Long Odds by Harold Bindloss
CHAPTER XXIV
BENICIA MAKES A BARGAIN
Except for the two unsightly objects that lay in the soft moonlight,there was no sign of Herrero's boys when Ormsgill walked up thestairway with a rifle in his hand. A little smoke curled from thebreech which he opened before he shook hands with Nares.
"It's fortunate I knew where you were, and came round to pick you up,"he said, and turned to the head of the station, who leaned upon thebalustrade apparently shaken and bewildered by what had happened.
"I came up behind Herrero most of the way, and when there were signsthat we were getting closer I sent one of my boys on to creep in uponhis camp two or three days ago. From what he told me when he came backI fancied there was mischief on foot, and I pushed on as fast aspossible. Considering everything, it seems just as well I did."
The other man appeared unwilling to let his gaze wander beyond theveranda, which was in one way comprehensible. There was shrinking inhis face, and his voice was strained and hoarse.
"It was so sudden--it has left me a trifle dazed," he said. "I amalmost afraid the trouble is not over yet."
Ormsgill smiled reassuringly. "I scarcely think--you--have any causeto worry. There is no doubt that Herrero inspired his boys, andattempts of this kind, as no doubt you are aware, have been made onmission stations before, but it's certain he would disclaim allknowledge of what they meant to do, and will be quite content to letthe matter go no further. That is, at least, so far as anybodyconnected with the Mission is concerned."
"I am afraid he may find some means of laying the blame on you."
"It is quite likely," and Ormsgill laughed. "After all, it's a thingI'm used to, and, you see, I'm proscribed already. As it happens, sois Nares. He should never have left me. I have no doubt Herrero, whohas friends in authority, will endeavor to make him regret his sharein to-night's proceedings."
Nares glanced at one of the rigid figures that lay beneath him in themoonlight. He saw the naked black shoulders, and the soiled whitedraperies that had fallen apart from the ebony limbs, and a littleshiver ran through him. The heat of the conflict had vanished now, andthe pale light showed that his face was drawn and gray.
"I struck that man," he said. "I don't know what possessed me, but Ithink I meant to kill him. In one way, the thing is horrible."
"Well," said Ormsgill dryly, "it is also very natural. The impulse youseem to shrink from is lurking somewhere in most of us. In any case,the man is certainly dead. I looked at him as I came up."
He stopped a moment, and leaned somewhat heavily upon the balustradewith his eyes fixed on the dusky form of the negro. "The meanest thingupon this earth is the man who sides with the oppressor and trampleson his own kind. Still, though I think what I did was warranted, thatwas not why I shot those men. One doesn't always reason about thesematters, as I fancy you understand."
He turned, and looked at Nares who, after a momentary shrinking,steadily met his gaze. The man was wholly honest, and the thing wasclear to him. He had struck at last, shrewdly, in a righteous cause,and nobody could have blamed him, but, as had happened in hiscomrade's case, human bitterness had also nerved the blow.
"Well," he said slowly, "you and I, at least, will probably have toface the results of it."
Again Ormsgill laughed, but a little glint crept into his eyes. "As Ipointed out, we are both of us outlawed, with the hand of every whiteman in this country against us, but we have still a thing to do, andsomehow I almost think it will be done."
Then he turned to the man in charge of the Mission. "Nares is comingaway with me. There are several reasons that make it advisable. It isvery unlikely that anybody will trouble you further about this affair,and if the blame is laid on us it can't greatly matter. The scoreagainst one of us is a tolerably long one already--and if my luckholds out it may be longer. There is just another point. Shall I takethose two boys below away for you?"
"No," said the other man quietly. "There is, at least, one duty we owethem."
Ormsgill made a little gesture. "The bones of their victims lie thickalong each trail to the interior, but, after all, that is probably athing for which they will not be held responsible. In the meanwhile,there are one or two reasons why I should outmarch Herrero if it canbe done. When Nares is ready we will go on again."
Nares was ready in a few minutes, and shaking hands with the two menwho went down the veranda stairway with them, they struck into thepath that led up the steep hillside. Ormsgill's boys plodded afterthem, but when they reached the crest of the ridge that overhung thevalley Nares sat down, gasping, in the loose white sand, and lookeddown on the shadowy mission. He could see its pale lights blinkingamong the leaves.
"It stands for a good deal that I have done with," he said. "It is astrange and almost bewildering thing to feel oneself adrift."
"Still," said Ormsgill, "now and then the bonds of service gall."
Nares made a little gesture. "Often," he said. "Perhaps I was notworthy to wear the uniform and march under orders with the rank andfile, but I think the Church Militant has, after all, a task for thefree companies which now and then push on ahead of her regularfighting line."
