IX
ON INDIAN TRAILS
Doctor Miranda was right about Andrew. By the time he had finishedmoving his party and their luggage from the stifling railroad shed tothe cool courtyard of Honda's principal inn, the schoolmaster had beenbeaten in his last feeble fight for liberty and had become the victimto an unlimited amount of quininizing. No need now to force his eyelidsapart to reveal the telltale yellow within. Even a tyro in such matterscould see from his jaundiced appearance, his quick breathing, hisgeneral inertia, that he was in the first stages of an attack of fever.This being beyond dispute, the little doctor dropped his fighting humorfor one of bustling activity, beneath which there lurked a rough sort oftenderness for his unhappy patient. A bed, a pitcher of "lemon squash,"and a box of the famous "pildoras," were quickly provided by dint ofmuch storming at the indolent hotel servants and angry prodding of theastonished proprietor. When all his arrangements were perfected, Andrewcompletely in his power and stuffed as full as might be with quinine,the triumphant Miranda rejoined his friends, his rubicund featuresbeaming with satisfaction.
"No! No! my lady," he answered Una's anxious inquiries, "there is nodanger. That leetle fellow has my pills and plenty of squash. He cannotdie. Soon he will be well. You will see. I am doctor to him."
His assurances had their effect, although they failed to convince thedespondent Mrs. Quayle, who shook her head dolefully, rocking herselfback and forth in her chair and bewailing the sad fate that was awaiting"poor dear Mr. Parmelee in this desolate country." At all of which theirascible doctor scowled ominously, taking her complaint as a reflectionon his medical skill. Leighton, however, faced the situation in a matterof fact way, while David set about the necessary preparations for hisjourney to Bogota. An excellent opportunity offered that very day tojoin General Herran's party in the trip over the mountains.
A train of twenty mules and burros was needed for the expedition, andto procure these and load them with the necessary baggage, called forno small amount of work and skillful management. The stone courtyardof the inn rang with the shouts of burro drivers, the quarrels ofpeons intent on selling their wares to travelers at the best prices,and the threats and commands of General Herran and his officers. Abovethis din, apparently necessary on such occasions, one could hear thestrident voice of Doctor Miranda, browbeating some luckless vendor ofmerchandise, or ridiculing the exertions of those who would bestow amaximum of baggage on a minimum of burro. In spite of the confusion,however, everything moved along in as orderly and expeditious a manneras is possible with these ancient methods of travel. By midday thelast load was adjusted, the twenty animals forming the cavalcade stoodstrapped and ready for the start.
Hot, stifling was the air in the courtyard; the cobbled pavement ofthe street outside fairly baked beneath the relentless sun. Most ofthe shops and tiendas were closed for the noon siesta, and only afew listless stragglers ventured beyond the cool white portals ofthe houses. It was not a happy hour in which to commence a difficultjourney; but General Herran, marvelously energetic for once, had plannedto cover a certain distance before nightfall. So, without more ado,the "bestias" were marshaled, single file, and driven out, with muchshouting and laying on of goads, into the street, where they stoodpatiently waiting for the eight travelers whom they were to carry toBogota.
"We are off at last!" announced David, entering the salon whereLeighton, Una, Mrs. Quayle and Miranda awaited the caravan's departure."In less than a week you'll hear from me. By that time, I hope, you'llbe ready for Bogota."
"I can never go on one of those vicious animals," sighed Mrs. Quayle,her bejeweled fingers nervously clutching the arms of the chair.
"Vicious!" exclaimed David. "They are harmless as kittens."
As if in denial of the comparison, one of the burros standing near thedoorway stiffened out his forefeet and brayed with all the vehemenceof which burro lungs are capable. He was followed by his comradesin misery--a full chorus of brays from which no discordant note wasmissing. Had it been the traditional bellowing of a herd of bulls--itwas noisy enough for that--the timid lady could not have been morealarmed, nor the doctor more delighted.
"Bravo!" he shouted. "They want you, my Senora. They wait for you."
"Good-bye!" said David, clasping Una's hand.
"Good-bye!" she said, almost inaudibly.
"Doctor, look out for them," he called to Miranda.
"Be sure! Be sure!" was the response, a glint of sympathy lighting hiseyes. "Have a care to you. I have that leetle fellow in bed. He is fullof lemona squash and my pills. Soon his calentura is kill."
