by John Buchan
Luncheon was followed by a short siesta, and they did not meet again till after four o’clock. The glare of the sun was no longer on the windows, and the green shutters were clamped back, so that the great chamber swam in the mellow light of afternoon. To Archie’s surprise the ministers were notably less rigid than in the morning. The President took the lead in the conversation. He did not deny Luis’s statements, as Aribia had done, but asked for some means of confirmation.
“We offer you whatever you ask,” Luis answered. “This morning our nearest concentration was at Alcorta Junction within ten miles of this city. Appoint your emissaries, Excellency, men whose word you trust. They can go there under a flag of truce, and there they will find Manuel Martinez, and see for themselves. Or is there any other whose word you will take? The telephone service is working well.”
“Is there no loyalist?” the President began.
“I am afraid that what you call a loyalist may be hard to find. We have been too successful, you see. But...there is Don Mario at Veiro — your cousin, Senor,” and he bowed to Sanfuentes. “Don Mario is no politician, and he has never in his life been able to lie. I will give you the password, so that you can telephone to him at Veiro. He knows little of the campaign, but he has eyes in his head, and he will tell you of the forces moving from the east and south.”
“That is good sense,” said the minister, and he left the room. He returned after an absence of half an hour. “I have spoken to Don Mario,” he said shortly. “He is an old man and an innocent.” But it was clear that he had had news which discomposed him.
To Archie the situation was like some preposterous stage play in a dream. He had suddenly an overpowering sense of detachment, so that he seemed to look at the scene before him as at a picture small and far away down an inverted telescope...What on earth was he doing helping to deliver an ultimatum in a theatrical chamber in a hot white city many thousands of miles from home?...He sat a little away from the table, and saw only the back of Luis’s head and half Blenkiron’s profile, but he had the others in full view. The paradox of the scene nearly made him laugh out loud. He was a revolutionary, trying to upset a Government to which his own had accredited a Minister. These solemn five, what did he know about them? They were creatures of a world infinitely remote from his. He studied the President’s large swarthy face, heavy with the gravity of one accustomed to be obeyed and flattered — stupid and dull, but not without traces of quality. In Sanfuentes he saw the family likeness to Don Mario, as far as an overfed sedentary man can resemble a hard-bitten country squire. He looked a little cunning and self-indulgent, but there was humour somewhere. Aribia was the ordinary business man, with cold shrewd eyes, but he had a pleasant smile...Romanes! It was on him that his eyes chiefly rested. A wash of sunlight seemed to bring every feature into startling prominence. Archie saw the leanness of his head, the odd skull beneath the smooth hair, the curious hollows in his brow, the skin opaque as if no blood ran beneath it. This was Castor’s doing; the man had once been Castor’s creature, and Castor was their leader!...For a moment he felt some sympathy with the perplexed Cabinet of Olifa.
It was Castor’s name which roused Archie to attention. Romanes spoke in his toneless voice for almost the first time. “It would have been well if the Gobernador had accompanied these gentlemen. No doubt they have full power to treat, but it would have been more satisfactory to meet the Commander-in-Chief himself.”
“The Commander-in-Chief cannot leave his command,” was Luis’s answer.
“Naturally. Still...there have been rumours, you know. We do not know if he is indeed in command. We do not know if he is in Olifa at all.”
“You can be assured that he is. He is at Veiro.”
Archie thought that he saw a flicker of sharp intelligence in Romanes’s eyes, but the next second it was gone.
“I think their Excellencies would have welcomed a meeting. For after all, whatever is the destiny of this country, Senor Castor must mean much to it.”
“He owes us an explanation,” the President growled. “He was our trusted colleague. Whatever he advised was done. Senor Sanfuentes will bear me witness when I say that he had a large share in the external policy of this State. The Administration of the Gran Seco was granted to him as if it was his private domain...Suddenly, with no warning, he becomes our enemy. He must be mad.”
