Under the Andes

by Rex Stout

  Chapter IV.

  ALLONS!

  The events of the month that followed, though exciting enough, were ofa similarity that would make their narration tedious, and I shall passover them as speedily as possible.

  We remained at Colorado Springs only two days after that morning in thegarden. Le Mire, always in search of novelty, urged us away, and,since we really had nothing in view save the satisfaction of her whims,we consented. Salt Lake City was our next resting-place, but Le Miretired of it in a day.

  "I shall see the Pacific," she said to Harry and me, and we immediatelyset out for San Francisco.

  Is it necessary for me to explain my attitude? But surely it explainsitself. For one thing, I was disinclined to leave Harry in a positionwhere he was so abundantly unable to take care of himself. Foranother, I take amusement wherever it offers itself, and I was mostcertainly not bored.

  The vagaries and caprices of a beautiful woman are always interesting,and when you are allowed to study them at close range without beingunder the necessity of acting the part of a faithful lover they becomedoubly so.

  Le Mire managed Harry with wonderful tact and finesse; I sat back andlaughed at the performance, now and then applying a check when herriotous imagination seemed likely to run away with us.

  At San Francisco she achieved a triumph, notorious to the point ofembarrassment. Paul Lamar, of New York, had introduced himself intothe highest circle of society, and in turn had introduced his friends,Senor and Senora Ramal. The senora captured the town in a single nightat a reception and ball on Telegraph Hill.

  The day following there were several dozens of cards left for her atour hotel; invitations arrived by the score. She accepted two or threeand made the fortune of two drawing-rooms; then suddenly tired of thesport and insulted a most estimable lady, our hostess, by certainremarks which inadvertently reached the ears of the lady's husband.

  "You have done for yourself, Le Mire," I told her.

  She answered me with a smile--straightway proceeded to issueinvitations for an "entertainment" at our hotel. I had no idea whatshe meant to do; but gave the thing no thought, feeling certain thatfew, or none, of the invitations would be accepted--wherein I was badlymistaken, for not one was refused.

  Well, Le Mire danced for them.

  For myself it was barely interesting; I have passed the inner portalsof the sacred temples of India, and the human body holds no surprisesfor me. But the good people of San Francisco were shocked, astonished,and entranced. Not a man in the room but was Le Mire's slave; even thewomen were forced to applaud. She became at once a goddess and anoutcast.

  The newspapers of the following morning were full of it, running thescale of eulogy, admiration, and wonder. And one of the articles,evidently written by a man who had been considerably farther east thanSan Francisco, ended with the following paragraph:

  In short, it was sublime, and with every movement and every gesturethere was a something hidden, a suggestion of a personality andmysterious charm that we have always heretofore considered theexclusive property of just one woman in the world. But Desiree Le Mireis not in San Francisco; though we declare that the performance of lastevening was more than enough to rouse certain suspicions, especially inview of Le Mire's mysterious disappearance from New York.

  I took the paper to Desiree in her room, and while she read the articlestood gazing idly from a window. It was about eleven in the morning;Harry had gone for a walk, saying that he would return in half an hourto join us at breakfast.

  "Well?" said Desiree when she had finished.

  "But it is not well," I retorted, turning to face her. "I do notreproach you; you are being amused, and so, I confess, am I. But yourname--that is, Le Mire--has been mentioned, and discovery is sure tofollow. We must leave San Francisco at once."

  "But I find it entertaining."

  "Nevertheless, we must leave."

  "But if I choose to stay?"

  "No; for Harry would stay with you."

  "Well, then--I won't go."

  "Le Mire, you will go?"

  She sent me a flashing glance, and for a moment I half expected anexplosion. Then, seeming to think better of it, she smiled:

  "But where? We can't go west without falling into the ocean, and Irefuse to return. Where?"

  "Then we'll take the ocean."

  She looked up questioningly, and I continued:

  "What would you say to a yacht--a hundred and twenty foot steamer, witha daredevil captain and the coziest little cabins in the world?"

  "Bah!" Le Mire snapped her fingers to emphasize her incredulity. "Itdoes not exist."

  "But it does. Afloat and in commission, to be had for the asking andthe necessary check. Dazzling white, in perfect order, a secondAntoine for a chef, rooms furnished as you would your own villa. Whatdo you say?"

  "Really?" asked Le Mire with sparkling eyes.

  "Really."

  "Here--in San Francisco?"

  "In the harbor. I saw her myself this morning."

  "Then I say--allons! Ah, my friend, you are perfection! I want to seeit. Now! May I? Come!"

  I laughed at her eager enthusiasm as she sprang up from her chair.

