The fat man at once disappeared through the open doorway of the dwelling, but the tall man faced the strangers and, spreading out his arms as if to forbid their entrance, pointed to the chairs and benches scattered in profusion about the veranda.
“Invited to sit,” interpreted Mr. Cumberford. “Interesting — very.”
Suddenly a huge form filled the doorway, inspecting the newcomers with a quick, comprehensive glance. The man was nearly as tall as Chesty Todd, but not so well built. Instead of being athletic, he possessed a superabundance of avoirdupois, evidently the result of high living. He was clothed all in white flannel, but wore a blue linen shirt with a soiled collar and a glaring red necktie in which glittered a big diamond. Jewels were on his fingers, too, and even on his thumbs, and a gold chain passed around his neck fell in folds across his breast and finally ended in his watch-pocket. On his feet were red slippers and on his head a sombrero such as the others had worn. A man of perhaps thirty-five years of age, rather handsome with his large eyes and carefully curled mustache, but so wholly unconventional as to excite wonder rather than admiration.
He had merely paused in the doorway for that one rapid glance. Immediately he advanced with a brisk step, exclaiming:
“Welcome, senors and senoritas — Americanos all — most joyous welcome. You the Spanish speak? No! It cannot matter, for I speak the English. I am so pleasured that my humble home is now honored by your presence. You make me glad — happy — in rapture. You do not know to where — to whom — you have come? Imagine! I am Don Miguel del Borgitis, and this” — extending his arms with a proud gesture — ”my own Island of Borgitis — a kingdom — of individual property, however small, for it owes allegiance to no other nation on earth!”
This was spoken very impressively, while the shrewd eyes read their faces to determine the degree of awe created.
“Yes,” he went on, giving them no chance to reply, “I am really King — King of Borgitis — but with modesty I call myself Don Miguel del Borgitis. As such I welcome you. As such I take you to my arms in friendship. Observe, then, all my kingdom is yours; you shall reign in my place; you shall command me; for does not Don Miguel ever place his friends above himself?”
This seemed cordial enough, certainly, but it was rather embarrassing to find an answer to such effusiveness. Don Miguel, however, did not seem to expect an answer. With merely an impressive pause, as if to drive the words home, he continued: “May I, then, be honored by a recital of your names and station?”
“To be sure,” said Mr. Cumberford. “You — er — interest me, Don Miguel; you do, really. Quite a relief, you see, to find a gentleman, a civilized gentleman, in these wilds, and-”
“My island kingdom is very grand — very important — Senor Americano,” interrupted Don Miguel, evidently piqued at the use of the term “wilds.”
“In effect have I reign over three islands — the one from which you now come, the one to the west of here, and — the Grand Island Borgitis! Three Islands and one owner — One King — with privilege to decree life and death to his devoted subjects. But you have more to say.”
They were a bit startled to hear that he knew they came from the island of the owls. But they reflected that some of his people might have watched the progress of their launch.
Mr. Cumberford introduced his party to Don Miguel, one by one, afterward briefly relating the aerial trip of the two girls, the search for them by the yacht and the unfortunate beaching of the Salvador on the island during the recent storm, ending with the surprising reunion of the party and their desire to secure help to get the launch into deep water again, that they might return home.
To all this Don Miguel listened intently, his head a little to one side, his eyes turning critically to each person mentioned during the recital. Then said he, more soberly than before:
“How unfortunate that your ship is wreck!”
“Oh, it is not wrecked,” returned Madeline. “It is merely stuck on those rocks — ’beached’ is, I think, the proper word.”
“Then, alas! it is wreck.”
“It is not injured in the least, sir,” declared Steve.
Don Miguel’s face brightened at this statement, but he controlled his elation and responded sadly:
“But it is no longer a ship, for you cannot get it off the land.”
“Not without your kind assistance, I fear,” said Miss Dentry.