"They march light," said Ormsgill. "That counts for a good deal. Ithas once or twice occurred to me that the authorized divisions are alittle cumbered by their commissariat and baggage wagons."
Nares sighed. "Well," he said softly, "every one must, at least nowand then, leave a good deal that he values or has grown attached tobehind him." He stopped a moment, and then asked abruptly, "You haveheard from the girl at Las Palmas. Desmond would bring you letters?"
"No," said Ormsgill, "not a word. She had no sympathy with myproject--that she should have was hardly to be expected. One mustendeavor to be reasonable."
"There must have been a time when you expected--everything."
Ormsgill sat silent a minute or two, and while he did so a movinglight blinked among the trees below. It stopped at length, and negrovoices came up faintly with the thud of hastily plied shovels. Itseemed that the terrified converts were coming back and themissionaries had already set them a task. Ormsgill knew what it was,but he looked down at the rifle that glinted in the moonlight acrosshis knee with eyes that were curiously steady. The thing he had donehad been forced upon him. Then he turned to his companion, and thoughhe was usually a reticent man he spoke what was in his mind thatnight.
"There certainly was such a time," he said. "No doubt it has come toothers. For five long years I held fast by the memory of the girl Ihad left in England, and I think there were things it saved me from.Somehow there was always a vague hope that one day I might go back toher--and for that reason I kept above the foulest mire. One goes undereasily here in Africa. Then at last the thing became possible."
He broke off, and laughed, a curious little laugh, before he went onagain.
"I went back. Whether she was ever what I thought her I do notknow--perhaps, I had expected impossibilities--or those five years hadmade a change. We had not an idea that was the same, and the world shelives in is one that has grown strange to me. They think me slightlycrazy--and it is perfectly possible that they are right. Men do losetheir mental grip in Africa."
Nares made a little gesture which vaguely suggested comprehension andsympathy before he looked at his comrade with a question in his eyes.
"Yes," said Ormsgill quietly, "I am going on. After all, I owe thegirl I thought she was a good deal--and to plain folks there is safetyin doing the obvious thing." His voice softened a little. "It may behard for her--in fact when I went back she probably had a good deal tobear with too. One grows hard and bitter when he has lived with theoutcasts as I have done."
Nares understood that he meant what other men called duty by theobvious thing, but the definition, which he felt was characteristic ofthe man, pleased him. He was one who could, at least, recognize thetask that was set before him, and, as it happened, he once more madethis clear when he rose and called to the boys who had flungthemselves down on the wa
"Well," he said, "we have now to outmarch Herrero, and there is a gooddeal to be done."
They went on, Ormsgill limping a little, for his wound still painedhim, and vanished into the shadows of the bush, two weary,climate-worn men who had malignant nature and, so far as they knew,the malice of every white man holding authority in that countryagainst them. Still, at least, their course was clear, and in themeanwhile they asked for nothing further.
It also happened one afternoon while they pushed on through shadowyforest and steaming morass that a little and very ancient gunboatcrept along the sun-scorched coast. Her white paint, although very farfrom fresh, gleamed like ivory on the long dazzling swell that changedto a shimmering sliding green in her slowly moving shadow, for she wassteaming eight knots, and rolling viciously. Benicia Figuera, who swungin a hammock hung low beneath her awnings, did not, however, seem tomind the erratic motion. She was watching the snowy fringe ofcrumbling surf creep by, though now and then her eyes sought the far,blue hills that cut the skyline. Her thoughts were with the man whowas wandering in the dim forests that crept through the marshes beyondthem.
By and by she aroused herself, and looked up with a smile at the manwho strolled towards her along the deck. She had met him before atbrilliant functions in Portugal where he was a man of importance, andhe had come on board in state a few hours earlier from a littlesweltering town above a surf-swept beach whose citizens had seriouslystrained its finances to do him honor. He was dressed simply in plainwhite duck, a little, courtly gentleman, with the look of one whorules in his olive-tinted face. He sat down in a deck chair near thegirl.
"After all, it is a relief to be at sea," he said. "One has quietnessthere."
Benicia laughed. "Quietness," she said, "is a thing you can hardly beaccustomed to Senor. Besides, you are in one way scarcelycomplimentary to the citizens yonder."
"Ah," said her companion, "it seems they expect something from me andit is to be hoped that when they get it some of them will not bedisappointed. I almost think," and he waved a capable hand, "thatbefore I am recalled they will not find insults bad enough for me."
Benicia felt that this was quite possible. Her companion was she knewa strong man as well as an upright one, who had been sent out not longago with ample powers to grapple with one or two of the questionswhich then troubled that country. It was also significant that whilehe was known as a judicious and firm administrator his personal viewson the points at issue had not been proclaimed. Benicia had, however,guessed them correctly, and she took it as a compliment that he hadgiven her a vague hint of them. Perhaps, he realized it, for hewatched her for a moment with a shrewd twinkle in his dark eyes.