“He is not mad. Excellency, but it is permissible for a man to change his mind. The Gobernador has to-day a policy for the Gran Seco and for Olifa itself which conflicts with that of your Excellency. Some of us, independently of the Gobernador, had the same notions. We have been endeavouring for months to persuade you and your colleagues that our views must be accepted. That is why we are here today — to apply, if your Excellency will permit the metaphor, the last little weight to the inclining balance.”
After that the five consulted in private, and it was dark before Aribia returned with an announcement.
“We have decided to send representatives to Alcorta Junction to meet Senor Martinez and see for themselves. Do not be offended, please, for, as you yourself have admitted, confirmation is desirable. Will you arrange with Martinez for the reception of our envoys? The party will consist of two of General Bianca’s staff-officers and Senor Romanes. They leave to-morrow at daybreak.”
So Luis had a busy hour on the telephone and then joined his two companions at dinner. They spent a dismal evening, before they sought their beds in the cheerless state apartments. “This is going to be worse than a League of Nations meeting at Geneva,” Blenkiron moaned. “I hoped they’d treat the thing as a business proposition, and I was ready to explain to them just how the Gran Seco should be run, and how it is going to be mighty advantageous to Olifa. They’ve all got fat bank accounts, and could understand my arguments. But we never got near business. A blind kitten could see that they’re not going to let go till they’re choked off. There’s more sand than I reckoned in that big President.”
“They are waiting on Lossberg,” said Luis. “They will not give up hope till they are compelled. How in the name of God can we compel them, unless Sandy brings off some colossal stroke? — and that is as likely as snow in summer. Jesucristo! At this moment he is perhaps making a desperate stand in the skirts of Santa Ana!”
The conference was resumed next morning with the half-closed sun shutters again making a green twilight. It was now Blenkiron’s turn. Pending the arrival of the envoys from Alcorta Junction, he was permitted to state the views of the Gobernador on the future of the Gran Seco. The discussion was long, and necessitated many calculations, in which Aribia shared. The profits of the State of Olifa from the business need not decline; nay, there was every chance of their increasing, if the organisation were put upon more stable and permanent lines. The arrangements about Indian labour must of course be altered — in any case they would have presently altered themselves. The extreme high-pressure production must be given up; also the Gran Seco must be put outside Olifa politics, except for its scale of contribution to the Olifa exchequer. It must be regarded as a special territory, to be governed under a special charter.
The discussion was amicable. The ministers were all shareholders in the company, and, as an academic proposition, were prepared to consider it on business lines. In the afternoon the envoys returned, and, when after the long midday siesta the conference reassembled, Archie tried hopelessly to detect some change in the air of the ministers. He was disappointed. Romanes for some reason was absent, but the other four seemed in good spirits. Their placidity was unshaken. The President himself touched on the matter.
“Your veracity has been vindicated, Senor de Marzaniga,” and he bowed politely, “but not, I fear, your judgment. You have undoubtedly recruited many men, but they are not an army. Our officers report that it is no better than a rabble, ill-armed, ill-disciplined, and led by amateurs.”
“It is the people of Olifa,” said Luis hotly. “And you have seen only the spear-head — one of the spear-heads. There
is a weighty shaft behind it.” He spoke of the extent and variousness of the rising...Every class was in it, every condition of life...Among its leaders were representatives of every family that had been great in Olifa’s history...Also the chiefs of every calling, the ranchers, the fruit-growers, the wine-growers, the industrial magnates of Alcorta. He was a little carried out of himself, and it was clear that his eloquence had some effect on his hearers.
“We have all Olifa with us,” he concluded, “all Olifa that is worthy of the name.”
The President laughed, but his laughter did not seem to come easily. “I know my countrymen, Senor de Marzaniga,” he said. “They have returned for an hour to the traditional habits which we hoped they had forgotten for ever. But they will not fight — they cannot fight — they have nothing to fight for. The ranches of Senor Martinez could not be more prosperous under a different regime. Ramirez has no complaints from his fruit farms. The Zarranigas breed their fine horses without Government requisitions, unlike the old days. These men are not fools. Presently they will learn wisdom.”
