THE MOTOR SCOUT




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Title: The Motor Scout
       A Story of Adventure in South America
Author: Herbert Strang
Release Date: June 15, 2013 [EBook #42953]
Language: English
Character set encoding: UTF-8


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Produced by Al Haines.




[Illustration: Cover]




[Illustration: THE GOBERNADOR RIDES]




                            THE MOTOR SCOUT

                _A STORY OF ADVENTURE IN SOUTH AMERICA_


                                   BY

                             HERBERT STRANG



                      _ILLUSTRATED BY CYRUS CUNEO_



                                 LONDON
                              HENRY FROWDE
                          HODDER AND STOUGHTON
                                  1913




                     RICHARD CLAY & SONS, LIMITED,
                BRUNSWICK STREET, STAMFORD STREET, S.E.,
                          AND BUNGAY, SUFFOLK.




                                CONTENTS


CHAPTER THE FIRST
       BOMBASTES FURIOSO

CHAPTER THE SECOND
       COMINGS AND GOINGS

CHAPTER THE THIRD
       BENEVOLENCES

CHAPTER THE FOURTH
       GAS

CHAPTER THE FIFTH
       PARDO DISMISSES HIMSELF

CHAPTER THE SIXTH
       TIM IS HELD TO RANSOM

CHAPTER THE SEVENTH
       THE PREFECT MOVES

CHAPTER THE EIGHTH
       SUSPENSE

CHAPTER THE NINTH
       FLIGHT TO THE HILLS

CHAPTER THE TENTH
       CINCINNATUS O’HAGAN

CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH
       THE MOTOR-CYCLE

CHAPTER THE TWELFTH
       FREE WHEEL

CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH
       A COMMISSION

CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH
       HIS FATHER’S HOUSE

CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH
       THE RAID ON SAN ROSARIO

CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH
       A SIEGE AND A SORTIE

CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH
       IN POSSESSION

CHAPTER THE EIGHTEENTH
       THE ORDER OF THE NASTURTIUM

CHAPTER THE NINETEENTH
       PARDO SCORES A TRICK

CHAPTER THE TWENTIETH
       PARDO LOSES A TRICK

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIRST
       RUN TO EARTH

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SECOND
       A PUNCTURE

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-THIRD
       A LEAP FOR LIFE

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FOURTH
       FROM DAN TO BEERSHEBA

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIFTH
       THE RAVINE

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SIXTH
       HANDSOME ACKNOWLEDGMENTS




                         LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


THE GOBERNADOR RIDES (_see page_ 10) . . . _Frontispiece_

CAPTURED BY BRIGANDS

HORSEMEN ON THE TRACK

TIM LEADS A CHARGE

THE HOLE IN THE FLOOR

A CHECK AT THE CAVE


MAP




                               CHAPTER I

                           BOMBASTES FURIOSO


One hot sultry afternoon in June, the population of the little town of
San Rosario in the Peruvian Andes was struck with sudden amazement at
the sight of a motor-bicycle clattering its way through the main street
with some risk to the dogs, poultry, and small boys who had been lazily
disporting themselves there.  It was not the bicycle itself that evoked
their wonder: that was an object familiar enough.  Nor was it the youth
seated in the saddle, and steering it deftly past all obstacles.  It was
a second figure, mounted uneasily on the carrier behind: a rotund and
portly figure, which shook and quivered with the vibration of the
machine as it jolted over the ill-paved road, maintaining its
equilibrium with obvious difficulty.  Children and women shrieked; the
men leaning against the walls took their cigars from their lips and
gasped; and the noise of the engine was almost smothered by the mingled
din of barking dogs and screaming fowls.  It was the figure of the
gobernador himself: land-owner, chief magistrate, and father of a
family.

The wondering populace might have supposed that the gentleman had taken
leave of his senses--for surely no one of his mature years and serious
responsibilities would have risked so much if he had been sane--had it
not been plain to them that he was in desperate distress.  His head was
bare; his swarthy cheeks were shining with perspiration; his eyes rolled
with fright; and his fat hands were clasped about the waist of the boy
in the saddle with the convulsive grip of a man clinging for dear life.
The face of the boy was, on the contrary, beaming with delight.  His
lips were parted in a wide smile; his blue eyes were dancing; and his
mop of tow-coloured hair waved joyously in the breeze that the motion of
the vehicle created.

The street filled, and soon there was a mingled crowd pouring in full
cry behind the bicycle.  There were young fellows in black coats and
spotless collars--the well-to-do Peruvian is something of a dandy; men
in white ducks and Panama hats; ladies in mantillas; Indians in
bright-coloured ponchos; rough-clad muleteers; bare-legged Indian
children.  The rider waved his hand and grinned at a stripling who ran,
pen in hand, from an office, to see the cause of the uproar, and
smilingly watched the bicycle as it bowled along over the cobbles of the
plaza, with much clamorous outcry from the hooter, finally coming to
rest before a large house there. The perspiring passenger having
descended from his uneasy perch, the rider dismounted and offered his
arm as a support to the magistrate, whose legs, cramped by their
unwonted strain, moved very stiffly as he approached his door.

Young Tim O’Hagan and his motor-bicycle had been for some time the talk
of San Rosario.  Tim was sixteen, but he was called "Young Tim" to
distinguish him from his father, and also, perhaps, in the spirit of
kindly tolerance with which elders sometimes regard their high-spirited
juniors. Young Tim had always been what his father’s English friends
called a "pickle," and old Biddy Flanagan, the family maidservant, a
"broth of a boy."  As a small boy he had been in frequent scrapes, and a
cause of bewilderment and trouble to the grave householders of the town.
More than once they had politely complained to Mr. O’Hagan of his
escapades: scrambling over their roofs, hunting for lost balls in their
gardens without much regard for their carefully tended flower-beds, and
engaging in many other nimble exercises which are natural enough to an
English--or Irish--boy, but are rare with the less active Latins.
Thrashings and admonitions were equally ineffective; he would promise
not to repeat a certain offence, and keep his word, but only to break
out in a new direction.  Mr. O’Hagan at last despaired of further
correction, and yielded to his wife’s advice, to leave Tim to the
sobering hand of time.

As he grew older Tim became less mischievous, without losing his wild
spirits and love of frolic.  To see him coast down the hills on his
free-wheel bicycle with no hold upon the handle-bar filled the Peruvian
boys with fear and amazement.  And when, on his sixteenth birthday, his
father surrendered to his importunities, and presented him with a
motor-bicycle, there were not wanting many who foretold that young Tim
would sooner or later break his neck.  Tim laughed at them.  He had come
through his most daring exploits without any hurt more serious than
scratches and bruises; and being very clear-headed and possessed of iron
nerves he was accustomed to scoff at the warnings of timid people.

In spite of his prankishness, there was no more popular person in San
Rosario. Nobody could dislike the boy with his fair Irish face, his
honest eyes twinkling with fun, and the shaggy head that scorned hats
and defied sunstroke.  The Peruvian ladies would have made a pet of him
if he would have allowed them; and their husbands, in a country where
everybody, man, woman, and child, smokes, often made him presents of
cigars, which he accepted gratefully, and dutifully handed over to his
father.

His was the only motor-bicycle in the province, an object of a fearful
awe to the young Peruvians.  A crowd of these would surround him as he
prepared to mount, and scatter with shrieks when they heard the clatter
of the engine.  Elderly ladies crossed themselves and drew their
mantillas closer as they saw him flashing by, and the authorities of San
Rosario were thinking of framing a bye-law for the protection of the
inhabitants from furious driving.  But they were slow to move; to-morrow
would do; and Biddy Flanagan declared that no action would be taken
until the gossoon had killed somebody dead.

On this June day, Tim had left home early in the afternoon for a
twenty-mile trip into the hills.  He was returning, and had just run
down a steep and winding declivity which joined the highroad to San
Juan, the provincial capital, when he caught sight of the gobernador,
Señor José Fagasta, ambling ahead on his mule in the homeward direction.
In half a minute he overtook the magistrate, and being always very
sociably inclined, and having a certain liking for the large
good-tempered gentleman, he stopped his machine, dismounted, and after a
salutation in Spanish stepped on beside the rider, not finding it easy
to keep pace with the mule’s rapid march.

The gobernador was returning from the capital to his own little
township, and it was not long before he confided to the boy the object
and result of his visit.

"Brigands, my young friend," he said amiably.

"Are they caught, señor?" asked Tim.

"No, no; but they soon will be, the rascals!"

Tim pricked up his ears.  Of late the so-called brigands had been very
troublesome. They swept down from their unknown lairs in the mountains,
falling unawares on some remote hacienda, and waylaying the trains of
pack-mules on the roads.  Tim, like many another honest boy, felt a
sneaking admiration for these lawless adventurers, and was not wholly
displeased that they had hitherto defied all attempts to track them and
bring them to book.  Besides, they were "against the government"; and
there were many good Peruvians who had reason to abhor the officials
under whose exactions they were then suffering.

"What is going to be done, señor?" he asked.

"What am _I_ going to do, you should have said," replied the magistrate.
"You will see, my boy.  They sent for me to-day at San Juan, and I have
had a long consultation with his excellency the Prefect.  ’Señor
Doctor,’ said he, ’you are the man to catch these ruffians.  I leave it
to you.’"

There was an accent of pride in the gobernador’s tone, and he looked at
Tim with the air of a man demanding admiration.

"Why do they call you doctor, señor?" asked Tim.  "You don’t attend us."

"No, my son.  I am a Doctor of Laws of San Marcos University.  Yes, they
have confidence in me," he continued.  "And the brigands will soon have
me to reckon with."  He touched significantly the butt of his revolver.
"I will hunt them down; I will catch them; I shall have no mercy on
them, and they will find that such villainy is not to be allowed to go
unpunished within twenty miles of Señor Doctor José Fagasta. I am a man
of peace; nobody could be more mild and humane; but when I see the
beneficent laws of our republic transgressed and defied, then I remember
that I am chief magistrate; I become severe; I may even be called
terrible."

"What will you do with them?" asked Tim, impressed by the gobernador’s
vigorous words, and fascinated by the shining weapon that peeped out of
his pocket, and the long sword that dangled from his belt.

"They shall be shot, my boy.  Not without trial, no; we shall be just
even to the most villainous desperado.  We shall catch them, and bring
them in irons to the town. We shall give them a fair trial, and condemn
them: that goes without saying; then we shall place them blindfolded in
the plaza, and----"

"Shoot them!" added Tim, as the magistrate paused mysteriously.

Señor José nodded with official gravity, and for a little there was
silence between the two, Tim conjuring up the anticipated scene, and
wondering what the sensations of a man about to be shot must be.

[Illustration: CAPTURED BY BRIGANDS]

Suddenly, from behind a cluster of rocks at their left hand, there
sprang into the road four men, who without a moment’s warning flung
themselves on the travellers.  Two seized Tim, the other two dragged the
gobernador from his mule, and in a trice had him on the ground at their
feet.  The attack was so sudden and unexpected that there had not been
time even to cry out; but now the gobernador raised his voice in
horrified protest, and Tim regained his wits and took stock of the
situation.  The men were attired in ragged tunics and breeches, with
sashes about their waists, and feathered hats of varied hue.  They were
swarthy wild-eyed fellows; mestizos--men of mixed Spanish and Indian
blood; and Tim knew at a glance that they must be members of the very
gang of outlaws whom the magistrate had so valorously undertaken to
extirpate.  They began to talk to one another rapidly in a jargon which
Tim, familiar as he was with Spanish, could not understand. But the
upshot of their consultation was seen in a minute.  One of the men who
held the lad brought his face close to his, and said:

"You go home!  We have nothing to do with you.  Take your machine and
go."

Tim glanced at the gobernador, who lay motionless in the hands of his
captors, mingling protests, threats, and offers of money.  The brigand
cursed, and declared that the boy had better take his chance of escaping
before they changed their mind. It was clear that nothing could be done
for the gobernador; the brigands had him at their mercy; and Tim
considered that there was nothing to be gained by remaining. Indeed, it
must be confessed that he was a good deal afraid of these
ferocious-looking fellows, and desired nothing better than to escape
from their clutches.  So he caught the handle-bar, ran a few feet with
his bicycle, then sprang to the saddle, and in a few seconds was riding
at full speed along the road.

At first he was conscious of nothing but relief and joy at his own lucky
escape.  But he had not ridden far before he began to think of the
gobernador.  His conscience pricked him.  He felt like a deserter.  He
owed nothing, it was true, to Señor Fagasta, who, while genial enough in
private life, had always struck Tim as a ridiculous, pompous kind of
person in his public capacity.  But it seemed rather mean to ride away
and leave the magistrate to his fate.  There was not time to reach the
town and bring back help; he could not himself do anything for the
gobernador; and he began to wonder what the brigands would do with him.
Perhaps they would rob him of what valuables he had, and let him go.
Surely they would not hurt him!  But when Tim remembered stories of the
lengths to which these outlaws sometimes went he grew more and more
uneasy.

After a few minutes he slowed down, considered for a little, then
dismounted and pushed his bicycle into a thick clump of bushes, where it
was well hidden.  He durst not ride back, for though his machine was
furnished with a silencer, it did not run so quietly as not to be heard.
He had made up his mind to retrace his path on foot, and see for himself
what had happened.  It was a long tramp uphill in the heat, and it took
him nearly an hour to walk the distance which on the cycle he had
covered in six or seven minutes.  Fortunately the track wound so
frequently that he ran no risk of being seen by the brigands.

As he approached the spot, he moved slowly and warily, peeping from
behind bushes along straight stretches of the track, and glancing up
into the hills to right and left.  On reaching the scene of the capture
he found that it was deserted.  Nobody was in sight.  He looked this way
and that, and stooped to the ground to see if he could discover by their
footmarks the direction in which the brigands had gone.  But the ground
was hard; he could scarcely discern the tracks of his own tyres.  A
trained scout might perhaps have noticed some slight indication, but Tim
had had no such training.

"They’ve hauled him away," he thought, and there flashed into his mind
recollections of fairy stories, in which ogres had carried human beings
to their dens to make a meal of them.  Tim had a vivid imagination.

He was on the point of returning when a sudden loud buzzing struck his
ear.  He listened: it was like the sound made by swarms of insects in
the forest.  And yet it was different--hoarser, less musical. Somehow it
reminded Tim of the gobernador’s speeches on great occasions in the
plaza, He left the path, still on his guard, and scouted to the right
among the trees, from which the humming seemed to come.  And guiding
himself by the sound, he presently started back when he saw Señor
Fagasta himself, bound upright to a trunk, bare-headed, his mouth
gagged.

The humming became very violent when Tim appeared.  He noticed that the
gobernador had managed to shift the gag a little. None of the brigands
being in sight, he ran to the tree, removed the gag altogether, slit the
cords about the señor’s limbs, and was immediately embarrassed by two
stout arms flung around him, and two hot lips pressing kisses on one
cheek after the other.

"Oh, I say!" he exclaimed, wriggling. "Steady on, señor."

"Ah, my dear friend!  My preserver! my deliverer!"  Here there was
another hug, but Tim evaded the kiss.  "Tell me!" whispered the
gobernador, "have those wretches gone away?"

"Indeed they have," said Tim.  "You had better come away too."

"But they have taken my mule!  I am not accustomed to walking.  I shall
faint: I shall be seized with apoplexy."

"I have left my cycle two or three miles away, señor.  If you can manage
to walk to that you can mount behind me, and we’ll be home in no time."

"Yes, I will do so.  Assist me with your arm.  I am on thorns until I am
on the machine; till then I am not safe.  Hasten, my son.  I have not
walked a mile for twenty years, though in my youth--but no matter: I
will do my best."

They set off, Tim linking arms with the gobernador, who marched down the
track with the rolling gait of a sailor.  Every now and then he stopped
to rest and recover breath, and as at these moments he showed signs of
repeating his embraces, Tim edged away until he was ready to start
again.

"Ah, my preserver!" said the gobernador once, "you have laid a debt upon
me which a lifetime of gratitude will not liquidate."

"Indeed it’s nothing at all," said Tim. "You would have done the same
for me."

"That is true; I certainly would; the blood of a long line of hidalgos
runs in my veins.  In Spain I might call myself Don José de Fagasta; in
republics, alas! there is no aristocracy.  But hasten, my son; I am not
safe until I reach the machine."

Tim thought from the gobernador’s manner that the current of noble blood
must by this time have become a pretty thin trickle. But he kept that
reflection to himself.

Señor Fagasta mounted behind Tim, proclaiming himself safe.  But the
rapid motion of the cycle down the steep and rugged track filled him
with alarms of another kind.  In vain he implored Tim to drive more
slowly the boy replied that he would not be secure until he reached the
town, and terrified him with apprehension of sunstroke.  It must be
confessed that the spirit of mischief was now fully awake in Tim.  Every
sigh, every ejaculation of the stout gentleman behind him gave him a
thrill of joy.  As they approached the town the gobernador, mindful of
his dignity, begged Tim to stop and let him finish the journey on foot.
But Tim could not resist the temptation to career through the street and
set the magistrate down at his own door; he relished the idea of the
wonder and excitement he would create.

"It’s hardly worth while to set you down now, señor," he said.  "You’ll
be home in less than a minute.  Hold tight!"

As Señor Fagasta entered his house, he turned to Tim.

"My son," he said in a confidential tone, "no doubt you will be asked to
explain this strange occurrence.  Do not reveal the cause. I do not
command you as gobernador of this town; I ask as one gentleman of
another."

"I must tell my father, señor," said Tim.

"Certainly; your father’s discretion is perfect.  Not a word to any one
else, then?"

"Very well, señor.  But won’t people ask you too?"

"Undoubtedly.  The doings of their magistrate are intensely interesting
to the citizens of San Rosario.  I shall explain to them that I felt an
urgent need, a positive passion, to try for myself the qualities and
speed--yes, I may say speed--of your motor-bicycle."

"And your hat blew off in the wind.  I see, señor," said Tim with
twinkling eyes. "And now, of course, you will send the police after the
brigands."

"I shall never forget that I am gobernador of San Rosario.  Good-bye, my
son."




                               CHAPTER II

                           COMINGS AND GOINGS


Tim rode on through the town, soon left the last house behind him, and
came into the open country.  A rough track led northward to Mr.
O’Hagan’s hacienda, three miles away.  Several years before, Mr. O’Hagan
had bought his estate, consisting of some thousands of acres, at a very
low price, and planted it partly with coffee, partly with sugar.  His
workers were Cholos (the native Indians) and Japanese.  The cost of
living and of labour being low, and the soil very fertile, the
plantations had in a short time brought him wealth.  The chief drawback
was difficulty of transport.  San Rosario was in a remote province
between the Andes and the forests, far from railways and from good
roads.  There were steep hills almost all round the town, crossed only
by rough paths over which goods were carried on the backs of mules.
Some of the planters had tried to introduce wheeled vehicles; but the
customs of the country proved too strong for them, and the arriero or
muleteer, dirty, cheerful, hard-working and incorrigibly unpunctual,
remained the common carrier.

On first leaving the gobernador, Tim was glowing with pleasure and pride
in his feat. But as he neared his home, his spirits gradually sank.  He
did not much relish the coming explanations with his father. Mr. O’Hagan
was by no means strict with his only son as a general rule, but he was
apt to look darkly on escapades which involved the townsfolk.  By the
time Tim came to the house he was in quite a sober frame of mind.

The dwelling was a long, one-storied building of adobe and wood,
constructed in Peruvian style.  The entrance hall led into a patio--a
sort of courtyard open to the sky, with palms and boxes of flowers
around the walls.  To the right of this were the drawing-room and study.
Beyond was another patio with a well in the centre, and a veranda
looking on the garden.  On the other side were the dining-room and
bedrooms, and a small room used by Mr. O’Hagan as an office.  Then came
the servants’ patio, the kitchen and servants’ bedrooms, and at the end
of the house a large enclosure, part vegetable garden, part poultry run.

Tim placed his bicycle in its shed behind the house, and entered,
resolved to "get it over."  He hoped to see his mother in the patio; she
was often a very convenient buffer between him and his father; but she
was not there, and he remembered that this was the time of her afternoon
nap.  He went on until he reached the office, where Mr. O’Hagan and a
Peruvian clerk were at work.

Mr. O’Hagan threw a rapid glance at the boy as he entered, and was
relieved to see no cuts, bruises, or other signs of accident.

"Had a good ride, Tim?" he said.

"Pretty good," replied Tim somewhat gloomily.  "I saved Señor Fagasta’s
life."

"What’s that you say?  I suppose you overtook him and didn’t run him
down, eh?"

"It wasn’t exactly that," said Tim.  "I did overtake him on his mule;
he’d been to San Juan; but we were pounced on by four rough-looking
fellows he called brigands. They let me off, and I walked back and found
the gobernador tied to a tree.  I brought him in on my machine."

"You don’t tell me so!  This is very vexing; I wish it hadn’t happened."

"But, Father, you wouldn’t have left the old gentleman to die!"

"How do you know he’d have died?" said Mr. O’Hagan testily.  "The
fellows probably only wanted to squeeze a ransom out of him.  Upon my
word, Tim, you’re a great trouble to me, with your machine. You know how
careful I am to keep out of local squabbles, and yet you’ve run
head-first into one."

"Really, I couldn’t help it, Father."

"I suppose you couldn’t, but it’s a pity. You’ve made an enemy of the
Mollendists, and in this country they may be our governors next week.
You’ll cost me a pretty penny.  Still, you couldn’t help it; only don’t
let it occur again."

Tim heaved a sigh of relief.

"You’d have laughed if you’d seen him," he said.  "We came through the
street in fine style.  He was perched on the carrier, clinging on for
dear life, and all the people shouting like anything."

"You don’t mean to say you brought him right through the street?"

"Indeed I did."

"Why on earth did you do that?"

"It was such fun, Father.  I really couldn’t help it."

"And don’t you know you must never be funny with a Peruvian?  He has no
sense of fun, especially when the fun is at his expense.  You’re
terribly thoughtless. You ought to have dropped the gobernador before
you came to the town.  However!"

Mr. O’Hagan did not continue his rebuke. In his mind’s eye he saw the
recent scene, and remembered the time when he himself might have yielded
to the temptation to which Tim had succumbed.  Years before, when quite
a young man, just arrived from home, he had thrown himself with Irish
impetuosity into the struggle between Peru and Chile; and having been a
lieutenant of volunteers when living in London, he had made use of his
military knowledge in his new domicile.  He had been given a commission
in the Peruvian cavalry, and had led many a daring sortie, many a
gallant charge.  With those reckless feats still clear in his memory, he
could not bear hardly on the boy who so much resembled him.  "You can’t
put old heads on young shoulders," he thought; "but I was a fool to buy
him that motor-cycle."

The conversation between father and son had, of course, been carried on
in English. The Peruvian clerk, bending over his books, listened
attentively, but could understand only a word or two here and there.
What little he picked up whetted his curiosity, and by and by, when he
found an opportunity of speaking to Tim alone, he tried to pump him.
But Tim did not like Miguel Pardo. He could scarcely have told why; it
was an instinctive feeling which did not need explanation.  When the
young Peruvian began to ply him with questions in Spanish, perfectly
polite, but yet, as Tim thought, rather too pressing, he gave short and
vague answers.  Pardo saw that he was being fenced with, and presently
desisted, breaking off the conversation with a smile.

A little later, when the O’Hagans were having tea in the patio, Pardo
spent the last few minutes before closing work for the day in writing a
letter.  Then, locking up his books, he left the house by the servants’
entrance and, instead of going to the huts half a mile away, in which
Mr. O’Hagan’s employees lodged, he set off for the town.

He had not gone far when he was met-by Nicolas Romaña, the young
Peruvian who was storekeeper and general factotum of the estate.  The
two men were always so excessively polite to each other that Mr. O’Hagan
shrewdly guessed them to be hostile at heart.  They never quarrelled;
but it was impossible to be in their company long without feeling that
at any moment sparks might fly.

"Ah, señor," said Romaña, on meeting Pardo, "you are about to take the
air? Let me give you a friendly warning: beware of a storm.  I just now
heard rumblings of thunder."

"Many thanks, señor," replied Pardo. "I shall not go far afield.
Perhaps to the town.  San Rosario is not Lima, unluckily. There I should
have a friend’s house at every few yards to give me shelter."

This, as Romaña very well knew, was a mere boast, an assumption of
superiority: every Peruvian wishes to be regarded as a native of Lima.

"How strange we never met there!" he said politely.  "I myself was born
at Lima, and lived there fully twenty years."

"What a loss to me!" said Pardo.  "I bid you good-evening."

He swept off his hat and passed on.

Romaña stood looking after him in some surprise.  It was an unusually
abrupt ending of the conversation.  Ordinarily the bandying of words
would have been kept up for several minutes.  What was the reason of
Pardo’s haste?  He was walking very quickly, too, as if he had an errand
of importance.

A man who has weighty secrets himself is very apt to suspect others of
harbouring secrets also.  This may perhaps explain why Romaña, instead
of proceeding on his way to the hacienda, turned about, and dogged Pardo
to the outskirts of the town.  There the clerk entered a small house--a
chacara belonging to one of the Indian agriculturists of the
neighbourhood.  In a few minutes he returned, passed unsuspiciously the
clump of bush behind which Romaña was spying, and retraced the road
homeward.

Romaña remained on the watch.  Presently an Indian came out of the
house, went to his corral hard by, caught and saddled a horse, and rode
off, not towards San Rosario, but along a bridle-path that ran westward
and led into the high road to San Juan.

The watcher felt that he had not come in vain.  Instead of returning to
the hacienda, he walked rapidly into the town, and showed signs of
pleasure on meeting, near the plaza, a thin, wiry man of about sixty
years of age, with whom he entered into earnest conversation. A few
minutes later this man might have been seen riding quickly out of the
town, on the same road as that which the Indian had struck perhaps half
an hour before.

Next morning, when the workers were busy about the plantation, and Mr.
O’Hagan was engaged with Pardo in the office, Romaña strolled to an
orange orchard a quarter of a mile southward from the house.  After
waiting there impatiently for nearly an hour, he was joined by the man
with whom he had conversed in San Rosario on the previous evening.

"Well, caballero?" said Romaña eagerly.

"I followed him, señor, into San Juan."

"Where did he go?"

"To the Prefect’s house."

"Good!" said Romaña with satisfaction. "Is there any news?"

"None, señor.  The gobernador gives out that he very much enjoyed his
ride."

Romaña smiled.

"Very well, caballero.  Go back and keep eyes and ears open."

They parted, and Romaña returned to his work.




                              CHAPTER III

                              BENEVOLENCES


Señor José Fagasta was seated in a deep chair on the balcony of his
house overlooking the plaza.  It was a hot afternoon, and he had
exchanged his black coat for a loose jacket of white alpaca.  An awning
and his broad-brimmed Panama hat gave shelter from the sun.  At his side
was a small table, with a glass and a decanter.  Between his lips there
was a long cigar.  It had gone out: the gobernador was asleep.

He was suddenly roused by the sound of cheering up the street.  Rubbing
his eyes, and taking automatically a pull at his extinguished cigar, he
let out a smothered ejaculation, struggled to his feet, and hastened
into the house.  The cause of these abrupt movements was the appearance
of a party of horsemen trotting into the plaza at the upper end--the
Prefect of the province, accompanied by a small escort.

The gobernador hurried to his dressing-room, threw off his jacket, and
was struggling into his frock coat when he was summoned to attend the
Prefect below.  He durst not delay.  He held the Prefect in awe, as was
only natural, seeing that it was the Prefect who had appointed him to
his office, at the cost of a very considerable fee.  In his haste and
perturbation he forgot that he wore a Panama, and was only reminded of
it when the Prefect, who was just entering the hall as Señor Fagasta
came to the foot of the staircase, looked with stern disapproval over
his head.

"A thousand pardons, señor," said the confused gobernador.  "I was
taking a brief siesta, and did not expect to be honoured by a visit from
your excellency."

He swept off his hat, bowed his head before his superior, and politely
invited him to a seat in the patio.

The Prefect, a tall sharp-featured man of about forty years, with keen
black eyes over which bushy eyebrows met, and a heavy moustache twisted
into long points, accepted the chair, laying his three-cornered hat on a
table.  His manner made the gobernador uneasy.

"An extraordinary rumour has reached me, señor doctor," said the
Prefect, "that you were seen yesterday in a very undignified position,
unworthy of your office, riding on a motor-cycle behind the young
Inglés."

"It is true, señor," said the gobernador. "I had never experienced that
novel mode of locomotion, and I assure your excellency that I shall
never try it again."

"Such conduct, señor, is calculated to bring your responsible office
into contempt. It cannot be overlooked: you are dismissed."

For a moment the gobernador’s emotion rendered him speechless.  He
thought of the many good English sovereigns with which he had bought his
office, and the terrible eclipse of all his importance in the town. Then
he pulled himself together: perhaps if the Prefect knew all he would
have mercy.

"Your excellency," he said humbly, "I admit that my conduct may seem
wanting in dignity; but I beg that you will hear my explanation.  I was
returning from my interview with you, full of zeal for the duty with
which you had entrusted me, when I was seized by four villainous
brigands in the hills.  They bound me to a tree, and but for the
courageous intervention of the young Inglés, who mounted me on his
machine and brought me home, I should probably either not be alive
to-day, or be a much poorer man than I am.  Not that I am rich," he
added hastily.  "In these circumstances I trust that your excellency
will have the goodness to overlook my unintentional delinquency."

"That is impossible, señor.  Your dismissal is registered.  It cannot be
rescinded. Still, as a special act of grace, in consideration of your
zeal, I may authorise your reappointment."

"Your kindness overwhelms me, señor," said the grateful gobernador,
unaware how truly he spoke.

"But there is a condition, señor," the Prefect continued.  "I am hard
pressed for funds to carry on my campaign against the brigands.  Your
zeal is such that you will not refuse to make a small contribution on
behalf of the cause--say £500.  I shall then have the greatest pleasure
in reinstating you as gobernador of this town."

Señor Fagasta writhed.  He knew that protest was useless.  He must pay,
or be disgraced.  How much of his contribution would go to support the
cause, and how much into the Prefect’s own pocket, he could only
suspect.  The interview soon came to an end, and the Prefect left the
house richer by £500.

The idlers who had gathered outside cheered him again as he remounted.
They expected to see him ride back to San Juan. To their surprise he
struck into the rough track northward, which led only to the hacienda of
Mr. O’Hagan, to another that lay some few miles beyond, and then to the
hills.  Evidently the Prefect’s visit was of more than usual importance.

[Illustration: Map]

Half an hour later the Prefect reined up at the door of Mr. O’Hagan’s
house.  The family were at tea in the patio.  On seeing his visitor
through the open door, Mr. O’Hagan rose with a muttered exclamation of
annoyance, and went to greet him.  He was forestalled by Pardo, who had
run from the office and was holding the horseman’s stirrup.  Mr. O’Hagan
felt that he could do no other than invite the Prefect to drink a cup of
tea, and that gentleman was soon seated in the patio, stirring his cup,
and talking to Mrs. O’Hagan in the charming manner for which he had a
name among ladies.

"I wish to thank your son, señor and señora," he said presently, "on
behalf of the government, for his spirited action yesterday in the cause
of law and order. There, my boy," he went on, taking a sol--equivalent
to a florin--from his pocket, "accept that as a token of my high
consideration."

Tim looked at his father.

"Pardon me, señor," said Mr. O’Hagan, swallowing his irritation, "your
generosity is quite unnecessary.  My son needs no reward."

"That is very high-minded," said the Prefect, pocketing the coin.  "He
will allow me to shake him by the hand and compliment him on his courage
and resource?"

Tim gave him a limp hand: it was not so bad as the gobernador’s hug and
kiss.

"I am glad to be able to number you and your family, señor," the Prefect
continued, "among my declared adherents."

"Don’t make a mistake, señor," said Mr. O’Hagan quickly.  "My son had no
political motive in his action.  It was a mere impulse of humanity."

"The cause of the government is the cause of humanity," said the Prefect
impressively. "The brigands represent anarchy.  Brigandage is chaos.  I
am determined to stamp it out.  My action is in the true interests of
all law-abiding citizens, and especially of such enterprises as yours,
which depend on the reign of law for their prosperity."

At this point, after an almost imperceptible sign from Mr. O’Hagan, his
wife rose and went with Tim into the drawing-room.  The Prefect
gallantly opened the door for her, and bowed with extreme deference: he
was the pink of politeness.  Then he returned to his chair. Mr. O’Hagan
guessed what was coming.  A few years before this, the Prefect, by
bribery and intrigue, had ousted his predecessor in office, one Señor
Mollendo, and had since maintained his position by corruption, and by
levying forced loans on such of the wealthy men as had not the courage
to resist him.  The public taxes were already sufficiently heavy; but
the province was so remote from Lima that its prefect was practically a
dictator, and appeals to the central government would have been
fruitless.

Señor Mollendo, knowing that his life was hardly safe, had taken refuge
in the hilly district in the heart of the province, and was there joined
by his partisans, who grew gradually in number as the Prefect’s
exactions increased.  These Mollendists were what we should call a
political party in opposition: in Peru the government termed them
brigands.  It was natural enough that they should include among their
number many lawless irreconcilables of the true brigand type; and
opposition which would in England take the form of public meetings and
demonstrations found expression here in raids and robberies.  Mr.
O’Hagan had been several times approached indirectly for contributions
to the Prefect’s war fund, but he had always refused to comply.

"As I was saying, señor," the Prefect resumed, lighting the cigar Mr.
O’Hagan offered, "your security depends on the supremacy of law.  That
being the case, and my treasury being in temporary need of funds, I have
every confidence in inviting you to subscribe a small sum--say £1000--to
a loan for the more active prosecution of the work of suppressing the
brigands which we all have at heart."

"I am a man of few words, señor," said Mr. O’Hagan.  "I have bought my
land; I pay my legal taxes, which are heavy enough; and I am entitled to
the protection of government.  My people are contented; I have had no
trouble with them; the people you call brigands have not molested me; if
they do I shall claim your protection, but I don’t anticipate anything
of the kind.  I must therefore decline your invitation."

"I beg you not to be hasty, señor.  Your security may yet be rudely
shocked: no man can call himself safe while the brigands are at large;
and I should be very much distressed if you were to suffer loss through
the unfortunate penury of the government. A contribution of
£1000--merely by way of loan--would probably prevent a much greater
loss."

"Not one peseta, señor," said Mr. O’Hagan bluntly.  "I must beg you to
believe that that is final."

The Prefect smiled blandly.

"Ah! you Inglésas!" he said.

"I’m an Irishman, señor: that’s worse."

"Well, señor, I must thank you for your hospitality and take my leave.
I wish you every success, and a large share of the sunlight of
prosperity.  I only regret that by your reluctance to support me you are
helping to let loose the forces of lawlessness and giving hostages to
brigandage--in fact, breeding worms that will eat into the tissues of
industrial enterprise.  I bid you good-day, señor."

Mr. O’Hagan was not impressed by the Prefect’s picturesque language.
Tall talk is the foible of Peruvians.  But after he had seen the last of
his visitor, he returned to the house in a state of intense irritation.
His wife was awaiting him in the patio.

"He wants to bleed me," he said angrily: "demanded a trifle of £1000.
This country is a hot-bed of corruption.  And I wish that motor-cycle
were at the bottom of the sea."

"Why, dear," said Mrs. O’Hagan placably, "what has that to do with it?"

"It gives the fellow an excuse for saying that I’m on the side of the
Mollendists. Why do you let me spoil that boy, Rose?"

Mrs. O’Hagan smiled, remembering that she had begged her husband to wait
until Tim was a little older before giving him the motor-cycle.  Wisely
she did not remind him of that, but simply said:

"Don’t worry, dear.  Things mayn’t be so bad as you think....  And Tim
is not _really_ spoilt, you know."




                               CHAPTER IV

                                  GAS


Next day Tim went into the town on an errand for his mother.  He was
looking at the window of the only book-shop, when he felt a touch on his
sleeve.  Looking round, he saw Alfonso, the gobernador’s son, a sallow,
weedy boy of about his own age, whom he had often vainly tried to induce
to have a game at cricket in a field behind Mr. O’Hagan’s house.  He did
not think much of Alfonso, who always called him señor!

"Follow me, señor," said the boy mysteriously, "but don’t let people
know."

He moved off at once.  Tim might have thought that he was being enticed
away for a practical joke of some kind, only he remembered that the
Peruvians never played practical jokes except in carnival time. "I may
as well go," he said to himself; so, pushing his hands into his pockets,
he sauntered after Alfonso Fagasta.  Several persons gave him pleasant
greetings, and he stopped once or twice to exchange a word, always
keeping his eye on Alfonso.

The Peruvian boy walked past the church in the plaza, and turned into a
narrow street, or rather lane, bounded on one side by the wall of the
presbytery, on the other by a high wall enclosing a garden.  Tim knew
the place well; indeed, in days gone by he had sometimes scaled the
garden wall in quest of ripe plums or peaches.  He followed Alfonso for
some distance, until he came to the rear of the enclosure, where there
was a dense plantation extending up the slope of a hill.  Here Alfonso
made signs to him to wait, and disappeared through a wicket gate into
his father’s garden.

"Why couldn’t he tell me where to come?" thought Tim impatiently.
"What’s the silly secret?"

He climbed a tree by way of passing the time, and presently, from his
leafy bower, he saw the gobernador open the wicket gate, glance
cautiously round, and then come swiftly towards the plantation.  He
looked this way and that, and gave a jump when Tim called out, just
above his head:

"Here I am, señor doctor."

