been bitten almost apart, Kelly desisted from his labors, returned inside, and fanned himself until Hart and Mendez arrived.

“At last we are here,” announced the perspiring lieutenant. “Now the repair—at once! Capitân, what is it that must be done?”

“Took ye long enough to git him here, I'll say!” grumbled Kelly. “Did ye tell the big boss about this?”

Mendez squinted, saw that the question was meant for him, and scowled.

“Speak what I can understand!” he rebuked. “I do not comprehend English.”

“That's what I wanted to know,” retorted the other in the same scolding tone. Shifting to Spanish, he continued— “I asked why you did not bring me something to eat.”

“Eat? Am I your servant? Eat! Cra! This capitân of yours has eaten enough for both of you. Now, por amor de Dios, let this cursed boat be adjusted!”

Hart, after one sweeping survey of the interior, turned a quizzical eye on Kelly. In a rising tone, as if asking questions, he said:

“You've got your nerve. All set and ready to go, eh?”

“Yeah. This guy's so ignorant he don't know the diff.” Kelly pointed accusingly at the engine. “Tank full o' gas, more cans in reserve, all connections made; I even tested the ignition. And the rope is cut; hangin' by a hair. If we can git Miss Jean aboard—”

Hart shook his head and wrinkled his brow as if confronted by a perplexing problem. But what he said was:

“That's all fixed. She'll come down as soon as she can. Trust her to work it. Meanwhile we'll stall.”

He moved over to the battery box and began fingering the wiring. And Mendez, self-styled expert engineer, looked straight at the ready switch and away again, unaware that he had seen anything at all. So far as matters electrical were concerned, his brain was as lifeless as the wires in the captain's hand.