Copyright Story. An International Alliance.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXII, Issue XIII, 26 March 1904, Page 11

Copyright Story. An International Alliance.

By

HAROLD BINDLOSS.

(Author of “The Concession Hunters, etc.)

It was a moonlit night, warm with the languid steaminess of the tropies, when trader Henderson lounged on ths verandah of Don Manuel Reina’s house in an island of the Phillipine archipelago. He was a reckless young Englishman or he would have remained safe in his own factory across the straits, but Beatrix Reina was fascinating, and her father owed his firm a good many dollars. Don Manuel was a genial Spaniard who hitherto had managed to avoid complications with either the Filipino generals or the Americans, which said a good deal for his diplomacy. Tall sugar cane amongst which fire flies sparkled stretched round the building, and the lights of a neighbouring pueblo blinked across among its dew wet blades. There were no Filipino troops: in the pueblo just then so far as Henderson knew, but he guessed his companion. Captain Deering, of the U.S. infantry, had risked his life for the ostensible purpose of interviewing its Alcalde. Henderson wondered whether he would have done so but for the bright eyes of Beatrix Reina. The Filipinos had a black account against Deering’s company. A guitar hung by gaudy ribands round the lady’s neck, and touching it lightly she sang a Castilian Ballad of love among the vines.- Beatrix was not-yet 20, and looked dangerously pretty when with a smile at Deering she laid ,the guitar aside while her father passed a flask of wine across the table. A vault of velvety indigo, spangled witn luminescence, liung over the hacienda. There was no sound to break the steamy stillness save the moan of the ground-swell that pulsed drowsily on a beach hard by, and Henderson felt the hot spicy air was filled with the essence of rest. The .smoky British town, .with its pounding, of mighty hammers and clang of roaring mills, in which he had left ■omebody whose photograph still hung in his factory faded to a hazy memory of things that belonged to a wholly different world.

“It’s a pretty song,” said Deering, who in no way resembled an army pllicer in the big Spanish sombrero, with a black sash rolled about his waist. ' “1 don’t quite know what it’s all about, but the music makes me homesick, and sets 'me . longing fpr green Vermont. There’s only one good thing in this ■worn-out country, and it’s rough on me 1 can’t tell her so in Castellano. Hen-

derson, couldn’t you put it neatly for me ?”

“Isn’t it rough on me,” said Henderson, with a laugh; and Beatrix, who glanced at them archly, broke in, “You two conspire something 1 don’t understand—eh?”

“No,” said Deering ruefully. “Sail in, Henderson. Confound it! She understands —you —well enough.” “The Senor Deering considers your voice makes all the night musical," explained Henderson in his best Castilian. “It reminds him of the nightingales in his own country. Do you raise those birds, Deering, down Vermont way? He will miss it greatly when he goes away.” “Ah, the Senor goes away,” said Beatrix, with a subtle inflection on the “ah,” while Henderson, who watched liis comrade’s face, said to himself, “’This is. getting serious.” Possibly Don Manuel thought so, too, for glancing at his watch he-broke in, “It is curious there is no sign of my good friend the Alcaide.” “I’ll lie in a tight place if the worthy gentleman gives me away,” said Deering. “In my present get up I’m just a spy, see? Still, the Senorita’s worth the risk. She’s looking. Say something pretty for me, Henderson.”

Henderson racked his brains for an appropriate compliment, though he bad reason to fancy from something he had seen that when alone with the lady Deering, whose Spanish was fragmentary, had much less difficulty in explaining himself.

Suddenly there was a shouting in the compound and a patter of running feet, followed by a rustling among the sugar cane. Beatrix screamed, and the three men stared at each other. Don Manuel fuming with passion, Henderson puzzled, and Deering dangerously cool. “Your good friend the Alcalde has sold me,” said he.

Thereupon the Spanish gentleman consigned the soul of the Alcalde to the burning pit, and explained that the Filipinos would profit by the excuse for shooting him and confiscating Ids property. He added that there was perhaps just time to escape by his boat on the'beach. Henderson flung in a few English words, and Deering grasped the position.

“He’s too late. Those niggers will be on us before his men could launch the boat,” he said. “Heaven knows what

might happen to the >Senorita then, Iml I brought this upon them, and 1 might hold the place long “enough to give them a chance of escape." Don Manuel was ready in a few seconds, but his daughter hesitated, turning towards the American, amt Henderson discreetly gazed over the balustrade. There was also plenty to interest him below, for dusky figures with bolo knives were hurrying through the cane, and he turned with a warning cry to his companion. Deering had apparently just stooped over the hand of the girl whose light dress whisked through an adjoining room. Then a door banged below, and reading something in hie companion’s face, Deering said. “Language isn’t everything, and I can do my own fighting, any way. If you make a record break there’s still time for you.”