"Ha! my young friend, come down," said the gobernador.

Tim dropped at his feet.

"I have something to say to you," continued the gobernador hurriedly.
"Pardon me for not receiving you in my house with the respect due to my
preserver, but there are reasons...."  He nodded with an air of mystery.
Then he went on in nervous haste: "Tell your good father to be on his
guard to-night.  See that everything is secure.  He must be careful not
to arouse suspicion among his staff. Few are to be trusted in these
disturbed times.  If he sleeps at all, let him sleep with one eye open."

"What’s going to happen, señor?" asked Tim.

"I say no more.  Perhaps I have said too much.  But I owe you so much
gratitude----"

"Don’t mention it, señor," said Tim, backing.  "Thanks for your
warning."

"Do not breathe my name to any one but your father," said the gobernador
anxiously.  "I must go.  Next time I see you I hope it will be at my
front door, with open arms."

"I hope it won’t," thought Tim.  He shook hands with the flurried
gentleman, who, with another cautious look around, returned to the gate
and slipped through into his garden.

Tim was very thoughtful as he walked home.  Such a warning in Spanish
America was not to be disregarded, and he could not help connecting it
with the Prefect’s visit, the object of which he had learnt from his
mother.  He had a lively imagination. Such a man as the Prefect was not
likely to accept amiably the snub administered by Mr. O’Hagan.  He might
use other means than persuasion to enforce his will.

He wanted money.  To-morrow was pay-day at the hacienda, and there was a
large sum in the safe.  San Rosario had no bank.  The branch of a Lima
bank at San Juan had shut its doors on the accession of the present
Prefect to office: the managers feared that their floating assets would
be attached by the new official, ostensibly for public purposes.  Since
then the employers of labour had had to be their own bankers, drawing
cash at intervals from Lima by well-armed convoys.  There could be
little doubt that the gobernador had somehow got wind of a plot to rob
Mr. O’Hagan on the coming night.

Tim wondered what his father would do to defeat the attempt.  How would
the burglars go to work?  The safe was kept in the office.  The key was
on Mr. O’Hagan’s bunch.  To reach the office the robbers would have to
pass through one or other of the patios.  The middle patio had French
doors opening on the garden.  They were always locked and bolted at
night, like the main door and the servants’ entrance.  It would be
difficult to enter without making a noise, unless the servants were in
league with the burglars.  Tim thought of each of them in turn, and felt
sure that all were trustworthy.

All at once a brilliant idea struck him. His father was rather vexed
with him--or with the motor-cycle, which amounted to the same thing;
what a score it would be if he could deal with this matter himself,
without his father knowing anything about it!  He chuckled with delight
as he imagined himself telling at the breakfast-table, as calmly as
though it were an everyday matter, how he had defeated an attempted
burglary.  But how was it to be done? Mr. O’Hagan was a light sleeper; a
slight noise would disturb him, and Tim was at a loss for any means of
routing the burglars silently.

He thought of wire entanglements; but he could not erect them without
his father’s knowledge.  He thought of a booby-trap; but that was bound
to make a noise.  He had almost reached home before a plan occurred to
him; it pleased him so much that he laughed.  There was a large quantity
of ammonia solution in the house, kept for household purposes and for
use with the refrigerator which was a domestic necessity in this
tropical climate.  Tim had only recently left school in England, so that
his knowledge of chemistry had not yet evaporated. If he heated some of
this liquid, and led the vapour into the patio at the critical moment,
the fumes would be obnoxious enough, he thought, to choke off any rash
intruders.

As soon as he got home, he took into consultation an old mestizo named
Andrea, who was gardener and odd man, a family servant of many years’
standing.  Andrea was rather troubled, and advised that the warning
should be given to Mr. O’Hagan; but few could resist Tim’s
persuasiveness, and the old man at length consented to assist his young
master.

Tim’s bedroom was next to the office. At the bottom of the wall next to
the patio there was a grating which could be removed. That night, when
all the rest had retired, Andrea brought to Tim’s room a large oil-can
with a narrow neck, containing a quantity of the ammonia solution.  Tim
had already provided himself with a short length of garden hose, with a
nozzle at the end. Drawing the rubber tubing over the neck of the can,
he placed the nozzle end in the hole from which the grating had been
removed, in such a way that when the cock was turned it would allow the
fumes to enter the patio within a few inches of the office door. Having
lighted a large spirit-lamp beneath the oil-can, he set a chair against
the door, on which he could mount to reach a ventilator above, opening
on to the patio, and sat down on his bed, quivering with excitement, to
wait for the expected attack.

Hours passed, and he grew fidgety.  Every now and then he got on the
chair, and peeped through the ventilator.  All was dark and silent.

"I don’t believe they’re coming," he whispered disconsolately to Andrea.

"So much the better, señorito," said the old man.

But Tim did not agree with that; he did not want to be disappointed of
his fun.

At last he heard a slight sound from without.  Jumping on the chair, he
peered through the ventilator.  He could see nothing, but he guessed by
the sounds that the putty was being scraped from one of the glass panes
of the French door.  Presently he dimly saw several dark, shadowy forms
pass from side to side.  The men were removing the pane.  One after
another the intruders stepped quietly across the patio towards the
office door.  Just as they reached it Tim slipped off the chair, stooped
to the floor, and noiselessly turned on the cock of the nozzle.

For a few seconds there was no effect.  He heard the slight click of a
key as it was inserted in the lock of the office door.  But then, as the
ammonia fumes began to diffuse, there was a sniff, a stifled cough, and
a whispered exclamation.  Presently there were louder coughs, long-drawn
gasps, and the men, in the effort to repress these fatal sounds, choked
and spluttered violently, until, half-blinded, half-suffocated, they
turned away, cursing with what breath was left to them, and tumbled over
one another in a rush for the door.

At the same moment the door of Mr. O’Hagan’s room was flung violently
open, and that gentleman, roused by the noise, rushed into the patio in
his pyjamas, a gun in his hand.  Seeing that the pane was removed, he
ran to the door, and sent a charge of duck-shot after the dark figures
scampering over the garden-beds.  The sound of firing roused all the
household, and the affrighted servants came flocking into the patio.

"What’s this confounded smell?" gasped Mr. O’Hagan, turning when the
marauders had vanished into the night.  There was a chorus of coughs
from the servants.

Tim had turned off the stream of gas, and now opened his door; he felt
very much annoyed with the burglars; why had they made such a silly row?

"One of your tricks, Tim?" said Mr. O’Hagan.  He gasped again.
"Ammonia, begore!"

"It is, Father," said Tim meekly.

"What on earth do you mean by disturbing the whole household in this
way? ... Get back to bed," he cried in Spanish to the servants; "all’s
well now....  Now, sir, just explain this tomfoolery."

"May I come into your room?" asked Tim, anxious that old Andrea should
not get into trouble.

"You may, and apologise to your poor mother for disturbing her rest.
Now, what have you to say for yourself?  Were those fellows outside
friends of yours, in the plot too?  If so, you’re responsible for the
murder or maiming of some of them."

"Indeed they’re not.  They are burglars, and I spoilt their game with
ammonia."

"Burglars, eh?  But how did you know they were coming?  You must have
made preparations?"

"I did.  Old Fagasta told me to look out for them to-night, and I did
so."

"Indeed now!  What did the gobernador know about it, then?"

"He didn’t tell me.  He only asked me to tell you to be on your guard
to-night."

"Why didn’t you do so, then?"

"I thought I would make them scoot myself, and not disturb you.  Who
could know the donkeys would make such a silly row!"

Mr. O’Hagan’s mouth twitched at his son’s indignant tone.

"Well, Tim," he said, "sure ’twas very considerate of you, but next time
you are asked to give me a message, give it.  And no more tricks of this
kind, mind ye.  We don’t wish to be blown up one night."

"I dished them, anyway."

"I don’t deny it.  But ’twas lucky the noise woke me; for a few pellets
in their carcasses will be a more enduring lesson than a stink.  Now, to
bed!"

When Tim had gone, Mr. O’Hagan said to his wife:

"The Prefect has made his first move, Rose."

"Tim was quite upset, poor boy!" replied Mrs. O’Hagan.




                               CHAPTER V

                        PARDO DISMISSES HIMSELF


"I am going into the town," said Mr. O’Hagan at breakfast next morning.
"Last night’s affair must not be passed over.  I shall lay a formal
complaint before Señor Fagasta.  It won’t be any good, but it would
never do to take no notice.  When Pardo comes, Tim, tell him that he
must get the ledger posted to-day; he is rather behind.  And if any of
the people are curious about the shots last night--they must have heard
them--don’t answer any questions. I have already told the servants to
hold their tongues."

Setting off on horseback, he rode straight to the gobernador’s house.
He noticed that the magistrate greeted him nervously.  When the usual
civilities had been exchanged, he said:

"I have to report, señor, that an attempt was made last night to break
into my house, and to ask that you will do what you can to discover the
villains and bring them to justice."

"This is very distressing, señor," said the gobernador.  "It will give
the town a bad name, especially as it happened the day after the visit
of our illustrious Prefect."

"Yes, that is decidedly unfortunate," remarked Mr. O’Hagan ironically.

"I will of course do what I can with the few police at my disposal," the
gobernador continued.  "Had it happened on the night before, I should
have been better able to deal with the matter, for the Prefect left a
few of his escort of gendarmes behind. They were quartered on me; but
they departed yesterday evening.  Perhaps you will give me full
particulars, which I will draw up in proper form."

Mr. O’Hagan related the circumstances, which the gobernador wrote down
with great deliberateness and solemnity.  While he was doing this, Mr.
O’Hagan had time to put two and two together.  He had little doubt that
the attack had been made by men left behind for that purpose by the
Prefect, and guessed that the gobernador had learnt or suspected their
design from something they had let fall while quartered in his house.

The report having been drawn up, Señor Fagasta gravely stamped it with
the official seal, and said:

"Be assured I will do what I can, señor. I trust that the señora and
your excellent son are well?"

"Quite, señor, thank you," said Mr. O’Hagan.

Neither had mentioned the incident of the bicycle or the warning given
by the gobernador, from whose manner Mr. O’Hagan judged that he did not
wish those matters to be alluded to.  On his side, he felt that it would
be indiscreet and probably useless to press the magistrate for
particulars of what he knew or suspected.  He had done a good turn in
giving the warning, no doubt risking the vengeance of the Prefect if his
action should come to that worthy’s knowledge.

Taking leave of the gobernador, Mr. O’Hagan rode home and went straight
to the office.  It was empty.  He called to Tim, who was practising with
an air-gun at a target set up at the end of the lawn.

"Where’s Pardo?" he asked.

"He hasn’t turned up, Father.  He sent a kid over to say that he’s
grieved to the heart at not being able to attend to his duties, owing to
a painful attack of lumbago. I don’t like the chap, Father."

"Because he’s got lumbago?"

"No; because I think he’s a bit of a fraud. Last time he stayed away it
was a sore heel, you remember; but I happened to see him picking oranges
in the evening when the men had gone home, and he walked well enough."

"You didn’t mention it to me."

"Well, his heel might have been sore, and I didn’t want to meddle,
especially as you think a good deal of him, Father."

"I do.  He’s the best book-keeper I ever had.  I’ll get your mother to
send him some turpentine: that’ll put him to rights."

In the course of the day Romaña was despatched by Mrs. O’Hagan with a
bottle of turpentine for the sick man.  Pardo was not to be seen.  The
old half-breed woman who looked after him told Romaña that her master
had not risen that day, complaining of pains and stiffness in his back.

"Has he sent for the doctor?" he asked.

"Not yet.  He says it is a chill, and will soon pass."

"The mistress has sent some stuff to cure him.  The instruction is to
rub it into the skin very thoroughly.  Take it to Señor Pardo, and ask
if I can do anything for him."

The old woman went off with the bottle. Romaña had noticed Pardo’s coat
lying over the back of a chair.  As soon as he was alone, he lifted the
coat, cast a rapid but searching glance over it, and laid it on the
chair again.

"Many thanks, señor," came Pardo’s voice from the inner room.  "Thank
the gracious lady for me, and say that I hope to return to my beloved
duty in a day or two."

"Is the pain very severe, señor?" asked Romaña sympathetically.

"Not so severe as the stiffness, señor. Take care that you don’t take a
chill."

"Thanks, my friend.  I myself am always careful of the night air.
Good-day; I will give the mistress your message."

Romaña hurried back to the house, and sought his master in the office.

"Well, how is the invalid?" asked Mr. O’Hagan.  "Did you see him?"

"No, señor: he was keeping his bed.  I would suggest that you should
send your own doctor to him."

"That’s not necessary, surely.  A good rubbing is all that he needs for
lumbago."

"If it is lumbago!" said the man.  "Will you give me a moment, señor?"

"Of course," replied Mr. O’Hagan, laying down his pen.  "What is it?"

He leant back in his chair, frowning a little. A most unsuspicious man
himself, he was annoyed at Romaña’s suggestion of malingering, coming on
top of the doubts hinted by Tim.

"On the day when the señor gobernador rode on the bicycle," said Romaña,
"Señor Pardo sent a letter to his excellency the Prefect."

"What of that? and how do you know?" asked Mr. O’Hagan sharply.

"I saw his Cholo messenger ride away with it to San Juan, señor, and a
friend reported to me that the Cholo took it to the Prefect’s house.  As
you know, the Prefect came to San Rosario two days after, and visited
the gobernador.  He then rode here. Señor Pardo held his stirrup while
he dismounted.  He returned to San Juan, but left some of his gendarmes
behind.  Then came the matter of last night.  To-day Señor Pardo is not
to be seen."

"What are you driving at?" asked Mr. O’Hagan irritably.

"Have patience, señor.  I have been ten years in your service, and you
have no complaint against me?"

"That is true, but I don’t like this air of mystery and suspicion.  Say
plainly what you have in your mind."

"I have just seen Señor Pardo’s coat--the one he was wearing yesterday:
there were several little black holes in the back. I think if you send
your doctor to him, you will find that he suffers not from lumbago but
from shot wounds."

Mr. O’Hagan stared in amazement.

"You suggest that he was among those villains who tried to break in last
night?" he asked.

"I do, señor."

"And that the Prefect was concerned in it?"

"The Prefect’s gendarmes, señor.  As for the Prefect himself!..."

He shrugged expressively.

"And that Señor Pardo is in the Prefect’s pay?"

"That is my belief, señor."

"Romaña, are you a spy?"

"Señor, I am a Mollendist," replied the man with dignity.

Mr. O’Hagan was much perturbed.  He was loth to believe that Pardo was a
traitor, but the chain of events as linked together by Romaña was
unpleasantly consistent. Perhaps what troubled him most of all was the
discovery that, careful as he had been to hold aloof from local
dissensions, two of his servants were mixed up in them, on opposite
sides.  It was now easier to understand the mutual antagonism between
the two men, of which, though veiled by the outward forms of civility,
he had always been conscious.

"You have told no one else what you suspect?" he said, after a few
moments’ deliberation.

"Nobody, señor."

"Then take care not to do so.  I believe that you mean well, but I hope
to find you mistaken.  We shall see."

When Romaña had gone, Mr. O’Hagan sought his wife and told her
everything.

"I have never liked Pardo," she said, "though I can’t say why.  Perhaps
it would be as well to ask Dr. Pereira to see him."

"I prefer not to.  I shall put it to the fellow direct when he comes
back to work. One thing is certain: Romaña must go. I can’t have a
Mollendist about the place. If it became known, the Prefect would make
it another reason for worrying me, or worse."

"Won’t you write to the British consul at Lima?"

"I’m afraid that would be useless.  He’s too far away to be able to do
anything. We’re in a desperately awkward position, Rose.  The Prefect
will have his knife in me, and young Tim has certainly offended the
Mollendists by releasing the gobernador. Whatever they meant to do with
him, they will be furious at being baulked by a youngster.  When I send
my next convoy to the capital, I think you and the boy had better go
too.  You’ll be out of harm’s way there."

"Indeed I will do nothing of the kind, Tim.  I will not leave you.  And
I can’t believe that there’s any danger to a British subject here.
Write to the consul at once, dear; it’s just as well to be beforehand
with trouble."

"I will do so.  Say nothing to Tim, by the way.  He’d only worry."

Three days afterwards Pardo returned. He looked rather pale, and after
greeting his employer launched out into a voluble description of his
sufferings.

"But the gracious lady’s lotion worked wonders, señor," he said.

"Rather painful, isn’t it?" said Mr. O’Hagan, noticing with misgiving
that the man wore a new coat.

"Not at all, señor.  Its application was most soothing.  It is a most
excellent remedy."

Mr. O’Hagan remembered how, when suffering from lumbago himself, the
friction with turpentine had left his back sore and smarting for days.

"Sit down, Pardo," he said.  "I’ve something to say to you."

The man sat down awkwardly on his chair, smiling amiably.

"You remember the night of the attempted robbery," Mr. O’Hagan went on.
"No doubt my shots disturbed you."

"Not at all, señor.  I slept the sleep of the just."

"How often do you correspond with the Prefect?"

The sudden question obviously took Pardo aback.  He looked
uncomfortable, but recovered himself in a moment, and said with a feeble
smile:

"A humble clerk and book-keeper does not correspond with so important a
person as his excellency, señor."

"Nevertheless, you sent a letter to his excellency a few days ago.  He
visited me two days after, and left a party of his gendarmes in the town
when he returned to San Juan.  I have reason to suspect that they were
concerned in the attempt to rob me.  How did they know that at that
precise moment I had a large sum of money in my safe?"

"These are very strange questions, señor," said Pardo.  His manner was
quiet and restrained, but Mr. O’Hagan, intently watching him, noticed a
look of fear in his eyes.

"They are," he said.  "Here’s another: where is your old coat?  I mean
the coat you were wearing last time you were here. It was nearly new."

Pardo started to his feet.

"Señor, this is intolerable," he cried. "I don’t know what you mean, but
your questions are an insult to a perfect gentleman."  (Every Peruvian
is a perfect gentleman.)  "You will please to accept my resignation."

"Very well, Pardo: perhaps it is best."  He handed him his week’s wages.

"And let me tell you this, Señor Inglés," cried the man furiously as he
pocketed the money: "a Peruvian gentleman does not take lightly such
insults to his honour.  You will repent this.  You will feel the weight
of my just anger.  You treat me like a dog: dogs can bite.  I will not
accept your money."

He took it from his pocket and threw it on the floor.  "You shall learn
what it is to insult a perfect gentleman."

Snatching up his hat, he swept it round in ironical salutation, and
flung out of the room.




                               CHAPTER VI

                         TIM IS HELD TO RANSOM


Tim had many acquaintances but few friends among the youth of San
Rosario and the neighbourhood.  He often felt the lack of a chum of his
own age, and looked forward eagerly to the time, now drawing very near,
when he would return to England and enter an engineering college.  His
most intimate friend in Peru was a young fellow, two or three years
older than himself, named Felipe Durand, who lived on his father’s
hacienda, about twelve miles north of the town.  Durand had been
educated in England, and being a very fair batsman, he sometimes joined
Tim in getting up a cricket match between elevens of the Japanese
workers.

On the day after Pardo’s dismissal, Tim rode out to Durand’s house to
arrange for a match in the following week.  The path was only a rough
track; it was indeed not a public thoroughfare at all, but was
maintained by Señor Durand and Mr. O’Hagan for their own convenience.
Much of it ran through woods, and on each side the ground rose gradually
to a considerable height.

Tim met nobody on the way, but within a few miles of the hacienda he
noticed a group of men at the edge of the wood some little distance from
the path.  Thinking that they were peons of Señor Durand he gave them
only a fleeting glance and passed by.  He reached his friend’s house
about twenty minutes after starting, and discussed the proposed match in
a little summer-house, over a dish of fruit and a glass of lemonade.

"I say, O’Hagan," said young Durand, after arrangements had been made,
"I wish I had seen your performance with the gobernador.  It must have
been great sport."

The two boys always used English when together.

"Indeed, it was good fun," said Tim. "The pater was in a bit of a fizz:
he thinks the Mollendists won’t like it."

"I dare say not.  He should do as my governor does."

"What’s that?"

"Pay up.  My father gives them a regular subscription."

"That’s rather dangerous, isn’t it?  The Prefect would drop on him if he
knew."

"The Prefect has dropped on him as it is. He has borrowed a good deal
that he’ll never pay back.  My father grumbles, of course; but he likes
a quiet life, and would rather pay than be worried.  He subscribes to
the Mollendists’ funds for the same reason; they leave him alone.  He
says that old Mollendo will get the better of the Prefect one of these
days, and as the old chap is fairly honest he won’t be sorry.  Your
pater had better do the same."

"I’m sure he won’t.  He says corruption is the curse of this country,
and he won’t have anything to do with either of the parties."

"That’s very honourable and British, but it won’t pay....  Have those
robbers been caught yet?"

"They have not.  D’you know, I believe our man Pardo had a hand with
them; the pater gave him the sack yesterday.  He resigned, but only to
avoid a sacking.  I’m not sorry....  Well, you’ll come over on Monday,
then.  It’s a holiday, so we’ll make a day of it."

Tim had ridden only a few miles on his homeward way when he was brought
to a sudden check.  The path was blocked by a tree which had apparently
fallen since he passed a couple of hours before.  He dismounted, resting
his bicycle against the trunk.  The tree was obviously too heavy to be
lifted, and he was looking for a way round it when a number of men
rushed at him from the bushes on each side of the track, and in a few
seconds he was a prisoner. Among his captors he saw one of the brigands
who had snapped up the gobernador.

"You will not get away this time, Señor Inglés," said the man, laughing.
"You will please to come with us."

Tim was helpless.  He could only put the best face on it.  The men led
him along the track northward, in the direction of Durand’s house, two
following with the bicycle.  As they neared the house, they struck into
the woods on the left, not returning to the track until they were some
distance beyond, at a wooden bridge over a ravine.  The district to the
north had a bad name.  It was the immemorial haunt of outlaws, whether
revolutionist or criminal.  The outlawed criminal was invariably a
revolutionist; though among the revolutionists there were many, like
their leader, Mollendo himself, who were quite respectable members of
society.

After a few miles the country became very wild and rugged.  The men in
charge of the bicycle grumbled at their laborious task; they were not
used to wheeling so heavy and cumbersome an object, and in the rougher
places it was difficult to balance.  Every minute Tim expected to see
the machine escape from their hands, topple over, and dash itself to
pieces on the rocky declivity.

The track became steeper and steeper. It wound this way and that, a
rough wall of rock rising high on the left hand; on the right long
slopes and sheer descents, crossed by yawning gullies, stretching
downwards for hundreds of feet.  Now and then white gull-like mountain
birds flew screaming in front of the party; hundreds of squirrels were
disporting on the rocky ramparts, darting among the trees that clothed
the ravines when they saw the intruders upon their solitudes. They
marched on for hours, covering, perhaps, a mile and a half an hour,
until night threw its purple shade upon the hills. Then they halted in a
narrow glen.  The leader of the party gave Tim the option of being tied
up or passing his word not to attempt escape.

"You are Inglés," he said.  "I can trust your word."

Tim did not appreciate the compliment; but since it was quite clear that
he could not escape with his bicycle, he gave his word, looking as
pleasant as he could.  The men bivouacked, making a supper of parched
maize, which they took from their wallets, and weak spirits from their
flasks.  They offered Tim a share of their provisions; he accepted the
maize, but declined the spirits, longing for a draught of water.

He spent a very uncomfortable night. The rocky ground cut into his light
summer clothes, which afforded but a poor defence against the cold of
this upland region.  He slept fitfully, wondering in the wakeful
intervals what was going to happen to him, and thinking of the distress
his parents must suffer at his absence.  "Durand was right," he thought.
"When I get free I’ll ask Father to give these Mollendists a
subscription. But I bet he won’t."

The march was resumed in the morning. The track still ascended, until it
reached a ridge, from which Tim caught glimpses on the other side of a
river meandering far below between wooded banks.  In front the ridge
rose gradually.  In about three hours the party, passing between two
tall rocks like gate-pillars on either side of the track, found
themselves suddenly in an encampment of considerable size.  Two or three
hundred men were assembled in a sort of courtyard surrounded by
tumble-down buildings of unworked stone.  Tim knew at a glance that he
was in the ruins of an ancient Inca fortification, castle, or
observation plaza, built by that vanished race on a hill-top which had
probably been flattened artificially.  The men were encamped on two
sides of the enclosure; on the other two sides a number of horses were
hobbled.

Tim had no time to take in more details of the scene.  The arrival of
his captors was hailed with shouts, and he was led through the excited
throng to an angle of the courtyard, where, in a little recess, a
Peruvian between fifty and sixty years of age, and of benevolent aspect,
was reclining on rugs before a slab that served as a table.

"Señor," said the leader of the party, "this is the young Inglés who
released the man Fagasta."

Señor Mollendo rose and made a courtly salutation.

"Good-morning, Señor Inglés," he said. "I have heard of you and your
respected father.  It gives me the greatest pain to see you in your
present unhappy plight."

"You can relieve your pain at once by releasing me, señor," said Tim
boldly.

Mollendo gave him an indulgent smile.

"I have to consider the claims of justice, my young friend.  See how the
case stands. You were taken with the man Fagasta, the hireling of the
usurping Prefect.  You were released, but with rank ingratitude returned
and set free the gobernador, the agent of the odious dictator, the man
who had been heard to boast of his intention to root out the friends of
liberty from this oppressed region.  Your offence could scarcely be more
serious.  It is dangerous for a foreigner to interfere in our domestic
affairs; especially is it unbecoming in an Englishman, a citizen of that
glorious land of freedom, a lover of liberty and of equal laws, to
associate himself with the agents of a corrupt and shameless tyranny.
It is necessary to signalise the abhorrence with which such action must
be viewed by all right-thinking men.  You shall be a recipient of such
poor hospitality as I can extend to you until your unworthy conduct is
redeemed by the payment of £250, and the engine by means of which you
effected your reprehensible intervention on behalf of the oppressor will
be confiscated to the use of the patriots."

Tim was quite unused to having such eloquence hurled at him.  His head
master had contented himself with a few sharp words and half a dozen
swishes--infinitely preferable to such a lot of "jaw."  He felt
overwhelmed, and had nothing to say. "Jolly cheek!" he thought, "asking
£250. I wish he may get it."

His parole was demanded again, and he was strictly forbidden to stray
beyond the limits of the enclosure.  He was given a dinner consisting of
mutton boiled with vegetables, and toasted maize, with water from a
stream, almost dried up by the summer heat, that flowed into the broader
river below.  Mollendo offered him a Manilla cigar, which he put in his
pocket.

He was allowed to roam about the encampment.  So well placed that one
might approach within a few yards without discovering it, it overlooked
the surrounding country for hundreds of square miles.  On the east he
could see the track by which he had come, winding east and south-east
through the hills.  On the west a few steps cut in the rock led to what
had once been an Inca road, running into the path that led southward to
the highway to San Juan.  Southward flowed the hill-stream, through a
rough and precipitous gully.  To the north the ground rose steeply to
inaccessible snow-capped peaks.

Tim passed a restless and unhappy day. He supposed that Mollendo had
sent one of his men to demand the ransom from his father; but no
information was given him. The only mitigation of his captivity was
afforded by the brigands’ experiments with the motor-cycle.  None of
them was able to ride it; few were anxious to try.  They were good
horsemen, no doubt; but Tim soon came to the conclusion that they would
never make motor-cyclists.  He watched with amusement their first
attempts in the middle of the courtyard.  One man tried to mount the
bicycle when stationary, and became violently angry at each failure to
maintain his balance.  Then he got two of his comrades to support him,
one on each side, and thrust at the handles.  No movement resulting, his
supporters pushed the machine for a few yards, then let it go.  It
toppled over, and the rider’s leg being crushed between the cycle and
the ground, he swore bitterly, and retired to digest his discomfiture.

Señor Mollendo looked on at all this with much disappointment.  The
confiscated machine, apparently, was not to be so valuable an
acquisition as he had supposed. He smiled with pleasure, however, when
the machine was set in motion by a series of accidents.  While one man
was in the saddle; held up on both sides, another happened to discover
the petrol tap, and turned it on.  The supporters pushed the bicycle for
a few feet, the engine began to fire, and the rider chancing to move the
throttle switch, the machine started forward with a suddenness that
caused the two men at the sides to lose their grip.  There were shouts
of delight from the onlookers; but the rider was so much amazed at his
own inadvertent skill that he lost his head, and could neither stop nor
steer his unmanageable steed.  Only by sprinting across the courtyard at
full speed did Tim save man and cycle from being dashed disastrously
against the stone wall.

After this the machine was left severely alone, until Tim, weary for
want of something to do, offered to instruct the men in its
manipulation.  This won Señor Mollendo’s warm approval, and Tim spent
several hours of that day and the next in teaching the younger members
of the party how to ride. They had no personal feeling against him; and
with the prospect of their lean treasury being increased by £250 on his
account, they began to regard him with even more kindliness than his
willingness and good temper had already won.

On the third day the messenger sent by Señor Mollendo to claim the
ransom, returned, bringing with him not merely the money, but a rumour
of the manner in which the midnight raiders had been received at Mr.
O’Hagan’s house.  That they were part of the Prefect’s escort was an
open secret.  Mollendo called Tim to him and asked if the story was
true.  Tim saw no reason to conceal anything, and gave a full
description of what had happened, only suppressing the fact that his
information had come from the gobernador.

"You showed remarkable ingenuity, my young friend," said Mollendo,
greatly tickled by the picture of the spluttering crew stumbling out
into the darkness.  "I quite understand why your good father should
consider you worth £250.  He has sent the money; you are free.  And as a
mark of my appreciation of your service to the cause of liberty by
discommoding the usurper’s minions, I have much pleasure in
returning"--("How much?" wondered Tim in excitement)--"your motor-cycle.
Four of my supporters will assist you to the path below. When you meet
your father, convey to him my salutations, and assure him that the money
will be put to a good use in upholding the flag of freedom."

He shook hands warmly, bowed with his hat to his breast, and with a
polite _a reveder_, the Spanish equivalent of _au revoir_, he ended
Tim’s captivity.




                              CHAPTER VII

                           THE PREFECT MOVES


Tim’s adventure caused Mr. O’Hagan to change his mind about dismissing
Romaña. To do so might be a new cause of offence to the sensitive
patriots.

"You have already proved a very dear son," he said, with a humorous
twinkle that disguised his real feeling.

"Durand says that his pater gives old Mollendo a regular subscription to
keep him quiet," said Tim.

"Blackmail!  He will soon get tired of that."

"I don’t suppose what he has paid comes to £250."

"Ah! but he hasn’t given his boy a motor-cycle!  Young Durand came over
to-day to play cricket, and seemed vastly tickled when I told him where
you were."

"I could have boxed his ears," said Mrs. O’Hagan indignantly.  "It was
no laughing matter to me."

"Will I challenge him, Mother?" said Tim quizzingly.  "I am going to
ride over to-morrow to tell him all about it, and if you like----"

"Don’t tease your mother," Mr. O’Hagan interposed.  "She insisted on my
sending the money at once, or I declare I would have been inclined to
let you have a week of it."

The kidnapping of the young Inglés created much indignation and
resentment among the people of San Rosario.  The majority of them,
having little to lose, were staunch supporters of the Prefect, and when
next day they saw a dozen gendarmes ride into the town, they supposed
them to be only the advanced guard of a force sent from the capital to
begin the long-expected operations against the brigands.  Some, however,
viewed the soldiers with alarm.  To the substantial citizens, a visit of
the Prefect’s gendarmes usually spelt trouble.  Every man whose secret
sympathies were with the Mollendists trembled in his shoes; even those
who were conscious of innocence shivered if their worldly substance was
large enough to be worth the attention of the Prefect and his harpies.
Many, among them the gobernador, were greatly relieved when the
gendarmes, instead of dismounting, halted only to refresh themselves in
the saddle at one of the albergos, then rode through the town and along
the track leading to Mr. O’Hagan’s house.

Arriving there, the leader sprang from his horse, and strode with
clanking spurs to the door, which stood open.  The others formed up in
line along the front of the house.  To the servant who came in answer to
the officer’s summons, he explained that he wished to see the señor
haciendado. Mr. O’Hagan left the office, where he had been alone, and
invited his visitor into the patio.

"I regret, señor," said the officer, declining to be seated, "that I
have come on a very disagreeable errand."  He took a paper from his
pocket.  "You see here a warrant, signed by his excellency the Prefect,
and sealed with the provincial seal, authorising the arrest of yourself
and your son."

"On what charge, señor?" asked Mr. O’Hagan quietly.

"On the charge of furthering and abetting the treasonable designs of one
Carlos Mollendo, who is stirring up sedition.  It is useless to resist,
señor; I have a sufficient body of troopers outside.  I demand that you
surrender yourself and your son to justice."

"I will come with you," said Mr. O’Hagan, "under protest.  You will
please to note that I am a British citizen.  My son is not at home."

"Where is he?"

"That I must leave you to find out."

The officer at once called in a man to search the house, himself keeping
guard over Mr. O’Hagan in the patio.  The gendarme found Mrs. O’Hagan
coming from the servants’ quarters.  He bowed respectfully, and asked
her to go to the drawing-room and remain there.

"I am going to the patio, to my husband," replied the lady stoutly.
"Stand out of my way, please."

The man tugged his moustache, stood aside, and then went on to complete
his search.  The half-minute’s delay had allowed Romaña, whom his
mistress had just quitted, to slip out of the house and into a
shrubbery, whence he made his way swiftly in the direction of Señor
Durand’s estate.

He met Tim returning, half-way between Durand’s house and the
cross-roads.

"Stop, señorito," he called; "I have a message from the gracious lady."

"What is it?" asked Tim, jumping off his machine.

"The señora bids you come with me," said Romaña.  "Gendarmes have ridden
to arrest the señor and you, and the mistress sent me to take you to a
place of safety."

"I won’t go.  I will join Father," said Tim at once, preparing to ride
off.  Romaña detained him.

"I beg you to do as the señora wishes," he said.  "What is the use of
your going to prison, too?  There is more chance for every one if you
are free.  You will do better to remain in hiding until we see what is
intended towards the señor.  I have friends in San Rosario and the
capital; we Mollendists have our spies, like the Prefect. The señor will
no doubt be taken to San Juan.  Nothing will be done immediately. The
Prefect is always very careful to cloak his misdeeds under the forms of
law."

"I’ll go back to Señor Durand’s, then."

"That is unwise, señorito.  The gendarmes may come there to look for
you, and then Señor Durand himself will be in danger.  I know a better
place, and if you will come with me----"

"Very well, then; but I don’t like it. What is to become of Mother?"

"The señora will be quite safe: the Prefect is always very polite to the
ladies," said Romaña.

Romaña mounted behind Tim, and they rode back to the cross-roads, then
turned to the right into a track that was fairly level for some
distance, then ascended gradually. Nearly nine miles from the
cross-roads it wound round a steep cliff.  On one side a sheer wall of
rock rose to a great height; on the other a wooded precipice fell away
to an equal depth.  A small waterfall plunged from the heights above,
forming a stream across the path, and flowing as a second waterfall over
the edge of the precipice. At this point the hill-side was covered with
scrub, amid which one large tree formed a conspicuous object.
Stepping-stones were laid across the stream, and a few large slabs were
let into the steep bank above the path on the farther side.

Here they dismounted and made their way along the bed of the stream
towards the waterfall.  Then they turned to the right, and proceeded
over more large flat slabs leading into the scrub, Romaña remarking that
their footsteps would leave no traces on the stones. On reaching the
large tree before mentioned, they found themselves at the mouth of a
cavern concealed by the foliage and the scrub.  A projection of the
cliff on the right hid the entrance of the cavern from observation by
any one on the upper portion of the path.

It had been a task of no little difficulty to haul the cycle up the
stream, and both were very hot and tired when they reached the cave.
Drawing aside the screen of foliage, Romaña whispered the word Libertad.
There was no answer.  He led Tim inside.

"That is our password," he said with a smile.  "If I had failed to give
it I might have been shot.  But there is no one here now.  Only three
men know of this place. Here you will be quite safe.  You are now a
Mollendist," he added, chuckling.

"Have you set a trap for me, Romaña?" said Tim indignantly.

"No, no; all that I mean is that now the señor your father is a prisoner
he must be a Mollendist.  All the Prefect’s enemies are."

While speaking he had lit a lamp, by whose light Tim saw an earthen
roof, walls, and floor; two or three stools; a three-legged table; a
large cupboard in which were kept, as Romaña told him, food that would
not spoil, and a few mugs; a large can for holding water, and two long
boxes containing rugs which might serve on occasion as beds.

"Is there no other entrance?" Tim asked.

"Come and see."

Romaña led him for some distance into the cave, which bent away to the
left.  The air was very damp and mouldy, and Tim felt that he would not
care to make too long a stay in so fusty a place.  Presently he heard a
gurgle and splash of water, and the light of the lamp which Romaña
carried fell on an oblong slab of stone standing upright before them,
about three feet in height. Romaña took hold of the upper part of it,
and lowered the stone to the ground.  Then Tim saw the waterfall within
two or three feet of them.  They were slightly above the bottom of it;
about twelve feet of the cliff face separated them from the spot where
the waterfall became a stream.  Romaña explained that the other entrance
of the cavern was some forty yards away.

