KING HIGGINS

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXIV, Issue 22803, 10 August 1937, Page 17

KING HIGGINS

By CAPTAIN FRANK H. SHAW

CHAPTER Xl.—(Continued) Further dancing with Dolores was out of the question; ns the orchestra resumed, she pleaded a migraine, and refused to leave her chair.

"I tiin not surprised," prattled Donna Elenora; "my own head is splitting. I feel ns if nothing but a mighty explosion would do anything to relieve it." "Or an aspirin," said Don Enrico, producing a phial of white tabloids from his vest-pocket. "Jt is not always an explosion that clears the air, querida." Later, having seen the Falleiros to their own door and escorted Juanita to her homo, Dickie and Barker walked slowly across the Plaza toward the Consulate. "Come in for a nightcap," the Consul invited. "Enjoying San Josef, aren't you, Skipper?" "The greatest little place I've over struck. If only my owners would establish a regular run out here and put mo ashore as superintendent, ah!" "Yes, it's not so bad."

"And these San Josef women " "Women! Oh, women! I'm beginning to think that any man who gets tied up with women is a fool!" snorted Dickie. "Let's get a drink, anyhow " Over the whisky-soda he voiced blood-curdling heresies. "Oh, come, Consul, they're not all as bad as you make out," pleaded Barker, who still retained a few romantic illusions.

"Bah! A fat lot you know," Dickio mopped a streaming forehead; an unusual necessity for a man who prided himself on keeping fighting-fit. "This cursed heat!" he lamented. "Look here, Barker, although you're younger than I am, you're a man of common sense. I'm crazy over Senorita Falleiro " Barker nodded sagely, having excellent powers of observation, "And here she's been fascinated by this scrimshanking tub-thumper who—■ who " "It ought to be possible to do something about it," said the captain of the Tarragona, hitching his chair a little more intimately toward Dickie's. CHAPTER XII. CALLANO CETB LIVELIER Four days later, in the afternoon, Fred Barker came ashore to clear his ship prior to sailing before sunset. "I want to thank you for a great time, sir," he acknowledged. "It's a pity all Consuls aren't like you; but believe me, they are not. Most of them haven't time to take any interest in freighter-skippers." Dickie laughed. "So long as you've enjoyed yourself," he said. "Well, I hope you have a pleasant voyage, Skipper."

c . "I hope so; I expect so, sir. And I'll pray we pick up a bit of freight that'll, fetch us back here before so many months are over. You've been so kind to me that I'll everlastingly feel in your debt." "There's no debt; none at all." And in further assurance of that Dickie drove the seaman down to the Mole in his own car; saw him into his boat; stood there on the busy promenade until the Tarragona got her moorings in and, with ensign dipped to the Almirante Higgins, trudged sedately to open sea.

Notwithstanding the persisting tautness of the air, ho felt more at peace with the world and himself than for quite a while. It did a man good, he reflected, to unburden himself to an fellow-countryman who talked his language and understood his feelings. Fred Barker was a good scout. He sincerely hoped he would enjoy a pleasant and profitable voyage. So satisfied did King Higgins feel that, on his return toward tho Consulate, overtaking Senora Fuentcs, trudging tiredly under the weight of a basket of laundry, he stopped alongside, and, with lifted topee, invited her to allow him ease her burden. "Gracias, Excellency; but I am not worthy to make a pasear in a vehicle so resplendent," she shrinkingly protested.