“Make me obliged by resuming your seats,” requested Don Miguel. Then he clapped his hands, and the red-bearded man appeared. “Refreshments, Pietro!” He offered the cheroots to the men, and when they refused selected one for himself and lighted it. Then, leaning back in his arm-chair, he regarded his guests musingly and said:
“It is laughable. Really, it amuses one! But under the Spanish Grant by which I hold my islands — my kingdom — I am exclusively owner of all wrecks on my shores. In fact, were you not my dear friends, I could take your yacht, which I now own because it lies wreck on my coast.”
“But it is not wrecked!” asserted Steve, frowning, for he was beginning to suspect Don Miguel.
“Perhaps not, since you tell me so; but I will see. I will see for myself. Ah, the poor refreshments — the offering of hospitality to a king’s friends. Partake, is my earnest implore, and so honor your humble host — Don Miguel del Borgitis.”
The tall man and the short man brought wines, liquors and glasses, with a fresh siphon of clear water. Following them came a sour-faced woman of middle age and a pretty young girl of perhaps sixteen years — pretty in the Spanish fashion, with plump cheeks, languid dark eyes and raven hair. These last carried trays of fruits and cake, which they passed to the company. The woman’s face was expressionless; that of the girl evinced eager curiosity and interest; but neither spoke nor seemed to receive the notice of the royal Don Miguel.
When they had all positively refused to accept any of the strong drink, the Don helped himself liberally to a milky liquor diluted with water, which he called pulque. As he sipped this he said to them:
“The life here on Borgitis is grand — magnificent -- entrancing — as you will easily conceive. But it is also lonely. I have here no equals with whom I may freely associate. So it delights me to receive you as guests. May you long enjoy my hospitality — it is a toast which I drink with fervency.”
“We return to the yacht at once,” said Steve, stiffly.
“My mansion is roomy and comforting,” continued the other, as if he had not heard, “and here are no owls to annoy one. Some day I will take you to visit the third island of my kingdom. It is called Chica — after my daughter, here.” He glanced at the young girl, as he spoke, and she cast down her eyes, seeming frightened.
Mr. Cumberford arose.
“Sir,” said he, “we thank you for your hospitality, which we regret we are unable to further accept. Let us come to the point of our errand. We need your assistance and are willing to pay for it — liberally, if need be. You have plenty of men here, I observe, and a large launch. Send a crew with us to our island — ”
“My island, senor, if you please.”
“Very well. Send a crew of men to help us, and come along yourself, if you like. But whatever you do, kindly do it at once, as we have no time to waste.”
He spoke positively, in a way that required an answer; but Don Miguel merely took a cake from the tray, and as he munched it said casually in Spanish, as if addressing the air: “Prepare my launch; have the men in readiness; lock the little boat securely.”
Without a glance at his master, the one-eyed man deliberately left the veranda and walked down the path. Steve pricked up his ears. He understood the carefully veiled command, and it nettled him.
“What little boat do you refer to, sir?” he pointedly asked.
Don Miguel gave a start, but tossed off the contents of his glass, and rose.
“I shall prepare to go at once to visit your yacht, with my own men and in my own launch,” said he. “You will be good enough t
o amuse yourselves here until I send you the word that I am ready to depart.”
With this he lazily stretched his big body, yawned, and turned his back on his “beloved guests,” to leave the veranda and proceed leisurely down the path to the inlet.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THE MASK OFF
COME!” CRIED STEVE, impatiently. “The Don is either a fool or a rascal, and in either event I propose to keep an eye on him.”
“Quite right,” said Chesty Todd, nodding approval.
As with one accord they rose and started to leave the veranda the fat little man with the red whiskers barred their way, removing his hat to indulge in his absurd bow.
“My noble master has desire that you remain his guests,” said he in bad English. “Sometime will he send word he is ready for you to depart.”
“Out of the way, fellow,” said Chesty, pushing him aside.
“My noble master has desire that you remain his guests,” repeated the man, moodily, and there was a defiant twinkle in his pig-like eyes that indicated he had received positive orders to detain the strangers.