"Now, señorito, you will remain here until I discover what is to be
done.  You are not afraid?"

"What is there to be afraid of?  Only the damp, so far as I can see.  It
may give me lumbago!"

"That is better than duck-shot," said Romaña, smiling.  "I shall not
have time to explain to my comrades, but if any one comes, he will give
the password, and you will answer Salvatore.  You may trust any follower
of Señor Mollendo.  The path is open to you; none uses it except our own
people; but do not stray far in case you are seen by an enemy.  I will
return as soon as may be."

"Can’t your people make a raid and rescue my father?" asked Tim.  "They
ought to do something for the money they have got out of him."

"I fear we are not strong enough at the present time," answered Romaña.
"But be assured that Señor Mollendo will do anything that is possible.
He holds the señor in high respect."

Tim grunted.  He did not think much of a respect that bled a man to the
extent of £250.




                              CHAPTER VIII

                                SUSPENSE


Romaña did not return to Mr. O’Hagan’s house.  He guessed that every
member of the household would be under suspicion; and though his part
with the Mollendists was not known, Pardo, if he came on the scene,
would not hesitate to trump up a charge against him.  So he hung about
until nightfall, and then slipped into the town and took shelter with
Pedro Galdos, the agent who had dogged Pardo’s messenger to San Juan.

Galdos was a strange illustration of the irony of circumstances in
Spanish America. At one time, under another name, he had been
sub-prefect of a provincial town; but he lost his office with a change
of government, and drifted into poverty.  He now earned a scanty
livelihood by selling lottery tickets and doing any odd jobs that came
his way. No one in San Rosario had known him in his official career;
none would have suspected that the thin, shabby, down-at-heel old man
who haunted the street-corners, pestering folks to buy his grimy lottery
tickets, had formerly held a post of authority. As agent and spy of the
Mollendists he was quite trustworthy.  Since his dismissal he was always
against the government; and his services were at the disposal of any
opponent of the present prefect, whether Mollendo or another.

He lived alone in a little two-roomed mud cottage at the east end of the
town. Here Romaña sought a temporary lodging. Galdos already had some
news for him. Mr. O’Hagan had not been taken to the capital, but was
imprisoned in the town jail.

"I will tell you why, señor," said the old man.  "The Prefect wishes to
manage things quietly.  There is too much sunlight in San Juan!  The
Señor Inglés has many friends and a few compatriots there, and they
would agitate if the thing were known. The Prefect’s own party would be
uneasy, for it is no light matter to oppress an Inglés; the British
Government would say hard things at Lima, and the Prefect might find
himself in hot water.  He is a hotheaded, reckless imbecile; but some of
his supporters are more prudent, and they would hesitate to provoke the
anger of the government.  But here, in this out-of-the-way town, many
things can be done without making a noise.  The Prefect has many
creatures who will do just as he bids them. He needs much money; his
troops are clamouring for arrears of pay, and he lacks arms and
ammunition for the campaign he is meditating against our party.  The
Señor Inglés is known to be wealthy; that is his crime."

"What will the Prefect do with him?" asked Romaña.

"Who knows?" replied Galdos with a shrug.  "We shall see.  There was
trouble at the hacienda to-day.  When the Japanese workers heard that
the caballero was arrested, they marched to the house and threatened
mischief to the gendarmes.  It was only the intervention of the señora
that prevented a fight.  She pled with the people to go back to their
work for the señor’s sake.  The Inglésa is a clever woman. Where is the
boy?"

"He is in a safe place, where he will remain until we know what is to be
done. If the worst happens he must take refuge with Señor Mollendo until
we can convey him and his mother to Lima.  I shall go back to him
to-morrow."


Meanwhile Tim had eaten his supper--a tin of beans which he found in the
cupboard--and made himself as snug as possible among the rugs in one of
the box beds. He was not frightened, but he would not have denied that
he felt miserable.  For a long time he lay wakeful, wondering how far
the Prefect’s tyranny might go, and taking a good deal of unnecessary
blame to himself for having wished for a motor-bicycle.  The machine, of
course, was no more the cause of recent events than a ball of worsted is
the cause of a kitten’s playfulness.  Just as a kitten’s native energy
makes the ball the occasion of leaps and gambols; so the Prefect had
seized on Tim’s adventure with the gobernador as a pretext for squeezing
the gobernador himself, and for venting his spite on the man who would
not be squeezed.

Romaña came back on the following afternoon.  The news he brought was
not calculated to lighten Tim’s heaviness. Mr. O’Hagan was closely
confined; gendarmes were flocking into the town, to overawe any who
might be disaffected, Romaña supposed.  He left again at dusk, begging
Tim to be patient.

Next day his information was even more serious.  The Prefect had
arrived, accompanied by a number of officers, and it was rumoured that
the prisoner was to be tried by court-martial.  The ordinary process of
law was evidently too slow for the dictator; it left, perhaps, too many
loopholes for escape.  With a court composed of his own particular tools
he might depend on the proceedings being short and swift.

"But it is utterly illegal to try a civilian by court-martial in time of
peace," Tim protested.

"The Prefect makes his own law," said Romaña.  "He has proclaimed
martial law in the town."

"He means Father to be condemned; what will the sentence be?  A big
fine?"

"Probably, with a term of imprisonment also," replied Romaña.  In his
heart of hearts he expected a much more terrible punishment.  The
Prefect would not be satisfied with a fine, however large; nor with a
term of imprisonment, however long. Nor would he even stop at
confiscating Mr. O’Hagan’s property, and let him go. There is only one
safe way in which tyranny can walk, and that is a road stained with
blood.  But Romaña did not impart his anticipations to Tim; there was no
need to wring his young heart before the time.

He durst not go into the town next day, but waited in the wood for
Galdos to bring him news of the trial.  It confirmed his gloomiest
forebodings.  Pardo was the principal witness against his master.  He
repeated authentic fragments of Mr. O’Hagan’s talk, which, harmless
enough in themselves, might be construed as treasonable by prejudiced
minds.  He swore, falsely, that he had heard his master declare that he
would not pay the taxes, which were mere extortion.  He declared that
the £250 which Mr. O’Hagan had sent to Mollendo was not a ransom, but a
contribution to the brigands’ funds.  Similar testimony was given by two
former servants of the prisoner. Mr. O’Hagan’s denials were scouted.  He
was not allowed to employ counsel, and in two hours the sorry farce was
over.  He was found guilty, condemned to forfeit his estate and to be
shot in the plaza, three days later.

Romaña shrank from conveying this heavy tidings to the boy awaiting his
return in the cavern.  But there was no help for it. He walked back
slowly, and broke the news as gently as he could.

Tim was at first utterly overwhelmed. In his most despondent moments he
had never looked for anything so bad as this. When his stupor passed, he
cried out that he must go to his mother; that he would himself seek the
Prefect, and plead with him to annul the sentence; that he must and
would do something, he knew not what.

"It would be useless, señorito," said Romaña sadly.  "You would yourself
be arrested; you might suffer the same fate; then the gracious lady
would be doubly bereaved, left without a protector, and that would
embitter your father’s last moments."

"But I can’t sit still and do nothing," cried Tim, walking up and down
in his misery.  "Suppose it were your father! Won’t your Mollendists do
something? There’s a lot of them; wouldn’t Señor Mollendo lead them to
the town if I begged and prayed him?"

"He is not strong enough," answered Romaña.  "The town is full of
gendarmes. I don’t know the caballero’s plans, but he cannot alter them
for a foreigner."

"He will only send his men to pounce on solitary travellers like the
gobernador," said Tim bitterly.

"Remember, señorito, that he is himself outlawed, in hiding.  The men
you saw in his camp are not numerous enough; they are ill-armed.  There
are a crowd of gendarmes and several troops of mercenaries already in
the town, and another thousand men can be summoned from San Juan, and
would arrive within a few hours."

"But I could get our Japs to join.  They would fight like demons for my
father."

"What arms have they?" said Romaña patiently.  "It is useless, señorito.
But there are three days.  Perhaps the Prefect will think better of it.
No doubt he is uneasy at not having captured you; he will never feel
safe while you are at large; and he may delay the extreme step.  We must
hope for the best."

As he became calmer Tim recognised the force of all that Romaña had
said, and his own helplessness.  He could but wait and hope.

Very early next morning they were standing near the mouth of the cavern.
Romaña was about to go again into the wood a few miles nearer the town,
to receive any further information that Galdos might have for him.

"Ask him to go to my mother, and bring word how she is," Tim was saying.

"Look, señorito; what is that?" said Romaña suddenly, pointing down the
track in the direction of the town.  A mounted party of four was
approaching, too far off for the individuals of which it was composed to
be distinguished.

[Illustration: HORSEMEN ON THE TRACK]

"They are after me!" said Tim at once.

"Back, señorito!" cried Romaña, drawing him behind the screen of
foliage, through which they peered anxiously at the advancing party.

"There is a lady!" said Romaña presently. "They are riding very fast."

"Is it Mother?" said Tim.  "I believe it is!  And, Romaña, look; I
believe it’s Father too!  Isn’t it?  Isn’t it?"

"For Dios, señorito!" exclaimed Romaña, "you are right!  It is the señor
himself. He has escaped!  Praise to our Lady and Sant Iago!  Come!  Let
us meet them."




                               CHAPTER IX

                          FLIGHT TO THE HILLS


Tim could hardly contain himself.  He raced along the bed of the stream,
leapt across the stepping-stones, and bounded down the rocky track with
small concern for his limbs.  When he came in sight of the party he
snatched off his hat and waved it wildly in the air.  Romaña followed
less swiftly and with more circumspection.  He was smiling at his
thoughts.

"First the son, then the father--both Mollendists!"

That was the happy consummation to which he flattered himself events
were leading.

"Ah, Tim!" said Mr. O’Hagan as they met.  "We were one too many for the
Prefect, you see.  Your mother was the one, bless her!  But she must
tell you all about it herself by and by.  The first thing is to secure
ourselves.  Many thanks, Romaña. Now, are we going right for that camp
of yours?"

"Straight on, señor," said Romaña.  "You will presently come to the
river.  The path runs alongside it for several miles; then it diverges
to the right, and meets the path that goes past Señor Durand’s hacienda.
The two paths become one.  Keep straight on.  The señor capitan will
welcome you."

"But aren’t you coming too, to make the introductions?"

"The señorito and I will follow.  We must fetch the machine."

"I can’t leave Tim," said Mrs. O’Hagan.

"What’s the path like?" cried Tim. "Can I ride, Romaña?"

"For some distance, yes.  There are steep places after the paths join."

"There are indeed," said Tim.  "That’s where the brigands--your friends,
I mean--had to haul the cycle.  A very stiff job too. Mother, ride on
with Father.  I’ll catch you in no time.  I’ll mount Romaña behind me:
he’s lighter than the gobernador!"

"You’re quite sure you’ll catch us?" said Mrs. O’Hagan anxiously.

"Quite, so don’t worry.  Oh! you don’t know how jolly glad I am to see
you."

The other two members of the party, Andrea and another house servant,
rode on with their master and mistress, while Tim and Romaña returned to
the cave for the cycle.  They had a good deal of difficulty in hoisting
it up from the bed of the stream on to the path, but when they were once
there, they soon made up on the riders, and went on all together at a
rapid pace.

"Shall we run ahead and warn Señor Mollendo?" asked Tim presently.

"No: stay with us," said Mrs. O’Hagan. "I don’t want to lose sight of
you."

"Better not, señorito," added Romaña. "We must be careful as we approach
the place where the paths join.  If the escape has been discovered, and
they are pursuing, they will come by the other path: it is shorter.  Why
did you choose this one, señor?"

"It was recommended to us by that ragged old man who sells lottery
tickets. Is he a friend of yours?"

"He is a caballero, señor," replied Romaña with dignity.  "Señor Galdos
was once a sub-prefect."

"Was he indeed?  He has been a very good friend to us, and I hope we may
be able to reward him some day.  How much farther is it?  The path is
becoming very rough."

"It is several miles, señor; but if all is well when we come to the
junction of paths, there will be no need to hurry for the rest of the
way."

Soon after this the path diverged from the stream, which wound away to
the westward. Romaña now recommended that the party should ride slowly,
while he himself scouted ahead on foot.  The track here was too rough
for the motor-cycle to gain anything in point of speed.

"When you come to a large stone, señor, which I will place in the middle
of the track," said Romaña, "then halt.  It will be no more than a mile
from the forked path, and you will do better to go no farther until I
return to you, lest the clatter of hoofs should be heard."

He went on and disappeared.  About two miles farther on the riders came
to the arranged signal.  They halted, the men dismounted, and Tim,
leaning against the flank of his mother’s horse, and clasping her hand,
begged her to tell him how the escape had been contrived.

"You had heard the result of the trial?" she asked.

Tim nodded.

"Were you there, Mother?"

"I was not.  I thought it best for your father’s sake to keep out of the
town. Yesterday afternoon that wretch Pardo came and took possession of
our house.  He showed me a document authorising him to work the estate
on behalf of the government----"

"Which means the Prefect, of course," Mr. O’Hagan put in.

"Then the wretched creature politely turned me out.  I told him that he
was in rather too much of a hurry; he might at least have had the
decency to wait until all was over.  But of course I didn’t squabble
with the worthless fellow.  I packed up a few things, got my horse--he
allowed me that!--and rode with Andrea and Juan into the town.  Dr.
Pereira was brave enough to take me in.  No doubt the Prefect will make
him pay for it."

"Was the Prefect still in the town?" asked Tim.

"He had gone back to San Juan, leaving Captain Pierola to carry out the
sentence. I had made up my mind to see your father for the last time,
and when it was dark Señora Pereira lent me a dress and a mantilla, and
the doctor escorted me to the gobernador’s house.  Of course, his
permission had to be got.  He was very much distressed, poor man; he is
terribly afraid of the Prefect: but he promised to admit me to the
prison for a quarter of an hour to-morrow night.  I asked him whether he
couldn’t let my husband escape, but he went nearly frantic at the idea.

"I was very much upset, as you may imagine.  On the way back Dr. Pereira
noticed a man following us.  At first he paid no attention, but by and
by got angry, and turned round upon the man, and asked him what he meant
by it.  ’Go on, señor doctor,’ said the man.  ’Do not notice me, but let
me quietly into your house presently.’ We went on, and I had only just
taken off my borrowed things when the doctor brought the man to my room.
It was the little old man who sells lottery tickets.  He told me that if
I would give him £200 he would set your father free.  ’How?’ I said.
’It will be better to ask no questions,’ he said. I had no money----"

"The gendarmes stripped the safe when they arrested me," said Mr.
O’Hagan.

"But I had brought my jewel-case," his wife went on.  "I suppose I
showed my doubts in my face, for the old man said, ’The señora can trust
me,’ and, looking at him, I felt that I could.  I put my jewel-case in
his hands and told him to take what was necessary, quite expecting that
he would take everything.  But he examined the things as if he knew
something about them, and selected my pearl necklace and two bracelets.
’The señora will not like parting with them,’ he said, ’but there is no
other way.’  I told him he might have everything if he would save my
husband, and he seemed quite hurt.  Then he told me that I must not go
to bed, but be ready to leave the house at any moment.  He kissed my
hand in the most courtly way and was gone.

"About two o’clock he came again.  ’All is ready,’ he said: ’come with
me.’  You may imagine what a state I was in.  I followed him through the
dark streets until we came out into the country, and there I found your
father and the two men waiting for me with a spare horse.  The old man
told us the way to come, and here we are. I love that dear old man."

"He bribed the jailers, I suppose--jolly old soul!" said Tim.

"The Prefect’s own methods," said Mr. O’Hagan.  "I’m afraid the
gobernador will have a bad time of it.  He was responsible for me."

"And won’t the jailers suffer, too?" asked Tim.

"They decamped at once, you may be sure," replied his father.  "But
here’s Romaña back again.  He’s in a hurry."

Romaña was running down the path.

"We cannot go on, señor," he said.  "I crept as close as I dared to the
fork, and caught sight of some men among the trees beyond.  I don’t know
who they are, but it is not safe to proceed."

"What are we to do, then?"

"We must go back until we come to the river.  The water is very low, and
we can walk up along the sand at the edge. Presently we shall come to a
stream that flows down the hill-side from near Señor Mollendo’s camp.
We can climb up there.  It is very steep and rocky, but it is the only
way."

"Very well: lead on."

On reaching the river, the party scrambled down the bank to the bottom.
In times of rain the torrent had deposited large quantities of sand in
the bed, which the shrinking of the channel in the summer had left bare
and dry. On this firm floor, level as a billiard table, but ascending in
a gentle plane, progress was easy; but when they reached the stream of
which Romaña had spoken, and had to strike up the hill-side, they found
themselves in difficulties.  They had to dismount and lead the horses
over great ledges of quartz, polished to a dangerous slipperiness by the
action of sand and water, and round huge boulders, that offered, at
first sight, insuperable obstacles.  Difficult as the way was for the
horses, it was doubly so for the motorcycle, which had to be carried for
many yards at a time, and hauled up and over sharp-edged rocks that
threatened damage to its tyres.  Many times they had to stop and rest.
It was now midday, and very hot, and Mr. O’Hagan’s party, having had no
food since the night before, were hungry as well as tired.

"Plucky little woman!" said Mr. O’Hagan at one of these halts, to his
wife who sat beside him on a ledge of rock.

"Just think of Tim spending nights by himself in a cave!" said Mrs.
O’Hagan. "How horrid for him!"

"Boys like that sort of thing," returned her husband with a smile.
"Don’t they, Tim?"

"If there’s another fellow with them," said Tim.  "There’s no fun in
camping-out alone.  I wish I’d thought to bring some grub.  Mother must
be famished!"

"I confess I hope Señor Mollendo will have _something_ for us," said
Mrs. O’Hagan.  "Going long without food is bad for a growing boy."

"I can eat anything," said Tim, "but I’m afraid you won’t like their
grub."

"My dear boy, I would rather eat parched peas with Señor Mollendo than
sit down to a banquet with the Prefect....  Hark!  What’s that?"

She clutched her husband’s arm at the sound of rifle-shots far to the
east.

"We had better get on, I think," said Mr. O’Hagan, rising.  "Where’s
Romaña?"

"He has gone ahead to warn Señor Mollendo of our coming," said Andrea.
"He will come back to help with the machine."

An hour later the whole party, hot, exhausted, and hungry, entered the
enclosure which Tim had described to his parents. The assembled
Mollendists greeted them with loud vivas, and Señor Mollendo’s face
beamed as he came forward, hat in hand, to meet them.

"Welcome to my little castle, señor, señora," he said, with the air of a
potentate. "I rejoice in the circumstances which have given me the
honour of entertaining such distinguished guests."

"I don’t," said Mr. O’Hagan bluntly, "though I thank you for your
hospitality, señor.  Do you know what is the dearest wish of my heart at
the present moment?"

"If it is anything I can do----"

"A glass of wine for my wife, and then dinner, señor.  Your guests, I
should think, never reach you without an appetite."




                               CHAPTER X

                          CINCINNATUS O’HAGAN


"I have an apology to make to you, señor," said Mollendo, as they sat at
dinner in his own little four-square apartment. "I perceive that I was
under a misapprehension when I ordered the arrest of your son.  I can
never sufficiently lament my indiscretion, and beg that you will accept
the expression of my profound regret."

"I quite understand, señor," said Mr. O’Hagan, reflecting that the
indiscretion had cost him £250.  "You party men find it difficult to
understand that an action may be dictated by other than party
considerations. My son helped Señor Fagasta because he’s a man, not
because he’s gobernador."

"His action does honour to his humanity as well as his courage," said
the courtly host.  "In these circumstances I feel that it is
inconsistent with the honour of a caballero to take advantage of a
mistake, and I beg therefore that you will accept restitution of the sum
of money which I demanded of you, but to which I had no just claim."

"Your suggestion is only what I should have expected from a caballero of
your reputation, señor," said Mr. O’Hagan, politely adopting Mollendo’s
formality of speech.  Mollendo bowed.  "But in the circumstances I
cannot do better than leave the money in your hands.  And let me say
that I thoroughly approve of the use to which you will put it."

"My dear!" ejaculated Mrs. O’Hagan in English.

"I am going the whole hog now," replied her husband quietly.

She pressed her lips together, and listened nervously as the
conversation was resumed.

"I have made up my mind definitely to take sides with you," continued
Mr. O’Hagan. "Hitherto I have held aloof, as you know; but I have always
sympathised with your aims.  You stand for political honesty and good
government.  That is a motive that appeals to me as a citizen.
Personally, I have a strong inducement to support you; the Prefect has
stripped me of my estate. If you succeed, I shall retrieve my fortunes;
and in assisting you I shall not only consult my own interests, but do
something, I believe, for the good of the country in which I have lived
for so many years."

"A thousand thanks, señor," said Mollendo, his eyes beaming as he
clasped Mr. O’Hagan’s hand.  "I rejoice in your generosity, and hail the
approaching triumph of our cause.  I remember how, in the brave days of
old, the Roman Cincinnatus was called from his farm to assume command of
the national forces; and how, within the space of sixteen days, he put
the enemy to utter rout and confusion.  You, señor, shall be our
Cincinnatus.  Caballeros," he cried, rising and addressing the motley
throng in the courtyard, "the Señor Inglés is one of us.  He espouses
the cause of liberty; he will strike with us against the tyrant.  I call
upon you to acclaim our honoured guest with hearty vivas, and to drain
your copitas to the caballero who will lead us to success."

Thundering cheers broke from the men, and they were only too eager to
fill their cups and drink the health of the Señor Inglés and confusion
to the dictator. Romaña smiled as he sat with Andrea and Juan at a
little distance from his master. What he had hoped had come to pass; the
señor was now a Mollendist.  Tim also smiled, for a different reason.

"How do you like Cincinnatus O’Hagan?" he whispered slily in his
mother’s ear.

But Mrs. O’Hagan’s sense of humour was at the present moment clouded by
anxiety and misgiving.

"’Tis perfectly horrid," she said.

Mollendo had, in fact, jumped eagerly at the chance of securing Mr.
O’Hagan as an active associate.  He was himself well advanced in years;
and though very popular with his followers, on whom he exercised a
magnetic influence by his personal courage and his oratorical gifts, he
had no military qualities or experience, and was conscious of his own
defects as a leader.  Mr. O’Hagan, on the other hand, as he well knew,
had won a great repute as a soldier in the stormy days of the Chilian
war.  His advice in matters of strategy and tactics would be invaluable.
He would bring to the cause just those factors of success in which
hitherto it had been lacking, and for the first time Mollendo saw the
gleam of coming triumph. Mrs. O’Hagan suffered many pangs as the
conversation proceeded.  The two men were settling the basis of their
alliance.  Mollendo was to retain the nominal command; the practical
control of the movements of his little force was to be in the hands of
Mr. O’Hagan.  The good lady saw that her husband was back in the days of
his youth. He always threw himself heart and soul into whatsoever he
took up, and he discussed matters now with all the fire and eager
enthusiasm of a boy.  His wife was troubled; and when she noticed with
what rapt attention Tim followed the talk, she made up her mind to drop
a word of caution later.

In the midst of the conversation a man came hurriedly into the
courtyard, and walking straight up to his leader saluted and said:

"Señor, I have news."

"What is it, Cristobal?"

"We were watching on the hills, señor, when we saw two parties drawing
near, the larger on the eastern track, the smaller on the western.  We
hastened down to the fork, intending to give battle to them both; but
suddenly we saw the smaller party halt; from it a man came forward, but
presently hastened back again, and all his company retreated and
disappeared.  At the fork we met the others, and gave them so warm a
reception that they withdrew towards the town.  We followed them, but
they did not halt, so we returned to the fork, and there our people are
still posted."

"That is well, my son.  The smaller party consisted of the Señor Inglés
and his family whom you see here.  They are now supporters of our cause.
Carry that news to our men; it will encourage them.  The señor was a
great captain in the army of Peru years ago....  Will the señora excuse
us for a few moments?" he asked, when the man had gone.

"You want to talk secrets, I suppose," said Mrs. O’Hagan; "but unless my
husband objects, I should prefer to know all your arrangements.  Tim,"
she added in English, "I am not to be kept in the dark.  I do not like
your turning yourself into a brigand, but I see your mind is made up.
Only don’t do anything without telling me."

"Señor, my wife and I have no secrets," said Mr. O’Hagan.  "You may
speak quite freely."

"What I had to say concerns the señora herself," said Mollendo.  "This
is no place for a lady; nor should she be subjected to the fatigues and
dangers that we shall have to encounter.  My wife lives peacefully in a
remote corner of the country some fifty miles from here in the hills,
and if the señora will deign to accept her hospitality----"

"Not at all, señor; I remain with my husband and son," said Mrs. O’Hagan
firmly.

"Perhaps the señor will command otherwise," suggested Mollendo, who was
not accustomed to domestic opposition.

From that moment Mrs. O’Hagan was his determined enemy.  Mr. O’Hagan
hurriedly explained that he would discuss the matter with his wife in
private.  He found an opportunity of doing so later in the day, when a
corner of the ruins had been prepared for their accommodation.  He
pointed out that she would be unable to make the long and rapid marches
which irregular warfare entailed.  Her presence, and the necessity of
protecting her, would be a source of weakness, possibly of disaster.
Mrs. O’Hagan recognised this, and after a time reluctantly agreed to
accept Señora Mollendo’s hospitality.

"But I must take Tim with me," she said.

Mr. O’Hagan stroked his chin.

"The boy won’t like that," he remarked.

"It will be for his good," she replied. "Surely you admit that fighting
with these desperadoes is not fit work for a boy of his age."

"As to that, there are many here no older.  Age doesn’t count in these
matters. He is perfectly healthy; he may be very useful to me, and the
experience will be invaluable to him."

"Am I to lose both of you?" cried the lady, much troubled.  "If it were
for our own country I might endure it, like many another poor woman; but
to think of you throwing away your lives for this miserable country--oh!
it is too much."

Mr. O’Hagan was inclined to yield the point; but while he was still
hesitating, his wife, dashing the tears from her eyes, suddenly
forestalled him.

"I am an idiot," she said.  "Of course the boy would eat his heart out
away from you.  I mustn’t look on the black side. But do take care of
him, won’t you, Tim?"

And so it was settled that young Tim should remain with his father.

Next day Señor Mollendo provided an escort of half a dozen men, with
whom Mrs. O’Hagan set off for the long ride into the hills.  Mr. O’Hagan
and Tim on horseback, each having a carbine, accompanied the party,
having decided to go half the way.  They left the camp at its northern
side, and followed the track downward for several miles until it crossed
the river by a narrow stone bridge.  Then their course led to the
north-west, the path rising steadily as it approached the spurs of the
Andes. Progress was very slow; the day was already far advanced when
they reached a little hut on the hill-side, about halfway to their
destination, where Señor Mollendo was accustomed to break his journey
when going to and fro between the camp and his home. Here they passed
the night.  In the morning Mrs. O’Hagan took leave of her husband and
son, who watched her party until it disappeared along the winding track,
then silently sprang to their saddles and rode in the opposite
direction.

They had come within a few miles of the stone bridge over the river when
they caught sight simultaneously of a number of horsemen strung out
along the path far ahead, and riding towards them.  Mr. O’Hagan felt the
lack of one of the prime necessities of a soldier--a field-glass.

"We must hide up until we see who they are," he said to Tim.  "They
don’t know how to order a march, at any rate."

The hill-side provided many convenient nooks for hiding and taking a
look-out. But only a few minutes had passed when Tim, from behind his
rock, called:

"It’s old Mollendo, Father."

"Take care you don’t call him that in the hearing of his men.  It would
be a deadly insult.  Better call him ’excellency.’  I wonder what has
happened."

They returned to the track, and trotted downhill to meet the horsemen.
There was about them an air of depression which did not escape Mr.
O’Hagan.  The explanation confirmed his foreboding.

"Good-day, señor," said Mollendo, with a graceful salutation as they
met.  "I grieve to say that you behold me a fugitive."

"What, excellency!  Has the usurper taken the field at last?"

"It seems so, señor general."  (Tim grinned as these complimentary
titles passed.)  "We were surprised at dawn by large numbers of the
enemy who had advanced along the route by which you came to my camp.  My
sentries were, I fear, overcome by somnolence.  The attack was so sudden
that I had no time to form my ranks; but in the half light some of us
were able to make our escape--some on horseback, others on foot.  We are
scattered to the four winds; all our stores are lost; it is a sad
inauguration of our new alliance."

"Courage, excellency!" said Mr. O’Hagan. "We must consider how to
retrieve this mishap.  Are you pursued?"

"Not for the last five miles, señor."

"Then we will halt here, and wait for our men to rejoin us.  No doubt
some of them will come dropping in by and by. Let us ride forward,
excellency, and choose a position."

Meanwhile Tim, seeing Romaña among the score of men who accompanied
Mollendo, rode up to him with an eager question.

"Where is my cycle?"

"There was not time to bring it, señorito; but I managed to hide it
under a heap of brushwood collected for the fires."

"They’ll find it!" said Tim, his face falling.

"Perhaps we shall recapture the camp first.  It was all I could do."

Tim thanked him, but felt that the chance of recovering his cycle was
small indeed.




                               CHAPTER XI

                            THE MOTOR-CYCLE


Mr. O’Hagan was surprised at the rapidity with which this offensive
movement had been executed.  It was a bold stroke on the part of the
enemy to make their way across the hills during the hours of darkness,
and showed that they had among them a vigorous and enterprising leader.
Its effect upon the fortunes of the Mollendists was likely to be
serious.  The success of their cause depended on the extent to which
they could enlist active support among the disaffected.  They had many
sympathisers in San Rosario and the capital, but the most of these were
too timid or too cautious to carry their sympathy into action.  A great
success would no doubt bring an influx of recruits; but a set-back such
as this would not only discourage recruiting, but also dishearten those
who had already taken up arms.  Defeat breeds desertion.

The outlook was very gloomy.  But Mr. O’Hagan was a man whose energies
were stimulated by adversity.  He had been wont to say that his
plantation was too successful: he was growing soft.  The present
situation was a challenge to the qualities that had lain dormant in him
since he hung up his sword at the close of the Chilian war.

Mollendo expected that some of the fugitives from the camp would in
course of time make their way to the hut in the hills which Mr. O’Hagan
had just left. There he always kept a small supply of provisions.  It
was therefore decided to return thither.  Several mounted men joined
them on the march, and within a few hours after reaching the hut the
party was augmented by about two score, several of them wounded.  These
were attended by a medical student who had thrown in his lot with the
Mollendists.  There was great despondency among the little force.  Some
were disposed to continue their flight and even to abandon the cause;
but Mr. O’Hagan set himself to rally them, appealing to their courage as
caballeros and hidalgos, a compliment which especially flattered the
mestizos among them.

Mr. O’Hagan was too old a campaigner to run any risks with a small force
demoralised by their recent reverse.  His first concern was to restore
their morale.  The great difficulty was provisions.  The small supply in
the hut would soon be exhausted, and in the inhospitable hills there was
no chance of obtaining any food except wild fruit from the bushes.  The
river swarmed with fish, however, and Mr. O’Hagan, to give the men
employment, set some of them to weave a seine net out of the creeping
plants that flourished along the banks.  With this primitive implement
they caught a good number of fish.

Meanwhile he sent out half a dozen men to bring in any more fugitives
whom they might meet, and Romaña with another man to discover what the
enemy were doing. When these scouts returned late at night, they
reported that the main body of the enemy had withdrawn southward, either
to San Rosario or to San Juan.  They were partly gendarmes, the mounted
police of the province, partly the irregular troops which the Prefect
attached to his cause by the hope of plunder.  The camp was still
occupied, but Romaña had not been able to ascertain by how many.

One of the last comers among the fugitives declared that he had seen the
Prefect himself in the action.  This seemed doubtful to Mr. O’Hagan, but
Mollendo assured him that it was not at all improbable.  The Prefect was
a man of great, if spasmodic, energy, and of much personal courage and
resource.  In Spanish America no man could arrive at his position of
virtual dictator without such qualities.  He must have guessed that his
escaped prisoner had taken refuge in the Mollendist camp, and having so
much at stake had himself led the attack upon it, instead of leaving it
to the gobernador, of whose prowess he had a mean opinion, by no means
unjustified.  Indeed, Señor Fagasta was in disgrace.  The Prefect had
accused him of conniving at the prisoner’s escape, and put him under
arrest in his own house--a prelude to another demand for money.

It seemed strange that the greater part of the Prefect’s force should
have been withdrawn so soon after the capture of the camp. Mollendo
suggested that he was anxious not to be absent too long from San Juan.
He had many enemies there, secret if not active; and if he allowed
himself to be lured into the wilds he might return from a successful
campaign only to find himself, as it were, locked out of his own house.
No doubt he reckoned on the demoralising effect of his sudden swoop to
break up the Mollendist party, and had left a portion of his force to
harry the remnant at their leisure.

The position was discussed between Mollendo and Mr. O’Hagan in the hut.
Tim was close at hand, giving eager attention to all that his elders
said.

"I am much to blame for allowing the enemy to surprise me," said
Mollendo bitterly. "I ought to have guarded my back door more
diligently, but I was relying on the gobernador’s known want of
enterprise. He boasts of what he is going to do, but I have never known
him to do anything."

"Don’t take it to heart, excellency," said Mr. O’Hagan.  "You were not
to know that the Prefect would take matters into his own hands, nor
would he have done so, I suspect, but for me.  It is therefore incumbent
on me, as the cause of your misfortune, to do what I can to retrieve
it."

"And I trust much in your valour and skill, general."

"I thank you, excellency.  Our most urgent need is food; the next is
arms and ammunition; the next, men.  That is the order in which our
fortunes must be built up.  And I confess that at the moment I am rather
at a loss as to what steps to advise."

"We could get a certain amount of food at our own place," suggested Tim.
"There can be no harm in robbing what we have been robbed of."

"That is all very well, but Pardo is in possession, no doubt with
gendarmes to support him; and the enemy lie between us and home.  It is
very necessary to keep a careful watch on their movements, and I
propose, with your consent, excellency, to send two scouts forward
to-night to see what they are doing."

"Let me be one, Father," said Tim eagerly.

"You are rather too young," said Mr. O’Hagan, remembering his wife’s
injunctions. "Many of his excellency’s men are no doubt experienced in
such work."

"Let the boy go, general," said Mollendo. "I have already formed a high
opinion of his courage.  Such a task would give him invaluable
experience.  And if you send Nicolas Romaña as the second scout, you
need have no fear; the boy will be safe with Romaña, one of the most
active and trustworthy of my adherents."

Mr. O’Hagan felt himself in a difficulty. It would certainly weaken his
own position with Mollendo if he refused to let his boy take a share in
the operations.  After so direct a proposal he could hardly hesitate to
employ Tim when he would employ any one else.  After a brief inward
conflict he said:

"Very well, excellency; the boy must win his spurs; he shall go."

Tim was delighted, Romaña scarcely less; he felt much flattered by his
chief’s praises.  Soon after dark, therefore, the two set off on
horseback.  It was a cold night; a biting wind blew down from the
mountains; and the scouts were not sorry when, arriving within a few
miles of the camp, they had to dismount and proceed on foot. They led
their horses some distance from the track, and tethered them in a clump
of trees, placing on their return three large boulders at the side of
the path to mark the place.  If they should have to hurry back in the
darkness, without such signposts they might very well overshoot the
spot.  Then, keeping on the hill-side above the track, they crept along,
listening for sounds from the enemy’s outposts.

They were within half a mile of the camp when they had the first
indication of the enemy’s presence.  They heard the sound of horses
champing their bits in the distance, and a low murmur of voices.  Moving
stealthily forward, they found that two or three men were posted on the
track.  As far as they could tell, this was the only precaution taken by
the enemy against surprise from this quarter.

The scouts wormed their way foot by foot towards the camp.  Their course
was difficult.  They durst not advance along the track itself; and the
hill-side above was rugged and broken, littered with loose stones which
had been removed at some time from the Inca buildings.  Their route
brought them presently to a spot from which they saw a slight glow
ahead.  It evidently came from a camp fire; but the fire itself was
hidden from them by the ruined wall. Skirting the enclosure, they made
their way to the side where, as they knew by the sounds, the horses were
tethered.  Here they caught the footfalls of a sentry moving to and fro
outside the wall.  They stole past him to a point where the hill fell
away steeply, crawled up the slope until they gained the foot of the
wall, and clambering up its ruined face, peered over into the interior
of the courtyard.  The horses just beneath them snorted with alarm;
their movements, quiet as they were, or their scent, had disturbed the
sensitive beasts. The sentry close by stopped; but after a silent pause
of a few moments resumed his beat.

The scouts clung to the wall, their eyes just above its top.  They saw
three fires in the courtyard; all were dying down. Around each lay a
number of men, wrapped in their cloaks.  They could not count them;
indeed, only when the breeze stirred the embers could they distinguish
the forms at all.  But it was easier to count the horses, ranged in a
close rank with their heads towards the wall.  There were ninety.  A
similar line stood against the adjacent wall at right angles.
Altogether there must be at least a hundred and eighty animals.

There seemed to be no chance of making any more discoveries, and the
twain were about to move away, when a sudden gust of wind stirred the
nearest of the dull fires to a momentary flame.  By its light Tim caught
a glimpse of his motor-cycle resting against the wall on the far side of
the enclosure.  He nudged Romaña’s elbow to draw his attention to it.
Neither dared to speak.