“Or be taught it,” put in old General Bianca.
Luis had recovered his balance. “There is one thing you forget, Excellency. We are patriots and love our country. Olifa is prosperous, no doubt — but it has no soul. You and your colleagues have made it the appanage of a commercial corporation. We want to be a nation again.”
Sanfuentes spoke impatiently. “A nation! What would you have? When your crazy war broke out we were on the eve of taking the leadership of this continent. We would have made Latin America a power in the world.”
“I guess I know all about that, sir,” said Blenkiron, “You were going to make bad trouble in this continent, but it wasn’t for the sake of Olifa. The Gobernador was using you as a pawn in his own game. Well, Mr Castor has thought better of it, and I can’t see why in thunder you want to go on alone. Our slogan is Olifa all the time and for its own sake. I advise you gentlemen to listen to reason, for you can’t fight against the whole people.”
“The whole people,” said Aribia sweetly. “But that is precisely the point on which you have failed to convince us.”
Presently lamps were brought, and the discussion wandered into a morass of futility. The ministers were waiting, not very confidently perhaps, a little shaken, but determined still to wait. It was the habit of their race, for the Oliferos are not a hasty breed. With a sinking of the heart Archie realised that there would be another day of indecision, while Sandy might be struggling hard to win an extra hour for their inconclusive diplomacy. Any moment the crash might come.
It came about six o’clock when General Bianca was summoned by an aide-de-camp to the telephone. He returned in five minutes, almost at a run.
“News,” he cried, “glorious news! Lossberg is in Pecos. I have spoken to his Chief of Staff.”
The ministers were on their feet, and the exuberance of their relief showed the depth of their anxiety. They clamoured for details, but the General could give them little.
“I spoke to Olivarez...I recognised his voice at once...He gave his name...What did he say? Only that he was in Pecos, and was coming here without delay...He is evidently pressed — Lossberg’s orders no doubt...Where he is, the General must be, and the Chief of Staff is naturally sent on in advance...We have conquered, my brothers. Tomorrow the city will be relieved, and the rebels scattered to the points of the compass...It is the moment for toasts, for much talking has made my throat dry.”
The ministers did not forget their manners in their hour of triumph. The three envoys were not asked to witness the toast-drinking, but were conducted ceremoniously to another apartment, where they too were supplied with sweet champagne. Only Archie tasted it, for the two others sat back in their chairs with the faces of broken men. It was at least an hour before they were ready to speak of fresh plans — futile plans, it seemed, for they must now regard themselves as prisoners. As for Archie, he still felt himself living in a crazy world of illusion, but he was so tired by the strain of the day that he fell asleep.
About nine o’clock an aide-de-camp appeared.
“General Olivarez is arriving,” he said, and his air was noticeably less civil. “Your presence is required in the Council Chamber.”
Once more the three envoys seated themselves at the table. It was obvious that the ministers had dined and dined well. Even Bianca’s parchment skin had a colour. Romanes was still absent.
The door opened and General Olivarez was announced. Two men entered. One to Archie’s amazement was Alejandro Gedd, a figure like a scarecrow, dusty, dishevelled, grey with fatigue, his ancient dapperness utterly gone. The other was a slight man in the service uniform of Olifa, with a long olive-tinted face, a fleshy nose, and grizzled hair cut en brosse. He too seemed the worse for wear, and he had his left arm in a sling.
It was Gedd who spoke.
“Your Excellencies,” he said, “I have been sent to bring General Olivarez to your presence. This morning General Lossberg was decisively defeated in the passes north of Santa Ana. His main army has fallen back, and his advance forces were cut off and taken prisoner. Of this advance General Olivarez was in command. I was ordered by Lord Clanroyden to bring him to you that you might learn from his own lips the position of affairs.”
The ministers were silent. Then old Bianca found his voice.
“Is that true, sir?” he rapped out.
“It is unfortunately true.” Olivarez spoke in a voice in which weariness left no room for bitterness. “Of the rest of General Lossberg’s army I cannot speak. I myself and over nine thousand of my men are prisoners in the enemy’s hands.”
