The Dust of Conflict

by Harold Bindloss

  XIII -- THE SECOND ATTEMPT

  IT was at a brisk walk Appleby left the banker's house, but he stopped afew minutes later where several streets branched off from a littleplaza. He had some trifling business with a tobacco merchant who livedin one of them, but he decided after a moment's reflection that it wasscarcely likely he would find the man, who probably spent the eveningsat a cafe, at home just then. Appleby had, however, stopped somewhatsuddenly, and noticed that the footsteps he had heard behind him alsoceased a second or two later. This, he surmised, had in all probabilityno special significance; but he raised his hand to an inner pocket wherethe letter the banker had given him lay. It was evidently of someimportance, and he remembered that it was not money the man he hadsurprised at the hacienda was in search of.

  As it happened he carried another letter, which he meant to ask somebodyat the "Four Nations" to post. It was of very little consequence, andcontained only a list of American tools and machinery which Hardingdealt in, and Appleby smiled as he slipped it into the lower pocket ofhis jacket. Then he took out his cigar-case and slowly lighted a cigar,so that anybody who might be watching him should find a motive for hisdelay. He looked about him cautiously as he did so.

  The plaza was small and dark, though a thin crescent moon was justrising over the clustering roofs. Its faint light silvered the higherportions of the two square church towers that rose blackly against thevelvety indigo with one great star between them, but the rest of thebuilding, which was the one Nettie Harding had found shelter in, wasblurred and shadowy. Beyond it a few lights blinked in the calle he hadjust passed through, but they only intensified the darkness of thenarrow gap between the flat-roofed houses, and--for it was getting late--the street seemed utterly silent. Yet Appleby had certainly heardfootsteps, and no closing of a door to account for their cessation. Thehouses were large in that vicinity, and built, for the most part, rounda patio, the outer door of which not infrequently consisted of a heavyiron grille which could scarcely be closed noiselessly. In front of himtwo streets branched off, one broad and well paved, the other narrow andvery dark. The latter, however, led straight to the "Four Nations," pastthe carniceria, or butchery, and two or three of the little wine-shopsof shady repute which are usually to be found close to the principalchurch in a Spanish town. Here and there a blink of light streamed outfrom the open lattice of one of them.

  Appleby stood still a moment, and then, reflecting that anybody whomight be following him would expect him to take the broader way, slippedinto the narrow street. A day or two earlier he would have laughed atthe notion, but the footsteps which had stopped so abruptly troubledhim. He had passed one wine-shop when he heard them again, and, thoughit seemed at least possible that they were those of some citizen goinghome, there was an unpleasant suggestiveness in them, and when the lightof the second wine-shop fell across the street he decided to enter it.If the man behind him also stopped, his motive would be apparent.

  Two or three men sat in the wine-shop with little glasses of cana beforethem, and Appleby was reassured when he glanced at them. They wereevidently of the humbler orders, men who earned a meagre two or threepesetas a day; but their garments of cotton and coarse unstarched linenwere, as usual, spotlessly clean, and he surmised from their shade ofcomplexion that they had emigrated to Cuba from the Canaries. Theysaluted him courteously when he took off his hat on entering, and onelaid down the torn and wine-stained journal he was reading.

  "The war is making sugar dearer, senor," he said.

  Appleby was not altogether pleased at being recognized, as theobservation implied, but the man seemed civil, and he smiled.

  "It also puts up the cost of making it," he said, turning to thelandlord, as an excuse for remaining a little occurred to him. "You haveVermouth in an open bottle?"

  "No, senor," said the other, as Appleby had expected. "Since the warmakes pesetas scarce one drinks the thin red wine and cana here. Still,I have a few bottles with the seal on."

  Appleby laughed. "Well," he said, "as it has been observed, sugar isdear, and Vermouth is a wine I have a liking for. It is conceivable thatthese gentlemen would taste it with me."

  The men appeared quite willing, and one of them brought out a handful ofcoarse maize-husk cigarettes when the host laid down the bottle with thewhite Savoy cross upon it and a few little glasses.

  "It is not the tobacco the senor usually smokes, but his cigar has goneout, and one offers what he has with the good will," he said.

  The man was clearly a peon, a day laborer, but Appleby fancied hismanner could not have been improved upon, for it was free alike fromundue deference or any assertion of equality. He took one of thecigarettes, and when he had handed round the little glasses sat with hisface towards the door. The light from it, as he was pleased to notice,fell right across the narrow street, and he sat with his back to it. Hehad also not long to wait, for a patter of footsteps flung back by thewhite walls grew louder, and Appleby noticed that while they had rungsharp and decided they appeared to slacken as the man approached thewine-shop. This appeared significant, since it suggested that the mandid not wish to cross the stream of light.