They remained thus for a few seconds; then, by a second nudge, Tim
intimated his intention to retire.  They let themselves down silently,
and crept up the hill-side. When they were out of earshot from the camp,
Tim said in a whisper:

"Romaña, I am going to get my bike."




                              CHAPTER XII

                               FREE WHEEL


Romaña gasped when Tim declared his intention.

"It is madness," he said.  "Your father charged me to have care of you.
I must forbid it."

"I don’t care what you say.  I am going to get my bike.  Do you know
that it cost £60 in London?  Besides, I am not going to let the
Prefect’s fellows have it."

"But consider," said Romaña anxiously. "I don’t deny you may steal in
and get it; they are keeping very poor watch; but what then?  You would
have to bring it out----"

"I’d manage that."

"And then how get it to our camp?  The track is very difficult, for
miles too rough for you to ride.  There are sure to be sentries at the
eastern entrance; and as for the gully by which we came, you know how
hard our task was in daylight: we could not possibly carry the machine
down in the darkness."

"All that’s perfectly true, but I am not going to leave it with these
rascals, so we’ve just got to think it out."

He had to admit that the gully and the western track, by which they had
just come, were impossible.  The only other route was the path which he
had travelled when first brought by his captors to the camp, and when he
had returned home after being ransomed.  The entrance, as Romaña had
said, would undoubtedly be guarded; and judging by the position of the
outposts whom they had passed on the way up, there would be a
corresponding picket on the path below.

The path itself was difficult enough.  For more than a quarter of a mile
from the camp it was a steep descent.  Then for about two miles it
dropped more gradually, becoming from that point onward a sort of
switchback with a generally downward trend until it reached the level
not far from Durand’s house.  Having twice travelled along the path, Tim
knew it well enough to feel sure that he could ride along it even in the
darkness without much risk.  The difficulty was threefold: to secure the
bicycle unnoticed; to pass the sentry at the entrance; and to evade the
picket at the foot of the hill. Romaña, who knew the weaknesses of his
countrymen, admitted that the sentry in all probability would be asleep;
but the members of the picket would certainly be awake: among two or
three there would be conversation.

"Well then," said Tim, "if the sentry is asleep I’ll chance the rest.
But you won’t be in it.  We came out to scout, and you must get back and
tell them what we have learnt: it isn’t much."

"Your father will blame me severely if I return without you," said
Romaña.

"You can tell him you protested.  Besides, I’ll very likely be back
before you.  If I get away safely I’ll make a round to the river, and
when I get there I can go so fast that I may overtake you somewhere up
the road--provided the petrol lasts out.  It must be getting low; I’d
forgotten that; and we’ve no more.  After this the machine will be
useless."

"Then why not leave it, señorito?  It will be useless to the enemy
also."

"Don’t go over it all again!  I mean to have the bike; that’s settled.
You get back. I’ll allow time for you to reach the horses before I do
anything.  You had better start at once."

Romaña knew that further expostulation would be useless.  He had had
much experience of his young master’s firmness. Reluctantly he took his
leave, and crept back over the hill-side.  Tim listened for his
footsteps, and hearing nothing he felt much encouraged.  If Romaña could
move silently, so could he.  But for assurance’ sake he took off his
boots and slung them round his neck by their laces.

He waited a long time.  The sky was moonless, a deep indigo blue, so
dark that the starlight did not enable him to read the face of his
watch.  It was essential he should not start upon his own hazardous
adventure until Romaña was out of danger, and he had waited probably
twice as long as was necessary before he ventured to move.  There were
no sounds from the enclosure except the occasional stamp of a horse’s
hoof or the rattle of a chain.  Even the sentry on his right had
apparently ceased to trudge his monotonous beat.  The other sentry, if
there was one, at the entrance to his left, had not moved.  Once or
twice he thought he heard slight sounds from down the path: the fact
that outposts were stationed below rendered it probable that the sentry
above would not consider it necessary to be on the alert. Perhaps,
thought Tim with a gush of hope, there was no sentry there at all!

At last, having heard no alarm from the direction in which Romaña had
gone, he decided to start.  He stole cautiously along and down the
hill-side until he came to one of the tall rocks that stood at the
entrance. Here he paused a moment to listen.  There was no sound.
Creeping round the rock, at two more strides he was within the
enclosure.  The breeze no longer woke fitful flames from the embers of
the camp fires.

It was pitch dark: otherwise he might have seen the form of a sentry
dozing on a ruined buttress near the entrance.  In the absence of light,
the only means of finding the cycle was to steal along by the wall until
he came to it.  Luckily he had to pass no horses: the animals would have
been more easily disturbed than the men.

He moved as quickly and quietly as possible, but his heart was in his
mouth more than once as he made the round.  It was perilous work,
picking his way in the darkness among the sleeping men.  They were
placed irregularly, some close to the wall, some at a little distance
from it, some actually touching it.  One man murmured in his sleep as
Tim passed; another, flinging out an arm with a dreamer’s sudden
violence, struck it against Tim’s leg, and growled an imprecation.  But,
no doubt supposing that he had hit a comrade, he suspected nothing, and
rolled over.  At the blow Tim felt an impulse to shout aloud and run;
but he kept a tight rein upon his nerves, and went on without further
alarm.

At last he reached the bicycle.  There was no sleeper within a few yards
of it.  He passed his hand over it rapidly to make sure that it was
complete.  Then, bracing himself for the ordeal, he wheeled it between
several of the men towards the centre of the courtyard.  At this tense
moment he had reason to be glad of the care which he had always spent in
keeping the machine well oiled.  This, and the fact that it was a
free-engine model, made it noiseless.

Looking now eastward, he was just able to discern the two pillars of
rock that stood high above the level of the adjacent wall at the
entrance.  Guided by them, he pushed the machine straight across the
courtyard, skirting one of the dead fires.  He passed between the rocks:
he was now on the track: and the heedless sentry slumbered on.

Tim was breathing hard in his excitement. The first danger was past:
what was he now to do?  He stood beneath one of the tall rocks,
thinking.  Should he try to creep past the outpost stationed, as he
suspected, at the foot of this, the steepest part of the track? Or
should he mount and run the gauntlet? The men were probably not asleep:
whether awake or not they would hear his machine approaching.  It seemed
perhaps the safer course to wheel the bicycle down at the side of the
track, and not mount until he was within a few yards of them, when he
might hope to dash past before they were ready to deal with him.

He was moving slowly downhill when an accident caused a change of plan.
A loose piece of rock, displaced by the front wheel, bumped and rattled
down the track, making what seemed a terribly loud noise in the still
night air.  The slumbering sentry awoke and let out a shout.  There were
faint answering shouts from below.  It was Hobson’s choice for Tim now.
He vaulted into the saddle, and the cycle sped down the steep descent.
He did not switch on the engine; indeed, he had some trouble in keeping
the machine in hand with the brake.  At renewed sounds of alarm ahead he
allowed the speed to increase.  It was a gamble with fate.  If the
outpost, deliberately or unawares, blocked the track at the foot of the
hill, nothing could save either Tim or any person or thing he might
strike.  If the space was clear, nothing could arrest his course but a
shot, so long as he retained control of the machine.  Favoured by the
darkness he might escape, even should the men fire at him.

Down he flew, steering by guesswork. He heard shouts and the plunging of
horses ahead; then saw dimly several dark forms. They appeared to
stretch across the track. He could not have checked now if he had wished
to.  He dashed on, as it were into their midst.  On the left he grazed a
man about to mount; on the right passed within a few inches of a horse;
and while he was still in the throes of nervous anxiety and even terror,
the machine had borne him safely through the outpost.  He could hardly
believe in his good fortune.  But there was no doubt about it.  He had
now to face only the dangers of the track ahead.

These were formidable enough.  It was a mad ride at the best: a boulder
of any size, and there were many, would hurl him to destruction.
Fortunately the track here was fairly straight.  At one slight bend he
narrowly shaved a tree; a little farther on the machine bumped into a
transverse depression, probably the dry channel of a rivulet, and he
just averted a side slip.  His fortune held good.  As he drew farther
from the enemy he reduced his speed, and when the downward incline
became less steep, and almost insensibly merged in a rise, he jumped
off, lighted his lamp, and for the first time started the engine.

The men of the outpost, meanwhile, were scarcely aware of what had
happened.  The sentry’s shout had alarmed them, but they knew not what
to be prepared for.  There was no firing, so that the Mollendists could
not be attempting a surprise.  While they were mounting, they were
vaguely conscious that something had approached and passed them,
swiftly, with scarcely a rustle.  Only when the ghostly object was
already two or three hundred yards down the track did it flash into the
mind of one of them that this must be the machine which he had seen
hauled out from under a heap of brushwood in the camp.  None of his
comrades could ride: it must have been purloined by an audacious
Mollendist.  Then the pursuit began.  But the horsemen had to pick their
way carefully in the darkness.  Even before Tim gained the switchback
portion of the track he had hopelessly distanced them. And having now
his lamp to guide him, he was able to avoid obstacles, and dashed up and
down the slopes at a great speed.

Presently he came to the forking of the paths, and turned to the right,
intending to ride on to the river, and make his way up the channel until
he was several miles west of the camp.  He had ridden only a few yards
along this path, however, when it suddenly struck him that the tracks of
his wheels would be clearly visible in daylight, and would guide the
enemy to the situation of his friends.  Instantly he slowed down,
wheeled round and, returning to the fork, ran some little distance along
the path in the direction of San Rosario.  Then, dismounting, he walked
the cycle a little farther; this would have the effect of making the
wheel tracks more shallow.  On reaching a particularly hard stretch of
the path, he lifted the machine on to the rocky ground at the side, and
partly wheeling, partly carrying, made his way slowly back towards the
cross path leading to the river.

Here he listened for sounds of pursuit. There were none.  The horsemen
had given it up.  He debated whether to try to obliterate the few traces
he had made before the necessity of hiding his trail occurred to him.
But he reflected that in the deceptive light of the lamp he might leave
still more compromising signs, whereas the obvious retracing of his
course might suffice to lead the enemy off the scent.  Accordingly he
let the wheel marks remain, and, carrying or pushing the bicycle over
many yards of the sloping ground above the track, he again mounted, and
hastened on to the river bank. There he turned to the left in the
direction of San Rosario, but after riding a short distance he stopped,
wheeled the machine down the sloping bank between the bushes, and then
started upstream through shallow water.  When he had thus covered about
a mile, he pulled on his boots, remounted, and set off along the sandy
foreshore.

Remembering suddenly that the river was in full view from the ridge on
his right hand, which led directly to the captured camp, he put out his
light.  He wished he had done so as soon as he turned northward, and
felt very uneasy lest the enemy should have seen the lamp from above,
and hurried down the gully to intercept him.  The sandy bed being
whitish, he was able to ride rapidly without a light.  A stream
trickling into the river from the right indicated the gully. He dashed
past, half expecting to be assailed with shots; but there was no sign of
an enemy, and he felt that, except for some unforeseen contingency, his
dangers were over.

He kept to the river bed for several miles after leaving the vicinity of
the camp. Then, however, he had to mount the bank and take the track
leading to Mollendo’s hut.  By this time he was very tired, and the
necessity of dismounting frequently, to push the machine up the steeper
and more rugged stretches of the path, taxed his strength severely.  To
make matters worse, the petrol gave out, and riding, even in level
places, was no longer possible.  But he pressed on doggedly at a snail’s
pace.  At last, when the sky behind him was beginning to lighten with
the dawn, he saw three figures emerging from the gloom on the track
ahead.  In a few minutes Romaña and two other men met him, and relieved
him of his burdensome machine.  Soon after, exhausted but very happy, he
dragged himself into the hut, greeted his father and Señor Mollendo with
a smile, and, dropping on to an extended rug, fell instantly asleep.




                              CHAPTER XIII

                              A COMMISSION


It was high noon when Tim awoke.  A breakfast was ready for him; so was
his father.

"I am very glad your mother is not with us," said Mr. O’Hagan.  "She
would have been out of her mind with anxiety about you.  Don’t you know
that a soldier’s first duty is to obey?  You were sent to scout: you
exceeded your instructions, and I am not pleased with you."

"But, Father," said Tim, with his mouth full of beans, "I have often
heard you say that a soldier ought to think for himself. Don’t you
remember saying that a man who has to be told everything isn’t much
good?"

"That’s all very well," said Mr. O’Hagan, feeling himself on slippery
ground.  "I was referring to officers, as you are perfectly aware.  If
every private were to think and act for himself it would end in
disaster."

"Am I a private?" asked Tim innocently.

"You are a raw recruit, with everything to learn.  You are under
discipline: remember that."

"I don’t think it’s fair," said Tim. "Señor Mollendo calls you general;
I don’t see why I shouldn’t be an officer too!  You might make me your
aide-de-camp, Father."

"You are talking rubbish, sir.  Understand me: you must do what you are
told, and not go larking about on risky adventures like an irresponsible
schoolboy."

Mr. O’Hagan spoke rather warmly.  He had passed an anxious night.
Secretly he was delighted with Tim’s pluck and resourcefulness; but his
pleasure was qualified by misgiving as to future dangers into which the
boy’s love of adventure might lead him. Besides, for his wife’s sake he
felt it his duty to assume a sternness that was not quite genuine.

"Aren’t you glad I got the bike?" said Tim.

"Well, yes, I suppose I am," replied his father.  "How did you manage
it?"

Here Señor Mollendo entered, and Tim gave the story in Spanish for his
benefit.

"I congratulate you, my boy," said the leader warmly, "and you too,
señor, on possessing a son who unites courage with ingenuity, and
caution with daring.  He has twice proved himself more than a match for
the enemy, and in recognition of his signal merits and as a mark of my
approval I appoint him a lieutenant in the army of liberty."

Father and son glanced at each other. This, coming after their recent
conversation, was almost too much for their gravity; they could hardly
refrain from laughter.  The contrast between Mollendo’s lofty manner and
his low fortunes was very comical.

"I thank you, excellency," said Mr. O’Hagan, as gravely as he could.  "I
hope my son will continue to merit your approbation--and mine."

The two men consulted together.  The continued presence of the enemy at
the Inca camp was disconcerting.  By covering the roads to San Rosario
and the capital, and restricting the Mollendists to the hills, they put
an effectual bar upon recruiting. The northward region, sparsely settled
and largely unexplored, was favourable ground for refuge, but for
nothing else.  A few more stragglers had rejoined their leader; but the
recent reverse discouraged any large reinforcement.  So long as the
little band, now numbering about seventy, was cooped up in the hills,
the cause was at a standstill. They might as well give up the struggle.

To approach the town with their present numbers would be madness.  They
would be opposed by vastly superior forces, and their retreat would be
cut off by the Prefect’s men at the Inca camp, who themselves
outnumbered them by three to one.  Yet the only chance of bringing about
a general rising against the Prefect was to gain a brilliant success.

The situation of the Mollendists seemed desperate.  There was scarcely
any food left, either for men or horses, and little ammunition.  Only
fifty of the men had rifles; the remainder were armed with revolvers and
steel weapons of various kinds, most of them rusty.  Their attire was
equally diversified.  Some were clad in the ordinary costume of civil
life; a few in the somewhat flashy habiliments affected by professional
brigands; some had the parti-coloured ponchos worn by Cholos.  There
were at least a dozen different styles of hat.  They were certainly what
Cromwell would have called a "ragged regiment."  Mr. O’Hagan felt that
in casting in his lot with them he had sprung from the frying-pan into
the fire. But he reflected that he had had no alternative; and having
accepted the responsibility of organising the paltry army he was bound
to make the best of it.

The necessity of securing provisions must be dealt with at once.  Señor
Mollendo could not offer a practicable suggestion: Mr. O’Hagan recalled
Tim’s notion of running off with supplies from his own estate, only to
dismiss it as impossible of achievement. But Tim here made another
proposal.

"Have you got any money, Father?" he asked.

"Not a peseta."

"I have £250," said Mollendo, with a conscious look.

"Let Romaña and me go down to his cave in the cliff," said Tim, "and see
if we can’t get into communication with Galdos. With your money,
excellency, he might purchase stores secretly in the town."

"Both Romaña and you are marked men," said Mr. O’Hagan.  "Anybody else
would have a better chance."

"I am sorry to differ from my generalissimo," said Mollendo.  "On the
contrary, I consider that the excellent qualities already displayed by
Lieutenant O’Hagan and Romaña are guarantees of success.  I give my vote
cordially in favour of this admirable proposal."

Tim could not help smiling.  He took a mischievous joy in the overriding
of his father’s views.  Mr. O’Hagan might be Cincinnatus, but he was
certainly not dictator.

"Galdos will have no difficulty, of course, in buying provisions," he
said; "the difficulty will be to convey them to us."

"It is the duty of my adherents to triumph over difficulties," returned
Mollendo.  "For £30 Galdos will be able to purchase provisions for three
days.  They will form a comfortable load for two pack-mules.  As for the
means by which he may secure their safety on the march, that must be
left to the caballero’s discretion."

"We shall have to do the same thing again in three days," said Mr.
O’Hagan.

"Unless, señor general, we should by that time have won a signal
victory, which is what I anticipate from your military genius."

"And that will lick old Cincinnatus hollow," thought Tim.

Mr. O’Hagan saw that to oppose the suggestion further would be to risk a
loss of the harmony which ought to exist between the civil and military
leaders of a community. He therefore yielded gracefully, and bent his
mind on the details of the plan.  He determined to send out one or two
small parties to scout in the neighbourhood of the camp while Tim and
Romaña went down the river.  It was possible that the Prefect’s men,
having failed in what was no doubt their chief object, the recapture of
the prisoner, might leave their present somewhat bleak quarters, and
return to San Rosario or San Juan.  If it were discovered that such was
the case, it would be necessary to advise Tim of it, so that he might
beware of stumbling among the retreating enemy. Mr. O’Hagan arranged to
do this by lighting a beacon on a prominent hill-top, which could be
seen from many miles around. One fire would indicate that the retirement
was by the eastern road,--that by which Tim had first been brought to
the camp; two fires, some distance apart, that the western road had been
chosen.  No definite instructions could be given for the guidance of the
two scouts: they must act according to circumstances and their own
discretion.

There was a whimsical smile on Mr. O’Hagan’s face as Mollendo took from
a leather case notes to the value of £30, and handed them to Tim.  A
strange turn of Fortune’s wheel, indeed!

Tim left the cave to find Romaña, and arrange with him for their
expedition.  They agreed that they had better not start until evening;
they were both tired after the work of the previous night; and an
afternoon’s sleep would be the best preparation for the task before
them.

"I will choose two of the best horses," said Romaña.

"We shan’t need them," replied Tim. "You can ride behind me on the
bicycle."

"But you have no petrol!"

"That is no matter.  It is downhill all the way, and if you hold on
behind me we shall go more quickly and more quietly than on horseback."

"There is the coming back," Romaña objected.  "We cannot ride back
without petrol."

"True.  Your friend Señor Galdos has got to get some petrol.  That’s
part of his job."

"I don’t believe there is any in the town."

"Well, if there isn’t we must lay up the cycle in your cave until we can
get some from San Juan or elsewhere.  The machine is no good up here in
the hills.  We might just as well make what use of it we can."

Romaña said no more.  Argument was never effective with Tim when he had
made up his mind.  They slept through the afternoon, and started about
an hour before dusk, watched with much curiosity by the motley crew of
Señor Mollendo’s adherents.  As Tim had said, the track ran generally
downhill, switchbacking here and there, but most of the ascents being
too short to necessitate their dismounting.  Occasionally there was a
long stretch upwards, where they had to push the machine.  On reaching
the river they descended the bank and pursued their way along the hard
sand.  The incline, though slight, was sufficient to keep the wheels
rolling, and their progress was so silent that nobody beyond a dozen
yards could have detected their presence by the ear.

On approaching the western end of the gully that led up to the camp they
kept a wary look-out in the gathering darkness. At this hour it was
unlikely that the enemy would be abroad unless they had some definite
object in view.  They had hitherto shown no evidence of enterprise.  The
departure of the Prefect seemed to have robbed them of initiative.
There was some slight risk of their having discovered the wheel marks of
the cycle in the sand if any parties had been prowling in the course of
the day.  But when the scouts had passed the junction of the river with
the cross track in safety, they felt secure.  A few miles farther down
they left the river and returned to the track.  The only danger now was
that they might meet some one coming from San Rosario to the camp; but
the ringing sound of hoofs on the hard track could be heard for a long
distance in the silence of the night, and they would have warning in
time to hide somewhere before the riders drew near.  In any case it was
unlikely that horsemen from the town would choose the longer route.

They had now an easy run down to the spot where the little hill stream
cut across the track.  Tim could not venture to light his lamp; but the
sky was not so dark as on the previous night, and he had no difficulty
in dodging the loose rocks which lay upon the track here and there.  On
arriving at the stream, they dismounted and carried the machine to the
cavern.  This was the most toilsome portion of their journey; the rest
of it had been accomplished almost without exertion.

Romaña lit his lamp, and brought out from the cupboard a tin of biscuits
and some potted beef.  The waterfall gave them drink. As they ate their
supper they discussed their plans.

"I will walk into the town to-night, señorito," said Romaña, "see my
friend, and commission him to buy the provisions. I shall tell him to
purchase only a small quantity at any one shop, so as not to awaken
suspicion.  To-morrow I shall remain secluded in his cottage, and return
here with the mules in the evening."

"That’s all very well, but what am I to do?" said Tim.

"You will remain here, señorito," said Romaña.

"Why should I?  I had enough of this cave before.  If that’s all I’m to
do I might just as well have remained in the hills.  We were both sent
on this job, remember."

"But there would be great danger in your going into the town.  It is a
needless risk. True, you speak our language perfectly; but your
appearance, your complexion, your hair, señorito, are not those of a
Peruvian. You would certainly be recognised----"

"So will you."

"Not certainly.  In the dark I shall be like any other townsman; and
though everybody knows me----"

"Look here, Romaña: old Moll--I mean his excellency--made me a
lieutenant this morning, and if I choose to say I’ll go, and order you
to stay here, you’ll have to obey."

Romaña blinked.  But he was very patient with Tim, whom he had known
ever since he was a two-years’ toddler.  He repeated his arguments, and
Tim was not so pig-headed as to deny their force, disgusted though he
was at the prospect of kicking his heels for a whole day while Romaña
was doing the work.

"I tell you what," he said at length. "I’ll agree to what you propose if
you’ll try to get me some petrol."

"How can I do that, señorito?"

"You won’t leave the town till dusk. Slip up to our place and bring a
can from the outhouse.  Here’s the key.  Nobody will be about at that
time, and you can come back through the sugar-canes."

"The cans are heavy."

"Well, I’ll meet you where the path joins the road to Señor Durand’s.
There are plenty of trees to hide amongst.  I won’t leave here until
it’s getting dark, and I’ll keep a good look-out.  Between us we can
carry a can or two easily."

Romaña was not unwilling to make the attempt.  He knew the ground
thoroughly; it would not be difficult to thread his way secretly through
the plantations to the shed, fifty yards in the rear of the house, where
the petrol was stored; the sugar-canes grew so high that he could pass
among them without any risk of being espied.  He agreed to the
suggestion, only impressing on Tim the necessity for caution.  Then,
pulling his hat well down over his eyes, and gathering his cloak around
him, he took his leave, and set off on the fifteen-mile walk to the
town.




                              CHAPTER XIV

                           HIS FATHER’S HOUSE


Tim was not remarkable for patience. The morning and afternoon of the
next day passed too slowly for him.  In the cave there was nothing to
do; outside, his activity was circumscribed.  He gave himself a bath in
the pool below the waterfall, then returned to the cave for his
breakfast.  The empty meat tin tempted him to set it up at one end of
the cave as a target, and practise revolver-shooting.  But recollecting
that the shape of this hiding-place might set up tell-tale
reverberations, he abandoned the idea, kicked the tin away, and by way
of doing something went for another bathe.

While he was still disporting in the water he heard footsteps in the
direction of the path, and scampered back lightly to the shelter of the
leafy screen.  Peering out somewhat anxiously, he saw an old Indian
woman filling a pitcher from the brook. She carried it across the track
among the brushwood on the other side, and disappeared.  Tim guessed
that she was one of the workers on Señor Durand’s estate, which extended
for several miles between the two paths from San Rosario.  Some hours
later a Cholo youth walked up the track, carrying a fishing-net and
basket; he, no doubt, was going to the river to catch the family dinner.
Except for these two, Tim saw no human being during the day.  A number
of waterfowl settled on the stream when the sun was high, and he caught
glimpses of gaudy parrots occasionally; these were all the signs of
life.

He had promised Romaña not to start too soon, and meant to keep his
promise. It was twelve miles to the spot where they had arranged to
meet, a walk of less than three or more than four hours according to the
pace.  Tim reasoned that by taking the longer period he would have more
opportunities for scouting, and could make up for any time lost if he
should have to conceal himself from passers-by.  Accordingly he started,
a full hour before he need have done.  When once upon the path he forgot
his intention to go slowly.  He kept up a good swinging pace, though
neglecting no precaution.  In the plantations on his left hand he saw
the distant forms of several of Señor Durand’s workers, but he met
nobody on the path, and nobody overtook him.

When he arrived at the place agreed upon, it wanted still nearly two
hours of sunset.  Romaña could not reach him for at least three hours,
perhaps four or five if he brought petrol.  Tim began to wish that he
had not been in such a hurry.  The spot was a cross-road--the junction
of the path by which he had come with the track running northwards to
Señor Durand’s estate, with that running eastwards to his own home, and
with another going southwards and emerging into the main road from San
Rosario to San Juan.  There were trees all around, and Tim decided to
climb into one that gave him a partial view of all the tracks.

He had not been long settled in his perch when he heard on his left the
sound of a horse trotting.  Peering out through the foliage he presently
caught sight of young Felipe Durand, riding alone towards the town.
Tim, as we know, was impulsive; he often acted hastily, and sometimes
repented afterwards, though not so frequently as might have been
expected.  When his friend was within a few yards of him, he hailed him
cautiously.  Durand reined up with a start, and looked wonderingly about
him.

"Where are you?" he said, in a tone little above a whisper.

"Here, up a tree," replied Tim.

"You _are_ up a tree!" said Durand.

"Don’t be an ass.  Ride in and tie your horse up.  I’m coming down to
talk to you.  There’s no one in sight."

Durand dismounted and led his horse some distance into the copse.  There
Tim joined him.

"You are pretty mad," said Durand, "to come so close to the town.  What
on earth are you up to?"

"Romaña has gone into the town to get some grub.  We’re very short up
yonder."

"You’ll be shot if you’re caught.  The Prefect is raging at your
father’s escape. He led the raid on Mollendo’s camp, thinking to catch
you and your father there."

"He’d better go on raging," said Tim, with a grin.  "What is happening,
Durand?"

"He has sacked the gobernador, fined him £1000 and put him under arrest.
He has promised £500 to the man who captures you or your father."

"My price has doubled, then!  Where is he now?"

"He has gone back to San Juan.  It’s rumoured that as soon as he has
made things secure there he’s going to lead an expedition into the
hills.  He has sworn to smash the Mollendists, and he’ll have no mercy
on Mollendo or your father when he catches them."

"He should say ’if.’  ’Ifs and ans are pots and pans; ’there’s a big
difference between ’if’ and ’when’--and ’now’ and ’never.’  What do they
say in the town?"

"A good many people sympathise with you, but the Prefect has a strong
party, as you know; otherwise he wouldn’t have left only a hundred men
behind.  There’s a big crowd in Mollendo’s old camp."

"I know, and a very poor lot they are. What is happening at home?"

"Pardo is playing the tyrant.  It’s rather fun.  He cleared out all your
old servants, except the Irishwoman.  Old Biddy flatly refused to go,
and I suppose he’s afraid of being a laughing-stock in the town if he
sends the gendarmes in with her."

"He has got gendarmes, then?"

"A dozen or so.  He needs them.  He has cut down wages all round,
forbidden any of the workpeople to go into the town, and generally
played the fool.  There was a row this morning.  The Japs refused to go
to work except on the old terms.  The foreman went to see Pardo at the
house, Pardo was insulting, and the Jap flew at his throat.  Of course
he had no chance with the gendarmes there.  They collared him and
marched him into the town, and he’ll have a bad time when the Prefect
comes back.  Pardo’s a fool.  The Japs will bolt in a body if he isn’t
careful. They’ll easily get work elsewhere, and he’ll find it hard to
run the plantations without them.  But what are you doing here?"

"I’m waiting for Romaña.  He’s coming out after dark."

"Well, take my advice and don’t run any risks.  By the way, how is your
mother?  My mater was talking about her this morning."

"She’s all right--out of harm’s way. Old Mollendo is a funny old chap.
He has made Father a general, and me a lieutenant."

"You don’t mean to say that you have really joined his party?"

"Indeed we have."

"That’s a mistake.  The Prefect has got a real handle against you now.
He’d be justified in shooting you."

"He must catch us first.  You’ll see something startling one of these
days."

"I’m afraid I shall.  Well, good-bye.  I shan’t say I’ve seen you, of
course.  I’m going to dine with Dr. Pereira."

"You can tell him.  He’s a good sort. Good-bye; glad I met you."

Durand rode on, and Tim went back to his tree.  But he had not sat there
more than a few minutes before a sudden impulse seized him to go himself
to the house.  It was only three miles away; he would have plenty of
time to go there and back before Romaña arrived.  He might get some
petrol himself.  Romaña had the key of the outhouse; but Tim knew of a
couple of loose boards at the back which he could easily remove and so
gain entrance.  He threw a glance along each of the paths; nobody was in
sight.  Then he slipped down and hastened into the broken country that
lay between him and the cultivated ground.  The hour was drawing near
for the cessation of work on the plantations.  He might reach the
neighbourhood of the house without meeting any of the labourers.  Even
if he did meet them, what Durand had said assured him that he need have
no fear of betrayal.

He made all possible haste.  No fence separated the waste land from the
coffee plantations.  In this region the coffee plants grew to an unusual
height, and he could safely make his way through them without having to
go farther northward to the equally tall sugar-canes.

He met no one.  In less than an hour he came to the rear of the private
grounds. A thick shrubbery enclosed the field on which he was accustomed
to play cricket and lawn-tennis.  To the left was the petrol shed.
Between the field and the house were the kitchen garden and an orchard.

Tim made his way to the back of the shed. It was an easy matter to pull
out the loose boards.  He entered, took a can, and returning with it to
the shrubbery, hid it among the dense foliage near the spot where he had
emerged from the plantation.  In the course of half an hour he had four
cans ready for removal.  By this time dusk had fallen. He heard the
clatter of crockery from the house.  It was dinner time.  An
uncontrollable desire seized him to look in upon Pardo at the meal.
Carefully replacing the boards taken from the wall of the shed, he
slipped quietly round by the shrubbery towards the end of the house
remote from the servants’ quarters.  There was now a light in the
dining-room.  He stole through the intervening orchard, crept to the
wall of the house; then, going down on hands and knees, peeped over the
window-sill.

The table was laid profusely; evidently, he thought, Pardo was "doing
himself well."  The ex-bookkeeper had the head of the table; there were
two guests, one of them the Captain Pierola who was to have
superintended the execution of Mr. O’Hagan, the other Señor Fagasta’s
secretary.  The men were on good terms with their fare and each other.
They were chatting in high good temper, and Tim felt a flush of anger as
he saw how free they were making with his father’s Burgundy.  It was a
good wine, used but sparingly by its owner; these Peruvians had already
emptied one bottle, and two more stood at Pardo’s elbow.

Tim watched them for some minutes, conscious of a mad longing to rush in
and break the bottles on their heads.  But the night was deepening; it
was time to get back; and he pictured Romaña’s surprise when he met him,
as he expected to do, coming through the plantation.  Retracing his
steps as stealthily as he had approached, he returned to the shrubbery,
took up one of the cans, and set off with it towards the rendezvous.

He had taken only a few steps, however, when he heard a sudden commotion
from the front of the house.  Men’s voices were raised in angry cries.
He halted, wondering what was happening.  After a moment’s hesitation,
he ran back, dropped the can in the shrubbery, and again hastened
noiselessly to the house.  Looking into the dining-room, he saw that it
was now empty; but the door leading into the patio was open, and through
it he caught sight of a group of gendarmes.  At the same moment he heard
the crack of a whip, then a cry of pain, followed by howls of rage and
the crash of breaking glass.

The patio was brightly lit, but Tim’s view of what was proceeding there
was intercepted by the backs of the gendarmes. Throbbing with
excitement, he ran to the side of the one-storeyed house, scrambled up
the wall by means of holes which he had once made when climbing for a
lost ball, and got upon the roof.  A few steps more brought him to the
edge of the open patio. Peeping over, he took in at a rapid glance a
dramatic situation.  In the centre of the floor lay a Japanese workman,
held down by two gendarmes, while Pardo belaboured him with a raw-hide
whip.  In the veranda and on the lawn beyond there was a swarm of the
Japanese labourers, howling with rage, brandishing bill-hooks, and
pressing forward to the patio, the glass door of which had just been
shattered by the men nearest it.  Within stood more gendarmes with fixed
bayonets, and just as Tim arrived, Captain Pierola stepped forward and
fired his revolver into the midst of the crowd. A man fell back among
his comrades, shot to the heart.  The cries were stilled; the throng
drew away out of the light; and Pardo went on with his thrashing.

Tim’s first feeling was utter shame and indignant wrath.  Then he had a
sudden inspiration.  Rushing back to the wall, he shinned down with the
speed of a squirrel, ran round to the front, and dashing among the crowd
of Japanese, who were standing in the darkness, enraged but irresolute,
he called on them to follow him. They recognised him, hailed him with a
shout of delight, and next moment the whole eighty were following him in
a yelling horde back to the house.

He kept out of the light from the patio, until, as he expected, the
gendarmes fired a scattered volley.  Then springing on to the veranda,
he discharged his revolver point-blank at Captain Pierola, and brought
him to the ground.  The fall of their officer took the gendarmes aback.
Before they could recover themselves, the Japanese burst into the patio
with a shout of triumph. The Peruvians did not await the cold steel of
their flashing bill-hooks.  Pardo had already dropped his whip and fled.
The gendarmes flocked after him, across the patio, through the corridor
and out at the main door towards the road to San Rosario. Not all
escaped.  The rearmost were swooped upon by the exultant Japanese, who
took an ample vengeance for the death of their comrade and the brutal
treatment of their foreman.

"Glory be!" said a voice from the rear of the patio, and Biddy Flanagan
came hastily to greet Tim.  "Is the master after coming back?"

"He is not, Biddy, but he and Mother are quite safe."

He turned to ask explanations of the recent scene.  It appeared that the
acting foreman had come to Pardo with an ultimatum from the whole body
of Japanese, that unless he procured the instant release of the man
imprisoned in the town they would at once quit the hacienda.  Pardo,
having drunk more than was good for him, forgot that he was not dealing
with the timid, spiritless Indians of the Peruvian Amazon.  He ordered
in the gendarmes, and proceeded to flog the man, in full view of the
crowd watching through the door of the patio.  No doubt the Japanese
would have had the courage to storm the house even without Tim; but his
opportune arrival had quickened them with enthusiasm; they had the
confidence of men fighting in a cause doubly just.




                               CHAPTER XV

                        THE RAID ON SAN ROSARIO


Tim was flushed with elation at his victory. With boyish impetuosity he
had flung himself into the affair without a thought of consequences.  He
had driven away the interloper and regained possession of his father’s
house: a feat of which he was inclined to be proud.  As to the future
his mind was blank.

He was helping himself to some of the dainties on the table in the
dining-room when Romaña rushed into the house.

"I’m here first, you see," said Tim, with a laugh.  "Pardo has run
away."

"Por Dios, señorito! are you mad?" cried the man.  "We shall have the
Prefect’s men from the town upon us in little more than an hour.  Come
away at once.  We can take horses and ride into the hills before they
catch us."

"Wait a little," said Tim, sobered in a moment as he realised for the
first time what his impulsive action involved.  "I can’t run away and
leave the Japs to face it.  It was all my fault."

"They must take their chance.  They can hide in the plantations to-night
and make off to-morrow.  There will be no more work for them here."

"But they can’t get away in such a terrific hurry with their families
and belongings.  The Prefect’s men would hunt them down and serve them
as they’ve sometimes served the Indians.  I’m responsible for them."

"This is folly!" cried Romaña, who was much agitated.  "You can do
nothing for them.  There are not enough horses to carry them with us to
the hills, even if they could ride, and they would be overtaken if they
came on foot.  Come, señorito, there is no time to lose."

"Don’t talk: let me think," said Tim, leaning forward with his elbows on
the table and his head between his hands.

He was fully enlightened now.  He saw what his rash act had led to.
These eighty Japanese labourers were not merely mutinous "hands"; they
would be regarded as rebels commanded by an acknowledged Mollendist. He
was responsible for them, and he knew enough about the Prefect’s temper
to be sure that they would meet with no mercy at his hands.  What could
he do for them? As soon as Pardo reached the town and told his story
there, without doubt a company of gendarmes and troopers would ride out
intent on vengeance.  The situation seemed desperate.