The President behaved well, for he showed no emotion of any kind. His face was like a stone, and his voice level and toneless. He turned to Luis and bowed.
“We accept your terms, Senor,” he said. “General Bianca will issue the necessary orders to the city defence force.”
VII
The long-drawn fight on the Santa Ana railway was begun in the Gran Seco itself by Peters and Escrick. There was no communication between them and Castor by wireless of telegraph, but there might have been a telepathic under standing, so exactly did they time their operations to meet the crisis in the south. Their aeroplanes were now terribly hampered in their reconnaissance work by shortage of petrol, but one of Grayne’s economical nights brought news of Lossberg’s movement down the railway with the large part of his field force. At that moment Escrick was north of the city on the road to Fort Castor, and Peters’s band were south of the Mines in the neighbourhood of Tulifa. Escrick’s first notion was another raid on the city in quest of stores, but Peters, in whose old field of operations the Santa Ana railway had been, urged that it was their business to hang on to Lossberg’s skirts. The blockhouse system had made raiding difficult, but he argued that their first duty was to hamper Lossberg’s communications with the city which was still his base. Escrick was convinced the more because he was still completely in the dark as to what was going on at the other end of the railway. If might be that Lossberg would have an easy road to the plains of Olifa, in which case their task must be to delay him by fastening on his rear. Under the new blockhouse system they could not hope to cut up any great length of line, so they must make their effort at a single vital point. There was only one such till Gabones was reached, the bridge of San Luca. But it was likely to be the best guarded, for since the first raid Lossberg had supplemented the posts at each end of the abutment with two companies in the valley bottom. The garrisons at the ends, it will be remembered, were at San Luca itself and at the Devil’s Ear, the valley was more than half a mile wide, and the bridge had sixteen arches. Two of the central arches had been blown up by Sandy, and the line now ran across the gap on an improvised platform of steel girders.
It was clear that a midnight dash in the old manner would effect nothing, so Escrick decided to make an effort lot to destroy a part of the bridge but to capture the whole of it, and hold it long enough to alarm Los
sberg about his communications. There was now no Pacheco to serve as a base, and all the northern slopes of the southern frontier of the Gran Seco were strongly patrolled; for this was the critical flank of Lossberg’s new advance. Roger Grayne reported that the eastern side of the railway up to the frontier was watched like a trench line.
Thereupon Escrick made a bold decision. He resolved to attack from the west side, where a hideous country of scrub and sand and rocky kopjes stretched from the railway to the sea. This area had never been part of the battle-ground, chiefly because of its immense natural difficulties, and because it led to nowhere. So he ordered Peters to slip forth by night from Tulifa, between the Mines and the city, and to join him on the road to Fort Castor.
The concentration was effected on a Monday morning. That day Lossberg was at Gabones, and his advance force under Olivarez was feeling its way south along the devastated line. That night Escrick’s whole command, nearly four thousand mounted men with every machine gun it possessed, had made a wide circuit and was in the hills some fifteen miles south-west of San Luca. There they lay during the following day, while with immense care smaller detachments made their way eastward to the ridge of kopjes on each side of the dry valley where stood the bridge. Lossberg’s aeroplanes were busy down the railway, and to garrisons at San Luca and the Devil’s Ear no warning light or sound came from the baking red cliffs over which they were accustomed to see the sun set. That day, Tuesday, saw Olivarez’s great thrust southward. Before night fell he had taken Blenkiron’s Post A, where once Toledo’s chivalry had been cut up by the Indians, had forced the difficult narrows at Post B, and was threatening Post C, where Melville had brought up every man for a last stand.
During the night of Tuesday Escrick made his attack on the San Luca bridge from the west. It was a far easier task than he had anticipated. Lossberg’s advance had switched the attention of the garrisons from defence to transport. Peters’s right wing took the Devil’s Ear with scarcely a shot, and his left, creeping up the boulder-strewn valley, surprised the post in the hollow with few casualties.