  "Le Mire, you are positively a baby. Something new to play with!Well, you shall have it. But you haven't had breakfast. We'll go outto see her this afternoon; in fact, I have already made an appointmentwith the owner."

  "Ah! Indeed, you are perfection. And--how well you know me." Shepaused and seemed to be searching for words; then she said abruptly:"M. Lamar, I wish you to do me a favor."

  "Anything, Le Mire, in or out of reason."

  Again she hesitated; then:

  "Do not call me Le Mire."

  I laughed.

  "But certainly, Senora Ramal. And what is the favor?"

  "That."

  "That--"

  "Do not call me Le Mire--nor Senora Ramal."

  "Well, but I must address you occasionally."

  "Call me Desiree."

  I looked at her with a smile.

  "But I thought that that was reserved for your particular friends."

  "So it is."

  "Then, my dear senora, it would be impertinent of me."

  "But if I request it?"

  "I have said--anything in or out of reason. And, of course, I am oneof the family."

  "Is that the only reason?"

  I began to understand her, and I answered her somewhat dryly: "My dearDesiree, there can be none other."

  "Are you so--cold?"

  "When I choose."

  "Ah!" It was a sigh rather than an exclamation. "And yet, on theship--do you remember? Look at me, M. Lamar. Am I not--am I solittle worthy of a thought?"

  Her lips were parted with tremulous feeling; her eyes glowed with astrange fire, and yet were tender. Indeed, she was "worthy of athought"--dangerously so; I felt my pulse stir. It was necessary toassume a stoicism I was far from feeling, and I looked at her with acynical smile and spoke in a voice as carefully deliberate as I couldmake it.

  "Le Mire," I said, "I could love you, but I won't." And I turned andleft her without another word.

  Why? I haven't the slightest idea. It must have been my vanity. Somefew men had conquered Le Mire; others had surrendered to her; certainlynone had ever been able to resist her. There was a satisfaction in it.I walked about the lobby of the hotel till Harry returned, idioticallypleased with myself.

  At the breakfast table I acquainted Harry with our plans for a cruise,and he was fully as eager about it as Le Mire had been. He wanted toweigh anchor that very afternoon. I explained that it was necessary towait for funds from New York.

  "How much?" said he. "I'm loaded."

  "I've sent for a hundred thousand," said I.

  "Are you going to buy her?" he demanded with astonishment.

  Then we fell to a discussion of routes. Harry was for Hawaii; Le Mirefor South America.

  We tossed a coin.


  "Heads," said Desiree, and so it fell.

  I requested Le Mire to keep to the hotel as closely as possible for thedays during which it was necessary for us to remain in San Francisco.She did so, but with an apparent effort.

  I have never seen a creature so full of nervous energy and fire; onlyby severe restraint could she force herself to even a small degree ofcomposure. Harry was with her nearly every minute, though what theyfound to talk about was beyond my comprehension. Neither was exactlybubbling over with ideas, and one cannot say "I love you" fortwenty-four hours a day.

  It was a cool, sunny day in the latter part of October when we weighedanchor and passed through the Golden Gate. I had leased the yacht fora year, and had made alternative plans in case Le Mire should tire ofthe sport, which I thought extremely probable.

  She and Harry were delighted with the yacht, which was not surprising,for she was as perfect a craft as I have seen. Sides white assea-foam; everything above decks of shining brass, below mahogany, andas clean and shipshape as a Dutch kitchen. There were five roomsbesides the captain's, and a reception-room, dining-room, and library.We had provisioned her well, and had a jewel of a cook.

  Our first port was Santa Catalina. We dropped anchor there at aboutfive o'clock in the afternoon of such a day as only southern Californiacan boast of, and the dingey was lowered to take us ashore.

  "What is there?" asked Le Mire, pointing to the shore as we stoodleaning on the rail waiting for the crew to place the ladder.

  I answered: "Tourists."

  Le Mire shrugged her shoulders. "Tourists? Bah! Merci, non. Allons!"

  I laughed and went forward to the captain to tell him that madame didnot approve of Santa Catalina. In another minute the dingey was backon its davits, the anchor up, and we were under way. Poor captain!Within a week he became used to Le Mire's sudden whims.

  At San Diego we went ashore. Le Mire took a fancy to some Indianblankets, and Harry bought them for her; but when she expressed anintention to take an Indian girl--about sixteen or seventeen yearsold--aboard the yacht as a "companion," I interposed a firm negative.And, after all, she nearly had her way.

