The Motor Scout: A Story of Adventure in South America

by Herbert Strang

  CHAPTER II

  COMINGS AND GOINGS

  Tim rode on through the town, soon left the last house behind him, andcame into the open country. A rough track led northward to Mr.O'Hagan's hacienda, three miles away. Several years before, Mr. O'Haganhad bought his estate, consisting of some thousands of acres, at a verylow price, and planted it partly with coffee, partly with sugar. Hisworkers were Cholos (the native Indians) and Japanese. The cost ofliving and of labour being low, and the soil very fertile, theplantations had in a short time brought him wealth. The chief drawbackwas difficulty of transport. San Rosario was in a remote provincebetween the Andes and the forests, far from railways and from goodroads. There were steep hills almost all round the town, crossed onlyby rough paths over which goods were carried on the backs of mules.Some of the planters had tried to introduce wheeled vehicles; but thecustoms of the country proved too strong for them, and the arriero ormuleteer, dirty, cheerful, hard-working and incorrigibly unpunctual,remained the common carrier.

  On first leaving the gobernador, Tim was glowing with pleasure and pridein his feat. But as he neared his home, his spirits gradually sank. Hedid not much relish the coming explanations with his father. Mr. O'Haganwas by no means strict with his only son as a general rule, but he wasapt to look darkly on escapades which involved the townsfolk. By thetime Tim came to the house he was in quite a sober frame of mind.

  The dwelling was a long, one-storied building of adobe and wood,constructed in Peruvian style. The entrance hall led into a patio--asort of courtyard open to the sky, with palms and boxes of flowersaround the walls. To the right of this were the drawing-room and study.Beyond was another patio with a well in the centre, and a verandalooking on the garden. On the other side were the dining-room andbedrooms, and a small room used by Mr. O'Hagan as an office. Then camethe servants' patio, the kitchen and servants' bedrooms, and at the endof the house a large enclosure, part vegetable garden, part poultry run.

  Tim placed his bicycle in its shed behind the house, and entered,resolved to "get it over." He hoped to see his mother in the patio; shewas often a very convenient buffer between him and his father; but shewas not there, and he remembered that this was the time of her afternoonnap. He went on until he reached the office, where Mr. O'Hagan and aPeruvian clerk were at work.

  Mr. O'Hagan threw a rapid glance at the boy as he entered, and wasrelieved to see no cuts, bruises, or other signs of accident.

  "Had a good ride, Tim?" he said.

  "Pretty good," replied Tim somewhat gloomily. "I saved Senor Fagasta'slife."

  "What's that you say? I suppose you overtook him and didn't run himdown, eh?"

  "It wasn't exactly that," said Tim. "I did overtake him on his mule;he'd been to San Juan; but we were pounced on by four rough-lookingfellows he called brigands. They let me off, and I walked back and foundthe gobernador tied to a tree. I brought him in on my machine."

  "You don't tell me so! This is very vexing; I wish it hadn't happened."

  "But, Father, you wouldn't have left the old gentleman to die!"

  "How do you know he'd have died?" said Mr. O'Hagan testily. "Thefellows probably only wanted to squeeze a ransom out of him. Upon myword, Tim, you're a great trouble to me, with your machine. You know howcareful I am to keep out of local squabbles, and yet you've runhead-first into one."

  "Really, I couldn't help it, Father."

  "I suppose you couldn't, but it's a pity. You've made an enemy of theMollendists, and in this country they may be our governors next week.You'll cost me a pretty penny. Still, you couldn't help it; only don'tlet it occur again."

  Tim heaved a sigh of relief.

  "You'd have laughed if you'd seen him," he said. "We came through thestreet in fine style. He was perched on the carrier, clinging on fordear life, and all the people shouting like anything."

  "You don't mean to say you brought him right through the street?"

  "Indeed I did."

  "Why on earth did you do that?"

  "It was such fun, Father. I really couldn't help it."

  "And don't you know you must never be funny with a Peruvian? He has nosense of fun, especially when the fun is at his expense. You'reterribly thoughtless. You ought to have dropped the gobernador beforeyou came to the town. However!"

