The League of the Leopard Part 31

When he descended from his hammock, attired in spotless duck and American brown shoes, he was evidently well contented with himself.

"I compa.s.sionate you on your misfortune," said Miss Castro. "My father may not return until midnight, and you will have only myself and my aunt, who is always sleepy, for company."

"What better could any man desire?" There was a look of the African in Rideau's over-bold eyes, and the girl regarded him frigidly. "I go east by the steamer which will call to-night," he continued, "and hurried for the pleasure of a few hours of your company. The English adventurer has called here, is it not so?"

That was sufficient warning, and Bonita Castro prepared for the fray.

The weapons she chose in the first place were merely demure glances and opportune smiles; and though many of his speeches stung her pride to the quick, she fooled Monsieur Rideau cleverly, and extracted from him more information than he meant to impart. Still, when the black major-domo set out the _comida_ and Miss Castro withdrew, the visitor might have lounged less complacently on the veranda had he seen her kneeling, with a face that was stamped with hatred, beside the factory medicine chest.

She lifted a ribbed gla.s.s phial, and glanced at it earnestly, then let it fall back, took out another, and clutched at the chest, when she saw that the door had opened a little. Then, as the rustle of the palm-fronds suggested that the breeze was accountable for this, she slipped the bottle behind a vase on the window-sill, and went out softly. Hardly had she done so than the Senora Diaz entered silently, lifted the bottle, and read its label, and then, with a gesture which expressed both relief and perplexity, replaced it. The senora was much more observant than she seemed to be, and was by no means a friend of Victor Rideau.

It might have been better for Rideau had he reached the factory after dinner. He did not eat prettily, and Miss Castro had lived long enough in the Iberian peninsula to grow particular about small matters. Also, he drank freely, and while his voice grew louder his consonants lost their crispness. Rideau spoke several civilized languages, but that night he emphasized the vowels after the fas.h.i.+on of the negro. Though not excessively indulgent, Dom Pedro's old Madeira had awakened a side of his nature he usually kept in subjection, and perhaps it had slightly clouded his judgment. In any case, the Senora Diaz frowned at some of the compliments he paid her niece, and her ancient laces rustled as she stirred with indignation, for while compliments were common in her country, they were characterized by either a becoming deference or scintillating wit. Once or twice she glanced sharply at the girl, who was generally quite capable of resenting a liberty; but Bonita did not heed her. She was working for an end, and working skilfully. Perhaps she suffered during the process, but that was only part of the price of victory.

The _comida_ was cleared away at length, and when Bonita accompanied her guest to the moonlit veranda, she made it manifest that she did not desire her aunt's company. Nevertheless the Senora Diaz, who respected the customs of the Peninsula, seated herself beside an open window and saw all that pa.s.sed. Rideau lounged in a cane chair with a cigar in his hand, while Bonita stood upright, dropping morsels of ice presented by a steamboat purser into the bowl which rested on the little table at his side. A Frenchman would not have shown such lack of manners. Rideau's very leer, which grew more p.r.o.nounced, conveyed a hint that he knew he held the whip hand, and meant to use it; with any one of Miss Castro's disposition, that was very bad policy.

"It is charming, senorita. I have done much for you; you do a little now for me."

Miss Castro dropped the next lump of ice somewhat hastily, so that the liquid splashed over the table; but she smiled with apparent good humor, and the man grew more bold.

"You will sit here while I tell you something, is it not so? This scene is so charming that after I make one more journey I have resolved to cultivate the domestic virtue."

"That is commendable," said the girl, smiling. "Might one compliment you on such a piece of self-denial?"

She did not forget that the African's greatest weakness is vanity, as Rideau answered her with a deprecatory smile:

"It is not my fault if many women love me. Perhaps they are foolish and trust to the eye. But, me, I aspire, and am only content with the great mind and virtue."

Miss Castro, instead of meeting his glance, appeared to be looking out to sea, and Rideau continued, still far too complacently:

"Now I see all that I desire--the peace, the tranquillity, the night that speaks of love, and the company of the peerless Bonita."

The girl laughed as she turned upon him; but her sleepy aunt, who sat by the window, knew that the pa.s.sion which called the color to her forehead and set a sparkle in her eyes was by no means love.

"Is that another empty compliment, monsieur?" she asked lightly.

"It is the ambition of my life," he declared in a deeper tone; "and a long time I dream of it. Now when I make one more journey I ask you to gratify it."

"You must be more explicit. And is it the custom of France--or Africa--to make such speeches--so?"

Rideau frowned, and for a moment it appeared that he would have preferred the African custom of choosing his bride; but remembering what he claimed to be, he stood upright, a full-fleshed, crisp-haired figure, with his sensual lips showing too prominently.

"I have the honor to offer you my name and devotion, senorita."

"That is very much better," laughed Miss Castro. "But are you quite sure you would not find domestic happiness grow monotonous? I, at least, have been my own mistress so long that it might not content me. What else have you to offer?"

"An affection that will not weary," was the answer, and the man dramatically laid his hand where he supposed his heart to be.

"And if even that were not enough?"

"All the good things that money can buy, and women love. I shall be a rich man presently."

"You have not won those riches yet; and white men have lost their lives already in the Leopards' country. You should understand me."

Rideau blundered when he resolved to use the strong hand at last.

"There is still something--the safety of your father. It is, as I have once said, forbidden with the heaviest penalty to sell the black man the modern rifle, and Dom Pedro has sold more than this."