Gone was now all feeling of triumph.  Tim was simply miserable.  It
would be useless to bring the Japanese into the house and attempt to
defend it.  Even if they could maintain their position for a time they
could not beat off the enemy with bill-hooks against rifles, and before
long hundreds more would be summoned from San Juan.  And then he started
up at a sudden recollection. Durand had told him that there were but a
hundred of the Prefect’s men in San Rosario. The others were divided
between San Juan and the camp in the hills.  Was it possible to lead the
Japanese into the town, swoop down upon the garrison, diminished by the
despatch of troopers to the hacienda, and at least arm his men?  It
would be a desperate adventure, one not to be undertaken in cold blood;
but the men were seething with excitement and jubilant at their success;
and while they were in this temper they might be capable of actions
which at another time would appal them.

He jumped up and looked round for Romaña.  Seeing that he was not in the
room, he ran out into the patio and called for him.  Romaña hurried in
from the dark.

"I have two horses at the door, señorito," he said.

"Where are the Japs?" asked Tim.

"Out on the lawn.  They are mad with joy.  Come, señorito."

"I am going to lead them to the town," cried Tim, brushing past him and
going out through the shattered door.  Romaña stood for a moment
paralysed with amazement, then followed Tim, who was hurrying towards
the crowd.  He heard him tell them what he intended to do; he heard them
shout with enthusiasm; then he rushed back to the house, sprang on one
of the horses, and galloped away into the darkness.

Tim explained to the men in detail, as quickly as the points occurred to
him, what course he proposed to take.  He would march rapidly to the
town, enter by the east end, the quietest quarter, and lead them to the
barracks.  Only a few men were there; and if the attackers moved
quietly, they might hope to surprise the garrison, seize the building,
and supply themselves with arms from the armoury.  He knew that some of
the workers had pistols.  These he sent to their huts to fetch their
weapons, bidding them run all the way there and back. There was not a
moment to lose; it was now a quarter of an hour since Pardo fled; by
this time he was probably a third of the way to the town.

Impressing on the men that haste and silence were essential, Tim
returned to the house in search of Romaña.  But Romaña was not to be
found.  Seeing one horse where there had been two just before, Tim leapt
to the conclusion that the man had taken fright and made good his own
escape.  His lip curled with disdain of his cowardice.  He found Biddy
Flanagan, told her to keep the servants quiet and attend to Captain
Pierola, who lay wounded on the floor of the patio, then picked up the
rifles which the gendarmes had cast aside in their hasty flight, and
carried them out to the men.  A few minutes afterwards he put himself at
the head of the column, now increased by a score of Cholos, eager to
share in the adventure, and set off at a rapid pace along the track to
San Rosario.

He had spoken boldly and cheerfully to the men, but his mind was dark
with misgiving.  He could not be charged with lack of forethought now.
As he marched his brain was busy.  Nobody in San Rosario would dream of
the audacious movement he was leading; no special guard would be
maintained at the barracks; with the advantage of surprise he felt that
a sudden swift onslaught might win the place.  But what then?  In a day
or two at the most he would be besieged by an overwhelming force, and,
unless aided by a popular rising against the Prefect, his little band of
untrained men must be annihilated.  The one consolation was that by a
preliminary success he would certainly gain time; and recollecting that
the Japanese, if they had remained on the plantation, or fled over the
open country, would have been at the mercy of pursuing cavalry, he felt
that the course he had chosen was the wisest in the circumstances.

After marching for nearly a mile along the track, he struck off to the
left, over a marshy wilderness that lay between it and the highroad east
of the town.  By this time, no doubt, a detachment of mounted men was
already riding out to deal with the mutiny. Pardo would have seen to
that.  They would follow the direct path; it was essential that they
should neither see nor hear the body of men hastening in the opposite
direction.

Ten minutes after he had quitted the track, he heard the thud of hoofs
and the clinking of metal in the distance.  He instantly called a halt,
waited until the sounds had dwindled away behind him, then hurried on
still more rapidly than before.  The diminution of the garrison would
render his task easier; but it was important that he should accomplish
it before the horsemen, finding that the birds were flown, had time to
return to the town.  Luckily he knew every yard of the ground, and chose
his route unerringly even before the distant lights of San Rosario came
into view to give him guidance.

Fifty minutes after starting he reached the eastern outskirts of the
town.  This was the best quarter.  A few substantial houses were
scattered irregularly, surrounded by their gardens, and separated by
crooked streets and lanes which all debouched upon the plaza.  It was in
one of these streets, on the opposite side of the plaza from the
gobernador’s house, that the barracks were situated--a large two-storey
building, once a mansion, but now reserved for the accommodation of the
gendarmes and the irregular troops of the Prefect whenever great
occasions brought them from San Juan.  The outlying streets were
strangely quiet, though a murmurous hum came from the direction of the
plaza.  Choosing the narrowest and least frequented lane, Tim led his
silent force to the end of the street of the barracks.

Meanwhile the centre of the town was in a ferment of excitement.  The
arrival of the fugitives with news of the revolt led by the outlawed
Inglés, the attack on the house, the murder (thus it was exaggerated) of
Captain Pierola, was like the coming of a whirlwind.  The wildest
rumours flew through the town, and the whole populace flocked into the
plaza to discuss them. One of the two lieutenants in the barracks
immediately set off with a troop for the hacienda; the other, summoned
from the house where he had been dining, sent a second troop into the
plaza to keep order and check any revolutionary demonstration to which
the news of the outbreak might give rise.  Thus all things conspired to
favour the bold plan which Tim had conceived.

The barracks occupied almost the whole of one side of the short street.
Wide gates gave entrance to an open porch that cut the building in two.
It was flanked on both sides by the lower floor, devoted to stores.
Staircases led to the upper floor, in which were, on one side the
quarters of the men, on the other the guardroom and armoury.  Both right
and left a palisaded balcony overlooked the porch.  Beyond this was a
long rectangular patio, bounded on three sides by the stables.  The
patio was surrounded by a high wall abutting on the gardens of the
surrounding villas.

During the daytime the front gates were constantly open, and a sentry
marched up and down the porch between the street and the patio.  At
night they were shut, and the sentry occupied his box just within. Tim
had debated on the way whether to scale the rear wall or to rush the
front entrance, and decided that the latter course had the better
promise of success.  The wall was spiked; if they safely surmounted it,
to descend on the stable roof would cause a commotion among the horses,
and before they could reach the main building they would have to cross
the whole width of the patio, perhaps in the face of a hot fire.  If the
front gates were shut, the wicket would no doubt be opened in answer to
a knock.  Then his plan was to seize and silence the sentry, and send
his men up the stairs, if possible before the alarm was given.

He halted at the end of the street, which was not overlooked by houses,
and glanced up it towards the plaza.  To his surprise and joy he saw a
bar of light across the roadway at the position of the gates.  They were
open: evidently the surprising events of the evening had led to a
modification or the neglect of the usual arrangements.  The street was
empty.  Passing word along the line that the men were to follow at his
heels as quickly as possible, he rushed along towards the open gates.

Within the porch the sentry at his box was talking to two of his
comrades who, with their coats loosened, were leaning over the railing
of the balcony on the guardroom side.  The attackers had come within a
few yards of the gates before the sound of their hurrying feet was
audible above the hum of the excited crowd in the plaza. It awakened no
alarm or suspicion; but the sentry moved leisurely to the street to see
what was happening.  He had just reached the gates when, before he could
cry out, he was hurled to the ground, and a crowd of men dashed past and
over him into the porch.  The two men above stared in bewilderment for a
moment; then, partially realising the situation, they ran back into the
guardroom shouting with alarm.

By this time Tim was half-way up the stairs on that side.  Some of his
men followed closely; others were springing up the opposite staircase.
As yet not a shot had been fired.  But as Tim reached the balcony half a
dozen mestizo soldiers of the Prefect came tumbling out of the
guardroom, some loading their rifles, some hastily flinging on their
bandoliers.  Tim shouted to them to surrender, emphasising the demand
with a shot from his revolver.  At such close quarters they could not
fire their rifles.  The suddenness of the attack, and the sight of the
swarm of Japanese and Cholos pressing on with billhooks, struck them
with panic.  All but two threw down their arms at once; one struck at
Tim with his clubbed rifle; Tim dodged the blow, and throwing out his
left foot behind his opponent, flung himself with all his weight against
the man and hurled him backwards to the floor.  The sixth man ran to the
window opening on the patio, and sprang out, falling with a crash.  It
was afterwards discovered that his arm was broken.

On the other side, meanwhile, a brisk fight was in progress.  There were
a dozen men in quarters, including the second lieutenant.  All the rest
were in the plaza or had gone to Mr. O’Hagan’s hacienda.  Roused by the
noise, they seized their arms and rushed to the balcony.  The officer
reached the head of the staircase at the same moment as the first of the
Japanese, and instantly dropped him with a revolver shot.  This
momentarily checked the assailants, giving time to the troopers to come
forward to the lieutenant’s support.  When Tim, after his bloodless
victory, ran back to the balcony, he saw on the opposite side a confused
mass of men in hand-to-hand fight, hacking at each other with rifles,
swords and billhooks. He could not fire for fear of hitting one of his
own party.  Leaping down the staircase, he dashed across the porch, up
the other stairs, and flinging himself into the midst of the mêlée,
brought the butt of his revolver down heavily on the officer’s head, at
the same time crying to the Peruvians that all was lost.  They were
already hard pressed; seeing their officer fall, and more Japanese and
Cholos mounting behind the lad with the ruddy cheeks and fair hair, they
gave up the unequal contest.

Locking them in their rooms, Tim hurried down to the porch.  He ordered
some of his men to close and bar the gates, and led another party up to
find the armoury beyond the guardroom.  The door of it was locked, but
he burst the lock with a shot from his revolver, and, ordering the men
to go in and help themselves, he ran back, recalled by a clamour at the
gates.

On reaching the balcony, he found his men at grips with a number of the
enemy who had been patrolling the plaza on horseback, and hearing the
shots had galloped down the street to discover their cause.  The greater
number of Tim’s party being on the floor above, the Peruvians had been
strong enough to prevent the closing of the gates, and some had already
penetrated into the porch.  Tim sang out to the men behind him in the
guardroom and armoury to line the balcony, and fired down among the
enemy.  He was soon joined by a dozen eager Japanese.  At his order they
poured a volley into the crowd below, taking care not to hit their
comrades, who were partially sheltered behind the half-open gates.  The
horsemen, thrown into confusion by this deadly attack from above, tried
to wheel their horses and ride back into the street. This made the
confusion worse than before. The horses plunged with fright and pain;
several of the riders reeled from their saddles; in a few seconds the
survivors fled in hopeless rout.  The moment the last had gone the gates
were slammed behind them and barred.

Running to a window overlooking the street, Tim saw more horsemen
galloping from the plaza, followed by a shouting mob. He called his
newly-armed men to his side, and ordered them to fire as soon as the
troopers reached the barracks.  One volley was enough.  The horsemen
reined up, wheeled about, and rode back in disorder, driving the
shrieking crowd before them. The barracks were won.




                              CHAPTER XVI

                          A SIEGE AND A SORTIE


Tim had learnt his lesson against premature exultation.  He did not at
the barracks, as at the hacienda, allow his wits to be lulled by the
heady incense of success.  The flight of the troopers, the secure
barring of the gates, gave him a breathing space in which he envisaged
very clearly the dangers of his situation.

He was not much troubled about the men whom he had just defeated.  They
would probably take no further action until rejoined by the strong party
who had ridden out to the hacienda.  How long would that be?  Nobody at
the house would tell them in what direction the insurgents had marched.
The Peruvian officer might suppose that they had fled to the hills, and
if he pursued, it would be many hours before he could return with his
troopers to San Rosario. But it was not unlikely that they had heard the
sounds of firing, which would travel far across the open country in the
night.  In that case the party would gallop back at once.  No doubt a
messenger had already ridden from the town to acquaint them with what
had happened, so that in all probability they would return within two
hours.  It was now nearly nine o’clock; by eleven the combined force,
outnumbering Tim’s band, would for their own credit’s sake try to
recapture the barracks.  Behind walls Tim felt that he had a fair chance
against them.

But this was only the first and the least of the dangers he had to
anticipate.  There were two hundred or more men in Mollendo’s old camp
in the hills: the news of the outbreak at the hacienda might already
have been conveyed to them, with a summons to ride back to the town.  If
they started as soon as the call reached them, they might arrive by six
or seven o’clock; but Tim hoped that with Spanish procrastination they
would put off their departure until the morning.  There was a much more
pressing peril.  San Juan was only thirty miles away--ten miles nearer
than the Inca camp. The Prefect was there!  Doubtless he was possessed
of full information, flashed to him from San Rosario by telegraph.
Spanish though he was by blood and habit, he was prompt and vigorous in
action; and with his present authority and future security at stake he
would surely set off within a little of receiving the news--perhaps was
already hurrying across the hills.  The road was bad; a march by night
could not be fast; but even at the worst, by five o’clock an
overwhelming force might be pouring into the town.

Tim wished that he had had the forethought to send a man to cut the
telegraph wire.  That would have gained five hours at the least.  But he
could not think of everything; he was as yet a novice in things
military; and he had had no one with whom to take counsel.  He reflected
bitterly on Romaña’s desertion.  Romaña was not a soldier; but he was
twice Tim’s age; he had had some experience with the Mollendists, and
was shrewd and far-seeing.  Tim was surprised and angry to find that the
man was apparently a coward.

Thrown upon his sole resources, Tim tried to think of some means of
meeting the threatening dangers.  His case would be hopeless as soon as
the Prefect arrived with his main body of troops, unless--Tim grasped
eagerly at an idea that had flashed upon him. If he could send a message
to his father, the Mollendists, though ill-equipped and weak in numbers,
might push down from the hills by way of the river bed and reach San
Rosario in time to give him help.  But they were twenty miles beyond the
Inca camp, and could not arrive before the Prefect unless the approach
of the force from San Juan could be hindered.  That was not impossible.
A few men posted on the hill road just above the place where the
Mollendists had snapped up the gobernador could hold in check a much
larger number in the darkness, and gain a few precious hours. Tim
resolved to attempt both--to despatch a messenger to his father, and a
little band to the defile on the high road to San Juan.

He had just risen from his seat in the guardroom to select men for these
tasks when there was a commotion below--a shout of alarm, followed by a
moment’s silence, then a cheer.  He looked over the balcony, and saw
Romaña pushing his way from the patio through the crowd of Japanese and
Cholos to the foot of the staircase.

"You are safe, señorito?" Romaña called, seeing Tim looking down at him.

Tim did not reply: he felt hurt and indignant.

"You come when the fight is over," he said, when Romaña joined him.  "I
thought I could trust you."

"Caramba, señorito, what do you mean?" cried Romaña, his usual
forbearance giving way under a rush of hot blood.  "Do you take me for a
coward?  I have saved you from making a thorough mess of your own hasty
scheme.  You did not think of the telegraph wire: I did.  That is all."

"You have cut it?"

"Yes.  I galloped straight to the road. I hope I cut the wire before
Pardo reached the town."

"Forgive me, Nicolas," said Tim penitently, grasping his hand.  "I am an
ass. I ought to have known you had not deserted me."

"Say no more, señorito," said Romaña, cooling at once.  "I am rejoiced
at your success.  But there is still much to do."

"How did you get in?"

"I climbed the wall and got over the stable roof.  That must be guarded,
señorito. When the men come from the hacienda they will certainly try to
get in.  The Prefect will hang them if they do not recapture the place."

"It shall be done: I ought to have seen to it before, but I have been
thinking of other things."

He went on to tell Romaña his recent decisions.

"I thought of both, señorito," said the man.  "I debated whether to ride
at once from the road to Señor O’Hagan; it would have gained much time;
but I felt that I must first see what had become of you. The duty is
mine: I know the way: no one else does.  Give me a dozen men; we will
sally out on horseback down the street and get away before the men in
the plaza are ready to pursue us.  Galdos has my horse in the wood half
a mile away, but I need a fresh one."

"What about the supplies?" asked Tim, remembering the errand on which
they had come.

"I took out two laden mules to the place where we had arranged to meet.
Finding that you were not there, I tied them up in the wood and went to
the house to fetch petrol, as I promised.  Little did I imagine what I
should see there!"

"I got tired of waiting and went myself. There are several petrol cans
in the shrubbery.  Of course I had no intention of fighting; but I
simply couldn’t stand Pardo thrashing Asumi, and when the other Japs
began to attack I saw a chance.  It was a mad thing to do: I didn’t look
ahead."

"It may turn out to be the best thing that could possibly have happened.
But I must go, señorito; time is precious."

They went down to the stables together, and chose twelve of the best
horses.  Then they selected eleven of the Cholos, who were quite at home
on horseback.  Tim explained the nature of the service required of them.
They were eager to start.  The lamp in the entrance was extinguished.
Tim kept watch on the street from the window of the guardroom, with
several men armed with rifles.  The bars were quickly removed; the gates
were thrown open; and the twelve men sallied out, turned to the right,
and galloped at full speed down the street. There was instantly a rush
from the plaza. But a volley from the windows checked the oncomers, and
they fell back.  Tim knew that before they could ride through the plaza,
and down a side street in pursuit, the fugitives would have a start of
at least half a mile.  The gates were again closed and barred, and
silence fell once more upon the scene.

Tim had little anxiety about Romaña. On reaching the outskirts of the
town, he would follow a track parallel with a stream--the same which
flowed past Romaña’s cave--cross it a few miles to the west, then
proceed across open country until he came to a wooden bridge over the
river.  He would then take to the high road, and in the course of little
more than two hours arrive at the defile where Señor Fagasta had been
captured.  There posting the men, he would return to the river, and ride
more rapidly upon the hard sand at the edge of the channel.  In five or
six hours he should reach the Mollendist camp.  With nearly sixty miles
to march, Mr. O’Hagan could not reach San Rosario before late on the
next afternoon, even if he started with his mounted men only.  But if
the men posted at the defile were successful in delaying the Prefect’s
advance, the time gained might be enough to allow the Mollendists to
secure the town.

Romaña’s forethought in cutting the wire had diminished the most serious
of Tim’s anxieties.  The telegraphist at San Rosario, of course, would
soon have discovered the damage by the failure of response from San
Juan, and after a certain delay no doubt a mounted courier had been
despatched to convey the news--possibly a considerable party, for
protection against enemies along the road.  In all probability news of
the affair at the hacienda had only just reached the Prefect, who might
reasonably regard it as a trumpery disturbance that could be left to his
subordinates.  It would be some hours yet before he learnt of the attack
on the barracks, and even if he then started immediately, Romaña would
have placed his men on the defile before the force from San Juan could
arrive.

When the gates had been secured, Tim had the lamp relit and called a
parade of his men in the patio.  His losses had been slight.  Of the
eighty-two left to him, seventy-five were still fit for service.  All
but eight were now armed with rifles; for the eight there were swords,
bayonets, and lances, if they wished for other weapons than their own
bill-hooks.  A large proportion of the Japanese, having served in their
national army, were expert with the rifle; and as there was plenty of
ammunition in the armoury, and food in the stores on the ground floor,
Tim felt himself very well situated, whether to withstand a siege or to
repel an attack.

After parading the men, he told off a number of them to hold the roof of
the stables on three sides of the patio.  The rest were posted at all
the windows overlooking the street.  The rooms were left in darkness.

About an hour after Romaña’s departure the sounds from the plaza, which
had died down into a dull murmur, suddenly revived. Shouts and cheers
mingled with the clatter of hoofs and the jingle of accoutrements. The
party from the hacienda had returned. Tim sent word to the men on the
stables to be on the alert.

Some time passed.  The plaza had again relapsed into silence.  Tim
guessed that the enemy were organising an attack.  He wondered whether
they would attempt an assault on the gates, or trust to escalading the
patio walls.  The gates were of hard wood studded with iron; the bars
were stout; it would not be easy to break them down.  If the enemy once
forced their way in and made good their position, they would have
command of the stores, for Tim could not risk a hand-to-hand fight in
the entrance porch.  The party from the hacienda, combined with those
who had been patrolling the plaza and probably with a certain number of
the Prefect’s supporters in the town, would outnumber his own men by at
least three to one.  Tim thought his best plan in the event of an inroad
was to hold the balconies and staircases, and keep the enemy at bay
until they were forced to retire by exhaustion of their ammunition.

He soon found that the danger was to be faced both in front and rear.
Warning came first from the stables.  The silence was broken by a sudden
clamour.  From the surrounding gardens men were attempting to scale the
wall on all sides--an impossible feat in face of the forty men at their
posts of vantage on the stable roof.  But this attack was only designed
as a means of occupying the defenders while the main assault was
proceeding in front.  Looking up the street, Tim saw a number of dark
shapes rushing from the plaza along the opposite side.  He had ordered
his men to hold their fire until the enemy were well in view.  But the
attackers did not come far down the street.  They suddenly turned to
their left, and disappeared within a doorway.  Their object was soon
evident. In a few minutes there was a burst of flame from the houses
exactly opposite the barracks, and bullets flew through the open windows
at which Tim and his men had posted themselves.  At the same moment a
much larger body of men, all on foot, came dashing along from the plaza,
keeping on the near side of the street.  It was plain that under cover
of the rifle fire opposite a determined attempt was to be made to break
in the gates.

Tim ordered half his men, taking what cover was possible, to reply to
the fire across the street, and the other half to be ready to shoot down
upon the enemy below.  He saw at once that at the windows his second
party would be at a great disadvantage, because they could not fire
effectively without exposing themselves.  So he sent them up a wooden
ladder to the roof, where they would be in less danger themselves, while
better placed for dealing with the assailants.

Soon both patio and street were ringing with the noise of battle.  At
the rear and sides the troopers who tried to mount the walls, some on
ladders, some by clambering up the stonework, were hurled down by the
men above them.  In the front, bullets rang across the street in
opposite directions, and poured from the roof upon the dense mass now at
the gates.  Tim heard a resounding crash below; the enemy had brought
with them a heavy beam which they were using as a battering ram.  In the
almost total darkness it was impossible to discover the effect of the
fire from the roof. That it was comparatively ineffectual was soon
proved.  Three times the thundering blows rang on the gates; at the
third one of the wings gave way, and with a yell of triumph men began to
pour into the porch.

Tim at once called his men from the windows and posted them on the
balconies overlooking the entrance, whence they fired on the crowd
surging in.  Some of the men on the stable roof, seeing by the light of
the lamp what had occurred, began to shoot across the patio.  Taken thus
between two fires, the front ranks of the enemy lost heart and tried to
push back to the street.  They were checked by their comrades still
pressing forward, and for a minute or two the porch was filled with a
solid mass of men, into which the Japanese poured their shot as fast as
they could load.  The enemy were thrown into utter confusion and panic.
With yells of rage and pain they struggled among themselves, fighting
each other in their desperate efforts to get through the half-open gate
into the street.  But for the steady shooting of the men on the roof,
which cleared the ground opposite the entrance, not one would have
issued forth alive.  An advance of their comrades had been checked. The
pressure relaxed; the way was open; and in five minutes after the gate
was broken the survivors of the fight were rushing headlong back to the
plaza, driving the mob before them, and pursued by shots from the men on
the roof.

Tim ran downstairs and across the patio to learn how his men were faring
there.  The assailants had been beaten back all along the wall, and were
slinking away through the gardens to rejoin their friends.  There had
been much commotion among the horses in the stables, and a good deal of
damage done by their heels when they lashed out in terror of the shots.
On looking in at the quivering animals Tim was seized with an idea: why
not keep the discomfited enemy on the run? They had had two rather sharp
lessons: a charge on horseback might have at least the effect of
discouraging another attack on the barracks.  By starting at once he
might even yet overtake the fugitives before they all reached the plaza.

He called up the twenty Cholos he had left; in half a minute they had
led all the remaining horses into the patio, and without waiting to
saddle, sprang upon their backs and followed Tim to the gate.  As they
came to the street, Tim saw that fortune favoured him.  The men who had
been firing from the opposite houses were at that moment issuing from
the doorway some distance away, and moving off towards the plaza. With a
wild whoop Tim led the charge. The enemy instantly picked up their heels
and dashed for safety.  Their comrades in the plaza were gloomily
discussing their defeat.  Only a few men who had been patrolling the
square were mounted; the horses of the rest were ranged in a long line
opposite the gobernador’s house.  At the sound of Tim’s party galloping
and the cries of the fugitives the whole body made a rush for their
horses; but before they could cross the plaza the pursuers were upon
them.

[Illustration: TIM LEADS A CHARGE]

The place was ill lighted; the Prefect’s men, even if they had not been
flustered and disheartened, could scarcely have seen how small was the
band clattering across the cobbles.  The noise made by Tim’s men,
indeed, was worthy of a regiment, and being mingled with shouts and
screams from the people who had been pushed back to the openings of the
streets, the coolest of soldiers might have been deceived.  These
hirelings were not cool.  One or two succeeded in mounting; the rest
took panic and ran in all directions.  Their horses caught the
infection, and galloped riderless across the plaza, dashing in blind
fear among the shrieking people.  Men and animals fled helter-skelter
into the dark streets and out into the open country.  In a few minutes
the whole garrison of San Rosario as a mounted force had ceased to
exist.

Tim was prudent enough not to leave the plaza.  He did not yet
appreciate the full extent of his success.  When the square was clear of
the enemy, he hastened back to the barracks, blocked up the damaged
gateway as well as he could, and then, feeling that he was safe for the
rest of the night, sent his men to find a supper.




                              CHAPTER XVII

                             IN POSSESSION


Felipe Durand was enjoying an after-dinner cigar with Dr. Pereira when
they heard the first commotion in the town consequent upon Pardo’s
arrival from the hacienda.  Regarding it as nothing more than a street
brawl they went to a window overlooking the plaza, and watched the crowd
gathering, and the gendarmes come from the direction of the barracks to
keep order.  After a few minutes they returned to their chairs.

Presently a servant entered, and reported what was being said in the
town.  A wild and exaggerated rumour had spread that the Mollendists had
swooped in vast numbers on Mr. O’Hagan’s hacienda; the Prefect’s troops
had been sent to drive them out.

"Young Tim did not tell me that anything of that sort was in
contemplation," said Durand.

"It is a mad proceeding," said the doctor. "By all accounts the
Mollendists are a very small party, and badly provided.  I am surprised
at O’Hagan."

"Perhaps it is a move of Tim’s," suggested Durand.  "He’s mad enough for
anything at times."

"That boy has as many lives as a cat. It’s a marvel that he hasn’t
broken his neck long before this."

"He was just the same at school.  If he fell from a tree he never seemed
to hurt himself.  I remember once at rugger--a sort of football, you
know--he had a terrible collision with a forward twice his size, and we
thought he was killed for a certainty. But he got up after a minute and
rubbed his shins and chaffed the other fellow about his fat.  ’Soft as a
cushion,’ he said, ’lucky for me.’"

They sat smoking and talking until a renewed uproar drew them again to
the window.  There they watched what ensued upon Tim’s capture of the
barracks.  They came to the conclusion, surprising as it was, that the
Mollendists had attacked in force. The rumours brought from below stairs
magnified every detail.  The numbers of the assailants were greatly
multiplied; Dr. Pereira was inclined to believe that Mr. O’Hagan, of
whose exploits in the Chilian war he knew, had himself organised a
dashing descent on the town.  It was only later, when Tim led the charge
into the plaza, that the two onlookers had an inkling of the truth.

"It’s Tim after all, the young demon!" exclaimed Durand.

"But he must be backed up," said the doctor.  "He would never attempt
such a foolhardy exploit unless he could rely on support from his
father."

"You don’t know Tim so well as I do, señor," said Durand.

"You must stay the night, Felipe.  We can’t tell what may be happening
on the road, and you mustn’t risk being shot.  The affair is evidently
much more serious than I thought.  In the morning we shall learn the
truth of it."

A little while after the plaza had been cleared and the excited populace
had melted away, two of the principal men in the town, both strong
opponents of the Prefect, came to see Dr. Pereira.  They pointed out
that the town was now without responsible authorities.  No gobernador
had yet been appointed in place of Señor Fagasta, still under arrest;
Captain Pierola, in command of the garrison, was reported killed; and
next day the place would be in anarchy.  They therefore begged the
doctor to proclaim himself provisional gobernador, and to authorise the
enrolment of special constables to keep order until matters developed.

"I don’t think I can do that," said the doctor.  "The town is now
practically in the possession of the Mollendists.  Any such action on my
part would be resented by them, unless indeed I issued a proclamation in
the name of Señor Mollendo.  Do you suggest that I should do that?"

His visitors, one of whom was the principal lawyer in the town,
hesitated.  They recognised that to take such a step would be a burning
of their boats.  The Prefect was still to be reckoned with.

"My idea was to remain neutral between the two parties, señor doctor,"
said the lawyer, "and set up a provisional administration in the
interests of the general order."

"That cannot be done without the consent of the gentleman now in
military occupation," replied Dr. Pereira.

"But he is not in effective occupation, señor," the lawyer persisted.
"He has withdrawn his men to the barracks."

"The Prefect’s men are not in occupation, at any rate," said the doctor,
dryly.  "They have abandoned the town.  The utmost that we can do is to
send a deputation to the Mollendist leader, and ask him to authorise
measures for the protection of the life and property of the civil
population.  I am willing to form one of such a deputation, and I
suggest that you accompany me, señores."

"Let me come too, señor," said Durand eagerly.

"You had better remain here, Felipe," replied the doctor.  "This is a
matter for grave and reverend signors."

His eyes twinkled.  He suspected that his visitors were as yet unaware
of the identity of the "Mollendist leader," and relished the anticipated
scene of Tim receiving the deputation.  In a few minutes the three
gentlemen set forth, the doctor bearing a note which Durand had hastily
scribbled.

Meantime Tim, while his men were at supper, had been taking mental stock
of the position.  It did not occur to him that he was master of the
town.  No boy of his years and limited experience could suppose that by
a single charge at the head of twenty men he had swept away all
effective opposition.  He did not know that the enemy had scattered in
all directions over the surrounding country; and while he felt that they
would probably not attack again during the night, he expected that they
would rally and at any rate keep him closely invested pending the
arrival of the Prefect.  Consequently, after arranging for the efficient
guarding of the barracks during the remaining hours of darkness, he
threw himself on Captain Pierola’s bed to snatch a rest in preparation
for the anticipated work of the day.

He was called up about midnight by one of the sentries, who reported
that three men were approaching from the plaza under a flag of truce.
He hurried to the gate, and was surprised to hear Dr. Pereira’s voice in
answer to the question he asked through the wicket.

"We come as a deputation on behalf of the citizens," said the doctor.

Tim threw open the wicket, and the three gentlemen entered.  The lawyer
and his friend stared when they recognised in the "Mollendist leader"
the boy whom they regarded as a harum-scarum young giddy-pate. Tim’s
surprise equalled theirs when the doctor, who thoroughly enjoyed the
situation, explained the object of their visit.

"We have come to you, as the gentleman in military possession of the
town," said the doctor, "to request that you will take measures for the
maintenance of civil order. The official garrison has withdrawn; the
gobernador is unable to act; and we fear that disturbances may arise
among the populace.  We offer no opinion and take no sides in the
dissensions which presumably have led to the present circumstances; we
approach you merely in the interests of the general good."

The doctor’s words were grave and formal, but Tim caught the humorous
twinkle of his eyes.  He knew that Dr. Pereira was no friend to the
Prefect.  Maintaining equal gravity, he tried to adjust his thoughts to
the new situation.  If the doctor had been alone, he would have spoken
to him freely, and asked his advice.  The presence of the other two
Peruvians, whom he knew only slightly, imposed a reserve.  Quick-witted
as he was, for a moment he found himself at a loss. But when he realised
the full import of Dr. Pereira’s words, he pulled himself together, and
said:

"I am honoured by your visit, señores. I will at once send men to patrol
the plaza."  A sudden idea struck him.  "Perhaps it would be in order if
I issued a proclamation."

"That is the usual formality, señor," said the lawyer, with professional
approval.

"Then will you be good enough to draw it up for me, señor?  You will
employ the correct forms.  Announce that I hold the town in the name of
Señor Mollendo, and that it is under martial law until the civil
government is re-established.  You will find paper and ink in the
guardroom upstairs."

The lawyer and his friend having departed to draw up the document, Tim
was left alone with his old friend.

"Bravo, Tim!" said the doctor.  "You have carried it off well."

"But is it true?" asked Tim eagerly. "Are we in possession of the town?"

"Without a doubt.  You have only to act boldly.  Toujours l’audace!  The
garrison have bolted; without good leadership they won’t rally, and
Captain Pierola is dead, I hear."

"He is only wounded," said Tim.

"He is not here, at any rate.  The Mollendists have a strong party in
the town, and if you put a bold face on it the Prefect’s adherents will
not dare to rise.  Of course your father is near?"

"I hope so, señor.  I have sent a messenger for him."

"You don’t mean to say that you have done this on your own account,
unsupported?"

"We _have_ been rather lucky," said Tim with a smile.

The doctor uttered an ejaculation of amazement.

"You must tell me all about it presently," he said, as the lawyer
reappeared with the proclamation.  Tim, with an ingenuous blush,
scrawled his signature at the foot: "Timothy O’Hagan, Lieutenant;" and
with grave salutations the three gentlemen withdrew. At the moment of
parting, Dr. Pereira put into Tim’s hand the note written by Durand.
Opening it, he read:


"Good old Tim!  I wish I had been in the scrum. I am going to ask my
pater if I may join you."




                             CHAPTER XVIII

                      THE ORDER OF THE NASTURTIUM


Tim sent twenty of the Japanese to patrol the plaza, to be relieved
after two hours. Then he returned to bed, feeling immensely elated at
the astonishing turn of affairs.

Early in the morning, a group of men were seen approaching under a flag
of truce from the end of the street remote from the plaza.  Some were
leading horses.  Their leader was alone admitted through the gate, while
a party of Japanese with loaded rifles kept watch on the others from the
windows of the guardroom.  The man announced that he had come with his
companions, all members of the Prefect’s mercenary army, to offer their
services to the Señor Inglés. They had been for weeks without pay; they
had served the Prefect from necessity rather than choice; and were ready
to strike a blow for freedom.

Tim had a natural prejudice against turncoats.  But he reflected that in
this kind of warfare a wholesale change of sides was not uncommon.  His
father had expected that any Mollendist success would immediately result
in a large accession of recruits, and he decided to accept the men’s
offer.  When, however, later in the day, after his proclamation had been
read in the plaza, more men came in, civilians of San Rosario as well as
troopers of the Prefect’s, he felt somewhat embarrassed.  To admit more
than a hundred to the barracks seemed to him rather hazardous.  Such
volatile soldiers of fortune might change sides again at any moment, and
turn their arms against him.  He therefore resolved to take no more than
fifty into the barracks, bidding the rest to remain in their own homes,
and hold themselves ready to take the field when summoned.  If he could
have been quite sure of their loyalty he would have despatched them to
reinforce the party at the defile, but he felt that he must not run any
risks for the present, hoping that ere long his father would arrive to
take over his responsibilities, which were beginning to weigh upon him.

Just before midday a messenger arrived from Romaña.  He reported that
early in the morning he had had a brush with a small advance body of the
enemy, who had retired after the exchange of a few shots. Romaña himself
had only reached the spot a few minutes before the enemy appeared. He
had ridden to the Mollendist camp with the news of Tim’s movements, and
Mr. O’Hagan, after a momentary outburst of anger, had promised to march
at once for the town.  But his progress would necessarily be slow, owing
to the fact that more than half his men were unmounted, and to the need
for care in slipping past the enemy in the Inca camp.

It seemed to Tim that the most serious element in the situation was the
danger of an advance in force along the San Juan road.  The men who had
been checked by Romaña were probably few in number; the passage of a
really strong detachment could not long be seriously disputed by so
small a party.  It must be reinforced at once.  Here Tim was in a
difficulty.  He could not part with his own men; on the other hand, his
new recruits had as yet given no proof of their loyalty.  He saw that he
must take risks to avoid greater risks, and decided to send a hundred
men up the road to support Romaña.  He arranged also for relays of
mounted men to post themselves on the road and bring him early news of
any fresh attack on the defile.  To guard against danger from the Inca
camp he despatched a few mounted men along the road in that direction,
to keep watch and get in touch with the Mollendists as they approached.
The rest of his little force he kept under arms in the barracks, ready
to launch them in whatever quarter their support might be required.

In San Juan, meanwhile, the news of the successive disasters suffered by
the official troops had struck the Prefect like thunder-claps. He had
been busily organising his forces for a decisive blow against the
Mollendists, and was finding it necessary, much against the grain, to
part with a large portion of the money he had recently obtained from the
gobernador and from Mr. O’Hagan’s safe, in making up arrears of pay for
his unruly mercenaries.  The messengers and fugitives who had got
through from San Rosario carried with them so startling a story of the
vast numbers who had attacked the town that he hesitated to move out
until he had made careful arrangements for securing his position at the
capital.  He had contented himself with sending a single troop along the
road to San Rosario, to feel for the enemy and discover what the
position really was.  The speedy return of these men, with report of
having been ambuscaded at the defile, filled him with as much uneasiness
as dismay.  Knowing how precarious was his hold upon the loyalty of his
forces, he sought to attach them to him by lavish promises and
considerable advance sums as earnest of his sincerity.  As soon as day
dawned he pushed on his preparations with feverish activity.