  It was, however, evident that he must either stop or pass through it,and in another moment Appleby saw him. There was nothing especiallynoticeable about him except that the broad felt hat was pulled down atrifle lower than seemed necessary, and Appleby wondered if hissuspicions were causeless, until the man turned his head a trifle. Themovement was almost imperceptible, but Appleby felt that the dark eyeshad rested on him a moment. Then as the stranger passed on he saw one ofthe men in the wine-shop glance at his companion, who made a littlegesture of comprehension. It was, however a few moments later, and therewas once more silence in the shadowy street when he turned to Appleby.

  "It is getting late, senor," he said significantly. "You sleep at the'Four Nations'?"

  "No," said Appleby, who wondered if this was intended as a hint. "Still,I am going there."

  The peon, he fancied, glanced at the landlord. "Then it would perhaps bebetter to go round by the calle Obispo."

  Appleby reflected a moment, for he fancied there was a meaning in this,but he knew the calle Obispo would be almost deserted at that hour;while by going through the carniceria he would shorten the distance,and, at least, have the man he suspected in front of him.

  "I think I will go straight on," he said.

  "Then you will find it convenient to walk in the middle of the road,"said the peon.

  Appleby glanced sharply at the man. He had seen sufficient of Spanishtowns to know that there were reasons quite unconnected with the safetyof foot passengers or their property which warranted the warning; butthe olive face was expressionless, and with a punctilious salutation heleft the wine-shop. Glancing over his shoulder a moment or two later, hesaw the men silhouetted black against the light as they stood in thedoorway, and swung into faster stride. He felt he had nothing to fearfrom them, but their hints had been unpleasantly suggestive.

  In two or three minutes he reached the dark slaughterhouses, which werefaced by a wall with one or two unlighted windows high up in it, and as,treading softly, he strained his ears he once more caught a faint patterbehind him. This was somewhat astonishing, as it was evident that if theman who passed the wine-shop still desired to keep him in view he musthave made a considerable round. Appleby stopped suddenly, and made uphis mind when the footsteps ceased too. The spot was lonely, and shut inby the slaughter-houses and high blank walls; while the feeling thatsomebody was creeping up behind him through the darkness was singularlyunpleasant, so much so, in fact, that it changed the concern he wassensible of into anger. He had also distinct objections to being stabbedin the back, and decided that if an affray was inevitable he would, atleast, force the assailant's hand, and to do that cover of some kind wasnecessary. Sooner or later he would find a doorway he could slip into,and he went on again softly and hastily.

  He had made another fifty yards, and the footsteps were plainer stillbehind, whe
n a pillar partly bedded in it broke the bare line of wall,and pulling out the little pistol from his hip pocket he turned sharplyand flung himself into the gloom behind it. Then he realized hisblunder, and that he had two men to deal with instead of one, for astrip of heavy fabric was flung about his head, and hard fingersfastened on his throat. Appleby gasped, and drew the triggerconvulsively, while there was a crash as the pistol exploded. Then hefelt it slip from his fingers, for the strength seemed to go out of him,and he was only sensible that he was fighting hard for breath. How longthe tense effort lasted he did not know, but his faculties had almostdeserted him when a cry he could scarcely hear rose from the street, andwas followed by a sound of running feet.

  Then he was flung against the pillar, and there was a crash as a shadowyobject leapt into the doorway. A man reeled out of it in a blunderingfashion, another sped down the street, and Appleby, staggering out,leaned, gasping, against the wall. It was some moments before he couldmake anything out, and then he saw two men standing close in front ofhim. One held something in his hand, and by their voices he fancied theywere the peons he had met in the wine-shop. Looking round him as hisscattered senses came slowly back, he saw another man apparentlycrawling out of the gutter. Then there was a rapid tramp of feet furtherup the street, and one of the men seemed to look at his companion, whomade a sign of agreement.

  "The civiles!" he said.

  Then they fell upon the man in the gutter, dragged him to his feet,drove him before them with kicks, and stood still again while he reeledaway in an unsteady fashion which suggested that he was at least halfdazed. In the meanwhile the rapid tramp behind them had been growinglouder, and the shuffling steps had scarcely ceased when a light wasflashed into Appleby's face, and he saw a man with a lantern in trimwhite uniform standing a few paces away, and another who carried apistol behind him. Then the light was turned aside, and revealed the twopeons from the wine-shop waiting quietly to be questioned.

  Appleby recognized the men in uniform as civil guards, and knew thatalmost every man in that body had won distinction in the militaryservice.

  The street was now very silent again, and it was evident that the peonsdid not consider it advisable to put the civiles on the track of thefugitive just yet. The one who held the lantern looked at them, standingerect, with knee bent a trifle and a big pistol projecting from theholster at his belt.