  For a month it was "just one port after another." Mazatlan, San Bias,Manzanillo, San Salvador, Panama City--at each of these we touched, andvisited sometimes an hour, sometimes two or three days. Le Mire wasloading the yacht with all sorts of curious relics. Ugly or beautiful,useful or worthless, genuine or faked, it mattered not to her; if athing suited her fancy she wanted it--and got it.

  At Guayaquil occurred the first collision of wills. It was our secondevening in port. We were dining on the deck of the yacht, with half adozen South American generals and admirals as guests.

  Toward the end of the dinner Le Mire suddenly became silent andremained for some minutes lost in thought; then, suddenly, she turnedto the bundle of gold lace at her side with a question:

  "Where is Guayaquil?"

  He stared at her in amazement.

  "It is there, senora," he said finally, pointing to the shore linedwith twinkling lights.

  "I know, I know," said Le Mire impatiently; "but where is it? In whatcountry?"

  The poor fellow, too surprised to be offended, stammered the name ofhis native land between gasps, while Harry and I had all we could do tokeep from bursting into laughter.

  "Ah," said Desiree in the tone of one who has made an importantdiscovery, "I thought so. Ecuador. Monsieur, Quito is in Ecuador."

  The general--or admiral, I forget which--acknowledged the correctnessof her geography with a profound bow.

  "But yes. I have often heard of Quito, monsieur. It is a veryinteresting place. I shall go to Quito."

  There ensued immediately a babel. Each of our guests insisted on thehonor of accompanying us inland, and the thing would most assuredlyhave ended in a bloody quarrel on the captain's polished deck, if I hadnot interposed in a firm tone:

  "But, gentlemen, we are not going to Quito."

  Le Mire looked at me--and such a look! Then she said in a tone of theutmost finality:

  "I am going to Quito."

  I shook my head, smiling at her, whereupon she became furious.

  "M. Lamar," she burst forth, "I tell you I am going to Quito! Inspite of your smile! Yes! Do you hear? I shall go!"

  Without a word I took a coin from my pocket and held it up. I had cometo know Le Mire. She frowned for a moment in an evident attempt tomaintain her anger, then an irresistible smile parted her lips and sheclapped her hands gaily.

  "Very well," she cried, "toss, monsieur! Heads!"

  The coin fell tails, and we did not go to Quito, much to thedisappointment of our guests. Le Mire forgot all about it in tenminutes.

  Five days later we dropped anchor at Callao.

  This historic old port delighted Le Mire at once. I had told hersomething of its story: its successive bombardments by the liberatorsfrom Chile, the Spanish squadron, buccaneering expeditions from Europeand the Chilean invaders; not to mention earthquakes and tidal waves.We moored alongside the stone pier by the lighthouse; the old clock atits top pointed to the hour of eight in the morning.

  But as soon as Le Mire found out that Lima was but a few miles away,Callao no longer held any interest for her. We took an afternoon trainand arrived at the capital in time for dinner.

  There it was, in picturesque old Lima, that Le Mire topped her career.On our first afternoon we betook ourselves to the fashionable paseo,for it was a band day, and all Lima was out.

  In five minutes every eye in the gay and fashionable crowd was turnedon Le Mire. Then, as luck would have it, I met, quite by chance, afriend of mine who had come to the University of San Marcos some yearsbefore as a professor of climatology. He introduced us, with an air ofimportance, to several of the groups of fashion, and finally to thepresident himself. That night we slept as guests under the roof of aluxurious and charming country house at Miraflores.

  Le Mire took the capital by storm. Her style of beauty was peculiarlyfitted for their appreciation, for pallor is considered a mark ofbeauty among Lima ladies. But that could scarcely account for herunparalleled triumph. I have often wondered--was it the effect of apremonition?

  The president himself sat by her at the opera. There were two duelsattributed to her within a week; though how the deuce that was possibleis beyond me.

  On society day at the bull-ring the cues were given by Le Mire; herhand flung the rose to the matador, while the eight thousand excitedspectators seemed uncertain whether they were applauding her or him.Lima was hers, and never have I seen a fortnight so crowded withincidents.

  But Le Mire soon tired of it, as was to be expected. She greeted meone morning at the breakfast table:

  "My friend Paul, let us go to Cerro de Pasco. They havesilver--thousands and thousands of tons--and what you call them?Ornaments."

  "And then the Andes?" I suggested.

  "Why not?"

  "But, my dear Desiree, what shall we do with the yacht?"

  "Pooh! There is the captain. Come--shall I say please?"

  So we went to Cerro de Pasco. I wrote to Captain Harris, telling himnot to expect us for another month or so, and sending him sufficientfunds to last till our return.