"Senorita," he said, "I almost think you know what I was sent out hereto do. One could, however, depend upon Benicia Figuera considering ita confidence."
The girl glanced out beneath the awnings across the sun-scorchedlittoral towards the blue ridge of the inland plateau before sheanswered him.
"Yes," she said, "it was to cleanse this stable. I almost think youwill find it a strong man's task."
Her companion made a gesture of assent. "It is, at least, one forwhich I need a reliable broom--and I am fortunate in having oneready."
"Ah," said Benicia, "you of course mean my father. Well, I do notthink he will fail you, and though he has not actually told me so, Ifancy he has, at least, been making preparations for the sweeping."
The man looked at her and smiled, but when a moving shaft of sunlightstruck him as the steamer rolled she saw the deep lines on his faceand the gray in his hair. He, as it happened, saw the little gleam ofpride in her eyes, and then the light swung back again and they wereonce more left in the shadow. Yet in that moment a subtle elusivesomething that was both comprehension and confidence had beenestablished between them.
"Dom Clemente," he said, "is a man I have a great regard for. There isa good deal I owe him, as he may have told you."
"He has told me nothing."
The man spread his hands out. "After all, it was to be expected. Heand I were comrades, Senorita, before you were born, and there was atime when I made a blunder which it seemed must spoil my career. Therewas only one man who could save me and that at the hazard of his ownfuture, but one would not expect such a fact to count with yourfather. Dom Clemente smiled at the peril and the affair was arrangedsatisfactorily."
Again he made a little grave gesture. "It happened long ago, and nowit seems I am to bring trouble on him again. Still, the years have notchanged him. He does not hesitate, but I feel I must ask yourforbearance, Senorita. You have, perhaps, seen what sometimes happenswhen one does one's duty."
Benicia smiled, a little bitterly. "Yes," she said, "I know that theman who is so rash as to attempt it in this country is usuallyrecalled in disgrace. Still, it is not a thing that happens veryfrequently. Dom Clemente is to be made the scapegoat."
"I think," said the man gravely, "I may be strong enough to save himthat. It is possible, as I have told him, that he will berecalled--but what he has done will stand."
He spoke at last as a ruler, with authority, and a trace of sternnessin his eyes, but his face changed again.
"Senorita," he said, "if it happens, I think you will not grudge it,or blame me."
The girl saw the opportunity she had been waiting for. "As you haveadmitted, you owe my father something, and now you have askedsomething more. Is it not conceivable that you owe me a little, too. Iam an influence here--and it would be different in Lisbon if DomClemente was sent home again. Besides, sometimes he will listen to me.Now and then a woman has made a change in a man's policy, and, thoughit is a little more difficult when the man is one's father, it mightbe done again."
"Ah," said her companion, "you wish to make a bargain."
"It would be too great a condescension, Senor," and Benicia laughed."I want a promise that is to be unconditional. Some day, perhaps, Ishall ask you to do something for me. Then you will do it whatever itis."
The man looked up at her with a little dry smile, but, as he admitted,he owed her father a good deal, and he was not too old for gallantry.Besides that, he had the gift of insight, and a curious confidence inthis girl. He felt she would not ask him anything that was notfitting.
"The request," he said, "is a little vague, and perhaps, I am a triflerash, but I almost think I can promise that what you ask shall bedone."
Benicia, reaching out from the hammock, touched him with her fan."Now," she said, "I know what you think of me. How shall I make mypoor acknowledgments? Still, there is another thing. You will discoverpresently that the brooms of the State are slow. There are two men notamong its servants who have commenced the sweeping already. I thinkDom Clemente knows this, but you will not mention it to him."
Her companion glanced at her sharply with a sudden keenness in hiseyes, but he said nothing, and the girl smiled again.
"When you hear of them I would like you to remember that they arefriends of mine," she said. "You will, of course, recognize thatnobody I said that of could do anything that was reallyreprehensible."
"I might admit that it was unlikely," said her companion.
"Then," said Benicia, "when the time comes I would like you toremember it. That is another thing you will promise."
She flashed one swift glance at her companion, who smiled, and thenlooked round as Dom Clemente and two of the gunboat's officers cametowards them along the deck. She roused herself to talk to them, andsucceeded brilliantly, now and then to the momentary embarrassment ofthe officers, who were young, while the man with the gray hair lay ina deck chair a little apart watching her over his cigar. She wasclever, and quick-witted, but he knew also that she was like herfather, one who at any cost stood by her friends. At the same time hewas a little puzzled, for, in the case of a young woman, friend is aterm of somewhat vague and comprehensive significance, and she hadmentioned that there were two of them. That appeared to complicate theaffair, but he had, at least, made a promise, and it was said