At San Rosario the day passed without incident.  There was great
excitement in the town, but no breach of order. Everybody knew by this
time that the attack overnight had been led by the young foreigner, and
he was so popular a person that the majority of the citizens were not at
all displeased with his proclamation. The gendarmes who had held the
gobernador captive in his house having fled, Señor Fagasta came forth
into the plaza, and made an attempt to assert his authority. But being
assured by Dr. Pereira that the reins of power were now definitely in
other hands, he retired to his patio, exchanged his official dress for
his old alpaca coat and a Panama hat, and solaced himself with strong
cigars and many copitas of brandy for his compulsory withdrawal from
public life.  During the day sundry groups of Peruvian youths and other
idlers ventured timorously along the street from the country end, and
gazed open-mouthed at the gates of the barracks and at the smiling
Japanese posted at the windows; but after a time Tim thought it
advisable to keep the street clear, and posted a couple of his men at
the end to keep off intruders.

Early next morning word was brought from his advanced scouts that the
Mollendist army had been sighted far up the western track.  Every few
minutes further reports arrived.  Tim, all tingling with excitement,
paced up and down the guardroom, wondering whether he ought to remain at
his post, or whether he might ride out to meet his father.  Presently he
heard that a crowd of the townsfolk were pouring out into the country to
hail the Liberator.  At this news boyish impetuosity prevailed over all
considerations of form.  Rushing to the stables, Tim sprang on a horse
and galloped out, down the street, and through the rabble.

He met the ragged company a mile from the cross-roads, marching, horse
and foot, at the heels of Mollendo and Mr. O’Hagan.

"Hallo, Father!" Tim shouted as he dashed up.

"You young scamp!" cried Mr. O’Hagan, who was nevertheless delighted
with the scamp.  He had begun to think that Tim’s action in forcing his
hand was going to bear good fruit: he had picked up several recruits on
the way.

"Thank God you’re safe!" he continued, clasping the boy’s hand.  "It was
terribly rash of you, my boy: what your poor mother would say I don’t
know: I don’t like to think about it.  You have fairly taken the wind
out of my sails; _you_ ought to be generalissimo, bedad!  Seriously, you
have set the ball rolling to some purpose.  Mollendo is in ecstasies."

Mollendo had tactfully ridden on, so that the meeting of father and son
might be private.  And being met at this point by some of his chief
supporters in the town, he went forward with them, leaving word that he
wished Lieutenant O’Hagan to follow him to the gobernador’s house.

"You had better cut off and get a wash, my boy," said Mr. O’Hagan.
"You’re as black as a sweep."

"I don’t wonder.  I haven’t had time to wash; but I’ll ride back to the
barracks and soon follow you.  Old Moll looks considerably bucked."

"He is.  A word of advice: don’t call him Old Moll in the hearing of the
men, and don’t laugh when he addresses you."

"I don’t mind so long as he doesn’t kiss me," said Tim, and rode away.

Half an hour afterwards he rode into the plaza, blushing at the _vivas_
that burst from the throats of the rag-tag and bobtail who were
assembled at the sides, kept back by the armed Japanese.  He found
Mollendo in the official chamber, with Mr. O’Hagan, Dr. Pereira, the
lawyer, and other notables of the town.  Mollendo rose from his chair,
advanced to meet Tim, and before the boy could draw back kissed him on
both cheeks.

"I cannot sufficiently express my delight and gratitude, Señor
Lieutenant O’Hagan," he said.  "I heard some particulars of your noble
conduct from Nicolas Romaña; the señor doctor has related your
magnificent defence of the barracks; you have displayed the transcendent
military aptitude of your race, and proved yourself a compeer of the
illustrious Wellington, who so heroically defended the liberties of the
land of my forefathers against the tyranny of the Corsican.  I feel that
I can best signalise this great occasion by promoting you to a colonelcy
in the army of liberation.  Viva Colonel O’Hagan!"

Tim had often laughed at the perfervid orations he had heard delivered
by Peruvians, but he felt more abashed than amused now.

"Old gasser!" he thought.  "Why can’t he talk sense!"  But his reply was
very polite.  "Thank you, excellency," he said; "you are very good, but
if you don’t mind I will remain as I am for the present.  It was all a
sort of accident; there wasn’t really much of a fight, and--and----"

Mr. O’Hagan interposed as Tim found words fail him.

"Take my thanks also, excellency, for the honour you propose to confer
on my son; but he is very young, and I think he should earn his
promotion gradually."

"I defer to you, my dear general.  I am charmed by your son’s modesty--a
virtue that is ever the attribute of great men.  But I intend to
establish an order of merit for distinguished service under the new
republic"--here every one started--"it shall be styled the Order of the
Nasturtium; and your son shall be the first recipient of the insignia."

This announcement fell rather flat after the startling declaration of
Mollendo’s intentions, made so casually.  Mollendo had in fact
determined to form a republic, independent of Peru, which had always
failed to exercise efficient sovereignty in this remote province east of
the Andes.  The audacity of his scheme appealed to the imagination of
the Peruvians present.  After the first moments of surprise they hailed
Mollendo as Don Carlos, the first President, and the lawyer asked
eagerly that his excellency would allow him to draw up a proclamation.
That historic document, when it appeared, bore many traces of Mollendo’s
own inspiration.  He was nothing if not eloquent, and the sounding
phrases which he dictated were calculated to impress a people peculiarly
susceptible to fine language.  The proclamation was taken to the only
printing-press which San Rosario could boast, and within a few hours of
Mollendo’s arrival the pink leaflets were distributed broadcast.

There resulted a further rush of recruits. The people were captivated by
the idea of an independent republic.  Before evening the President’s
army had swollen to nearly five hundred men.  This gave Mr. O’Hagan more
pleasure than flamboyant proclamations and the founding of orders, which
he regarded as premature and theatrical.  He took up his quarters with
Tim in the barracks, and pleased the boy intensely by discussing the
military position with him.  The important matter was to hold the
Prefect in check, and at the same time prevent a junction of his forces
from San Juan with the men in the Inca camp.  These latter were probably
now on the move, though they, like the Prefect, might be holding back
through alarm at the exaggerated reports brought to them by any
fugitives who had retreated in that direction.  To save their face,
runaways always overstate the numbers of the force that has discomfited
them.

The fortunes of the Mollendists were decidedly in the ascendant.  Their
numbers, it was true, were still much inferior to those at the Prefect’s
disposal; but a few hours had already worked wonders, and time was in
their favour--if the time were not too long drawn out.  Recruits would
no doubt continue to flock in: Mollendo’s would be regarded as the
winning side; but it was necessary to keep the machine in motion. If
once the impetus due to the recent successes was lost, there would be a
tendency to run back in the opposite direction.

Mr. O’Hagan decided to hold the crossroads, three miles west of his own
house, with a force sufficient to prevent the advance of the enemy from
the Inca camp, and to employ the greater part of his troops in defending
the defile on the San Juan road.

"You will take command at the crossroads, Tim," he said.  "Keep watch on
those fellows from the north; if they try to force a passage, either
this way or to San Juan, prevent them.  But sit tight; don’t go
adventuring, and don’t force an action if the enemy are quiet.  I may
need you at any moment to reinforce me against the Prefect.  We have the
advantage at present. The Prefect’s two forces are separated by fifty
miles of hills; we hold the only practicable routes; to effect a
junction they’ll have to make a detour of a hundred miles or more. You
and I will be within touch, and can work together.  My plan is to beat
the enemy in detail--just as you have done, my boy."

"Inherited instinct, Father," said Tim with a sly look.

Mr. O’Hagan laughed.

"I don’t know what your mother would say," he remarked.  "Mollendo is
sure to send his wife word of his new dignity. You’d better write a note
for your mother to go with mine and the President’s.  Don’t say too
much: all that she really wants to know is that you are safe.  The rest
won’t interest her."

"I’m not so sure of that," Tim thought.




                              CHAPTER XIX

                          PARDO SCORES A TRICK


Before putting his plans in action, Mr. O’Hagan went to the gobernador’s
house (now styled the Palace of Liberty) to lay them before Señor
Mollendo.  He supposed that the President, preoccupied with the
administrative business of the infant republic, would cease to concern
himself with the details of the campaign.  A surprise awaited him.
Mollendo approved his plans, but said that he would himself accompany
the main force.  His presence and his eloquence were, he thought,
indispensable to success.

"Moreover, general," he said blandly, "since your son, with commendable
modesty, has declined the colonel’s commission which I offered him, it
will be necessary for form’s sake to appoint an officer of that rank to
command the second army.  I recommend for that honourable post Señor
Zegarra, a gentleman of proved loyalty, upon whom I have just conferred
a colonel’s commission."

Mr. O’Hagan was annoyed.  Señor Zegarra, the second of the trio who had
formed the deputation to Tim, was a retired architect, with no military
experience.  Still, he was an amiable man, and Mr. O’Hagan hoped by a
little judicious and tactful handling to prevent any interference with
his plans.

Tim laughed heartily when his father returned and told him of the
President’s action.

"Old Moll means to be boss," he said.

"Old meddler!" grumbled Mr. O’Hagan. "However, it can’t be helped.  I’ll
get Zegarra to make you chief of staff, and if you go gently with him
you can see that he doesn’t upset the apple-cart."

Tim was secretly not ill-pleased at the change.  It would give him, he
hoped, greater freedom of action.  As commander of the force he would
have been tied to it. He could not leave his men.  And since he had
already made up his mind to fetch the petrol cans which he had concealed
in the shrubbery, and make use of the motor-bicycle again, he needed no
consolation for being superseded.

Mr. O’Hagan made a point of seeking out old Pedro Galdos, and thanking
him for arranging his escape from prison.  Knowing that the caballero,
poor as he was, would disdain a pecuniary reward, Mr. O’Hagan had hit
upon a more excellent way.  He asked him to accept the appointment of
commissary-general to the forces, taking care to couch the offer in the
flowery terms that a Peruvian loves.  Galdos accepted with dignity,
straightened his shrunken old frame, and went off to harass all the
provision dealers in the town.

In the afternoon the two forces rode out, Mr. O’Hagan and the President
at the head of about 350 men, Tim and Señor Zegarra with 150, including
his Japanese.  These were on foot; all the rest were mounted. Mr.
O’Hagan marched towards San Juan, Tim to the cross-roads north of the
town. On reaching his post, carrying out his father’s instructions, he
set his men to throw up a light earthwork at the intersection, and
rendered the woods on each side impassable by an abattis.  He sent a
number of horsemen forward for several miles on both the eastern and
western tracks, to watch for the enemy and give timely warning if they
should approach from the Inca camp.

Señor Zegarra was, as Mr. O’Hagan had said, a very amiable gentleman;
and when Tim, after the bivouac had settled down, announced that he
wished to fetch his motor-bicycle, which might be useful in scouting,
the new-made colonel gave a gracious approval.  Tim was rather perplexed
as to the best way to set about it.  To begin with, he had no petrol;
but that difficulty was easily solved.  He picked out four of his most
trusty Japanese, explained to them clearly where they would find the
cans he had hidden, and sent them through his father’s plantations to
bring them in.  They would also report what they could discover about
the state of affairs at the house: he thought it scarcely likely that
Pardo had ventured back again.  It was probably deserted.

But, having the petrol, how could he bring back the motor-cycle?  To
walk to the cave would be a long and wearisome job: to ride seemed to
mean that on returning he must leave the horse behind.  He could not
ride both horse and cycle.  He might, of course, take horsemen with him,
and leave his own steed with them; but the existence of the cave was
known only to Romaña and two others, and he thought it would be as well
to keep the secret which was not his own.  But before the Japanese
returned laden with the petrol cans he had solved the problem.  He would
ride out on horseback, carrying just enough petrol to last for the run,
leave the horse with one of his vedettes some distance from the cave,
and go on alone for the cycle.  The horse could be brought back at
leisure.

When the petrol arrived, he filled two flasks and slung them on his
saddle-bow. The messengers reported that all was quiet at the house.  It
appeared to be locked up and uninhabited.  Tim suspected that Pardo had
been among the men who had fled from the town, and had very likely gone
to San Juan to stir up the Prefect.  The loss of the hacienda would be a
stinging blow to him. Tim wondered what had become of old Biddy and the
other servants, and made up his mind to take the first opportunity of
finding out.

He set off, rode along his chain of vedettes, and halting at the man
nearest the cave on the San Rosario side, dismounted and proceeded on
foot.  In a few minutes he returned on the cycle, much to the surprise
of the vedette.  Colonel Zegarra smiled paternally when he rode into the
camp, and made a laughing allusion to the gobernador’s ludicrous
appearance on that historic occasion a few days before.  To Tim it
seemed to have happened weeks ago.

The little force was not provided with tents.  Men and officers slept on
saddle cloths, spread in glades among the trees. The situation was far
from pleasant.  The low ground was infested with mosquitoes and other
insects, whose pertinacious attentions kept awake many more than those
who were on sentry duty.

During the night Tim resolved to make a circular reconnaissance next
morning, if there was no warning of the enemy’s advance. On his cycle he
could cover the ground much more rapidly than on horseback, and, with
the zeal of a novice, he was eager to examine the paths minutely from a
strategical point of view.  He would go by the western and return by the
eastern path, trusting to the speed of his machine if he came in touch
with the enemy and were pursued.

Colonel Zegarra raised no objection when Tim diplomatically suggested
the importance of obtaining a thorough knowledge of the ground.  The
nominal commander was in fact a figure-head, conscious of his own
ignorance, and quite content to leave everything to his chief of staff,
and to reap the credit of the successes which he hoped that energetic
young man would gain.

Tim rode off immediately after breakfast. On the way he passed the
vedettes strung out at intervals of about three miles, and leaving the
last vedette behind, near the cave, sped on beside the river.  The only
serious risk he had to guard against until he reached the cross-track
leading to the eastern path was the possibility of meeting a party of
the enemy approaching from round a bend.  In such a case he might have
scant time to turn his machine; indeed, in many places he would have to
dismount to do so, owing to the narrowness of the track.  If this
occurred on a rising gradient, he might be overtaken before he could get
away.  But he had all his wits about him, and reflected that after all
the enemy, if they moved, would probably follow the more direct road
past Durand’s house.

He arrived at the spot where his father’s party had halted while Romaña
scouted along the cross-track.  Turning to the right, he rode for some
little distance along this track, then suddenly made up his mind to
return to the river, approach a little nearer to the camp, and leaving
the machine well hidden, climb up to the ridge and try to see what the
enemy were doing.  From the top there was an uninterrupted view for many
miles.  The climb proved an even stiffer business than he expected, and
on gaining the summit, hot, out of breath, and with trembling legs, he
was disgusted to find that the Inca camp was too distant for him to
distinguish anything very clearly without the aid of field-glasses.  He
saw figures moving about in the enclosure, but there was no sign, on the
track or in the camp itself, of any general movement.  It was quite
possible that the events of the past two days were still unknown there.
The fugitives from the town would naturally have turned towards San
Juan, which was nearer than the Inca camp, and much more easily
accessible.  But the lack of communication between the camp and San
Rosario struck Tim, raw hand though he was, as evidence of astonishing
neglect of ordinary military precautions.

Returning to his machine, Tim rode along the cross-track, reversing the
direction of his night escape, which already seemed ancient history.  He
was careful to profit by the screen of trees on his left hand, and so
keep out of sight from the spot where Mollendo’s scouts had been posted;
and he approached the fork warily.  There was no one in sight, either up
or down the eastern track.  He wheeled to the right, and rode on towards
his own camp at the cross-roads.

Only once before had he travelled this part of the track on his
cycle--when he returned home after being ransomed.  He remembered how
difficult he had found it, both when riding down, and when marching up
with his captors.  It was uneven, tortuous, and with many gradients.
Its general tendency was downhill, but here and there it rose so steeply
that, in spite of the power of his engine, he had to alight and push the
machine.  At similar descents he had some trouble in holding it in with
his brakes, and where the track twisted and ran downhill at the same
time, for safety’s sake he dismounted again, and found that wheeling
down was even more difficult than pushing up.  But the worst was over
when he arrived within about three miles of Durand’s house. From this
point the track ran almost uninterruptedly downhill, and was fairly
smooth, and he sped along gaily at the rate of sixty miles an hour.

A downward run of about a mile brought him to the wooden footbridge
spanning a deep fissure that cut across the track.  For two hundred
yards above the bridge the machine was quite beyond control; even a
slight rise in the last fifty yards failed to check his speed
appreciably.  He dashed on to the rough timbers at a force that made him
tremble for the framework of the cycle, and not until he was fifty yards
up the gentle gradient on the farther side was he able to reduce his
speed to a reasonable rate.

"I must have been going a tremendous lick that time," he thought, after
these breathless moments.  "Wonder I didn’t come a cropper!"

When he reached Durand’s house he decided to call and ask whether Felipe
had obtained his father’s consent to join the President’s forces.  He
came away with what is colloquially termed "a flea in his ear."  Señor
Durand met him at the door, refused to let him see Felipe, and bundled
him off as if he were a tramp.  The gentleman acted very conscientiously
on the old maxim that you go safest in the middle.  He had subscribed to
the funds of both factions impartially, and having no faith in the power
of either to maintain a permanent superiority he bluntly declined to
allow his son to take any part in the struggle.  Tim, as he turned away,
caught sight of his friend looking at him disconsolately from a window,
and with a grimace which meant "Rotten bad luck, old man!" he resumed
his ride.

It was early afternoon when he arrived in camp.  He made a formal report
to his amiable chief, whose wife and daughters had come out to admire
him in his new role. Several other townspeople were chatting with their
friends.  Tim was very hungry after his long outing, and extricating
himself from the flattering attentions of the ladies, he went away to
get something to eat. Everything had been quiet during his absence.
Galdos had brought a fresh supply of provisions.  No news had been
received from Mr. O’Hagan.

After a good meal Tim, finding that there was nothing to do except talk
to the ladies, whom he thought quite out of place in a military camp,
decided to ride over to his house, see for himself what his messengers
had reported on the previous evening, and get a much-needed change of
clothes.  It was only three miles away.  Leaving the cycle to be cleaned
by one of the Japanese, he mounted a horse and set off.  He found the
house apparently deserted.  The garden was trampled; the place had
already taken on the signs of neglect; doors and windows were closed,
and the shattered glass of the patio entrance had been replaced by
boards.

Tim wondered what had become of the household.  The mestizo servants had
possibly taken, shelter with friends in the town; perhaps old Biddy
Flanagan had sought a refuge with Señora Pereira.  He tied his horse to
a post and tried the front door. It was locked.  Going round to the
back, he found that the window of his bedroom had not been fastened.  He
opened it and climbed in.  As he passed through the room into the patio
he fancied he heard a slight sound somewhere in the house: but after
listening for a moment decided that he was mistaken.  All the same he
moved on tiptoe, feeling an unaccountable nervousness.

He went from the patio into the corridor, glancing through the open
doors into the rooms as he passed.  They appeared to be just as they
were left, except that the table in the dining-room was cleared.  He
came to the office.  The door was shut, but not locked.  He opened it
and went in.  The first thing that caught his eye was the safe, open and
empty.  Then he noticed a hole in the floor.  The matting had been taken
up, and two or three of the boards removed. At the edge of the hole lay
a quantity of plate, some silver ornaments from the dining-room, the
ormolu clock from the drawing-room, several porcelain vases, and other
articles of more or less value.

All this he took in at a glance.  Before he had time even to guess at
the explanation of the strange scene there was a rush from behind the
door, and he found himself grasped from the rear by two men.  He tried
to wrench himself away, dragging his captors about the room.  It was
useless to cry for help; he wished he had brought somebody with him.  He
managed to get one of his arms free, and twisting himself round, hit out
at the man now in front of him, whom he did not recognise.  There was
some satisfaction in knowing that the fellow would have a black eye.
But at this moment the other man flung a cloak over his head.  With his
one free hand he tried to tear it away, but it was drawn tighter and
tighter across his mouth.  His arm was caught again; he gasped for
breath; his struggles became feebler; and by and by he lost
consciousness.

When he came to himself, with a racking pain in his head, he found
himself on the floor, gagged and securely bound.  Pardo, now alone, was
bundling the valuables together.  Tim watched him as he corded them in a
strip of canvas.  In a moment Pardo glanced at him, and seeing his eyes
open, smiled, and began to talk, while still going on with his
occupation.

[Illustration: THE HOLE IN THE FLOOR]

"Buenos dias, señor capitan," he said with a sarcastic intonation.
"This is a little surprise, is it not?  Not very pleasant; no. But
strange as it may seem to you at this moment, I bear you no ill will
personally. Your brigand father, to be sure, has treated me abominably.
He has insulted the honour of a Peruvian gentleman, and that is an
offence which, as you know, is frequently, and justly, avenged with
blood.  But you!--you are just a foolish boy; your impulses run away
with you, and one is naturally lenient to the indiscretions of youth."

He paused while straining at the cord, then resumed:

"But one has to consider the public interest; and in fulfilment of my
public duty I have felt it necessary to put a check upon your personal
freedom.  Having already had experience of similar restraint, you will
no doubt be able to take your present condition with philosophic
equanimity.  If I am not mistaken, you owed your release on the former
occasion to the payment of a ransom. Well, events sometimes repeat
themselves. That lies in the discretion of his excellency the Prefect,
whom I am about to join; he shall decide what to do with his prisoner."

Here he tied the last knot and stood erect, looking down at Tim with a
sardonic grin that made his blood boil.

"But it would be inconvenient to take you with me," Pardo went on.  "We
might meet some of your bandit friends, who would probably jump to rash
conclusions.  Having a careful regard for your safety, I must leave you
here, but I trust your solitude will not be protracted.  In the public
interest I ought perhaps to shoot you; but perhaps your market price now
exceeds £250; you may be more valuable alive than dead. That thought
will console you during your enforced seclusion.  There is one little
difficulty which it would be wrong not to mention.  If any misadventure
should befall me on my way to the Prefect, the secret of your
hiding-place will be lost.  That would be very regrettable, but I must
ask you to consider that the responsibility will lie with your friends
the brigands."

At this moment the second man entered.

"Is all ready?" asked Pardo.

"Yes; I have secured the horse."

"Very well.  Oblige me by pulling up another board."

The man wrenched up the plank.  Then the two lifted Tim, and bundled him
into the cavity like a sack.

"_A reveder_, señor capitan," Pardo called through the hole.

The boards were replaced.  Tim was in darkness.  For some minutes he
heard the men moving about above him, and the faint sound of laughter.
Then their feet dragged heavily on the floor: no doubt they were
removing the bundle.  The footsteps died away; and Tim was left in
solitude and silence.

The cavity into which Tim had been thrown had been excavated for the
sake of keeping the rooms above dry, and extended beneath the house from
end to end.  It was not a pleasant place.  The ground was damp; the
atmosphere was stuffy; air could enter only by one narrow grating. Its
humidity and the sub-tropical heat favoured the multiplication of
innumerable insects, and Tim had not been there many minutes before the
voracious creatures discovered him and began to make the most of their
opportunity and their victim’s helplessness.  They crawled over his
hands, up his sleeves, upon his face, into his hair.  He did his best by
shaking his head and twitching his features to rid himself of the
tormenting pests; but they pricked and stung with great determination
and vigour, and he was soon in pain and distress.

If only he could have removed the gag he would not have felt so utterly
helpless. Not that shouting would have been of any use in an empty
house, but the power to groan would have seemed a luxury.  And when by
and by he fancied that he heard shuffling footsteps about the house, he
struggled in his bonds until he felt bruised and lacerated.  All was in
vain.  His head began to ache; ideas the most incongruous jostled in his
feverish brain.  He tried to collect himself and keep his mind fixed;
but he could not control his thoughts.  Recollections of the Black Hole
of history came to harass him, and in alarm and terror lest he should
wholly lose his wits he strained his muscles to the uttermost.  The
effort exhausted him, and presently he fell into a dull stupor, in which
he was conscious of nothing.




                               CHAPTER XX

                          PARDO LOSES A TRICK


At a late hour that night a rather weary horseman rode into the
Prefect’s camp, a few miles beyond the defile which Mr. O’Hagan was
holding with his 400 men.  News of the Mollendist extravagances in San
Rosario having reached San Juan, the Prefect with a sudden burst of
energy moved out with a motley force of 1500, and established himself on
the hills in readiness to force the passage next day.  The horseman
sought out the Prefect’s quarters, in a sheltered glade some distance
from the track, and was checked every few yards by sentries demanding
the countersign.  The Prefect was always very careful that all proper
precautions were taken for the safeguard of his person.

Pardo was rather annoyed by these frequent interruptions.  He was very
tired. The roundabout route which he had been forced to take by the
presence of the enemy across the road had kept him for many hours in the
saddle.  He had hidden the loot from his late master’s house; but, like
all traitors, he did not trust the man who had assisted him, and almost
wished that he had not left the spoils and his friend behind.  But,
knowing the kind of men who formed the bulk of the Prefect’s army, he
had prudently decided not to bring valuables within their reach and
expose them to temptation.

He came to the last of the chain of sentries, and requested an interview
with the Prefect.

"His excellency is asleep, señor," said the man dubiously.  "It is very
late."

"Tell his excellency that Señor Miguel Pardo desires to see him,"
returned Pardo with impatience.

The man durst not leave his post, but summoned a comrade, who conveyed
the message.

"His excellency cursed and declined to see you until the morning,
señor," said the man on his return.

Now, so far as Pardo knew, there was no need for haste.  He had taken
great care to gag and bind Tim very thoroughly.  He had left the house
locked up and the windows fastened, and even if anybody should break in,
it was unlikely that the hiding-place beneath the floor of the office
would be suspected and the prisoner discovered.  But Pardo was eager to
conclude a scheme which he had ingeniously concocted.  He had also a
rather exaggerated notion of his importance.  So he sent the messenger
back again, to say that he had something of great moment to communicate,
and begged the Prefect to see him at once.

After a little delay he was admitted to his excellency, whom he found
reclining on a camp bed in the open air; tents were not required in this
rainless region.

"What is this important matter that justifies the disturbance of my
rest?" asked the Prefect, rather haughtily.

"I regret the necessity, excellency," said Pardo, "but I think when you
have heard me you will consider me justified."

"Well, say on."

"Your excellency would no doubt be glad to be rid of the man O’Hagan and
his boy?"

"Caramba!  I agree with you.  Without them the brigands would be easily
dealt with, and this ridiculous republic would tumble like a house of
cards.  You have some plan?"

"I have, excellency; but I beg you not to demand particulars.  I have
means of getting rid of them both.  It has cost me a great deal of
labour and not a little danger."

"Name your price," said the Prefect impatiently.  "And I warn you to be
moderate, for this expedition is draining me."

"It will not cost you a peseta, excellency. All that I ask is that you
will bestow on me, free of taxes, the full ownership of O’Hagan’s
hacienda."

"Por Dios!  That is your idea of moderation!  The hacienda produces
several thousand pounds a year.  Not cost me a peseta, indeed!  You are
presumptuous, señor."

"What I shall do is worth the price, excellency.  O’Hagan has great
military capacity.  The Mollendist cause is gaining ground.  A single
reverse will break up your army, and even if you win you will have
endless trouble while the Inglés is at large."

The Prefect reflected.  He had reckoned on making a large income out of
Mr. O’Hagan’s estate.  He might still do so, even if he acceded to
Pardo’s terms.  What he gave he could also take away.  When the
insurrection had been scotched, he could squeeze Pardo until he became
troublesome, and then confiscate the property a second time.  After a
show of hesitation he agreed to the proposal, and did not demur when
Pardo asked him to sign his name to a paper with which the man with
admirable forethought had come provided.

Pardo took his leave.  He might now have thought himself justified in
seeking repose, but impatient greed still urged him on.  He mounted his
horse, rode through the lines, and did not halt until he had reached the
Mollendist outposts, whom he approached under a flag of truce.  It was
perhaps fortunate that they were not Mr. O’Hagan’s Japanese workmen.  It
was fortunate, too, that he did not encounter Romaña.  He was taken to
Mr. O’Hagan, who lacked the luxury of a camp bed: his couch was a bundle
of straw.

"It’s you, is it?" said Mr. O’Hagan dryly, as he recognised his visitor.
"Going to turn traitor again?"

Pardo bit his lips; there was a dangerous gleam in his eyes.  But he
curbed his anger: he was a man of policy.

"I have the honour to inform you, señor," he said coldly, "that your son
is a prisoner."

Mr. O’Hagan went pale.  This was an unexpected blow.  But he said
nothing.

"The Prefect is, as you are aware, not so complaisant as the brigand
Mollendo," Pardo continued.  "He will not release the boy for a paltry
£250.  He will not accept any sum as ransom for so mischievous a rebel."

He paused, as a cat releases a mouse for a moment, for the pleasure, it
would seem, of prolonging its victim’s agony.

"What have you come here for?" cried Mr. O’Hagan impetuously.  "Merely
to harass me, you----"

He checked himself.  It was no good abusing the man.

"I come to make a proposal," said Pardo. "Your son is at present my
prisoner; it rests with you whether I hand him over to the Prefect, and
then!..."  He expressed his meaning by a gesture.  "Or whether he is
released, and allowed to rejoin you.  My terms are quite simple, but
absolutely unconditional.  They are not open to discussion.  You will
make a formal assignment of your estate to me; you will then leave the
country.  Your son’s life depends on your prompt acceptance."

Mr. O’Hagan sprang up.

"What is to prevent me from shooting you, you villain?" he cried,
overmastered by his rage.

Pardo shrank from him.  He felt a chill run down his spine like a
trickle of cold water. But he recovered himself in a moment.

"The honour of an Englishman will prevent you," he said with an air of
assurance. "Besides, if I die, your son dies.  Nobody but myself and one
other knows where he is.  He will starve!"

Mr. O’Hagan shivered.  Pardo quailed before his blazing eyes.  For a
moment there was silence; then Mr. O’Hagan, putting a restraint upon
himself, said:

"If I assign my estate to you----"

"Discussion is mere waste of time," Pardo interposed.  "The conditions
are peremptory. You must not only assign your estate to me but leave the
country.  That is final."

"Go away," said Mr. O’Hagan.

"I cannot go without an answer."

"I will send for you--presently, when I have made up my mind--in a few
minutes."

Pardo withdrew, lit a cigarette, and strolled up and down.  He felt very
confident, and flattered himself on his astuteness.  He was by no means
so sure of the success of the Prefect’s arms as he had professed in his
interview with that gentleman, even if Mr. O’Hagan were out of the way.
The Mollendists were growing in number; Mollendo had made a clever move
in declaring for a republic, and the loyalty of the Prefect’s troops
hung by a very slender thread. Pardo had schemed to secure possession of
the estate in any event.  But it was necessary to get rid of Mr.
O’Hagan.  Mollendo, if he gained the upper hand, might in O’Hagan’s
absence respect the assignment.  He was a stickler for law.  But the
Prefect would certainly not do so unless his enemy were removed.  Pardo
considered that he had played his cards well.

Mr. O’Hagan was in a cruel predicament. He could not doubt Pardo’s
story.  He would willingly have given up his estate to save Tim’s life,
but could he also desert the cause which he had taken up?  His honour
was engaged.  He paced up and down the bare space in front of his couch:
the sight of the red end of Pardo’s cigarette a few yards away filled
him with bitter anger.  He knew that he must yield.  With Tim’s life and
his own honour in the balance, there was no doubt which would outweigh
the other. He was too proud to consult Señor Mollendo. The dilemma must
be solved by himself alone.  He could only make up his mind, go to the
President, and confess that every other consideration--wealth, success,
honour--must give way before the danger of his only son.

Out of the darkness Romaña came up to him.

"A despatch from Colonel Zegarra, señor," he said.  "The courier waits
for a reply."

Pardo saw Romaña, flung his cigarette away, and effaced himself among
the trees. Mr. O’Hagan took the envelope, and tearing it open
mechanically, read the few lines it contained.  And then Romaña was
amazed to find his hand grasped and shaken vigorously.

"He’s safe, Nicolas!" said Mr. O’Hagan, working his arm up and down like
a pump-handle.  "My boy’s safe!"

"Señor!"

"Go and kick that villain out," cried Mr. O’Hagan, recollecting himself.

"Señor, I don’t understand!"

"Pardo!  He’s over there.  Bring him to me."

Romaña followed the indication of his outstretched hand, and came back
with Pardo, who, watching the scene, had been invaded by a vague
uneasiness.

"Go and hang yourself; that’s my answer," said Mr. O’Hagan, turning his
back on the startled man.  "See him safe out," he called over his
shoulder to Romaña.  "If the Japs get hold of him they’ll throttle him."

And Pardo, feeling with a sinking heart that something had gone amiss,
was escorted by Romaña to the outskirts of the camp.

Mr. O’Hagan read again the brief despatch. It was in Colonel Zegarra’s
writing.


SEÑOR,

I have the honour to report that the enemy has made no movement.  A
reconnaissance has been admirably carried out by Lieutenant O’Hagan
alone, and I hope to report to you to-morrow the measures which I
propose to take for our greater security.

I have the honour to be, señor,
       Yours in the service of the Republic,
                P. ZEGARRA,
                   Colonel.


And there was a postscript in Tim’s hand:


Pardo has been playing tricks.  Will write to-morrow, as I’m very tired.
All well.

TIM,   Lieutenant and chief of staff.


At the second reading Mr. O’Hagan could smile at the odd subscription.
He saw Tim’s eyes twinkling as he wrote.


Unknown equally to Tim and to Pardo, the house was not deserted, as they
supposed. Biddy Flanagan, the old Irish maid-servant, had stuck to it
when all the other domestics fled, just as Puss will linger forlorn in
an empty house.  She shut herself in her room, and only ventured out to
forage.  She had thus sallied forth to make a cup of tea when she saw
Pardo and his companion coming from the direction of the town.  She at
once slipped out at the back, locking the kitchen door and taking the
key with her, and hid herself in the shrubbery.  Thus she did not see
Tim’s arrival, though she heard the hoof-beats, and supposed that Pardo
had been joined by another friend.  When, after some time, she heard the
thud of hoofs again, and guessed that the intruders had gone away, she
let herself into the house, put the kettle on, and while she waited for
the water to boil, went through the house to see what the spalpeens had
been after.

"They’ve took the gold clock," she muttered, standing with arms folded
at the drawing-room door; "and I wouldn’t wonder if it did be after
striking in the bundle, and maybe get them rogues into trouble.  And the
mistress’s best chainey: faith, ’tis a mercy she took all her jools
along with her, or there’d be none of um left at all."  She went on to
the dining-room.  "The like of it!  Sorra a silver spoon to be seen, nor
the silver jug; I never heard tell of the way them villains have the
place stripped, and that Pardo the master’s man and all."

She made a mental inventory of the missing articles and proceeded to the
office.

"What did they be after doing here?" she grunted, as she noticed, with
the quick eye of one accustomed to superintend the cleaning operations,
signs of disturbance about the matting.  She stooped to straighten it,
and discovered the loosened boards.  "I wouldn’t wonder but they did be
hiding the things," she said, raising the planks one after another; "and
mighty foolish will they look when they come back, if so be I can get
myself down through the hole and back again.  There! the kettle’s on the
boil; I’ll just be wetting the tea, and fetch a candle for this same."

The daylight streaming in through the gap had roused Tim from his
stupor, and seeing Biddy above he tried to shout, but could not utter a
sound through the gag.  Biddy soon returned with a candle and a kitchen
chair.  The latter she lowered into the hole, stepped on to it, carrying
the candle, and so reached the ground.  She stooped, to search for the
stolen articles, and started back in a hurry.

"Holy St. Patrick!" she exclaimed; "but ’tis a man, sure.  Is it murder
they were after?"

Recovering herself, she held the candle lower.

"Mercy!  ’Tis master Tim!" she cried, "and beasties crawling all over on
the poor face of um.  The like of it!  Divil such a state ever I seen as
the poor boy do be in."

She bent over him, whipped out a pair of scissors and snapped the cords,
and whisked the insects from his spotted and swollen face with her
apron.

"The poor lamb!" she said, lifting him. "Sure the life’s fair bitten out
of um."

Tim could neither speak nor use his numbed limbs.  The old woman took
him in her arms, climbed up through the hole, and carried him to the
kitchen, where she made him swallow a cup of tea, and bathed his face
with warm water, speaking her mind freely on the iniquities of Pardo.

He told her what had happened, and what Pardo had said.

"And is it pay that the master will be giving for a prisoner that is
free!" cried the old woman.  "Sure now, cannot ye telegraph to um?"

"I wish I could; we ought to have repaired the wire.  But the Colonel
will be sending a despatch to Father, and his courier will get there
before Pardo."

"He might," said Biddy.  "Faith, I hope the master will shoot the
wretch; he has all the silver stolen, and I don’t know what all.  And
what did ye be after, coming into this den of lions?"

"Just a change of clothes, Biddy.  I suppose they haven’t taken them."

"Not them.  They’re not clean inside or out.  I will get ye the bits of
things, my dear, and do ye rub this butter on your face.  ’Tis the good
thing for them bites."

In an hour or so Tim felt able to return to the camp.

"You had better go into the town, Biddy," he said as he set off.

"What for would I be doing that?" she rejoined.  "I do not be in dread
of the likes of them villains, and if so be they come back, I wouldn’t
say but I tell um what I think of um."




                              CHAPTER XXI

                              RUN TO EARTH


Young Tim was at an age when boys are a trifle sensitive about their
personal appearance.  He was glad that on returning to camp his ravaged
complexion was obscured in the dark.  Nobody seemed at all concerned
about his protracted absence. Colonel Zegarra was playing at cards with
a friend from the town; the other officers and the men were amusing
themselves after their fancy.  Tim made a round of the camp, and was
almost surprised to find that sentries were properly posted.  The
vedettes along the roads had been changed at the intervals arranged;
military routine had been observed. The only departure from custom,
perhaps, was Colonel Zegarra’s allowing Tim to append a postscript to
his nightly despatch.  Tim had intended to say nothing of his recent
adventure; but reflecting that Pardo might visit his father for the
purpose of extorting a ransom, he thought it just as well to certify his
safety.