"Don't you worry about that, Scnora; here —let's have your basket." He lifted it from her head, bestowed it in the back; opened a door for her entry. She tried to make herself small in the seat, crouching there like a timid child, although she was an eminently capable woman, who had carried on unflinchingly against heavy odds. "And how's my friend. Miguel? 1 Dickie asked conversationally, to set her more at ease. "Ah, that vagabonda—lie is a heartbreak, Excellency," she confessed. "The fever still clings; but his spirit is high —ah. but high! I shall be glad when lie is well again; but for the present he is locked in the room, which I pray, the saints ho may not have torn to small pieces." Just then, Dolores Falleiro hove m sight, walking listlessly; and the sight of her paused Dickie to swallow in haste. Instinctively he blew his horn; she looked up, "bowed frigidly, lifted her eyebrows at sight of his companion, passed on. . "That is a very beautiful senorita, said Scnora Fuentes. "But she is hotheaded, one bears. That is too much vouth. Excellency, and she will grow out of it. One hears what one hears., Fetching the laundry from this kitchen and that, one hoars'the gossip." "Indeed?" queried Dickie politely, not averse from profiting by gossip, if the welfare, of his beloved Hiyatala might be advanced. "She accompanies that gas-balloon, Scnor Lafallette to unrespectahle places, Excellency. She sings in public—she, a Falleiro. For the peons, mark you." "Too much youth," said Dickie, wishing lie could laugh, but failing. "Er—do the peons pay much heed to the orations of Don Ferdinando?" She made a gesture, indescribable. "They would listen to the devil if he promised them a reward." was her contemptuous rejoinder. "Well, here you arc. then; and give my respects to Miguel, who will one day be a great man. Give him this, too," said Dickie, producing another crumpled bill. He swung the laundry basket out of the car; would have carried it up tho rickety stairs in spite of the senora's protests, but that instinct told him she had no wish to have her poverty disclosed. "A thousand thanks, Excellency, and may the saints guard you and give you your heart's desire." She was about to turn away when she hesitated. "Excellency, 1 have gipsy blood in my veins," she said a little diffidently, "there is a tribulation before you; but at the end comes a great happiness." Dickie laughed, lifted his topee, ■waved a hand as he reversed tho car. He suddenly examined his hands on the wheel.

Author of " Winged Youth," "The Stedfast Wny," etc.

COLOUR, ROMANCE AND WAR IN CENTRAL AMERICA

"Funny!" he muttered, blowing. A light feathery dust was settling on them, although the afternoon was windless. The air appeared to be filling with impalpable motes. Tie examined the stuff; sniffed it; it was slightly warmer than the hot air.

"Oallano's getting a bit livelier," lie decided. Jt was a volcanic deposit from the mountain. He drove back to the Consulate, noticing that the enamel of his car was thinly filmed with grey. It was possible to see the truncated cone against the reddening sky. The grent black plume was bigger, seemed blacker; and its underside was luridly crimsoned as if by upleaping flame? beneath.,

As Dick reached his own door Manuel met him with the announcement that the telephone had been busy in his absence; Senor Sebastian had received news. Dickio had an unaccountable foreboding of woo as lie hurried to his office.

"It is from the mines, Excellency," reported Sebastian. "Callano is growing busy; and there is a restlessness among tho men up there. Scnor Spofforth says—"

A wire ran from tho Callano mines to the city; its installation had entailed a considerable expense; which Dickie thought amply justified. He tried to secure contact; but the telephone service in San Josef lacked the slickness to bo found in some cities. Not until a full half-hour was past, did ho hear Spoffortli's voice. "Yes, well, what is it?" the Consul asked sharply. "The mountain is rumbling like billyoh; and there've been a few chunks of rock thrown up; some have fallen quite near. It's made a lot of the peons restless."

"I see. Would you like mo to come up by air?" As if taking this as a challenge to his own disciplinary powers, Spofforth said hastily: ,

"Oh, no, sir, there's no immediate need. Wynne is here with me if the trouble spreads, and we have the new guards." "Wynne?"

"Yes, sir; his machine has developed a fault of sorts. He hasn't managed to locate the trouble quite; but it isn't serious."

"Well, keep me posted, Spofforth. You've taken all precautions for the safety of your men if tho mountain does blow up, I suppose?" "Yes, sir; the galleries are ready for them. Everything all right down there? It looks to me as if some of these men are expecting something quite soon—you know what I mean!" But Dickie had already sent a warning, in view of what lie had assumed from Dolores' unwitting revelation, saying that whatever trouble was likely to come was not yet due. When Spofforth had no more to say, the Consul called another number; the city office of the air-service linking the mines with the coast.

"Have you got a spare machine handy, in case of accidents?" he asked. "We've just sent one to Callano, sir, at the request of Mr .Wynne," ho was told. "Two other machines are under repair: the last one in only just made it —a fused petrol feed."

As if in corroboration Dickie at that moment heard tho sustained roar of an aeroplane passing overhead., "Make your repairs good as quickly as you can," he instructed; "You never can tell when a spare machine may be needed."

.-It was after lie had replaced tho receiver that suspicion wakened in his mind. The air-service was served by first-rate mehanics; accidents wero a rarity. If some sabotage wero at work, intended to isolate Callano from the busier places, what then? This increasing activity of the volcano might well bo regarded as significant by superstitious peons; also by better educated people than themselves. He had the Higgins Saga off by heart; he remembered numerous entries mentioning Callano and its effect on the populace. ' "I hope to goodness this doesn't mean a general blow-up," he thought.