“I think you're wrong.” said Henderson recklessly, as several dusky figures slipped round behind the house. “It would be mean, wouldn’t it, and I’m too late already.”

“Then turn the lamp out,” said Deering. “Don’t waste a cartridge. Those fellows mean business, but I guess the moon will help us to pot a few.” For a brief space the paid stood silently in shaxlow at the head of the verandah stairway while the rustling continued among the cane, and running men poured into the clearing. Then one in uniform hailed them in Spanish. “He is inviting iu to come out before wo are shot,” said Henderson. “What shall I tell him?”

“Don Manuel can’t have got oft' yet and after the way our Westerners han died them they’d shoot, us any how.’ said Deering. “Tell him to go to perdi tion.”

The next few minutes wore eventfid. Jjut Henderson was too busy to note details. There was a rush of shouting men to the foot of the stairway, and a rifle bullet splintered the window. Henderson heard the whine of it close past his head. Deering’s pistol glittered blue under the moon,- but there was no report, and hurling it across the verandah he smashed- a teak chair in two and whirled its back aloft “at the head of the stairway up which lithe dusky figures with bolo knives came leaping. Several of them roiled headlong down again, for Deering was powerful and liis reach was long, while Henderson who blazed away at a venture remained uncertain if he hit anybody. He was a bad marksman, ar t just recovering from fever, while it is fortunately more difficult to hold a stumpy pistol straight than the unskilled believe.

In any case, while his fingers contracted on the trigger and shouting mCn went down before the chair, lean hands which reached up from behind closed about his throat, and somebody tripped his feet from under him. He had just time to see Deering driven backwards, and kick somebody his hardest, before he rolled over - choking in the grasp of several men who had apparently entered by a rear stairway. After which he remembered nothing until he found himself limping through a paddy swamp with a rope that bound his wrists fastened to a horseman’s saddle, and a line of dusky figures splashing through thick darknest before him. There was a glare Fit the

sky behind, and Deering’s voice reached him. “The Don got away. . Say, haver they hurt you, partner? My rascally trigger servant fixed that pistol for nte." “I’ve got a splitting headache, and can’t quite see,” said Henderson rue fully, but when ho would have wiped away a trickle of warm fluid which ran into one eye the rope was tightened savagely. Next day. because his wound hud the fatigue had brought about a recurrence of the malarial fever he suffered from, he was dragged delirious into wliat. had been the Spanish settlement of San Sebastian, and when he hail passed several days in burning misery, was visited by a .Spanish notary and a uniformed native officer. ■ As he appeared too sick to attend the formal court martial they would read any statement he made, they said. 1 hey smiled incredulously when he claimed to be a British subject, and Henderson, who was slightly better, waited Deering’s return from the courtmartial on the morrow with distinct tin easiness. When the door of their quarters clanged to behind him he noticed that his comrade's bronzed face had lost some of its usual colour. “Well?” he said, as quietly as he could. “Have a cigar?” said the American, who seemed to find a difficulty it. striking the match. The niggers didn’t even loot my tobacco, which is comforting, because wo may want it to-morrow. Square trial, with some tone about it. Half-bred colonel, most courteous image. enquired after you. Was good enough tp tell me Don Manuel and his daughter got st»fe away." Henderson, racked with suspense, saw bis comrade was temporising, and determined no American should out do him in coolness. “ I'm glad of that, but. when you’re quite ready you might to IT me what the verdict was.’ h.? said. “Take it short?” said Deering, whoso voice rang harsh. “Then your plea of (!ivi:s Romanns won’t, do. Nigger gentlemen dpcided logically that as you Britishers only come hero to trade they would steer clear of the fighting. You were taken in company with an American officer disguised as a spy, and it appears you shot somebody—sec?” “Ah!” said Henderson, drawing in his breath. “And—"

Deering, flinging his cigar away, field out his hand. “And wherever you hap pened to be born, you II end up a good American —to-morrow. These fo'.kswant a spectacle in San Sebastian. I’m eternally sorry, partner. I lot you into this.” The pair solemnly shook hands, and there was silence for ten minutes or so. Then Deering said, with apparent itrovel ancy, “Condemn the rascally nigger who filed the striker out of my pistol. I’d feel considerably better if 1 had fixed a dozen of them.”