During the night, when his turn for guard duty came, he pondered the
general situation. With a zeal natural in a young officer, he wanted to
"do something": inactivity was boring; he wished the sluggish enemy
would wake up.  He wondered by which route they would march when the
movement did at last begin: by the eastern track or by the western?  In
thinking over the probabilities, it suddenly struck him that by
destroying the wooden bridge a few miles beyond Durand’s house he could
render the eastern road--the more likely one--impassable.  The ravine
was about thirty feet wide.  The one other spot at which it could be
crossed was several miles to the east, approachable only over very rough
country.  By preventing the passage of the enemy by the bridge he would
compel them to return to the cross-track and come by the western route,
at a loss of many hours.

To destroy the bridge would be a very simple matter.  It wanted only a
good charge of powder.  But Tim reflected that it would be a pity to
blow it up prematurely, in case the enemy elected to come by the other
route after all.  The bridge might be useful to his own side.  So he
decided to ask Colonel Zegarra’s permission to mine it, to clear of all
cover a space on each side of the ravine, and to leave a small
detachment of his own Japanese at some distance on the south side with
orders to fire the mine at the critical moment.  One of the mounted
vedettes might be posted at the top of the long incline beyond, to ride
at full speed to the bridge as soon as he should discover signs of an
approach in force.  Such a headlong gallop would be dangerous in the
dark, so Tim thought of replacing him at night by an infantry outpost of
four men.  He would station them say a hundred yards north of the
bridge, and theirs would be the duty to fall back and blow it up if
danger threatened.

He was explaining the scheme next morning to his complacent colonel when
news arrived through his chain of vedettes that small parties of the
enemy had been seen moving down from the Inca camp towards the upper
junction of the paths.  There was no indication of a general forward
movement.  They were merely feeling their way, having apparently
discovered, perhaps by the want of news from the town, that something
unusual was afoot.  The wooden bridge being only a little more than five
miles from Colonel Zegarra’s position, there would probably be time to
make all preparations for the explosion before the real advance of the
enemy began.  The colonel agreed to the suggestion.  Tim was surprised
at his extraordinary complaisance, his perfect contentment with the
state of figure-head. Afterwards, with more knowledge, he felt
considerable respect for President Mollendo’s tact.  Zegarra had been
appointed to the command merely for the sake of appearances--to avoid
any discontent among the Peruvians at being led by a foreigner.  His
compliance with every proposal of Tim’s had been prearranged.

Tim chose the men for the work, took them out, and explained to them on
the spot what he wished them to do.  Then he left them.  He had resolved
to ride up the western road again, and see for himself what the enemy
were about.  Being convinced that their advance would be made along the
eastern road, he intended to scout as far as the cross-track, and
perhaps to ride some distance along it, till he came to a spot where any
movement from the Inca camp would be visible to him.

His cycle had been well cleaned by one of the Japanese.  He overhauled
it finally himself, tested the sparking and the brakes, assured himself
that the engine worked with the least possible noise, and that there was
plenty of petrol.  Having filled the chambers of his revolver, and put
on a well-stocked bandolier, he took leave of the colonel and set off.

He felt safe for at least a dozen miles. There were four mounted
vedettes along the track, the last of them being posted about a mile
beyond Romaña’s cave.  If the enemy was moving on this route also, the
fact would already have been reported.

The day was still young, and Tim, none the worse for his trouble of the
previous afternoon, rode on in high spirits.  Though continually rising,
the track was not really steep for the first fifteen or twenty miles. He
kept up a good speed, stopping every three miles to exchange a word with
the vedettes, and had just reached the spot where he expected to find
the last of them, when he was startled at seeing a man lying in a
curiously huddled fashion at the side of the track a few yards ahead.
He was slowing down, intending to stop and look more closely at the
prone form; but suddenly there was a shot, and a bullet whistled past
his head.

Instantly he clapped on the brakes, brought the cycle to a standstill,
sprang off--for the track was too narrow to turn while riding--and
wheeling it round, ran a few yards, remounted, and set off at full speed
down the incline, bending over the handle-bar.  There was a volley
behind him: the bullets pattered on the cliff at his right hand; and as
he wondered whether his pace would carry him out of danger, he heard the
clatter of hoofs and the shouts of men at his back.

He had no doubt of being able to distance the pursuers.  The cycle could
leave the swiftest horse standing.  They had ceased to fire, which he
thought foolish.  But his assurance was rudely dashed in a few seconds.
A few hundred yards below the stream that crossed the track near
Romaña’s cavern, three men stood with levelled rifles, covering him.
They were plainly waiting for him to come close enough to make certain
of their aim.

It was a desperate situation.  On the one side a high cliff; on the
other a steep precipice; behind, an unknown number of galloping
horsemen; before, the waiting marksmen.  If he dashed on, the three men
could scarcely fail to hit him; if he stopped, he would be quickly
overtaken by the men behind.

In that critical dilemma, when a moment’s hesitation would have been
fatal, he remembered the cave, some little distance on his right towards
the waterfall.  He brought his machine up with a jerk, sprang off,
pushed it into a bush--there was no time to attempt to hide it, still
less to haul it with him--and dived among the scrub and saplings that
fringed the banks of the little stream.  Bending double he raced up the
watercourse towards the beacon tree, tore aside the leafy screen at the
entrance to the cave, and plunged breathless into the darkness. He was
like a fox that has run to earth.

The cave must be discovered in a few minutes.  He had no protection but
the darkness and his weapons.  Could he block up the entrance?  Hurrying
to the wall, he dragged the box-beds over the floor, and placed them
across the gap, just within the threshold.  The legs of the table were
so deeply imbedded in the ground that he could not move that; but he set
the stools on the boxes, thus forming a rough and very insecure
barricade.  It was the best that he could devise; and, posting himself
in the dark a little to the left of the entrance, he hoped to be able to
hold the enemy at bay for some time with his revolver.

But it was a ticklish situation.  As yet he did not know with how many
men he had to deal; there were probably enough to block up the track
completely in either direction.  The vedettes whom he had passed did not
expect him to return by the same route; he would not be missed for a
considerable time, unless they should have happened to hear the shots.
This was unlikely.  The wind was blowing from them to him; the windings
of the track and the height of the hills did not favour the travel of
sound.  It seemed that the utmost he could hope was to be able to keep
the enemy off until nightfall, and then try to steal past them in the
darkness.  They were probably, he thought, merely a scouting party, not
an advanced guard of the main body.  Evidently they had fallen upon his
vedette unawares, killed him, and then divided.  Seeing the motor
bicycle approach, the three men scouting down the track had hidden until
he had passed, knowing that he would be trapped between them and their
comrades higher up.

When he had made his flimsy barricade, Tim stole to the entrance, pulled
the foliage aside, and looked out.  On the track he saw eleven men
gathered, holding their horses. They were talking excitedly; one man
pointed to the motor-bicycle, another in the direction of the cave.
They must have realised that they had their quarry safe, if they could
get at him.  There was no way up the hill-side.  He must be concealed
somewhere in the patch of scrub between them and the hill.  To escape he
would have to come down to the track within a space of about a hundred
yards above and below the stream.  By thoroughly beating the scrub they
supposed they could drive him out.

The discussion soon came to an end. They tied up their horses; then,
leaving one man to guard the motor-cycle, so that if Tim ran from cover
he could not escape them, they scattered, and began to advance. They
might have been hunters stalking a tiger through jungle.  They moved
warily, and only now and then were visible to the anxious watcher at the
cave.  With a rifle he could have picked them off; the revolver was
useless until they came to close quarters. He had a fleeting hope that
they might pass the entrance to the cave without discovering it, and as
they drew nearer he slipped back out of sight.  His nerves tingled;
minute after minute went by, and he had almost concluded that the men
must have overshot the hiding-place when the curtain of foliage was bent
aside, letting in a gleam of light. The entrance was discovered!

The screen was dropped again.  No doubt the men were discussing what
they should do.  The opening was narrow.  To attempt to carry such a
place by assault might give the boldest pause.  Some one must go first,
and that man, if the defender was resolved to fight, was certain to be
shot.  The men were not particularly courageous; but there was a price
on the Inglés boy, and even timorous folk will pluck up their courage
when there is a reward in view.

[Illustration: A CHECK AT THE CAVE]

When some minutes had elapsed, Tim ventured to draw near to the entrance
and peep out through the leaves.  The men were grouped some little
distance away at the brink of the stream; he heard the murmur of their
voices.  In a few moments they separated, and spread out to right and
left of the cave, keeping as much as possible under cover.  One climbed
into the tree, and concealed himself amid the foliage. Tim guessed what
was coming, and slipped away to the side of the cave.  He was not a
moment too soon.  The enemy opened fire, and their shots, coming in
different directions, flew criss-cross into the entrance. Fortunately
the walls were soft, and the bullets dug into them instead of
ricochetting or splintering.  One fragment grazed Tim’s wrist, a warning
to retreat still farther.

After two or three volleys the firing ceased.  The enemy supposed, no
doubt, that some of their shots had taken effect, or had at any rate
driven their quarry from the entrance.  Tim rushed back to his former
post, just in time to fire his revolver as the assailants, shouting to
encourage one another, came with a dash through the foliage.  At the
threshold they were checked by the unexpected obstacle of Tim’s barrier.
For a few moments they stood there, trying to throw it down, cursing,
yelling with pain as Tim, invisible in the inner darkness, slowly and
deliberately emptied his revolver.  This was too hot for them.  They
broke away, and Tim, running to the entrance, saw them hurrying down the
slope to find cover.  They were carrying one of their comrades; another
lay across the threshold.

They returned to the track.  There was another consultation among them;
then four of them leapt on their horses and rode away northward.  Three
went on foot down the track, doubtless to guard against surprise in that
direction; one man still remained in charge of the bicycle, the last
held the horses. Clearly they had not abandoned their purpose.  Tim
wondered what their next move was to be.  Surely the horsemen had not
ridden back to the Inca camp for help!  It was more than twenty miles
distant.  There and back the journey would take several hours.  They
would hardly spend so much time with the risk of assistance coming up
from the Mollendists.  The vedette who had been killed must be relieved
ere long, and for all they knew there might be a numerous detachment of
their enemy within reach.

Tim was not long left in doubt.  In half an hour he saw the mounted men
returning, and recognised the explanation of their absence.  One of them
carried an oblong object which revealed itself in a few moments as a
sheet of corrugated iron.  Tim wondered where they could have got it,
until he remembered that some distance up the hill there was a deserted
hut, which had probably been at some time occupied by a Cholo shepherd.
He jumped to the use to which the iron was to be put.  It was to serve
as a shield against his bullets.

The riders dismounted at the stream, gave their horses to the man
guarding the cycle, and disappeared into the scrub.  Some time passed.
When they emerged again Tim saw that they had surrounded the iron with a
kind of wicker cage.  It could now be carried in front of the bearer
without his exposing himself in any way to Tim’s fire.  Wicker and iron
together would be impervious to a revolver bullet.

Tim had a few moments to make up his mind how to meet this ingenious
device. He slipped across the cave to the opposite side to that at which
he had formerly been posted.  The enemy would probably expect attack
from the same quarter as before, and would turn their shield in that
direction.  He had just taken up his new position when bullets began to
fly crosswise through the entrance.  After this preparatory move the
enemy made a determined rush.  The first man, bearing the shield, came
in and faced to the right, turning his back upon Tim, who had a
momentary qualm about firing from the rear.  That moment allowed the two
next men time to pull away the stools.  He felt that hesitation would be
fatal, and fired. The first man dropped with a groan, and the shield
fell clattering upon the long box. Before Tim could fire a second shot,
two men had scrambled across on all fours, and the entrance was darkened
by their comrades pressing behind.

One of those who had entered sprang to his feet and discharged his
revolver at random in the direction of Tim, whom he was as yet unable to
see, having come suddenly out of brilliant sunshine into gloom. Tim
slipped back quickly along the wall until he was in complete darkness,
then ran on tiptoe across the cave.  Turning when he reached the wall,
he fired his barrels one after another, slipped more cartridges into the
chambers, and crossed again.  By this manoeuvre he bewildered the enemy,
who were now, however, all in the cave, and protected almost as much as
himself by the darkness.

He did not fire again, lest the flashes revealed his whereabouts.  All
that he could hope to do was to find some defensible position in the
interior and sell his life dearly.  There was not even a chance of
dodging his enemy and slipping out, for one man had been left near the
entrance.  He was determined not to surrender.  Even if the men now
hunting him did not butcher him on the spot to avenge their fallen
comrades, the Prefect would have no mercy on his prisoner.  He must
defend himself to the last.  Perhaps when it came to the final stand he
might have an opportunity of dealing with the four men singly.

He retreated slowly along the wall, listening for the enemy, whom he was
quite unable to see.  All at once he remembered the opening at the
farther end which Romaña had shown him.  A last hope flashed into his
mind.  If he could slip out there, replace the turning stone before his
exit was discovered, and pass through the waterfall into the open, there
was a bare chance of escape. It was true that he might be discovered by
the man with the cycle, or by the others on the watch down the track.
But it was better to be killed in a dash for liberty than cooped up and
slaughtered like a badger in a hole.

Now he hastened his steps, creeping as fast as possible along the
curving wall. His hunters were no doubt feeling their way, on their
guard against an ambuscade. Everything depended upon his gaining the
exit before they came to a spot where the removal of the stone would let
a little daylight upon the scene.  He ran along on tip-toe, bruising his
arms now and then when he encountered projections from the wall, and
almost dashing his head against the stone when he suddenly stumbled upon
it. Pressing the top, as he had seen Romaña do, he turned the stone,
clambered through the gap on to a ledge, and in ten seconds restored the
strange gate to its place.  He reflected that the enemy, if they had
seen the fleeting gleam of light, would take some time to find the stone
and discover its manipulation, or, on the other hand, make their way
back through the cave to the opening by which they had entered.
Whatever they did, he had gained at least a few minutes.

From the ledge on which he now stood he looked eagerly about him.  In
front of him was the waterfall, forming a filmy screen. He could see
through it and around it. There was the man on the track a hundred and
fifty yards away.  Farther down the three men were still posted: they
were now on horseback.  Tim hoped that they could not see him.  He was,
in fact, quite invisible to them, as a person behind a curtain in a room
is invisible to those without; though it is difficult for the one within
to realise this: he feels that, being himself able to see, he must
himself be seen.

The rough ground and scrub in front of the cave was deserted.  The
solitary figure at the end of the watercourse was in charge of the
horses of the men in the cave, and of the three who had fallen to Tim’s
shots.  Near him, at the edge of the track, lay the man who had been
carried away wounded after the first attack.  Tim could not see the
cycle, but he had no doubt that it was there.

What should he do?  The men in the cave must soon discover that he was
gone. If one had the courage to strike a match the discovery must be
made almost at once. There was very little time.  The obvious course was
to steal along the watercourse, and gain possession either of a horse or
of the cycle.  Escape on foot was impossible.  He could not go otherwise
than by the track, and as soon as he appeared there he would be pursued
by the horsemen and overtaken in a few minutes.  He resolved to creep
down to the man who stood alone, try to secure the cycle, or, if not
that, a horse, and ride away.

To reach the watercourse he had to pass through the waterfall, or skirt
it and appear within full view from the track.  He decided on the former
course.  The magnified shower bath was shattering.  Though it was soon
over, he was almost stunned by the pelting water, and emerged breathless
and wet to the skin.  Pausing for a moment to recover breath, he crept
down the watercourse. The channel was shallow; he had very little cover;
but he could not waste time in careful scouting.  At any moment the men
might return to the entrance of the cave and discover him.  But by
taking advantage of every bush and patch of long grass that he
encountered, he at last came within twenty yards of the Peruvian
unperceived.  The man had his eyes fixed on the cave, or he could hardly
have failed to see the bent form stealing along.

Stooping until his eyes were level with the top of the bank, Tim looked
ahead.  There was the cycle, propped against a thick bush. It was headed
down the track, as he had left it.  He considered rapidly what he had
better do.  He could not shoot the man in cold blood.  The alternatives
were equally hazardous.  He might make a dash for the cycle, start it,
and try to get away before its guardian could seize him.  But the man
was only a few yards from it; this plan could hardly succeed.  Or he
might wriggle to within a few feet of the watchman, spring upon him with
a sudden rush, and deal him a knock-out blow.  He could not fail to be
seen at that moment by the wounded man, if he was conscious; the alarm
would be given; but there might be just time for him to get away before
the three men lower down the track, or the four in the cave, could take
aim at him.

The latter course was recommended by the fact that the watchman’s
attention was divided between the cave and the horses he held by the
bridles.  They were restless; the jingle of their harness and the
stamping of their hoofs would mask any slight sound that Tim might make
as he approached.

He slipped his revolver into his belt and crept along; then, gathering
his strength, hurled himself upon the unsuspecting trooper.  At the last
moment of his rush the man half turned, hearing his footsteps, and gave
him the opportunity for getting home a smashing blow on the point of his
chin.  He tumbled like a log.  But the success of the attack was almost
Tim’s undoing.  The horses kicked up their heels and stampeded wildly,
some up, some down the track, one of them knocking Tim head over heels.
But there were no bones broken. Springing to his feet, he rushed to the
cycle, and wheeled it round.  The engine was still firing; Tim ran a few
yards, vaulted into the saddle, and throwing open the throttle to its
full extent, rode up the hill after the galloping horses.  He was
scarcely conscious that the wounded man lying on the grass near by was
shouting at the top of his voice.




                              CHAPTER XXII

                               A PUNCTURE


Tim’s rush had been so swift, so silent, so effectual, that he was
already running beside his cycle and preparing to mount before the three
men down the track, more than a quarter of a mile away, became aware
that something was wrong.  The first intimation was the pounding of the
horses’ hoofs as they took flight.  They looked up to see the cause of
the sudden stampede, but Tim was hidden from them by the galloping
animals, which were dashing downhill at so desperate a pace that the
troopers, if they waited for them, must be almost inevitably swept off
the narrow track over the precipice.  Though they now heard the yells of
the mounted trooper above, they durst not delay, but promptly wheeled
round and set off to head the race, intending to pull up as soon as the
frantic beasts behind them had recovered from their fright.

Meanwhile the shouts of their comrade had brought the other men
hurriedly to the mouth of the cave, which they reached just in time to
see Tim disappear round a curve in the track.  They plunged through the
scrub, and screamed with rage when they caught sight of the crowd of
horses headed by the three troopers far down the hill to their right.
Men of southern blood make little attempt to control their feelings, and
these Peruvians, their vision of £500 vanished, stamped and gesticulated
and wept, venting bitter curses upon the hapless trooper whom Tim had
felled, and who was now sitting up and dizzily feeling his chin.

It was the presence of the three men on the track that had determined
Tim to ride northward.  With them waiting for him, ready to shoot as he
passed, or before, there would have been little chance of successfully
running the gauntlet.  He had not reckoned on the stampeding of the
horses; nor had it occurred to him at the first moment to follow at
their heels and snatch an opportunity of slipping through in the
confusion.  When he did think of it, he felt very much annoyed with
himself for being so stupid.  Not that he could have run past them: his
experience on the track soon proved that the attempt would have been
hopeless.  Paradoxical as it may appear, this only deepened his
annoyance.  Three of the horses had started up instead of down the hill.
The ascent being rather steep, they were more fatigued than frightened
before they had run a mile.  The gallop became a trot, the trot a walk,
and they were making up their simple minds to stop and refresh
themselves with herbage from the side of the track when a creature on
two wheels came up to meddle.  At the appearance of the bicycle they
kicked up their heels and fled, all their terrors revived.

It was now that Tim was angry with himself. If this was the effect
uphill, what would it have been in the other direction?  Flying downhill
after the troop, with a judicious use of his hooter he might have kept
them all madly on the run, and even driven them before him into the arms
of his amiable commander.  It was too late now.  Tim was unreasonably
irritated.  An older person might have consoled himself with the
reflection that it is easy to be wise after the event.

He had intended, when he started from camp, to ride northward along this
very track; but he wished now that he had remained at the cross-roads,
even though that might have involved playing nap with Colonel Zegarra,
or making himself amiable to that gentleman’s lady friends.  There was
danger behind him; there might be still graver danger ahead.  Other
parties of the enemy might be coming down; perhaps the junction of the
tracks was held by them.  It was a good defensible position, covering
any possible attack on the Inca camp by way of the eastern route.  If
there had been any other path home, Tim might have taken it and bolted,
without any reason to feel that he was a coward.  But there was none; he
was compelled to follow this only track--committed to an attempt to make
the round.

There was not much reason to fear pursuit. The men whom he had tricked
at the cave had lost their steeds; the other three would perhaps have to
ride for many a mile in the wrong direction.  Like John Gilpin, they
could not help it.  By the time they had checked the stampeded animals
and brought them up the hill, a good many miles would separate them from
the quarry who had baffled them.  Tim felt quite easy on that score.

He began to take a little amusement in the chase in which he was, for
his own part, involuntarily engaged.  The riderless horses in front of
him were not at all happy.  They would gallop up the steeper inclines,
out-distance the strange thudding creature behind them, and when they no
longer heard its snorts, slow down and begin to take things easy.  But
on the more level portions of the track, and the occasional downward
gradients, the machine made four or five yards to their one.  They had
no sooner settled down into an amble than the pertinacious pursuer came
panting at their heels, and taking fresh alarm, they dashed on
frantically until another rise gave muscle the advantage of mechanism.
So it went on for eight or ten miles, until the horses must have
thought--if horses think--that they were doomed to drop at length from
exhaustion, and fall a prey to the modern centaur.

But Fate, after all, was kind to them. Tim suddenly became aware of that
unpleasant sensation, abominable to every cyclist, which announces a
punctured tyre. There was no loud bang, like the report of a monster
pop-gun, such as sometimes startles pedestrians in the street, and makes
horses tremble or prance.  The air was oozing gradually away; moment by
moment the rear tyre became softer and slacker; and Tim had to stop at
once before irreparable damage was done.

Here was a disaster, the more serious because the track was no longer
flanked by a cliff on one side and a precipice on the other, but ran
along the crest of an exposed ridge, from which he could see a long way
before and behind and on either hand.  He could see--he might also be
seen.  The track afforded no cover, the country at either side very
little.  If he wheeled the cycle to right or left in search of a
sheltered nook in which to make his repairs, he would spend much time in
getting there and back again.  The enemy were doubtless now hot in
pursuit. Missing the tracks of his wheels they would hunt for him, and
here there was no cave, no waterfall, only a scattered bush or two. They
would easily find him, and then!...

Tim sprang off the machine in a hurry. His only chance was to mend it on
the track. He rested it against a rock, shot a glance around, then knelt
to examine the tyre. Now, as every one knows, it is sometimes not easy
to locate a puncture.  Tim hoped that it would not be a case of
immersing the tube in water, for that would involve going down to the
river half a mile away.  Luckily the puncture was a fairly large one,
and easily seen.  The outer cover of the tyre was cut through for about
two inches, and the perforation had extended to the inner tube.

He opened the pouch in which he carried a few small tools and material
for making temporary repairs.  From it he took a phial of rubber
solution, a strip of canvas, and a "gaiter"--a thickness of rubber
vulcanised to two or three layers of strong canvas, shaped to the tyre,
with hooks at the bottom.  The first step was to repair the inner tube.
This he did by smearing the cut with the solution and sticking on a
rubber patch.  Then he fastened the canvas by means of the solution to
the inside of the outer cover, over the rent, to prevent the inner tube
from being chafed by the rough edges made by the cut.  The last
operation was to fix the gaiter to the rim by its hooks. All this took
some time.  In tyre mending, as in other things, the more haste the less
speed.  Tim worked with deliberate care, glancing up and down the track
from time to time.  At last, after about half an hour’s work, he
straightened himself, satisfied that the tyre was good for a few hundred
miles, and much relieved that he had been able to complete the repairs
without interruption.

It only remained to inflate the tyre.  He had just inserted the pump
when a succession of faint irregular clicks fell on his ear. Turning
hastily, he looked down the track.  He had a good view of it for half a
mile.  At that distance it curved out of sight, but was visible again
for a short stretch a mile lower down, and still farther in patches.
The air was very clear; every tree and hillock was sharply defined in
the sunlight; there was nobody in sight.

But the clicks were growing louder; they seemed to be the sounds of
iron-shod hoofs upon the rocky ground.  He gazed down the track, passing
from patch to patch over the intervening bluffs and the stretches of
rough country where it was not visible.  The sounds came beyond question
from his left; still he could see nobody.

Meanwhile he was pumping hard, keeping his head turned in the direction
of the sounds.  All at once he caught sight of six or seven dark specks
moving towards him along the sunlit track.  He guessed that they were
about a mile away.  There was just time to fill his tyre before they
came up with him.

The pursuers were now hidden by a curve in the track.  He pumped on; the
tyre was almost fully inflated.  Suddenly he heard a shout, and saw a
horseman round the bend half a mile below.  He instantly whipped off the
pump, turned the petrol tap, and had run a yard or two with the machine
when he remembered that in his haste he had left his pouch on the
ground.  He could not afford to lose that.  Backing, he recovered it,
thrust it into his pocket, and in another twenty seconds was running
slowly up the hill.

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw five men galloping after him.  They
were no more than a quarter-mile away, shouting, urging their horses to
their utmost speed, gaining on him.  But the crest of the hill was near;
then the track was level for a while; then had a downward incline.  The
engine worked well; the cycle breasted the slope, gained the flat, and
sped on at forty miles an hour.

A minute after Tim topped the crest, the horsemen reached the same spot
on their panting steeds.  They yelled with rage and disappointment when
they saw their quarry bowling along at a speed that a Pegasus might
envy.  One took a shot at him, but Tim, bending over the handle-bar,
offered a low target, and escaped injury.  In two minutes he had turned
a corner and was out of sight.




                             CHAPTER XXIII

                            A LEAP FOR LIFE


When Tim had ridden three or four miles farther, and felt at ease as far
as the pursuers were concerned, he came upon the three stampeded horses
again.  They were peacefully browsing on some scanty herbage at the
edge, quite content, no doubt, to be free from their human burdens.  At
the sound of the engine they once more took to flight, and the violent
play they made with their heels suggested to Tim that they indignantly
resented the disturbance of their meal.

He was now riding so fast that he could soon have overtaken the animals,
in spite of the upward gradient.  But if he did so, he would either run
the risk of coming into collision with one of them, or drive them over
the edge of the track on the left, and down the somewhat steep and
dangerous slope to the river.  It occurred to him that he might do
better to moderate his pace and keep fairly close on their heels.  They
might prove useful.  The cross-track to which he would come presently
was somewhat looser than that on which he was riding.  If the enemy
happened to be at the cross-roads beyond, the horses and the dust they
raised might serve him as a temporary screen.  So he opened his air
throttle a little, and closed the petrol throttle to the same extent,
maintaining a speed that would keep the horses on the run without
exposing him to the risk of being overtaken.

He soon found that there was a certain disadvantage in following upon
the heels of the horses.  On coming into the cross-track, he was
enveloped in a cloud of dust, thick enough to prevent his seeing more
than a few yards ahead.  The dust and the bodies of the animals
completely shut out the view, and he realised that as he neared the fork
he would be quite unable to tell what awaited him there.  He thought it
advisable to drop a little behind.  No doubt the horses would turn to
the left when they reached the crossroads, and gallop towards the Inca
camp--the place which for some days past they had associated with
fodder.  If the enemy had not actually passed the fork and marched down
the eastern track, he might manage to turn into it unperceived under
cover of the dust-cloud, and soon ride out of danger.

Slackening down until he had doubled his distance from the horses, he
noticed on his right hand a belt of trees which, if his memory was not
at fault, extended for nearly a mile along the southern edge of the
cross-track until it joined the eastern path.  With one eye on the
horses and the other on the trees he watched for the branching of the
tracks.  It came sooner than he expected. Suddenly the horses swerved to
the left; a few seconds afterwards he turned to the right, and felt the
machine quicken under him on the downward incline.

At that instant he heard the loud crackle of rifles behind him.  Posted
among the trees just above the fork there was a body of men who,
watching with astonishment the maddened gallop of three riderless
horses, caught a faint glimpse of the motor-cycle as it emerged from the
whirling dust.  They fired too hurriedly to hit the mark.  At the sound
of the shots Tim bent double and let the machine go.  Riding at the rate
of thirty miles an hour he knew that the enemy could not catch him on
horseback on this particular portion of the track.  But when he came to
the foot of the hill, and began to climb a long rise, he glanced round
and saw a large troop of horsemen dashing down in pursuit. They were a
long way behind, and unless some accident befell the machine, he was
sure that he could outpace them with ease.

The track wound frequently.  For long stretches he was hidden from the
pursuers. Looking back now and then he noticed with satisfaction,
whenever they came in sight, that he was steadily increasing the
interval between him and them.  He might have run away altogether if he
had driven the machine at full speed; but the track was very rough, and
he felt that he must watch it carefully if he was to avoid the risk of a
second puncture, or of collision with some boulder. Downhill he often
had to check his pace, and so could not take full advantage of the
descents to give him impetus for the upward gradients of the switchback.
But as mile after mile was covered he became less and less fearful of
being caught; and when, at the end of a long, straight stretch, he saw
that the enemy were at least two miles behind, he was perfectly easy in
mind, and only wondered why they had not given up the hopeless chase.

His former journeys on this track had made him pretty familiar with the
landmarks, and as he rode up a long incline, he knew that he would soon
be in sight of the wooden bridge over the ravine, beyond which the party
of Japanese were posted. A few miles of switchback, and then he would
have a downward run home.  But on rising slowly over the crest, he was
staggered to see a troop of some twenty horsemen halted no more than
half a mile in front of him.  The track dipped to within about a hundred
yards of the spot where they were standing, then bent somewhat sharply
upwards, and disappeared over the brow rather more than half a mile
ahead.

Tim instantly realised the desperate position into which he had come
unawares.  His first impulse was to screw on his brakes and dismount, to
avoid rushing headlong among the enemy.  But in a flash he saw that to
do so would be simply to give himself into their hands, or into the
hands of the men behind him.  There was no escape either on the right or
the left.  The only possible course was to ride on and take his chance.
Setting his teeth, and crouching almost flat over the handle-bar, he
opened the throttle, and shot down the hill, sounding his hooter
violently all the way.

If he had had the leisure to calculate the possible result he could
scarcely have anticipated the success of his action.  The horsemen
instinctively edged away to the sides of the track, and on to the edge
of the rough moorland which bounded it on the east.  Some had the
presence of mind to whip out their pistols, but as the cycle raced
towards them with ever-quickening speed they found themselves in trouble
with their horses, which began to quiver and sweat and prance at the
strange sight and the terrifying sounds.  Down flew the cycle, Tim
gripping the handle-bar hard, no longer able to pick his course, but
keeping the middle of the track, rough or smooth.  He was unconscious of
jerks and jolts; blind to the risk of puncture; in that critical
half-minute he thought of nothing but the task of steering so as to
avoid collision with the enemy, a disaster which they on their part were
no less anxious to escape.

He was upon them, in a whirl of dust raised by the wind of his flight.
A thrill shot through every fibre as he skimmed danger by a hair’s
breadth.  One of the horses was cavorting on his hind legs, and his
rider, almost as frantic as the animal, turned him into a whirligig by
hard tugging at the bridle.  A few shots were fired by the other
troopers, but no man could take steady aim from the back of a rearing
horse, at an object flashing by at forty miles an hour.  With a rush and
a whizz Tim was past.

But his momentary joy at having got through vanished as he felt the
slackening of speed enforced by the steep incline beyond. On his former
journey he had dismounted and wheeled the machine.  There was a great
hubbub behind him.  The throbbing hum of his engine was smothered by the
clatter of the horses’ hoofs, and the yells of their riders spurring
them on.  Short as the ascent was, its angle was so sharp as to
neutralise in great measure the impetus he had gained downhill.  Moment
by moment the machine flagged, and, without looking behind, he was
conscious that the pursuers were gaining.  He feared that his engine
power would not suffice to bring him to the top, upon which he fixed his
eyes as it were imploringly.  How far away it seemed!

He pressed the pace to the uttermost.  The machine toiled up and up; the
uproar behind grew louder.  He was beginning to despair. The cycle
seemed to be crawling.  Would the engine hold out?  At last, with what
appeared to be a final heave, it crept over the crest.  The downward
slope had begun, and the cycle dropped down with a rush which carried it
easily to the top of the farther rise.  With a sigh of thankfulness Tim
knew that he had now increased his lead.

At this point the track began to wind round the face of the cliff on his
right.  A few minutes would bring him within sight of the bridge.  But
there was still one long climb before him, and here, if the pursuers
could last the pace, they would have the advantage of him.  He glanced
back; they were just rounding the curve, perhaps a quarter-mile distant.
This was the crisis of the chase.  As the cycle laboured up the hill,
Tim was aware that the gap was rapidly diminishing.  When he gained the
top, he had scarcely fifty yards to spare.  But now for three or four
hundred yards the track was level, and the horsemen yelled with rage as
they saw their quarry once more slipping from their clutches.  They had
no chance against him on the flat.  By the time he reached the point
where the track dipped to the mile-long descent to the bridge, they had
lost more than a hundred yards.

The bridge was not yet in sight.  The track bent to the left somewhat
sharply.  In ordinary circumstances Tim would now have clapped on the
brakes, but he was strung up to attempt any feat of daring, and after
the first hundred yards of the hill he contented himself with closing
the throttle.  He swung perilously round the bend, and looking ahead,
saw the bridged ravine three-quarters of a mile away.  A horseman was
galloping towards it--doubtless one of his vedettes. But why was he
dashing so desperately towards the bridge?

Tim lowered his eyes, for he wore no goggles, and the wind created by
his pace made them smart and tingle.  He was halfway down the slope when
a dull report below him caused him to look up again.  Where, a few
seconds before, the bridge had been, there was now a cloud of smoke.
His orders had been carried out only too thoroughly: the bridge was
blown up!

He was thunderstruck.  Reckless and impulsive as he was, prone to play
many a mad prank on his bicycle, he had never attempted such a feat as
now, in the twinkling of an eye, he saw himself committed to. The ravine
was more than thirty feet across. He would reach it in half a minute.
No power on earth could check his descent.  He must either plunge into
the chasm, fifty feet deep, or leap the gap.

How can his sensations be described! Every second his speed was
quickening. The steepness of the slope induced the feeling that he was
dropping into space. He was conscious of the strange heaving sensation
that a person feels on descending in a rapidly-moving lift.  His body
seemed to be flying upward.  The air rushed past, scarifying his flesh,
catching his breath, stunning his ears so that he did not hear the
report of a dozen rifles across the gap.  Down, down, faster than an
express train, as fast as a racing motor-car, his body rigid, his mind
working swifter than the electric flash--down to he knew not what.

On either side of the bridge the ground had been cleared.  He must avoid
the ruins of the bridge; he would steer to one side of it.  As he
swooped meteor-like towards the gap the space on his right widened out,
and the ground made a slight ascent to the brink of the ravine.  A touch
on the handle-bar altered his course a point or two.  Barely conscious
of the rise, breathless and dizzy, he shut his eyes at the fateful
moment--and the machine shot off the brink of the ravine like a stone
from a catapult.  For a fraction of a second he was in mid air, the
wheels whirring beneath him.  Then there was a tremendous thud as they
struck the ground 011 the opposite side.  The machine raced up the
incline; the speed slackened; instinctively he applied the brakes; and
in a few more seconds he fell rather than jumped from the saddle, and
dropped panting, a mass of quivering nerves, upon the track.

A group of Japanese flocked about him. One gave him water from a mug.
All were trembling with excitement.  When he had collected himself, and
inquired what had become of the pursuers, he learnt that, as they rode
headlong down the hill behind him, two of the horses had slipped and
brought their riders to the ground.  The rest had reined up at the
volley from the Japanese.  Apparently none had been hit, but recognising
that further pursuit was hopeless, they had stood watching the last few
hundred yards of the cycle’s flashing course.  The Japanese had been too
much amazed and alarmed to fire again.  Both the parties looked on as at
a thrilling spectacle. After the cycle had made its leap their amazement
held them motionless for a while.  Then, at a second volley, the enemy
wheeled round and galloped away.

Tim asked why the bridge had been fired. The vedette explained that,
descrying the heads of a large number of horsemen over the tops of the
bushes on the crest of the hill, he had dashed back to give the alarm
according to orders.  The cycle, being lower, had been invisible to him.
His comrades were so eager to carry out their instructions that even
when Tim came into view they were too much occupied to see him, and only
when the match was kindled, and they ran back to a position of safety,
did they perceive with horror that they had, as they thought, cut off
their master’s chance of escape.  Tim waived away their humble
apologies; they had obeyed orders; and now that the strain of his
nerve-shattering experiences was relaxed, he could afford to smile.  The
eastern track, at any rate, was impassable to the enemy.




                              CHAPTER XXIV

                         FROM DAN TO BEERSHEBA


Colonel Zegarra was holding a levee of his admirers from the town when
Tim returned to camp.

"Well, my young friend, have you made any interesting discoveries?" he
asked, from among a group of ladies as Tim passed.