"Well, don't kill him too!"
"Ah, canaille!"
The members of General Herran's party had already mounted and wereslowly disappearing down the bend of the street, pack-mules and burrosin the lead. The general himself, on a pinched-up, piebald horse that,like Hamlet's cloud, bore a comical resemblance to a camel, lingeredbehind for his guest. David's bay, lacking in zoological vagaries,pranced spiritedly to begone as soon as it felt its rider in the saddle.
"That is one good animal," commented Miranda.
"The other needs your pills," remarked Leighton solemnly.
With a laugh and a hearty "adios!" the two horsemen saluted the groupin the doorway and galloped off after their companions. Una watched,motionless, long after David was out of sight. She had done her best toprevent his going, but all her efforts had been useless. Nor could sheexplain, even to herself, why it was that she so dreaded his leavingtheir party to travel alone with Herran. There was nothing logical inthe feeling, of course, and she had to confess that for once she wasinfluenced by an utterly unreasonable fear, a sort of superstition.
The journey from Honda to Bogota is a scramble over precipitous trailsworn into the living rock by centuries of travel, through wastes oftraffic-beaten mire, along glades of dew-soaked herbage that gleamrefreshingly under cloudless skies in a wilderness of impenetrableforest. No other city of like size and importance has so rude andpicturesque an approach, nor are there many that keep their commercealong ways and by methods so unmodern. The stranger, ignorant of thesimplicities of South American life, whether in town or country, isbewildered by the oddities and hardships in a trip of this kind. ButDavid had traveled more than once over the Bogota trail, and for him ithad lost its novelty, especially as his sole aim on the present occasionwas to reach his destination as quickly as possible. Herran had asimilar feeling; hence, as the day was not unpleasantly warm, once theyhad passed beyond the lowlands of Honda both men urged their horses onto top speed. In a short time they had left the rest of the party farbehind them, and broke into a race over the rough mountain trail. Tiringof this, they dropped back to a more sober gait, letting their horseschoose their own way for a time.
"I telegraphed from Honda that we were coming," said Herran in Spanish."They are looking for us now in Bogota."
"Did you say that I was with you?" asked David.
"Surely. As an officer it is my duty to give complete information," wasthe somewhat pompous reply. "I gave the names of all who are in yourparty and told why they stayed in Honda."
"Why so much detail about us? My friends and I are not connected withthe military movements of the country."
"That may be true, Senor. But you travel with me and--I am ignorant ofyour business, you know."
"We travel partly for pleasure, partly--I am interested in a Guatavitamining venture."
"So! Will they know that when they see your name in the Bogota papers?"
"My friend that I am going to visit will know, of course. I wrote to himthat I was coming. Why do you ask?"
"Ah! Just now, it may be, my countrymen will not like American miningventures--or Americans."
"Then, Americans are in danger?"
"How can I say, Senor?" he answered with a shrug. "I have lost Panama,they say. I, too, have enemies. Perhaps I am in danger. But you have afriend in Bogota? He is--?"
"An American; Raoul Arthur."
"I have heard of
him."
"He is well liked here."
"That is good," commented Herran drily.
For the first time since he had been in Colombia David felt uneasy asto the possible outcome of his trip. His friends, in reach of the riversteamers, could leave the country at the first sign of real danger.But every mile placed between himself and the Magdalena lessened hischances for escape--and that he might need to get out of Colombia in ahurry was evident from Herran's attitude, his reserve, his ambiguousanswers to David's questions. All this was not exactly through a lackof friendliness on the general's part. David knew Herran fairly well,and did not doubt his loyalty. He also knew that he was under suspicionon account of the Panama affair, and for this reason would have to beextremely wary in extending protection to an American seeking to enrichhimself in Colombia. Politically, the man who lost Panama could notafford to let his name be further compromised.
General Herran, however, was not one to keep up an attitude of restraintfor long. The air was bracing, the mountain trail was in excellentcondition, the horses were fresh and responded readily to whip andbridle. Under these favoring influences the two travelers soon becamesociable enough, and even joked over some of the sinister circumstancesattending their journey.
"We are a long way from Panama, Senor--and Miranda's pills!" exclaimedHerran.
"Heaven help the schoolmaster!" laughed David.