Henderson wondered that, contrary to all that he had read, he slept Soundly when darkness came. It may have been due to the lassitude the fever left him, or Veeausc the shock produced a numbing effect, but he awakened refreshed, and was at first only conscious tti'fit .« clean sweet sir came in through the narrow window, and that somebody singing a plaintive song went by outside. Then, as his perceptions fully returned, he saw Deering silling with his head in

his hands, and remembered what was to come. He also remembered one who watched for his letters in England, and for whose sake he had taken the risk of attempting to recover Don Manuel’s debt, and for the first time he groaned aloud. “Awake at last?” said Deering. ‘‘l didn’t sleep well myself. Anything in particular worrying you?”

“X was wondering if they would let me write a letter,” said Henderson. “No,” was the answer. “They mean to fix this thing up quietly—l asked them. I wanted to write the senorita. Thank God she’s safe, anvwav.”

Henderson was not particularly interested in the Senorita Beatrix, but he feared the reflection that must come with silence, and asked, “You were there a good many times, Deering? But did it •ver strike you that these folks don’t understand the game of flirtation as you play it in your country?”

“Flirtation be—devastated!” said Deering, striding across the room. “I’ve s good few dollars in the Standard Oil, and if my folks don’t like it—well, they can do the opposite and be hanged 'to them. I’m going to marry her when this infernal nigger-hunting’s over. That is—” and the speaker clenched his hands as he concluded lamely. “That is —I was going to.”

Henderson had small cause for amusement, but he laughed hollowly, and Deering’s face twisted into a mirthless grin as he commented, “That's better! Under the circumstances one must d« something, and laughing’s better than —the other thing. Oh, yes, I guess it’s childish vanity, but it’s not fitting for whitemeu to give themselves away before any kind of niggers—eh?” Henderson could make no further conversation, and shnfiling to the window watched the sunrise brighten across the clustering roofs of tiie old-world Spanish town and the sparkling sea. His eyes swept across it lovingly, while his thoughts sped swifter still to the unlovely British city wherein he had once dreamed of the garish light and colour of the tropics. Then he drew a deep breath, remembering that a gulf deeper and wider than any sea would shortly divide him from one he loved in that sheltered land. Deering, who paced up and down, was not communicative during the next hour or two, and it jarred on Henderson to see dusky peasants trooping past into San Sebastian in holiday finery. It was almost a relief when there was a knocking at the door at last, and a man armed with an American ride stood in the entrance beckoning them.

Henderson, still weak from fever, limped after him and stood blinking stupidly in the fierce sunglare outside, but he straightened himself when Deering would have slipped his arm through his own and took his place between the files of their dusky guard. There was a yell of, “Death to the Americans,” and they moved forward down the roaring street. Twenty men with rilles led the way, more came behind with wicked bolo knives, and the guard were hard pressed to push their way through the surging crowd. Henderson glanced at the sea of dark-skinned faces and wondered that he felt little re-

sentment. He knew the dusky' people possessed their good qualities, though

they were vindictive, and, after an experience of Spaniards and Americans, had no particular reason to love white men. At one corner there was a stoppage, and a little girl thrust a cluster of fruit upon him. “Pobre Americano. For por la earidad,” she lisped in Spanish; then added in a whisper, “Mira—■ look between them.”

Henderson, finding a slip of paper, smuggled it into his pocket, then drew drew it out and read, “Take heart. Your friends lose no time.”

“This is evidently for you, Deering. It is a lady’s hand. They will be too late for ever unless they’re here in the next few minutes,” he said. Then scarcely daring to hope he glanced at his comrades in misfortune as he dragged himself on. There was a Spaniard who walked moodily with his eyes fixed on the ground, a stolid, highcheeked Chinaman, and a native of one of the Malayan provinces, who glared at the assembly with venomous disdain. Their quietness braced him, for Henderson, who considered he eame of a superior race whose sons have demonstrated through all history that they could meet death lightly, felt he had its prestige to maintain. Perhaps Deering guessed his thoughts, for presently he said, “It would have come easier fighting, but I figure we have just got to make the best of it. Here W’e are.”

They had arrived in the central plaza, and each detail of the scene burneS itself into Henderson’s brain—the dusty sunlit square swept elear by the ill-armed troops that swung into line, the endless faces behind the glinting w’eapons, and the group of uniformed officers slouching in most unsoldierly attitudes just outside the porch of the ancient Spanish church. He also noticed how the great cross on one corner towering against the blue, flung an inky shadow athwart the spot where he was signalled to stand, whilst, because the leathern curtain was drawn aside, a drone of chanting eame out of the shadowy’ door.

Then an officer read aloud from a paper, setting forth the prisoners’ offences, and when he had finished the chanting eeased and a Spanish priest of some missionary order came forth from the church. The swell of the organ and a stale savour of incense seemed to follow’ him. The Spaniard bent his head, the Chinaman shuffled a few’ paces away, while the Malay’s lean hand slid wickedly’ to where his knife had been.