"Several, señor," replied Tim.  "Among other things, what it feels like
to fly through the air on wheels."

"Very interesting," said the gentleman in amiable ignorance.  "I was not
aware that your machine could fly.  How marvellous is the progress of
invention!" he added, turning to the ladies.

"Wonderful!" they cried, clapping their hands.

"Will you show us how you do it, Señor Tim?" said the colonel’s
daughter.

"I regret, señorita, that it is impossible here," said Tim, laying his
hand on his heart in the local way.  "It requires a hill a mile long; a
number of the Prefect’s men pelting down after you, and bellowing like
bulls; a ravine thirty feet wide spanned by a bridge; and some good
obedient fellows who will blow up the bridge at the critical moment.
These conditions do not exist every day, señorita."

The girl looked puzzled.  Then a light dawned.

"Is it a joke, Señor Tim?" she asked with a smile.  She knew something
of Tim’s jokes in carnival time.

"A joke that won’t bear repetition, señorita," he replied, and then
bowed himself away.

The eastern track being now impassable, he thought it sufficient to
leave a few men at the broken bridge to guard against any attempt to
repair it.  The rest he withdrew to the camp.  One of the vedettes on
the western track having been surprised and killed, he decided as a
precaution for the future to place the men in couples.  He did not
enlighten Colonel Zegarra, when the visitors had gone, as to his flight
through the air, but simply informed him that the bridge had been blown
up to check a troop of the Prefect’s horsemen.

Before he retired for the night he thoroughly examined the cycle, and
found that the tyres, though showing signs of wear, were as yet sound.
He gave it to one of the Japanese to clean, and then sought his couch,
worn out by the racking experiences of the day.

Next morning word was brought that the enemy were advancing in force
along the western track.  Colonel Zegarra was not lacking in courage,
and the plan of action to be followed in the event of attack had been
settled in several conversations between himself and Tim.  The ground on
both sides of the track for half a mile from the cross-roads was fairly
open, affording a clear field for fire.  Though the enemy outnumbered
the Mollendists, the latter had the advantage of being the defenders.
Their position, protected by earthworks and the fringe of wood, was so
strong that an attempt to force it ought not to succeed.  To harass the
enemy in flank, Tim had arranged to post himself with a small detachment
in a dense copse on the left of the track about a mile in front of the
camp.  With luck he might not be discovered; if he was attacked, the
closeness of the trees would enable him to make a good defence.  He
chose thirty of his own Japanese for this duty, knowing their good
fighting qualities and their absolute personal loyalty to him.

They had been stationed in the copse for some hours before the head of
the enemy’s column appeared.  The men were on foot. Tim had intended to
worry them as they advanced, but it now occurred to him that he would do
better to hold his hand until the attack developed.  If Colonel Zegarra
should be in difficulties, a sudden assault on the enemy from the rear
might turn the scale.

The enemy opened out as they approached the cross-roads, intending to
surround the camp.  They made a concerted rush, but in the lack of
artillery they were seriously handicapped, and after several attempts
had failed, they fell back to cover.  Some retreated in the direction of
the copse.  Tim saw his opportunity.  Bidding his men wait until they
were within a few hundred yards, he then gave the order to fire.  In the
shock of surprise the enemy fell into disorder, and fled in all
directions.  Their confusion was communicated to the whole force, and
soon the discomfited rabble were in full retreat, suffering severely as
they crossed the line of fire from the camp.

Colonel Zegarra rose to the occasion. Ordering his men to mount, he led
them in pursuit.  The retreat became a rout.  Ridden down by the
horsemen, cut up by the steady firing of Tim’s men in the copse, the
enemy were a disorganised mob before they reached their horses, which
they had left about two miles down the track.  Some succeeded in
mounting, and galloped away.  Others were headed off, and were made
prisoners.  Within an hour of the first attack the Prefect’s eastern
force was shattered, and no longer existed as a fighting unit.

There was great jubilation among the Mollendists.  On returning to camp
Colonel Zegarra at once penned a flowery despatch to Mr. O’Hagan
announcing his victory. The courier had not been gone long when Romaña
rode up in haste, bearing a verbal message from the commander-in-chief.
After long delay the Prefect was making a determined effort to force the
defile, and Mr. O’Hagan asked for a reinforcement of fifty men, if they
could be spared.  It was arranged that Tim should start at once with
fifty horsemen.  It seemed unlikely that the troops just defeated would
rally, but for assurance’ sake he persuaded Romaña to remain at the
cross-roads, to advise Colonel Zegarra if the enemy should attempt any
movement which must be met rather by craft than by courage.

Tim rode ahead of his troop on the motorcycle.  When about a third of
the way to the defile, he suddenly discovered on his left a considerable
number of men on foot descending from the hills towards the highroad.
Their intention clearly was either to take the main Mollendist army in
the rear, or to make a swoop on the cross-roads and then to San Rosario.
Tim guessed that his father was unaware of this complication. The men
must have been for at least two days on the march, for the hills were
generally regarded as impracticable.

Tim halted for a few moments to make a rapid calculation.  His father
and Colonel Zegarra must be warned.  If he rode on, the enemy, though at
present a long distance away, would be on the road between him and
Colonel Zegarra by the time he returned. On the other hand he might ride
to the colonel and back before they reached the road, in which case he
would still have a chance of slipping by.

He remounted and dashed back at full speed, ordering his horsemen when
he met them to halt and be on the alert.  Colonel Zegarra agreed to move
out with all his troops, and if he found the enemy on the road, marching
towards the defile, to hang on their rear.  Then Tim set off again. He
commanded his horsemen to await Colonel Zegarra; it seemed more
important for the moment that the colonel should have his full number
than that the party should press on to reinforce Mr. O’Hagan.

The head of the flanking column was only half a mile from the road when
Tim dashed by.  To some extent screened by trees and bushes, he became
the target for the enemy’s fire as he passed patches of open country.
But he escaped unhurt, thanks to his speed and to the windings of the
road, which caused his direction to alter frequently, and baffled the
riflemen’s aim.  In a few minutes he was out of range, in a few more out
of sight.

On approaching the defile, Tim heard sounds of heavy firing.  The
Prefect’s attack was evidently being hotly pressed.  He found the
Mollendist force some distance farther east than he had expected.  They
occupied the rocks on either side of the road, and were firing along the
defile.  Just as Tim arrived he heard the distant roar of a gun, and a
shell crashed high up among the rocks at his right hand.  He slipped off
his bicycle, and hurried to find his father.

Mr. O’Hagan greeted the boy with especial warmth.

"Pardo gave me a terrible scare when he told me he had got you," he
said.  "What happened?"

Tim related how he had been dealt with at the house.

"He had the cheek to come to you, then," he said.  "Why didn’t he go to
the Prefect?"

"I suspect he did.  He wanted to make sure of his price."

"The wretch said my price had gone up. What did he ask?"

"The hacienda!"

Tim whistled.

"You kicked him out, I hope?" he said indignantly.

"Well, Tim, you see Colonel Zegarra’s despatch with your postscript came
just in time, or----  But that’s all over.  How are things going?"

"We have fairly smashed the lot from the Inca camp.  They attacked this
morning. Romaña brought your message, and I was hurrying up with fifty
men when I saw a detachment of the enemy, about two hundred strong, I
think, marching over the hills towards the road, so I rode back and
asked Zegarra to bring up all his men and then came on ahead to tell
you."

"That’s very bad news," said Mr. O’Hagan, somewhat perturbed.  "I’ve as
much as I can do to hold my own here.  As you see, they’ve brought a
couple of guns to bear on us."

"Where are they?"

"Up in the hills yonder.  How they were dragged there I can’t imagine.
They’re at least a thousand feet up.  The Prefect has more energy and
resource than I expected.  When the guns opened fire this morning we had
to abandon the head of the defile.  We’re pretty safe here for the
moment, and can check any attempt to force the passage; but I dare say
the Prefect will find another position for the guns where they can
command us, and then we shall have to fall back again.  With two hundred
men threatening our rear----"

"Couldn’t you spare some men to deal with them?"

"That’s a capital idea, Tim.  It will take a long time to move the guns
to a new position.  We’ll try it.  I’ll take a hundred and fifty men
myself.  You had better stay here; you’ve done your share."

"I’d rather come with you," said Tim.

"I dare say, but you had better go and report to the President what you
have been doing.  He’s rather down in the mouth, and your victory at the
cross-roads will cheer him."

Mr. O’Hagan soon set off with his men, all mounted.  When he returned a
few hours later, he was flushed with success.  The Prefect’s hill column
found itself in the position in which it had hoped to catch the
Mollendists--bottled up between two forces, which equalled or exceeded
it in number, and were much fresher.  Instead of attacking, the enemy
were attacked.  Fatigued after their long and difficult march, they were
in no condition to make a prolonged resistance, and fell back before Mr.
O’Hagan’s impetuous onset.  They were seeking a strong position when
Colonel Zegarra dashed suddenly upon their rear.  Hopelessly entrapped,
they lost heart.  Some flung down their arms and surrendered, others
dispersed and sought safety in the hills.

With Mr. O’Hagan returned Colonel Zegarra and the greater part of his
force, a small detachment being sent back to keep an eye on the road to
San Rosario.  President Mollendo, whose volatile spirits had already
been exalted by Tim’s report of the morning’s success, was carried away
by delight at the Prefect’s second discomfiture on the same day.  He
insisted on promoting Tim captain on the spot, and made an oration to
the troops which moved many of them to tears, and confirmed their belief
that they had in Carlos Mollendo a statesman of the highest rank.

While this orgy of sentiment was in progress, Mr. O’Hagan was discussing
matters with Tim quietly in the background.

"That’s all very well," he said, jerking his head towards the spot where
Mollendo was perorating, "but it doesn’t prevent the Prefect from
hauling his guns.  I quite expect that to-morrow he will begin to shift
them in this direction, and when they begin to play we can’t hold the
defile another half-hour."

"What then, Father?" asked Tim.

"Why, then we shall be compelled to fall back on San Rosario.  The
Prefect has three men to our one; and the moment the tide seems to be
turning in his favour a lot of ours are sure to desert.  It’s the way of
things here.  But for the guns we could hold him off for months, so long
as Galdos keeps up the supplies--though I’m afraid of ammunition running
short.  The two checks the Prefect has had to-day are decided set-backs,
but we are not much better off unless we can take the heart out of him.
If we could only capture his guns, now!"

"Why not?"

"Well, if you can suggest a way, do so. But don’t reckon without your
host.  They’re at least a thousand feet up, somewhere on that ridge.
The War Office of this republic being unable to supply field-glasses, I
haven’t located them exactly.  To climb the hill in face of the enemy
would be a pretty tough job in itself, and the guns are pretty sure to
be well guarded."

"I’ll try it to-night," said Tim, "with a few of our Japs.  Some of them
were in the war with Russia, and it won’t be the first time they’ve had
such night-work."

"I don’t want to disappoint you," said Mr. O’Hagan, pulling at his
moustache, "but it’s too risky--indeed it is.  What would your poor
mother say?"

Tim was so well accustomed to this appeal _ad matrem_ that it had quite
lost its effect.

"She’d jib to begin with, to be sure," he said, "but she’d give in in
the end; she always does when it’s not an absolute question of right or
wrong.  You’d better say yes, Father."

It was on the tip of his tongue to relate the adventures of the previous
day, but he reflected that the story might have quite the opposite
effect from what he intended. Mr. O’Hagan’s last instructions to him had
been not to go adventuring, and though he felt that he could hardly be
blamed for adventures which had hurled themselves at him unsought, it
was probable that his father would not recognise any reasoning of that
kind.  So he confined his arguments strictly to the matter in hand.  Mr.
O’Hagan’s opposition was really half-hearted. He had come to have great
faith in Tim’s resourcefulness and luck. Ultimately he agreed to let the
boy do what he had suggested; the success of his scheme might prove to
be the turning-point of the struggle.

Helped by a half-moon, Tim set off about midnight with a dozen of the
Japanese who had served in the army, including three gunners.  As
weapons they carried only revolvers and knives, with a good supply of
cartridges.  One of them had a dark lantern for signalling the result of
the expedition to Mr. O’Hagan.  Slipping down the road for some distance
in the direction of San Rosario, they turned to the right, and roped
themselves together for the climb into the hills.

It was the hardest job that Tim had ever undertaken.  He had no compass,
and could only direct his course by the position of the moon.  Its light
was not sufficient to enable him to choose the easiest way.  There was
no path.  At the head of the line he clambered up wherever he could find
foothold, sometimes, indeed, crawling on all-fours up slippery slopes,
scrambling over or between boulders, now and then brought up by a sheer
wall of rock impossible to scale.  The party had often to rest and
recover breath, and the ascent was so arduous and slow that he was a
little uneasy lest the dawn should surprise them before they gained the
summit.  To make matters worse the moon was dropping, and its incessant
change of position rendered it a far from trustworthy guide.

At last, after three hours of fatiguing work, they reached the crest of
the ridge, where they caught sight of the lights in the Prefect’s camp
below them far away to the west.  Tim guessed that the guns were placed
somewhere along the ridge.  He stole along quietly, stopping now and
again to listen for signs of the men in charge. Presently he came to a
formidable buttress of rock projecting over the valley and rising many
feet above the general level.  It appeared to be the highest point in
this part of the country, and if the top was flat, was the most likely
place to have been chosen for the gun platform.  Whispering to his men
to move as quietly as possible, he led them along a narrow ledge on the
face of the cliff below the buttress, edging into the wall on his left
hand so as to avoid a fatal fall into the depths.

At the farther end of the ledge he halted. It was now almost dark; the
moon had descended below the hills on the opposite side of the road.
But by aid of the last lingering sheen he detected signs of recent
pick-work on the ground, just beyond the spot where he stood.  Evidently
a squad of labourers had been employed to clear a passage for the guns.
There was no sound. Casting off the rope, Tim stole forward alone, and
soon discovered a rough path leading in the reverse direction towards
the rear of the buttress.

His heart pumping with excitement, he returned to the men, and whispered
his final instructions.  There was to be no firing unless they had to
defend themselves against overpowering numbers.  Then he led them on
noiselessly up the path.  It ended sooner than he expected.  He came
suddenly to a level space of some extent, on which he saw two guns,
pointing over the valley. Stretched on the ground behind them were ten
men.  They were asleep.  Secure in their supposed inaccessibility, they
had posted no guard.

Tim paused a moment, then ordered his men to steal round until they
completely encompassed the sleeping crew.  At a low whistle from him
they sprang forward; there was a brief and almost silent struggle; and
the enemy, only half awake, found themselves prisoners.  Not a shot was
fired; scarcely a wound was given.

Hurrying to the edge of the buttress with the lamp, Tim flashed it three
times into the darkness.  He knew that his father at the end of the
defile, more than a mile away, would be anxiously watching.  Then he
returned to the guns.  By the light of the lamp, carefully screened from
the enemy’s camp, the Japanese loaded the guns and swung them round
until they pointed to the west.  When he started, Tim had expected that,
if he succeeded at all, he would only be able to spike the guns and then
run for it.  But having captured the small party of gunners, he saw no
reason why he should not turn his success to account.  It was now nearly
four o’clock.  Dawn would break very soon.  And he thrilled with delight
in the anticipated surprise in store for the Prefect.

The men waited impatiently.  On this hill-top they would have earlier
light than the troops below.  By the time that the first rosy gleam
stole out of the east the gunners were at their posts.  This was work
after their own hearts.  The guns were not the perfect machines to which
they were accustomed, and they laid them with especial care.  The
shadows upon the camp at the head of the defile dissolved.  As soon as
there was light enough, the two gunners fired almost at the same
instant, shattering the still morning.  A thousand echoes reverberated
across the valley, and rolled diminuendo from crag to crag.  Before they
died away Tim caught the faint sound of cheers from his father’s camp.

The two shells had plunged into the centre of the enemy’s position,
causing a wild rush for shelter.  The Prefect’s first feeling was
consternation.  There was no artillery in San Rosario; whence had the
enemy obtained the guns?  Why had not his own gunners replied?  As he
looked up towards the platform on which they were posted he saw two
swift flashes, and two more shells whistled overhead and crashed on the
rocks just above him.  His question was answered; the Mollendists, the
despised brigands, had captured his guns and turned them upon him.  In
that bitter moment he wished, perhaps, that he had lent a less ready ear
to the suggestions of Miguel Pardo. All the enterprise and daring which
his enemy had recently shown was inspired, not by Carlos Mollendo, but
by the foreigners, and they, but for Pardo, might have been with him, or
at least not against him.

It was soon apparent that matters were serious.  Shells were dropping
into the defile as fast as the gunners could load.  Already they had
done much damage, and panic was spreading through the ranks.  The men
were seeking cover; some were already running to the rear, where the
horses were tethered; none had any spirit for fight. While this disorder
reigned, there was a sudden cry that the brigands were charging up the
defile.  The Prefect’s troops vastly outnumbered Mr. O’Hagan’s, but he
had no advantage of them now.  They had no faith in their cause, no
enthusiasm for their leader.  Disheartened by previous failure,
demoralised by the bombardment of their own guns, they were deaf to the
Prefect’s passionate entreaties to stand firm.  They answered him with
oaths and curses.  Nor was the Prefect of the stuff of heroes.  He was
not the man to gather about him a few choice spirits and steadfastly
defend the pass.  Surrounded, almost swept away by the yelling mob of
his terror-stricken army, he elbowed his way through them, to gain the
tree to which his horse was tied.  He had better have allowed himself to
be borne away on foot among his men.  Mounted, he presented a
conspicuous object to the head of the eager little force charging up the
road. A dozen rifles were levelled at him; a dozen bullets sang through
the air; and when the Prefect’s body was lifted after the defile was
cleared, it was found riddled.

The attack having been made on foot, no effective pursuit could be
maintained.  So precipitate, indeed, was the flight of the cowed troops,
that only the laggards of the rear were in much danger, Mr. O’Hagan’s
victory was almost bloodless.  The fugitives poured into San Juan; the
wildest reports found easy credence there.  It became known by and by
that the Prefect was killed, a piece of news at which more than his
enemies rejoiced.  The magnates of the town were hurriedly called
together; they agreed to accept the new republic; and when, in the
course of the afternoon, Señor Mollendo and Mr. O’Hagan rode in at the
head of their troops, they were received with acclamations by the
populace, and with a flowery address by the officials.  The wheel of
fortune had lifted the outlaw to the headship of the State.




                              CHAPTER XXV

                               THE RAVINE


Much to his disappointment, Tim was not a spectator of President
Mollendo’s triumphal entrance into his capital.  He did not hear the
eloquent oration delivered from the steps of the court house, nor was he
present at the banquet at which the President fell on Mr. O’Hagan’s
neck, and kissed him amid the frantic plaudits of the company.  When Tim
saw the troops charging up the defile, he set off to join them, leaving
the Japanese in charge of the guns.  At some risk to his neck he
scrambled down the face of the hill, and came up with the little army in
time to take a share in the final scenes. When the victory was assured,
Mr. O’Hagan sent him with Romaña and a hundred men back to San Rosario,
to report the defeat and death of the Prefect, and keep order in the
town.

San Rosario had quietly accepted the new régime.  The few well-to-do
people, who had suffered from the Prefect’s levies, hoped that the
system of benevolences was buried, and were prepared to give the new
President a chance; the poorer folk cared little who their ruler was, or
what the nature of the government, provided they were able to earn their
living in peace.  Señor Fagasta was perhaps the only unhappy man in the
town.

Finding that everything was peaceful and orderly in the town, Tim
thought he might venture to visit the hacienda, arrange for the
necessary repairs to be made to the house against his father’s return,
and reopen work on the plantations, which would soon become a wilderness
through neglect. Accordingly, on the second evening after his arrival in
San Rosario, he rode over on his motor-cycle, accompanied by Romaña on
horseback.  Biddy Flanagan was still alone in possession of the house.
She welcomed Tim heartily, but was less cordial to Romaña: he was one of
"them foreigners."  Her joy at the approaching return of "the master"
was dulled by distress at the bareness of the rooms.  The establishment
of a republic was to her an insignificant event beside the loss of the
best "chainey," and military glory did not compensate the theft of the
silver spoons.  And when, early next morning, she carried breakfast into
the dining-room, she mournfully drew attention to the fact that she had
had to make the coffee in a delf jug.

"’Tis because the silver coffee-pot be took, Master Tim," she said.
"And there’s no silver spoons for the eggs, and what will I say to the
mistress when she comes home!"

"We can get some more, Biddy," said Tim.  "And really, I always think
that coffee tastes better out of a jug."

"’Deed now, that’s true, but ’tis not for the likes of me to say so at
all.  If there was no difference between the kitchen and the dining-room
of a gentleman’s house, what would the country be after coming to? Sure
I hope the villain is killed, and will not be the way of troubling us
again."

"I wonder what became of Pardo?" said Tim to Romaña when the old woman
was gone.

"You may be sure he is not killed," said Romaña.  "Pardo is not the man
to risk his skin in the fighting line."

"No, it may give him lumbago," rejoined Tim with a laugh.  "I suppose he
has gone off with his loot.  A good riddance!  After breakfast you might
look round the house and see what repairs are needed, while I go over to
the huts and tell the Jap women that their husbands are on the way home.
It’s a blessing none of the married men were killed except the one
Pierola shot."

Some twenty minutes later Tim set off on foot for the labourers’ huts
half a mile across the plantation.  He followed a path that intersected
a field of sugar-cane, which grew so high that he was completely
concealed. Presently it crossed a broad stretch of grass land separating
the sugar from the coffee, and here Tim was surprised to see recent
hoof-marks.  None of his father’s horses remained on the hacienda, and
he wondered who could have ridden in this direction. If the tracks
pointed towards the house he might have supposed that Felipe Durand had
come over to see him; but they all led away from it, as though the rider
had come either from the stables, or from the meadow behind the house.

Curiosity piqued him to follow up the marks.  He took no pains to walk
quietly, but his footfall was silent on the grass.  The tracks led
towards the road that ran past Durand’s house and ultimately to the Inca
ruins.  After about a hundred yards the path bent to the right.  On
arriving at the bend Tim started back.  A little ahead a horse was
grazing.  A bundle was slung from its crupper.  Just beyond, there was a
disused well, and here Tim saw a man, whose back was towards him,
turning the windlass.  He stood partially concealed among the plants to
watch.  Presently a second bundle appeared over the edge of the well.
The man untied it from the rope and turned with it in his arms towards
the horse.  Tim had already suspected his identity, and he now saw
without surprise that it was Miguel Pardo.

Acting on impulse, he dashed forward, hoping to reach the thief before
he could mount.  But Pardo caught sight of him, vaulted into the saddle,
and galloped towards the road.  It was hopeless to pursue him on foot.
Tim had his revolver, but he was not one to use it in cold blood.
Instantly he thought of the cycle, which was in its shed at the back of
the house.  He sprinted back, started the engine, and in a few minutes
was dashing in chase.

He knew that Pardo, in spite of his start, must soon be overtaken, and
he had little doubt of the direction of his flight.  Neither San Juan
nor San Rosario would be safe for him; he would almost certainly choose
the track to the Inca ruins; trusting in course of time to be able to
make his way round over the hills, and seek refuge in another province
where he was unknown.

Tim flew along to the track, wheeled into it, and looked ahead.  Pardo
was not in sight. Suddenly he remembered the broken bridge. It would
certainly not have been repaired. Tim wondered whether Pardo had heard
of its destruction.  In that case he would not have come this way, but
would have chosen the western track.  If he was in ignorance of what had
happened, he would be checked perforce at the ravine, and the chase
would soon be over.  Even supposing he had followed the other track, Tim
thought that the speed of his cycle would allow him to ride to the
bridge, make sure, return to the cross-roads, and still overtake the
fugitive, who would no doubt slacken his pace when he supposed himself
to be unpursued.

As Tim passed Durand’s house, Felipe came down the path.  Tim afterwards
discovered that he had seen the horseman dashing by, and wondered who
could be so foolish as to ride along a track which within a few miles
was impassable.

"Pardo!" shouted Tim as he flashed past, and Durand ran for his horse to
follow the chase.

A mile beyond the house Tim caught sight of his quarry.  In another
minute or two he must turn at bay.  No doubt he was armed, and Tim for
the first time realised that he might presently be involved in rather a
desperate struggle.  While the horse was galloping, Pardo, encumbered as
he was with his bundle, would be unable to take steady aim.  But as soon
as he came within sight of the bridgeless ravine, he would spring from
his saddle and fire.  Tim had set off in pursuit with the simple idea of
capturing Pardo, and handing him over to the civic authorities for trial
and punishment as a thief; but he saw now that he was not likely to
succeed without a fight.

The distance between horseman and cyclist rapidly diminished.  The long
hill beyond the ravine came in sight, but the ruins of the bridge were
as yet hidden by the short acclivity beyond which the track dipped.
Pardo was just reaching the top of this ascent as Tim arrived at the
bottom.  There were only fifty yards between them.  Before Tim was
prepared for the movement Pardo suddenly made a half-turn in the saddle
and fired.  The shot flew wide, and Tim, edging in on the near side of
the track, so that Pardo could only use his revolver again if he turned
completely round, or twisted to the left and fired over his shoulder,
rode relentlessly on up the ascent.  In a few seconds he expected the
final tussle.

On gaining the brow of the hill Pardo checked, drew his restive horse
across the road, and pointing his revolver steadily, fired.  Tim had
guessed his intention, and his own shot rang out almost simultaneously.
Pardo, not allowing for his altitude, fired too high: Tim’s aim was
spoilt by his bobbing movement on the machine, and his shot wounded the
horse instead of the man. Before either could fire again, the situation
was changed with a suddenness that for a moment took him aback.  The
horse, already alarmed by the clatter of the engine and the sound of the
shots, was rendered frantic by its wound. Springing round on its hind
legs, it took the bit between its teeth and bolted down the slope
towards the ravine.

When Tim gained the top, he realised with horror the desperate peril of
his enemy, and instantly forced down his brakes and stopped the machine,
in the hope that with the cessation of the noise the animal’s terror
would lessen in time for its career to be checked.  Pardo, a moment
after the descent had begun, saw the hideous gap in front of him, and
made a desperate effort to rein up. But it was too late.  The maddened
horse galloped on blindly, came to the edge of the chasm, and
instinctively made a frantic leap for the opposite bank.  It jumped
short by several feet.  Then, with a scream that rang in Tim’s ears for
many a day, horse and rider plunged to the bottom.

Tim had already leapt off his machine. He ran forward and at no small
risk clambered down the steep side of the ravine.  Both horse and
horseman were dead, amid a litter of broken pottery and scattered plate,
which had burst from the bundles.  Tim shrank from touching any of the
stolen property. White to the lips, he climbed up to the track, and
staggered into the arms of Durand, who had followed on horseback.




                              CHAPTER XXVI

                        HANDSOME ACKNOWLEDGMENTS


One evening, a few weeks after the close of the brief campaign, the
town-hall of San Juan presented a picturesque and even brilliant
spectacle.  All the important people, and a good many of the
unimportant, of the capital and of San Rosario were assembled in
response to the President’s invitation, to celebrate the foundation of
the Republic.  Two long tables ran the length of the hall; at the top a
cross table was ranged beneath a shield bearing the Mollendo arms.  The
President occupied the centre seat.  On his right hand sat General
O’Hagan, on his left a young captain of the same name.  Next in order to
these were the principal actors in this little drama: Colonel Zegarra,
his friend the lawyer, Dr. Pereira, Nicolas Romaña, Pedro Galdos, the
Durands, father and son--for Señor Durand, having contributed to the
Mollendist war-fund, had apparently determined to get something for his
money.

Two personages whom one would hardly have expected to see there were
Señor Fagasta and Captain Pierola.  Señor Mollendo had been informed by
Tim of the warning given by the gobernador, which had resulted in the
discomfiture of Pardo’s night attack on the house.  The President argued
from this that Señor Fagasta had his good points; and being anxious to
conciliate the officials under the old régime he reinstated the burly
gentleman in his former office.  For the same reason he offered to
Captain Pierola, now recovered of his wound, the command of the
republican forces, which Mr. O’Hagan, deaf to all entreaties, had
relinquished.

In a balcony at the opposite end of the hall sat a bevy of ladies, to
watch the feasting in which they, angelically, were not to partake, and
to hear the speeches that would follow.  Mrs. O’Hagan sat in the centre
beside Señora Mollendo.  The younger ladies, dressed with all the grace
and charm of which the Peruvian belle is mistress, were impatient for
the end of the tiresome preliminaries: the banquet in which they could
not share, the speeches which some of them had already heard rehearsed,
had less attractions for them than the dance which was to round off the
proceedings.

The table decorations were unusual.  The vases were filled with leaves,
blossoms, and berries of the nasturtium, of which homely plant every
guest had a flower in his button-hole.

The courses were handed round; the glasses of wine and pisco were filled
and emptied and filled again; and then the President rose.  A smile
beamed upon his benevolent features as he surveyed the cheering company.
A broad band of orange satin formed a graceful loop over his white
waistcoat, and a large diamond in his shirt-front flashed as it caught
the rays of the innumerable candles.  He was a dignified and impressive
figure.

When the cheers had subsided, he began to speak.  After a few
introductory sentences, he launched into a summary of the events which
had led up to this culminating scene. He described the birth of the
Republic, enunciated with great eloquence the principles which would
govern his administration, and then, turning to personal matters,
announced the honours and dignities which he had conferred on certain of
the gentlemen whom he saw on either side.  He made graceful references
to the legal attainments of Señor Fagasta, to the military abilities of
Captain Pierola, to the loyal services of Señores Pedro Galdos and
Nicolas Romaña, whom he had appointed respectively treasurer and
secretary of the Republic. Then, after an expressive pause, he
proceeded:

"Gentlemen, on this great and auspicious occasion I have a duty to
perform---a duty of which I acquit myself with all the ardour of an
overflowing heart.  There are epochs in the life of nations when the
firmament is obscured by dark aggregations of cloud, which exclude the
radiance of heaven’s bright luminaries, and among which the thunder
rumbles with awful and portentous reverberation.  At such a period of
distress and gloom, when Rome, the heart and centre of the ancient
world, saw herself threatened by pestilent hosts of waspish barbarians,
the eyes of men turned in their trouble towards a simple farmer, who
pursued the avocations of bucolic life in his rural retreat, amid sounds
no more horrific than the lowing of his cattle and the guttural
ejaculations of his swine.  To him repaired a deputation of his
despairing countrymen, who found him cleaving the stubborn soil with his
labouring plough, and besought him to quit those haunts of industry and
peace, and, exchanging the gleaming ploughshare for the well-tempered
sword, the smock of Ceres for the shining corslet of Mars, to return
with them and save the State.

"You know, gentlemen, the sequel of that momentous domiciliary visit.
You know how Cincinnatus marshalled his hosts, led them against the
enveloping invaders, and having smitten Volscians and Æquians with
irresistible might, laid aside the implements of war, and withdrew to
replace the yoke upon his toiling oxen, and ruminate in rustic
simplicity upon the vicissitudes of mortal things.

"Gentlemen, we too have our Cincinnatus. We have in our midst a
gentleman who, driven from his peaceful fields by the shameless greed of
tyranny, threw in his lot with the despairing victims of a rapacious
despot: who, having laid down the sword which he had wielded with
conspicuous dexterity in his youth against the enemies of his adopted
country, girded it on in his maturer years at the call of an oppressed
and suffering community.  Gentlemen, it is to him we owe the inception
of the reign of peace and prosperity in this elevated region. I bid you
raise your glasses and drain them to the health of our illustrious
friend and liberator, our Cincinnatus, Señor General O’Hagan."

The President’s speech was hailed with a chorus of vivas as the company
sprang to their feet to honour the toast.  Handkerchiefs fluttered in
the ladies’ gallery.  Tim, catching Durand’s eye, winked, and his friend
responded with a look which meant "Look out!  The old buffer hasn’t done
yet."  Tim wondered what his father would say in answer to this
effusion.  He found that the President, instead of resuming his seat
when the cheers had died away, remained standing, took a sip from his
glass, and went on:

"History does not record whether Cincinnatus was a married man, but,
indulging our imaginations, we may suppose that he had a wife and
family.  We may see with our mind’s eye the homely Roman matron, leaving
the meal-tub when her husband broke to her the fateful news, and wiping
the flour from her industrious hands that she might gird him with the
sword, and furbish his shield, and arrange the folds of his toga in
comely dignity.  We may picture his sons and daughters gazing with
admiration not unmixed with awe at their heroic father, watching him as
he bestrode his fields with the proud senators who had brought the
people’s summons, gazing with longing eyes day after day into the misty
distance, wondering with anxious fears how their beloved progenitor was
faring in the stress and heat of strife.  We can imagine their pride and
gladness when he returned, crowned with the laurel wreath of victory,
and, so far as history relates, without a wound.  We can see them
gathered about his knee, on the winter nights when the pine-logs
crackle, and the wolf’s long howl undulates across the marshes, and hang
upon his lips as he relates the story of great doings on the stricken
field.

"These, I say, are the pictures which imagination paints for us; but we
need no aid from imagination to behold the domestic life of our own
Cincinnatus.  _Integer vitae, sceleris purus_, as the great Roman sang,
he has lived among us, in a home graced by the presence of a beauteous
spouse, and brightened by the lively merits of a gallant youth. Such
praise and gratitude as we owe to the father we owe also in no small
measure to the son, who sits beside me in all the glow of healthy
juvenility, blushing with ingenuous pride in the achievements of his
noble sire.  What need to recount, gentlemen, the exploits of this
youthful warrior! Modestly as he himself has veiled them, the admiration
of his devoted men could not be silenced, and they proclaim his prowess
with unbated enthusiasm.  Picture the scene, gentlemen, when, pursued
for long miles by the mounted warriors of the tyrant, our dauntless
friend sped on unfaltering on his matchless steed, and was not abashed
when he beheld the yawning gulf unbridged before him.  For him Fate had
not ordained the sacrificial leap of Marcus Curtius; the safety of the
State did not demand his death. Flashing like a meteor to the very brink
of the abyss, he defied the laws of Nature, and soared through the
startled air with the swift legerity of a mountain bird.  Thus
wonderfully preserved from peril behind and before, he played a manful
part in the final scenes of this glorious revolution, and, in the words
of the august orator of Rome, _de republica bene est meritus_.  I bid
you raise your glasses, and drain them to the health of Señor Capitan
O’Hagan."

The toast was hailed with thunderous applause.  Tim sat with downcast
eyes, wishing that the floor would open and swallow him.  "I hope to
goodness the old josser is done now!" he thought.  But the President
waited with a benignant smile until silence was restored, then went on:

"It is known to you, gentlemen, that the Señor Capitan is the first
recipient of the Order of the Nasturtium, which I have founded in
celebration of the new era upon which we have entered.  Since it becomes
us to invoke the gracious countenance of feminine loveliness upon the
order, I have inscribed at the head of the roll the name of the Señora
O’Hagan."

Here he bowed very gallantly towards the balcony, and Tim, glancing up,
saw his mother incline her head, and raise her handkerchief to her
mouth, as if to hide a smile.

"It is known to you also, gentlemen," the President continued, "that in
deference to the unanimous wish of the citizens, I have consented that a
statue of myself shall be erected in the plaza of this town, not in any
spirit of vainglory, but as a permanent witness of the triumph of the
principles which I profess.  But I deemed it unfitting that the sister
town of San Rosario should be without a similar memorial, and I have
therefore taken upon myself to order, from Paris, the home of art, two
other statues, to stand in the plaza of our neighbour.  The one will
represent the Señor General as Cincinnatus, garbed in the toga of
ancient Rome, with a sword crossed upon a ploughshare at his feet.  The
other will exhibit the effigy of the Señor Capitan.  It was a matter of
much deliberation how to mould this second statue that it might form a
harmonious companion of the first.  As you are aware, the Romans did not
anticipate the triumphs of the inventive modern mind. They did not
possess the motor-bicycle. But by dint of much thought I have reconciled
the old with the new.  The Señor Capitan will appear as Mercury, the
messenger of the gods, with his caduceus in his hand, and his winged
feet planted on a globe.  These statues will face each other in the
public square, and proclaim to future generations the features and the
characteristics of the two gentlemen whose achievements and merits we
honour so heartily to-night."

The President at last sat down.  Mr. O’Hagan, looking supremely
uncomfortable, thanked him and the company, for himself and Tim, for the
flattering honours that had been paid to them; and after speeches from
Señor Fagasta, Colonel Zegarra, and half a dozen other notables, the
proceedings came to an end, and the hall was cleared for dancing.

"I say, old chap," said Durand, when he had an opportunity of speaking
to Tim, "won’t you feel rather cold as Mercury?"

"Shut up!" growled Tim.  "Old Moll’s off his chump.  But he doesn’t mean
it."

"But he does!"

"Well then, I’ll waylay the silly old thing on the road, and smash it to
bits.  I never heard of such silly rot."

But these violent measures were not necessary.  Every now and then
during the next few months Durand put Tim in a rage by announcing that
the statues had left Paris, that they had reached Lima, that they were
on the road.  But the truth is that the financial straits to which the
new republic was soon reduced have hindered the realisation of President
Mollendo’s generous dream, and up to the present the plaza of San
Rosario is destitute of classic statuary. Cincinnatus lives very
contentedly on his farm, and Mercury is now leading a grimy existence in
some famous engineering shops on the Tyne.






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