But Mr. Radley-Todd’s ire was aroused.
“Stand back!” he cried threateningly. “Your master is not our master.”
“Very true, Chesty,” said Mr. Cumberford; and then they all hurried down the path toward the inlet. They were not three minutes behind Don Miguel, yet as they reached the dock the big launch left it, filled with dark-skinned men. In the stern stood Don Miguel, smoking his cheroot, and he made them an elaborate bow.
“Have patience, dear guests,” said he. “I will satisfy myself if your boat is wreck or is not wreck, and soon will I return to consult with you. Kindly excuse until I have investigation made. Oblige me to use my island as if it were your own.”
“The rascal!” cried Mr. Cumberford, as the boat of Don Miguel swept down the inlet. “Tumble into the launch, girls, quick! I believe we can get to the yacht before he does.”
But the girls hesitated to obey, for Steve and Chesty Todd were bending over the bow of the launch, where the rope hawser had been replaced by a heavy chain, which was fastened by a huge padlock.
Steve picked up an iron bar, twisted it in the chain and endeavored to wrench the iron ring from its socket; but it was firmly embedded in the dock, being held by a powerful cement. Then he tried breaking away the launch, but the fastenings held firmly.
“No use, Steve,” said Chesty, squatting down on the dock. “We must have the key. Question is, who’s got it? That pirate, or — or — ”
“He’s a pirate, all right,” said Sybil, angrily.
“What do you think he intends to do?” Madeline quietly asked.
“Take the folks on the yacht by surprise, capture the ship and then claim it is his, because it is beached upon his island,” replied Steve.
“How absurd!” exclaimed Orissa.
“Yes; but the scoundrel knows no law,” declared Mr. Cumberford. “In this lost and forgotten island he has played the tyrant with a high hand; I can see that by the humble subjection of his people; and so he thinks he can rob us with impunity.”
“He is mistaken, though,” asserted Madeline greatly annoyed. “If this is really an independent island, I shall send an armed ship here to demand reparation — and force it. If the Don lies, and he is under the domain of any recognized nation, then our government shall take the matter up.”
“To be sure,” said Mr. Cumberford. “Interesting; very. Provided, of course, we — we — ”
“Go on, sir.”
“Er — er — it is really a pretty island, and — interesting,” he mumbled.
“Daddy means,” said Sybil, “that Don Miguel has no intention of letting us get back to civilization again, provided the yacht proves to be worth taking — and keeping.”
“That’s it, exactly,” said Chesty; “only Mr. Cumberford did not like to disturb your equanimity. But he sized up the situation, as we all did. Eh, Steve?”
Steve nodded, looking gloomily at the three girls.
“How many men did he take with him?” asked Madeline.
“About fifteen. I tried to count ‘em,” said Mr. Todd. “But they did not seem to be armed.”
“There are seven on the yacht, besides Mr. Tupper, who doesn’t count; and they have no arms, either, that I know of.”
“They won’t be expecting to defend themselves, anyhow,” observed Chesty. “Therefore the yacht is as good as captured.”
“And with the noble Don in possession,” added Sybil, “our plans for a homeward voyage are knocked sky-high.”
“The yacht will be a great find for him,” remarked Mr. Cumberford; “so I imagine he will condemn it as ‘wreck’ on his shores and keep it for himself.”
“With certainty, senor,” said a soft voice beside him.
They all turned to find that the Spanish girl had quietly joined their group. Behind her came limping the Red-beard, sullen and muttering at his rebuff. The girl faced Pietro and uttered a sharp command in Spanish. He hesitated, mumbled a reply and retreated up the path.
“So you think Don Miguel will keep my yacht?” asked Madeline, approaching the pretty child and speaking in a kindly tone.
“I do, senorita. But his name is not Don Miguel del Borgitis, as he said. He is Ramon Ganza, a fugitive from Mexico, where he robbed a bank of much money and escaped. He came here in his launch with ten men, and has been hiding for many years in this island, where no people lived before he came.”