"Ah, poor fellow! To be at the doctor's mercy! But he is not a baddoctor. Only nine out of every ten of his victims die, they say. Perhapsthis schoolmaster---- Have you your pistol, Senor?" he broke offsuddenly.
"My pistol, General?"
"For a salute to Panama and our friends," explained the other. "You donot know the custom of the road to Bogota in times of revolution--thatis, at all times. And you have no pistol," he added with a sigh. "Butthis will do for both of us."
Reining in his horse at a shaded bend in the trail, General Herran,unconsciously following the Fat Knight's memorable exploit on ShrewsburyBattlefield, took from his hip pocket a huge case bottle and handed itto David.
"Fire the first shot, my friend, and I will come after with a long onefor your Guatavita mine."
In the act of carrying out this pleasant suggestion, the attention ofDavid and Herran was suddenly caught by a babel of voices--shouts ofcommand, the tramp of many feet--coming from the Bogota end of thetrail. Interruptions of this kind are more serious than they may seem tothose unfamiliar with Colombian mountain travel. So rough and narrow isthe road to Bogota, with sometimes a precipice on one hand and a sheerwall of rock on the other, that the problem of two parties passing eachother is not always an easy one. Although this is the chief thoroughfarebetween the national capital and the Magdalena, it remains quite asprimitive and unadapted to modern needs as in the days of the Indians.To widen and pave it proved more of a task in road-building than theSpanish conquerors cared to undertake; and their successors in thegovernment of the country have, until now, attempted little in the wayof improvement. Thus, travelers from the lowlands over this Indian trailfrequently have to fight for a passage through a descending rabble ofmen and burros, or else allow themselves to be crowded off into a tangleof underbrush on one side or thrown down a steep cliff on the other.
As it happened, the spot chosen by General Herran and David for theirfriendly salute was a particularly awkward one in an encounter with alot of travelers coming from the opposite direction. In front of themthe trail rose abruptly in a long zigzag of rocks and gullies, downwhich the caravan from Bogota, the noise of whose approach grew rapidlymore distinct, was bound to descend upon them. Their only chance toescape was either through a morass, covered with a dense forest growth,or else up a hazardous mountain side, strewn with boulders and loosestones. Of course, they might retrace their steps until they found amore open space; but this seemed too much like retreating from an enemyand did not recommend itself to either of the horsemen.
"It sounds like a regiment of soldiers," said David, taking another longdraught from the Falstaffian "pistol" and returning it to Herran.
"Perhaps," replied the General, indifferent to outside matters until hehad finished his part of the prescribed ceremony. "And here we are,"he added, with a sigh of contentment, "saluting Panama and an Americancompany, with an army of volunteers, bent on licking the Yankees, comingdown upon us."
"Are you sure?"
"Caramba! In Honda they said these volunteers started from Bogota threedays ago. They are due here now."
"We must meet them," said David, upon whom the General's "pistol" hadnot failed to score.
"Wait a moment! As Miranda would say, these peons are canailleand--there is no room for a meeting."
Both men laughed. Nevertheless, in spite of the humor of the situation,it had more than the usual peril incident to travel on the Bogota trailto be comfortable.
"Two men against a regiment!" chuckled Herran.
"But they are not after us," argued David.
"They are after the Yankees--and you are a Yankee. Well, Senor, whatshall we do?"
"You are in command, Senor General."
"Caramba! Then, let us march! We can't jump down those rocks, the swampis even worse--and we won't retreat before a lot of peons. Forward,Senor! We can at least use pistols if we need to!"
With which comforting assurance Herran handed one of his case bottles toDavid. This the latter retained, first joining his comrade in a final"salute," declaring all the while that this kind of exercise had beenunknown to him for years--a statement received by General Herran withthe skepticism it deserved. The two horses were then brought into lineand, with touch of whip and spur, commenced a scramble up the trail, atthe top of which the front ranks of the peons were just visible.