Senora Fuentes set down her weighty basket on the landing and groped for the key to her door. Entering the stuffy apartment, she was greeted with the inevitable salutation:

"May I not make fiesta to-night, madro mia?"

"Wait a while, nino, wait a while," she patiently advised. Miguel stood on bis bed, outraged pride evident in' every lino of his figure, clad only in a brief, much-washed shirt.

"It is always tho same —'Wait a while, wait a while,' " he protested. "Must I wait until Callano itself makes fiesta for me?"

"Heaven forbid!" said his mother. "Do not tempt tho saints to bo angry with thee, limb of Satan. There is always to-morrow."

"To-morrow never comes," the boy grumbled, though not so bitterly as usual, perhaps; for his busy little brain had been planning a surprise, a declaration of youthful independence. "Am 1 not a well man again?" "Maybe to-morrow, Miguel." He stretched himself on the bed. Like most of his generation ho was unable to read a word; the solace of books was not for him. There had been interminable days of an idleness which fretted him, when only his brain would be active. A few feet of string in which he had tied every fantastic knot known to him, comprised about his only plaything. From tho single window of the room it was wellnigh impossible to see a single thing transpiring in tho canyon-like street below; but tantalizing sounds assailed his cars hour by dreary hour. Occasionally other boys of the slum stood far down under that window and shouted rude challenges or casual invitations to join them in some fantastic prank. Life was very trying for one whose limbs seemed to he filled with galvanic energy.

It had been different when the fever really gripped hints then he was inert, somnolent; but now—"Assist 1110 hero, then, my little restless imp," suggested his mother, tossing a mass of laundry on his bed. He scowled but protcstingly performed his accustomed work.

"When I am allowed my liberty, I shall run away,'' he announced. "Run very far away, my nino, so far that thou wilt never return. To the end of the world-."

"T. shall go to the Almiranto Higgins and become n sailor," lie fretted. "You shall go to the Almirante Higgins with tho wash and remain a dutiful child, brat!" He marked the linen, his jaw set stubbornly, not knowing how the night was to make of him a child of Destiny; since Fate always chooses tho most unlikely instruments. King Higgins would have laughed had he known how the controllers of Fate were collecting loose ends in readiness for a firm knot that should solve a dozen problems all at once.

Senora Fuentes cooked the evening meal —beans fried in oil —served it, washed the dishes, Then she bundled the laundry into a basket and proceeded to tho wash-house according to her habit. Once again she took the precaution of locking the room door behind her; and Miguel waited until the weary tread of her feet had ceased to sound before arousing to action: There were certain things a free son of Hiyatala could stand, and some that such a one could not tolerate.

A great adventure lay ahead. From the deep street below came the custo-

(COPYRIGHT)

Mary evening sounds: the slow clackclack of a mule-drawn wagon returning from -the docks; vociferous arguments from women and men; occasional exclamations as volcanic dust was found to be broadcast in the sultry air. Somewhere in the remote distance a woman began to cry; then she laughed, she laughed hysterically as the tension oppressed her; she seemed almost maniacal in her unrestraint. A mounted vigilante clattered down the cobblestones of the street, cracking his quirt ■ autocratically. Sylvestro Lopez called after him derisively, with, more than normal bitterness in his harsh voice: and he accompanied his jeers with a sound that Northerners call a raspberry. "I bide my time, Sylvestro I" rasped the vigilante. "Go on biding, 0 son of a mule!" replied Sylvestro. Then, distantly, could be heard the increasing sound of old Pablo, singing his way homeward. Pablo had done- himself pretty well on that particular evening. A fortuitous peso had come his tray, allowing him to drink even more deeply than was his habit, permitting him, also, to buy a bottle of vino tinto to carry home to his dreary basement room, for indulgence when the effect of earlier potations had died away. Ho cuddled the red wine under his elbow; occasionally it slipped, was rescued precariously. There was not a suggestion of mischief or evil in Pablo's mind: all he asked was continuing peace among all men. A sudden vagrant wind drifted volcanic dust into the room under the eaves, causing Miguel to sneeze. A church bell began to toll; a few fireworks were exploded by the priests to .set the ever-lurking evil spirits at bay until the evening service was concluded. One by one the trifling rockets burst damply. "My cannon-cracker is better than those!" Miguel said to himself between two sneezes. "Oh, very much better—yes." Then he wondered exactly how much better, and anxiety got the better of morality. He itched, he grew into a mcnt of desire that could be satisfied with only one expression.