  I verily believe that every one of note in Lima came to the railroadstation to see us off.

  Our compartment was a mass of flowers, which caused me to smile, for LeMire, curiously enough, did not like them. When we had passed out ofthe city she threw them out of the window, laughing and making jokes atthe expense of the donors. She was in the best of humor.

  We arrived at Oroya late in the afternoon, and departed for Cerro dePasco by rail on the following morning.

  This ride of sixty-eight miles is unsurpassed in all the world.Snow-capped peaks, bottomless precipices, huge masses of boulders thatseem ready to crush the train surround you on every side, and now andthen are directly above or beneath you.

  Le Mire was profoundly impressed; indeed, I had
not supposed her topossess the sensibility she displayed; and as for me, I was mostgrateful to her for having suggested the trip. You who find yourselvestoo well-acquainted with the Rockies and the Alps and the Himalayasshould try the Andes. There is a surprise waiting for you.

  But for the story.

  We found Cerro de Pasco, interesting as its situation is, far short ofour expectations. It is a mining town, filled with laborers andspeculators, noisy, dirty, and coarse. We had been there less thanforty-eight hours when I declared to Harry and Le Mire my intention ofreturning at once.

  "But the Andes!" said Le Mire. "Shall we not see them?"

  "Well--there they are."

  I pointed through the window of the hotel.

  "Bah! And you call yourself a traveler? Look! The snow! My friendPaul, must I ask twice for a favor?"

  Once again we tossed a coin.

  Ah, if Le Mire had only seen the future! And yet--I oftenwonder--would she have turned her back? For the woman craved noveltyand adventure, and the gameness of centuries was in her blood--well,she had her experience, which was shared only in part by Harry andmyself.

  Those snow-capped peaks! Little did we guess what they held for us.We were laughing, I remember, as we left behind us the edge ofcivilization represented by Cerro de Pasco.

  We found it impossible to procure a complete outfit in the mining town,and were forced to despatch a messenger to Lima. He returned in twodays with mules, saddles, saddle-bags, boots, leather leggings,knickerbockers, woolen ponchos, and scores of other articles which heassured us were absolutely necessary for any degree of comfort. By thetime we were ready to start we had a good-sized pack-train on our hands.

  The proprietor of the hotel found us an arriero, whom he declared to bethe most competent and trustworthy guide in all the Andes--a long,loose-jointed fellow with an air of complete indifference habituallyresting on his yellow, rather sinister-looking face. Le Mire did notlike him, but I certainly preferred the hotel proprietor's experienceand knowledge to her volatile fancy, and engaged the arriero on thespot.

  Our outfit was complete, and everything in readiness, when Harrysuddenly announced that he had decided not to go, nor to allow Le Mireto do so.

  "I don't like it," he said in troubled tones. "I tell you, Paul, Idon't like it. I've been talking to some of the miners and arrieros,and the thing is foolhardy and dangerous."

  Then, seeing the expression on my face, he continued hastily: "Oh, notfor myself. You know me; I'll do anything that any one else will do,and more, if I can. But Desiree! I tell you, if anything happened toher I--well--"

  I cut him short:

  "My dear boy, the idea is Desiree's own. And to talk of danger whereshe is concerned! She would laugh at you."

  "She has," Harry confessed with a doubtful smile.

  I clapped him roughly on the shoulder.

  "Come, brace up! Our caravan awaits us--and see, the fairy, too. Areyou ready, Desiree?"

  She came toward us from the inner rooms of the hotel, smiling, radiant.I shall never forget the picture she presented. She wore whiteknickerbockers, a white jacket, tan-leather boots and leggings and akhaki hat.

  Her golden hair, massed closely about her ears and upon her forehead,shimmered in the bright sun dazzlingly; her eyes sparkled; her littlewhite teeth gleamed in a happy, joyous smile.

  We lifted her to the back of her mule, then mounted our own. Suddenlya recollection shot through my brain with remarkable clearness, and Iturned to Le Mire:

  "Desiree, do you know the first time I ever saw you? It was in anelectric brougham at the Gare du Nord. This is somewhat different, mylady."

  "And infinitely more interesting," she answered. "Are you ready? Seethat stupid arriero! Ah! After all, he knew what he was about. Then,messieurs--allons!"

  The arriero, receiving my nod uttered a peculiar whistle through histeeth. The mules pricked up their ears, then with one common movementstarted forward.

  "Adios! Adios, senora! Adios, senores!"

  With the cry of our late host sounding in our ears we passed down thenarrow little street of Cerro de Pasco on our way to the snow-cappedpeaks of the Andes.