As Herran had predicted, the travelers with whom they had to contestthe right of way belonged to one of the volunteer regiments of Bogotapeons bound for the Isthmus. At their head rode Pedro, "El Rey," moredilapidated as to costume but more joyous of mood than on that memorablemorning when he led his forces down the Calle de Las Montanas to bereviewed by the President of the Republic. He had parted with hisblacking box and in place of it, hanging from his neck, was a rustyold sword that clanked dismally on the scarred and battered ribs ofthe solemn burro upon which he was mounted. Burros, as a rule, arepatient animals, taking whatever comes, whether insult, ridicule, orcajolery, with unruffled temper, and this particular specimen of thelong-suffering race evinced supreme indifference to the military honorsthat sat so weightily upon him. Pedro, however, was not unmindful ofthe distinctions he had won. Immediately behind him, borne by two ofhis trustiest lieutenants, floated the flag of the republic, its redand yellow folds somewhat faded and dusty from the three days' march,and flapping now in anything but defiant fashion. But it formed a goodbackground to the enthusiasm of leadership that marked the bearing andilluminated the grimy features of Bogota's ex-bootblack and, doubtless,helped keep up the courage and patriotism of his followers. The lattermarched, for the most part, on foot and in such straggling lines as bestsuited them. When it first set out from Bogota the regiment had keptsome sort of military order, but this had long since been abandoned, andthe host of men and boys, some thousand in number, jostled each otherand choked up the narrow trail in glorious confusion.
Having reached the top of the hill overlooking the sheltered ledgechosen by David and Herran for their impromptu celebration, thevolunteers kept right on. Led by Pedro and his two banner-bearers,they plunged down the steep, winding trail, crowding upon each other,shouting and laughing, filling the narrow space with most unmilitarydisorder. In the meantime the two horsemen tried their best to reach apoint as near as possible to the top of the trail before the volunteersbegan the descent. In this they failed, and the inevitable collisionwith the front ranks of the peons took place half way up the hillside.Here they met Pedro and his immediate followers, behind whom pressed,with increasing energy, the whole rabble of peons. But the dejectedburro, whose duty it was to carry the leader of these ragged cohortst
o victory, refused to be hurried by those behind him. The more he wasurged the greater was his deliberation in picking his way among thetreacherous stones covering the trail. Thumps and blows failed to arousehis enthusiasm, and with every fresh difficulty presented by rock orsudden dip in the pathway, he stopped to take a careful survey of thesurrounding obstacles before proceeding with his journey. Memoriesof past disaster had taught him the value of caution that a younger,less experienced burro might have failed to observe. But the horsesof David and Herran, although ancient enough, were not afflicted withrecollections of former mishaps, and so plunged into the ranks of thepeons without regard for consequences.
"Hug the side of the road," cautioned Herran in a low voice. "I'll takethe middle and try to distract the attention of these people from you."
"Salute, Senor!" cried Pedro, attempting as courteous a greeting as hisburro would allow. "What news from Panama?"
Not to be outdone in courtesy, Herran pulled back his horse from thefolds of the flag into which he was patriotically heading, and offeredhis "pistol" to "El Rey."
"Ah!" exclaimed Pedro, his eyes fairly snapping with astonishment; "itis General Herran! Bueno, Senor General, we go to bring Panama back toColombia."
"That is well," replied the other, diplomatically ignoring the impliedreproach; "with such brave men you will surely succeed, Senor Capitan."
"And the Yankees?" queried Pedro, smacking his lips after a long draughtfrom the General's bottle.
"Doubtless you will find them in Panama."
The news that this was General Herran, the man whom Panama had madefamous, spread like wildfire among the volunteers, who crowded togetherexcitedly, bent on hearing the latest bulletin from the land they werepledged to recapture. Shouts of amazement, indignation, derisionechoed along the trail--expressions of hostility that might haveappalled one less cool than Herran. But he pretended not to notice thesedemonstrations, and devoted himself to Pedro, who, he perceived, wasmoved by his flattery.
"It's a bad business, Senor Capitan," he assured him confidentially."But the country is safe with such brave volunteers to defend it."
"And you, Senor General, you fight with us?"
"It will be an honor," graciously replied the hero of Panama. "But firstI must see His Excellency, the President, in Bogota. I will tell him howyou are hurrying to the rescue of the Isthmus."
"Where are your soldiers?"
"Some of them you will meet on the way to Honda."
"An officer was with you just now. Where is he?"
In the throng of volunteers surrounding them it was impossible todistinguish David, who had doubtless seized the opportunity created bythe sudden recognition of Herran to force his way up the side of thetrail as the General had suggested.