It is possible that Miss Castro had expected a similar answer, but the speaker's tone and the glitter of his eyes would have inspired most women with misgivings under the circ.u.mstances.

"You are forgetful," she said slowly. "I have bought that from you already."

Rideau laughed.

"You are mistaken. You sold me the English madman's map for the Emir's agreement, but you did not buy my lieutenant or the black headman who hired your father his people, and is a good friend of me. Senorita, you quite fail to comprehend me. To those who love me I give everything, but with those who bargain it is different. You are too young and pretty to drive a hard one with me."

The girl turned from him, and walked slowly across the veranda with her back toward her suitor and her face toward the sea, so that he could not see how one hand slipped without a rustle beneath a fold of her dress.

He had left her but one way out of the difficulty, and it was dangerous; but gauging the quality of her antagonist she was content to take the risks. The sleepy aunt saw, however, and smiled grimly to herself.

Then Miss Castro turned, and smiled.

"It is a long journey to the Leopards' country, and many things may happen on the way. You would be wise to wait for my answer, monsieur.

What you offer appears insufficient now, but few women are sure of their own minds, so some wise men say; and, who knows, when you come back I may think differently. I have duties to attend to, and may not see you before you sail, but I want your promise to keep silence in the meantime. Pledge it in Vermouth."

Before the man could answer, she had pa.s.sed into the house and returned with a small flask and two fresh gla.s.ses. One was br.i.m.m.i.n.g, and she filled the other before she held it out to him.

"A swift journey to the land of the Leopard!" she said.

Miss Castro's voice was steady, though she waited almost breathlessly while the man stood undecided, holding up the cup. It was evident that he was averse to delay, and yet afraid to lose by undue precipitancy.

"So, I give the promise. To your bright eyes, senorita. It is a journey I make for you."

Rideau laid the gla.s.s down empty, and with a swift salutation that was half-ironical, and a swish of light draperies, Miss Castro had vanished before he quite realized that she had left him. When he did, he gnawed the end off a cigar, and lay thoughtfully back in his chair. It struck him that perhaps he might find Bonita Castro much less amenable to his wishes and more difficult to live with than a deeper-tinted helpmate.

In the meantime, a group of chattering Krooboys were lighting a fire on the crest of the bluff, their figures outlined against the increasing glare. It was a signal to the east-bound steamer due to pa.s.s shortly that cargo or pa.s.sengers were awaiting her. Rideau watched the blaze until it flared high aloft in token that the fire had good hold, then he walked slowly to the rail of the veranda and leaned over it, as though expecting an answering light from the moonlit sea. There was none, and presently he walked back, still more slowly, and sank into his chair with a sigh. Then his shoulders sank lower until his head drooped forward and there was silence in the veranda except for the sound of his uneven breathing. This had scarcely continued five minutes when a slender black-robed figure flitted out of a shadowy door, and the profile of a woman's face was silhouetted against the moonlight as it bent over the sleeper.

"Sleep soundly, and awake too late!" a voice said, and the figure vanished again.

Presently, perhaps because there was n.o.body to watch them, or they had been regaled too freely with factory gin, the Krooboys left to tend the fire curled themselves up beside it, and when an hour had pa.s.sed, only a thin column of vapor rose up from the bluff. The stokers slumbered peacefully, as did the comrades they should have awakened, when the twinkle of a masthead light crept nearer from out at sea. It rose until the black patch beneath it lengthened into a line of wallowing hull; but the fresh land breeze and the clamor of the surf between them rendered the hoot of the steamer's whistle but faintly audible at the factory.

Still, the Senora Diaz awakened, and sitting upright on her couch near an open window, looked out on to the veranda. Her niece stood in a doorway, with the moonlight on her face, which showed white and anxious as she watched the sleeping figure.

The girl set her lips tight when again the whistle's summons, ringing louder this time, was flung back by the bluff behind the factory; but Rideau lay motionless in his chair; and Bonita quivered all through when, finding his signal unanswered, the steamboat skipper burned a crimson flare. She could see the wall of hull and slanting spars sharp and clear in the blood-red glare, with the figure of a man leaning out from the slanted bridge projected against it, but there was still no answer from either bluff or factory, and with a last blast of the whistle the steamer moved on. No other boat would call for a fortnight, and this one would have saved Rideau a protracted and risky surf-boat voyage, or a weary march through the jungles overland.

It was past midnight when Dom Pedro's hammock came lurching into the compound, and, alighting stiffly, the trader climbed the veranda steps.

He started on reaching the veranda, for there was n.o.body to meet him, only a man whose visits he had learned to dread, asleep in a chair. The trader bent over him; and by the way his eyes glistened and his fingers twitched as he saw that the duck jacket had fallen open, leaving the dusky throat bare, an observer might have concluded that he would not have been sorry had some accident prevented the sleeper from ever awakening. Still, Dom Pedro was only a man of lax principles; he shrugged his shoulders as he quoted a Castilian proverb, and then he shook his guest by the arm. Rideau sat upright, grasping the arms of his chair. He stared at the table, possibly seeking the gla.s.s he had drunk from, but it was not there, and rising shakily, he staggered toward the bal.u.s.trade.

"What hour is it?" he asked.

"Past twelve. It is not good to sleep in the moonlight, my friend."

Rideau's face was a study of evil pa.s.sions, but his reason resumed the mastery. The fact that the gla.s.ses were missing was significant, and perhaps he recognized that the woman might prove no contemptible adversary; for he answered Dom Pedro calmly.