  "There was a shot, and by and by a shout," he said. "An explanation isdesired. You are warned to be precise."

  "It is simple," said one of the peons. "Comes this senor the American,into the wine-shop of Cananos where we are sitting. There he takes aglass of Vermouth and goes away. Then comes a man slipping by where itis darkest, and we go to warn the senor taking the cana bottle. Itappears there is another man waiting in this doorway, there is astruggle, and Vincente strikes down one of the prowlers with the bottle.He gets to his feet again, and they go in haste when they hear youcoming. Then we find the senor faint and short of breath."

  The civile stretched out his hand for the cana bottle, which wasapparently corked, and balanced it. "It would serve--a man might bekilled with it," he said. "But you had a knife!"

  "With excuses," said the peon. "We respect the law. The knife isforbidden."

  There was a little grim twinkle in the civile's eyes, but he fixed themon Appleby. "I will not ask you to shake your sleeve, or question yourcomrade, because his tale would be the same," he said. "That is whathappened, senor?"

  "Yes," said Appleby, "so far as I can remember. I was going from thebanker's to the 'Four Nations' when I became aware that there was a manfollowing me. To avoid him I slipped into this doorway, where anotherman was waiting. It was my pistol you heard, but the other man, whom Ihad not expected, had his fingers on my throat, and I was helpless whenthese others appeared."

  The civile made a little gesture of comprehension, and then, tilting uphis chin, laid his fingers on his throat. "The head drawn back--and thethumb so! With the knee in the back at the same time it was as sure asthe knife. The senor is to be felicitated on his escape. But the motive?Even in Santa Marta men do not fall upon a stranger without a purpose."

  Appleby, who was on his guard at once, felt his pockets, and wassensible of a vast relief when he found the letter the banker had givenhim was still in his possession. The other in his outer pocket had,however, as he expected, disappeared.

  "I think their purpose was evident. It is for money one usually goes toa banker's," he said. "It is also known that I have dealings with theSenor Suarez. Still, thanks to the promptness of the gentlemen here,nothing of importance has been taken from me."

  The civile with the lantern glanced at his comrade, who nodded.

  "It would be wiser to go there in the daylight another time," said thelatter as he held out Appleby's pistol, which he had unobtrusivelylooked for and picked up. "One cartridge burned--it confirms the story!You would not recognize the men who attacked you?"

  "No," said Appleby, and the peon whom the civile turned to shook hishead emphatically.

  "It was very dark," he said.

  The civiles asked a few more questions, and then one of them insisted onescorting Appleby, who apparently failed to make the peons understandthat he desired a word with them, to the "Four Nations." The man,however, left him outside the hotel, and Appleby had spent a few minutesthere waiting for his mule when one of the peons came quietly up to himin the patio.

  "The senor lost this letter not long ago?" he said.

  "I did," said Appleby, taking the envelope. "Where did you find it?"

  The peon smiled in a curious fashion. "It seems you know our country. Itook it from the man Vincente felled, but it did not seem wise tomention it before the civiles. They have sharp eyes, those gentlemen."

  "I am indebted," said Appleby. "It is, however, of no importance."

  The peon smiled again. "And yet you knew you had lost it, and saidnothing. Why would one run a risk to seize a letter?"

  "I don't know," said Appleby. "Nor am I sure why you and your companionshould take so much trouble to guard a stranger. I would not, of course,offend you by suggesting that you did it to repay me for a glass ofVermouth."

  "For the charity then?" said the peon, smiling.

  "I do not think so," said Appleby, who looked at him steadily.

  The man laughed. "Well," he said reflectively, "there may have beenanother reason. It is known to a few that Don Bernardino is a friend ofliberty."

  Appleby was a trifle astonished, but not sufficiently to show it, sincehe had already had vague suspicions.

  "It is," he said, "a thing one does not admit in Santa Marta, but if onemight reward a kindness with money I have a few dollars."

  "It is not permissible, senor--not from a comrade," and the manstraightened himself a trifle. "Still, one might be grateful for alittle bottle."

  Appleby laughed, though he was not quite at ease, and entering the hotelcame back with two bottles of somewhat costly wine, which he thrust uponthe man.

  "If I can be of service I think you know where I am to be found," hesaid.

  Again the curious little smile showed in the man's face, but he took offhis hat and turned away; while ten minutes later Appleby rode out ofSanta Marta somewhat troubled in mind. It was tolerably plain to himthat Harding's affairs were being watched with interest by theAdministration or somebody who desired to gain a hold on him, and thathis own connection with the Sin Verguenza was at least suspected by thepeons who had befriended him. That being so, it appeared likely thatothers were aware of it too.