"Caramba!" exclaimed Herran. "He has gone on ahead. He knows thePresident awaits us and the despatches of great importance to therepublic that we bring him. I must hurry. Pardon, Senor Capitan, if I amforced to leave you so quickly. Perhaps we meet soon again in Panama."
With a fine show of deference, Herran saluted the King of theBootblacks, whose eyes sparkled proudly at this recognition of hisrank from a brother officer, and who signified his appreciation of thetribute by a wave of the hand to his followers and a command to themnot to delay the General.
"Senores!" he shouted, "make way for the great Senor General! He comesfor the Republic. After he has seen Don Jose, he will go with us tobring back Panama."
The order was given with all the flourish that had won renown for Pedroas a polisher of boots and was received by the volunteers with theirwonted cheerfulness and enthusiasm. Unfortunately, the burro who hadthe honor of carrying "El Rey" was so unappreciative of his rider'seloquence that he allowed himself to be jostled into too close proximitywith the bearers of the flag. He then became so hopelessly entangledin his country's colors that, uttering a dismal bray, he was tumbledheadlong down the slippery hill, dragging the amazed and protestingPedro with him.
Profiting by this accident, General Herran spurred his own horse throughthe ranks of the volunteers, gaining at last, after much energeticpushing and shoving, the top of the hill. Here he paused to look back,with an inward chuckle, at the excited throng of men and boys from whomhe had escaped, and to pick up again his fellow traveler, David. ButDavid was nowhere to be seen. Herran expected to find him on the levelspace at the top of the hill; that he was not there filled him withanxiety. Reasoning, however, that if the volunteers had attacked Davidhe would have heard of it, and convinced that the American was not withthe mob he had just left, he set spurs to his horse, expecting to findhim further on. After all, he argued, it was natural that a Yankee,traveling alone, should put as great a distance as possible betweenhimself and these volunteers. But, whatever the explanation, David wasnot to be found. There were no cross trails from the main Bogota roadinto which he might have blundered, and his disappearance, therefore,became more of a puzzle as Herran traveled mile after mile, at the bestspeed of which his horse was capable, without trace of him.
In a way General Herran felt responsible for the safety of the manwith whom he had been traveling, the more so that this man was aforeigner, belonging to a nation whose citizens were not welcomejust then in Colombia. Had David been other than an American, Herranwould have taken his disappearance, puzzling though it was, with thecheerful indifference peculiar to him. But the fact that he was anAmerican, alone in a hostile country, appealed to a chivalrous strainin his nature, urging him to do the best he could for his rescue.Unfortunately, the solving of the simplest of problems was not in theGeneral's line, and he painfully turned the matter over and over withoutresult, one way or the other. David, he told himself, had forced hisway through the ranks of the volunteers without attracting attention.He felt sure of this because he had watched his ascent of the trailfor a good part of the way. Hence, he could not be with the volunteersnow. Only a few of the latter were mounted, and these marched in thefront ranks where they had been carefully noted by Herran. If Davidhad remained in the rear ranks of the regiment, voluntarily or as acaptive, his horse would have made him conspicuous. Of course, duringthe commotion following the accident to Pedro and his burro almostanything might have happened; David might have been captured, bound andgagged, his horse taken away and he himself hidden by the peons whoheld him prisoner in the hope of future ransom. But this was all toobewildering, too complex for Herran seriously to consider. Instead, heconvinced himself that David had escaped the volunteers, that he was nolonger behind him on the trail, that he must therefore be in front, andthat to find him there was only one thing to do--push forward as fast aspossible.
Acting on this, General Herran rode without stopping until nightfall,reaching just after dusk--dusk comes swiftly enough in the tropics--oneof the primitive little hostelries kept for the accommodation oftravelers to and from Bogota. Here, as is usual in such places, therewas a large number of guests intending to spend the night. This posada,or inn, was a one-storied, rambling affair consisting of three rooms anda verandah sheltered by the overhanging eaves of a thatched roof. Allthe rooms were filled with people, most of them lying on mats spread onthe floor; the verandah was similarly occupied. In the dim light fromsmoky lanterns it was difficult to tell who these people were. Herran,confident that David was among them, appealed to the proprietor, astolid looking peon, for information.
"You have a Yankee here, Senor?"
"No, Senor."
"A Yankee came to-day from Honda?"
"No, Senor."