“These niggers aren't quite savages—tell the padre no thanks for me,” said Deering. “Say’, they’re coming for us. Good-bye, partner. As I said, I'm sorry 1 let you into this. God forgive me.” The farewell was premature, for two soldiers dropped their rifle butts near the comrades’ toes, and waved them backwards. Then there was an inarticulate murmur from the crowd, and Henderson saw three figures silhouetted against a glaring white, wall —the sombrely-clad Spaniard with slouch hat drawn low on his forehead on his knees, the bluegowned Chinaman squatted on the ground with a look of mildly indignant astonishment upon his yellow face, while the Malay-, who called on the God of the Moslem, stood erect with lips drawn bacK from his reddened teeth in a savage snarl, with a pose that suggested a wild beast about to spring. Facing them stood

a dozen dusky men awkwardly holding good modern rifles. Somebody called sharply. With a flash of sunlight on the metal the barrels rose, there was an irregular sputter of red sparks, a rolling along hot walls of jarring reports, and a shrill scream rang out. Then a roar of voices went up, anil a lithe, half-naked, bleeding form, swinging a glimmering bolo bounded like a panther out of the filmy'smoke. “What’s that?” shouted Deering, quivering with excitement; and Henderson answered in broken gasps, “I rather think it’s the Malay getting home. Bravo—oh, bravo! By the Lord he’ll eut his way right through to the colonel! No—he's down! 1 wouldn’t look just that way, Deering, if I were you.” The clamour subsided suddenly. There was a patter of running feet, a clanging of steel on stone, and Deering, whose lips twitched, stared at his comrade. “It’s over,” said Henderson, thickly. “Even more than I bargained for. Pah! those brutes can’t even shoot. Deering, it’s our turn now.” A man with a smoking rifle strode in their direction across the plaza, and Henderson turned his eyes resolutely away from what lay’ at one end of it. Then the soldier halted, and a tumult began as somebody’ rode a lathered horse madly through the crowd. The officers consulted hurriedly, one shouted orders, and Deering gasped as he said, “Great Heavens!—they’ve clean forgotten us. What on this green earth is happening?” The crowd broke up in a panic, the troops went off at a trot, there was a crackle of skirmishers firing, the blast of a volley, and a mad uproar in the hot street which debouched on the plaza, and Deering flung his wide hat high into the air. , “It’s either my boys come for me, or Ransome’s Wild West.” he shouted. “This place will smell of sulphur presently’. Steady. Hold up, partner. We’re through with it now.” Henderson, still very weak from fever and shaken by the revulsion of relief, greatly desired to sit down, for the hot walls reeled round him, but Deering held him upright, until, swinging along at a fast double with bayonets twinkling through the dust, white men in tattered uniforms poured file by file into the plaza. Most went through it and vanished, and Deering cheered them as they ran. Then a sun-bronzed officer, perhaps a little more ragged and dusty than the rest, eame panting up with a company behind him, and nearly choked for want of breath as he rang Deering’s hand.

“It’s a mercy we got through in time,” he spluttered. "Ransome’s halftamed cattle thieves will keep the niggers on the run. Twenty’ miles climb over mountains isn’t a bad record in this climate —your down-easters, Deering, couldn’t have made it. Oh, yes, but I’m forgetting. Here’s the—lady who guided us, riding in.”

“Good heavens! Is there a woman ■with you?” said Henderson, still slightly dazed as a W’hite-robed mounted figure followed the last of the running files to enter the plaza. “That’s so,” said the newcomer, a trifle drily. “We couldn’t well leave her behind us among the niggers, and

she knew the country. I’d mighty hard work to stop her showing the cattle boys the way in. She seemed kind of anxious about somebody.”

Deering said nothing as he strode away, and next moment Henderson eaw him standing bareheaded, broad hat in hand, beside a lathered horse, while Beatriz Reina, whose glossy- hair was thick with dust, smiled down upon him. Then, because discipline in that regiment was slack, some of the weary men grinned broadly, and some of them cheered.

It was some time before Henderson next saw his comrade, and then he met him at the Commander’s quarters in the departed Alcalde’s house, where the officers regale themselves upon his provisions, and some of the untamed West-, erners experimented with forbidden liqours.

“I’ve arranged for Miss Reina’s safe journey home, and something else,” Deering said with a smile. “It’s strange how a man can make himself understood when he has to. You have seen me through the beginning, and mighty near the end—you’ve got to help me out with the sequel. We’re to be married in Manila when this inglorious campaign’s done. Yoii’ll promise, and shake hands on it, partner. Pity more of the rest of us couldn’t shake' hands, too. Tolerably promising sample of an International Alliance, eh?”