“Dear me!” exclaimed Madeline; “a criminal and a refugee! And you are his daughter?”
“No, senorita. He said so, but he lied. He lies always, when he speaks. He coaxed me away from my people in Mazatlan, when he came there to buy provisions, saying I would become a princess. But I am merely a housemaid in truth.”
“How many years has he lived on this island?” inquired Mr. Cumberford.
“I do not know, senor. But it is many. He has built the house, yonder, or rather he has forced his poor men to build it. Ramon loves to pose as a royal Don, but I do not think he is of noble birth. Once every year he goes to Mexico or the United States for supplies, and sometimes he coaxes others to come back with him, and be his slaves.”
“And do the people love their master?” asked Madeline.
“No. They hate him, but they fear him. Not one who has ever come here has gone away again, for he dares not let them return to tell where he is hiding. Now there are seventeen men and nine women here. With you, and those he will fetch from your yacht, there will be many more; but none of you will ever leave here with Ramon’s consent,” declared the girl.
“Then we will leave without it,” remarked Mr. Todd, easily.
She gave him a quick, eager look.
“Will you dare to oppose Ramon, then?” she asked.
“On occasion we are rather daring,” said Chesty, smiling at her simplicity. “The fellow ought to be arrested and given up to justice.”
“Oh, if you would do that, we could all go away!” said the child, clasping her hands ecstatically. “Please arrest him, sir; I beg you to.”
“We’ll see about it, little one. Meantime, how can we get the key to unlock this chain?”
“Would you follow Ramon?” she asked.
“That is our greatest ambition, just now.”
“Then I’ll get you the key. Pietro has it.”
“The Red-beard?”
“Yes. Pietro is my friend. He is not so bad as some of the other men.”
“They must be a sorry lot,” decided Chesty. “Come on, then, Chica; I’ll help you to interview Pietro.”
The man was sitting on a rock nursing his grievances.
“The key, Pietro,” said Chica.
“No,” he answered surlily.
“I want it, Pietro.”
“He’ll whip me. But then, he’ll whip me anyhow, for not to stop his ‘guests.’ Take the key, Chica. Pah! a few lashes. Who cares?”
He tossed the key upon the ground a
t her feet and Chesty promptly picked it up. The girl looked hard at Red-beard.
“You will not be whipped,” she said softly. ‘“It is all right, Pietro. The Americanos will arrest Ramon Ganza and deliver him up to justice; they have promised it; so you will be safe. Come with me. Our new friends need guns.”
“What!” The man fairly gasped in his amazement at her temerity.
“Our new friends shall take all they need of Ramon’s store of guns. They are not like the others who come here; the Americanos are not cowards. You will see them conquer Ramon very nicely, and with no trouble at all. Come, Pietro — the guns!”
The man slowly rose and led the way to the house, while Chesty called for Steve and then followed.
In ten minutes Chesty and Steve returned to the dock where the others awaited them, and both were loaded with rifles, revolvers and ammunition, ruthlessly abstracted from the private stores of the island magnate.
When these were distributed, the launch unlocked and they were ready to start, Madeline turned to Chica.
“Get in, dear,” said she. “I think it will be best for you to come with us. Provided we ourselves manage to escape, I promise to take you to Mazatlan and restore you to your own people.”
The child hesitated, looking at the little fat Red-beard.
“I — I’m afraid Pietro will suffer for helping us,” she said.
“Ah; ‘tis true,” agreed Red-beard. “Unless you please will arrest Ramon, Ramon will whip me until I faint. I know; it is his habit when he is opposed.”
“Get aboard, then,” said Steve, impatiently. “There’s room enough, and your service may come handy to us.”
Somewhat to their surprise the man came aboard without an instant’s hesitation, and at once Steve started the engine.
Complete Works of L. Frank Baum Page 559