"He was riding alone to Bogota?"
"No, Senor."
"A young man on a bay horse?"
"No, Senor."
"Is there a foreigner here?"
"No, Senor."
"A foreigner passed here to-day on a bay horse?"
"No, Senor."
"Caramba, hombre! Have you ever seen a foreigner here?"
"No--yes, Senor."
"To-day?"
"No, Senor."
Exasperated by what he con
sidered the stupidity of the landlord, Herranaddressed, in a loud voice, the various guests who were preparing topass the night on such improvised beds as they could get for themselves.
"Senores, I am looking for a young man, a foreigner, a Yankee, who isriding to Bogota on a bay horse. He must be here. Have you seen him?"
There was a confused murmur. A number of the men sat up on their matsand repeated energetically the landlord's negative. Others grumblinglydenounced all Yankees as robbers and disturbers of the country's peace.One young man, dressed in the uniform of an army officer, recognizingHerran's rank, politely offered to share his mat with him, suggesting,at the same time, that he could pursue his search to much betteradvantage in the morning. As further inquiries brought out nothing new,Herran accepted this officer's hospitality, wearily resigning himselfto the conclusion that David had been mysteriously spirited away, andwas about to be shot by a lot of insane peons, led on by the ridiculousPedro. So it seemed to him as he sank into a nightmare-ridden sleep.
Morning failed to bring the expected solution of the General'sdifficulties. In the bedlam created by burros, horses, travelers--alltrying to make their departure from the inn at the same earlyhour, and all finding their plans delayed by some fault in harness,mislaying of baggage, or other inconvenience peculiar to a four-footedconveyance--there was no sign of the missing David. A number of nativemerchants on their way from Bogota to the coast, who had lodged at theinn during the night, recognized Herran, and although their greetingswere cordial, the oldtime friendliness was tempered by the uncertaintywith which the average Colombian viewed this unfortunate officer's partin the so-called Panama revolution. As news of his presence spread amongthe departing guests, General Herran felt the restraint as well as thedisagreeable curiosity with which he was regarded. This made his searchfor David more difficult. Under the circumstances it was not easy toexplain why he, of all men, was traveling with an American; hence, hewas forced to speak with more reserve than he would have liked of theyoung man's disappearance.
As a result of the little that he learned, he was convinced that Davidhad neither reached nor passed the inn on the way to Bogota. Thereremained two alternatives. Had his companion been carried along bythe volunteers? Or, had he, by mistake, of course, taken a side trailfrom the main road and thus lost himself in the labyrinth of mountainsand forests through which they were traveling? No one knew of sucha side trail. As for the other possibility, there was nothing to dobut await the coming of his own party of men and officers whom Herranand David had left shortly after their departure from Honda, and whomust have met, in their turn, the volunteers somewhere on the road. Inthe meantime, nothing could be gained from the landlord of the inn,whose intelligence was at an even lower ebb in the morning than on thepreceding evening. This good-natured but fatuous boniface found itdifficult to sustain a conversation on the most ordinary topics; andas a result of his intellectual labors with him, the sociable Herranwas nearing the extremity of misery when his own party arrived, severalhours after the last traveler had left the inn.
"Ah, yes, Senor General!" groaned Colonel Rodriguez, the bustling littleofficer in charge of the men during Herran's absence; "we met thevolunteers. They wanted us to go with them to Panama. They waved theirflag, they shouted, they made speeches, they cheered the fatherland,they cursed the Yankees, they said you would lead them to the Isthmus.Their little capitan, who rode on a burro and talked peon very much,said we belonged to them, and Colombia depended on us. It was veryterrible. We thought they would never leave us."
"Did you meet the Yankee, Don David, with them?" asked Herran.
"Don David? But--is he not with you?" they asked in return.
"I left him when we met those insane volunteers."
"But, Senor General, they said that a young man--it must be DonDavid--went with you."
"Ah, caramba! Then they know nothing?"
"That is all, Senor."
"Then he is lost, that little fellow. He is not with me, he is not withthose canaille--unless they hide him, or kill him. No one has seen him;he is lost--or dead."
Having reached this decision, there was nothing further to doexcept march to Bogota and telegraph from there the news of David'sdisappearance to his friends in Honda.
The Gilded Man: A Romance of the Andes Page 10