He tried, as he had tried a score of times, to reach the top of the old, big armoire from the bed-foot; he failed again. The parcel of fireworks, particularly the cannon-cracker, became more a lodestone than before by reason of its sheer inaccessibility. He considered the problem. He was small but he was wiry; his strength had been lessened by fever, but sheer indignation gave him a feeling of power that was unconquerable. He climbed from the bed and tugged at its immensity—it was a notable bed. He contrived to drag it, inch by tedious inch, to a position on the floor whence he might make a fresh attempt.

This time ho reached the armoiro top. Clinging precariously with one hand, ho shifted bundles, cases, a mass of litter; until the firework bundle waS under his fingers. His gripping fingers betrayed him, he fell back to the bed. The paper of the parcel broke under his next clutch; but ho was Miguel Fuentes, not lightly to be deterred once a project was afoot. Within a few moments he .had the fireworks out of concealment. He tugged out the red cannon cracker with its long string of touch-paper; he gloated over it, cuddled it, reflected in advance on the extra-superior effect its explosion was likely to have.

Then, ashes still smouldering in the small cooking brazier, he recklessly blew them into a glow, and touched the fuse alight. He did not exactly know whether he intended to burst the diabolical thing inside the room or not; but as the nitre-soaked fuse spluttered and threw off choking fumes, his previous determination weakened. Ho became afraid of the firework. It might, he felt in alarm, wreck the room. The spluttering sparks ran like lightning—or so it seemed—toward the red cylinder which held so many potentialities. Miguel wished he hnd waited until his rivals of the kerb had been present to witness this magnificence. He had an impulse to quench the fire; but its hissing vehemence deterred him. Scared ,cold, he tossed the contraption through the open pane of the window and leaping to the bed, buried his shock head under the pillows, trembling in every limb.

Through the splutters he had not heard the return clatter of the vigilante's horse; had not heard old Pablo's voico uplifted earnestly in quavering song. Miguel knew nothing of the mighty forces his simple if lawless actions were about to unleash. ,

The cracker burst magnificently; even in the room, his head muffled by the creased pillow, Miguel was conscious of the magnificence of that detonation. Ho shivered. The cracker burst almost under 'old Pablo's feet. And old Pablo had just been newly reprimanded by the vigilante; a nameless character in the drama. It was, let it be remembered, an evening when human emotions were tight-drawn like a piano wire, requiring only a slight additional strain to make them snap. Old Pablo, fretful for onco at being; checked, had returned a saucy reply to the vigilante's chiding; and by wav of impressing his authority on the slum drunkard, the policeman had unbuttoned the flap of his holster and snatched out his pistol. It was a gesture, nothing more—a common gesture. The cracker, exploded, and its suddenness caused Pablo to step forward suddenly and. trip. Ho fell face downward on the pavement; his precious bottle of red wine, cuddled under au arm, fell beneath him and smashed to ruin. As Pablo lay prone on the pavement a red trickle spread from underneath his staggered body, formed into a pool, which broke into a runlet —a red, a sinister runlet.

"Elola—up, son of drunkard's son!" yelled the vigilante. But Pablo was tgo sublimely intoxicated to pav attention to tho raucous challenge. It was only bv tho providence that oversees the ways of the winebibber that he had kept on his feet so long. _He lay huddled there, the red pool widening—widening. The crash of the cracker's discharge brought firebrand Sylvestro to his door. He was a man of hasty temperament with an inherited hatred of law and order.

"Peste!" he yelled, "that vigilante has shot old Pablo!"

At a glance that appeared to explain the situation. A prone man with a widening pool of obvious blood spreading from his body; a mounted vigilante sitting a nervous horse, a revolver swinging from his right hand; the harsh command of the official still seeming to echo in tho air—Sylvestro was not to blame for reaching an erroneous conclusion.

"Hi hi!" Sylvcstro stormed; "tyranny! Down with tyranny! Up, up the revolution!" Ho in si do ft tigerlike leap across the pavement, nml laid hold of the vigilante's reins, tearing at them liko a maniac. Forgetting that it was his service pistol in his hand and not merely his quirt, which had slipped to his wrist, the policeman struck at Sylvestro's upturned face. "To m# —to me, comrades!" bellowed Sylvpstro. "Down with tyranny!" ' At another time the matter might easily have ended at this point; but the atmospheric fret caused a surcharge which had to burst. (To be continued daily)