  Mr. O'Hagan did not continue his rebuke. In his mind's eye he saw therecent scene, and remembered the time when he himself might have yieldedto the temptation to which Tim had succumbed. Years before, when quitea young man, just arrived from home, he had thrown himself with Irishimpetuosity into the struggle between Peru and Chile; and having been alieutenant of volunteers when living in London, he had made use of hismilitary knowledge in his new domicile. He had been given a commissionin the Peruvian cavalry, and had led many a daring sortie, many agallant charge. With those reckless feats still clear in his memory, hecould not bear hardly on the boy who so much resembled him. "You can'tput old heads on young shoulders," he thought; "but I was a fool to buyhim that motor-cycle."

  The conversation between father and son had, of course, been carried onin English. The Peruvian clerk, bending over his books, listenedattentively, but could understand only a word or two here and there.What little he picked up whetted his curiosity, and by and by, when hefound an opportunity of speaking to Tim alone, he tried to pump him.But Tim did not like Miguel Pardo. He could scarcely have told why; itwas an instinctive feeling which did not need explanation. When theyoung Peruvian began to ply him with questions in Spanish, perfectlypolite, but yet, as Tim thought, rather too pressing, he gave short andvague answers. Pardo saw that he was being fenced with, and presentlydesisted, breaking off the conversation with a smile.

  A little later, when the O'Hagans were having tea in the patio, Pardospent the last few minutes before closing work for the day in writing aletter. Then, locking up his books, he left the house by the servants'entrance and, instead of going to the huts half a mile away, in whichMr. O'Hagan's employees lodged, he set off for the town.

  He had not gone far when he was met-by Nicolas Romana, the youngPeruvian who was storekeeper and general factotum of the estate. Thetwo men were always so excessively polite to each other that Mr. O'Haganshrewdly guessed them to be hostile at heart. They never quarrelled;but it was impossible to be in their company long without feeling thatat any moment sparks might fly.

  "Ah, senor," said Romana, on meeting Pardo, "you are about to take theair? Let me give you a friendly warning: beware of a storm. I just nowheard rumblings of thunder."

  "Many thanks, senor," replied Pardo. "I shall not go far afield.Perhaps to the town. San Rosario is not Lima, unluckily. There I shouldhave a friend's house at every few yards to give me shelter."

  This, as Romana very well knew, was a mere boast, an assumption ofsuperiority: every Peruvian wishes to be regarded as a native of Lima.

  "How strange we never met there!" he said politely. "I myself was bornat Lima, and lived there fully twenty years."

  "What a loss to me!" said Pardo. "I bid you good-evening."

  He swept off his hat and passed on.

  Romana stood looking after him in some surprise. It was an unusuallyabrupt ending of the conversation. Ordinarily the bandying of wordswould have been kept up for several minutes. What was the reason ofPardo's haste? He was walking very quickly, too, as if he had an errandof importance.

  A man who has weighty secrets himself is very apt to suspect others ofharbouring secrets also. This may perhaps explain why Romana, insteadof proceeding on his way to the hacienda, turned about, and dogged Pardoto the outskirts of the town. There the clerk entered a small house--achacara belonging to one of the Indian agriculturists of theneighbourhood. In a few minutes he returned, passed unsuspiciously theclump of bush behind which Romana was spying, and retraced the roadhomeward.

  Romana remained on the watch. Presently an Indian came out of thehouse, went to his corral hard
by, caught and saddled a horse, and rodeoff, not towards San Rosario, but along a bridle-path that ran westwardand led into the high road to San Juan.

  The watcher felt that he had not come in vain. Instead of returning tothe hacienda, he walked rapidly into the town, and showed signs ofpleasure on meeting, near the plaza, a thin, wiry man of about sixtyyears of age, with whom he entered into earnest conversation. A fewminutes later this man might have been seen riding quickly out of thetown, on the same road as that which the Indian had struck perhaps halfan hour before.

  Next morning, when the workers were busy about the plantation, and Mr.O'Hagan was engaged with Pardo in the office, Romana strolled to anorange orchard a quarter of a mile southward from the house. Afterwaiting there impatiently for nearly an hour, he was joined by the manwith whom he had conversed in San Rosario on the previous evening.

  "Well, caballero?" said Romana eagerly.

  "I followed him, senor, into San Juan."

  "Where did he go?"

  "To the Prefect's house."

  "Good!" said Romana with satisfaction. "Is there any news?"

  "None, senor. The gobernador gives out that he very much enjoyed hisride."

  Romana smiled.

  "Very well, caballero. Go back and keep eyes and ears open."

  They parted, and Romana returned to his work.