Chapter Fifteen.
Retribution.
It was a trifle over thirty-six hours from the moment of the deliverance of Don Hermoso and his wife and son when the Thetis, brilliant in all the bravery of white enamel paint, gilt figurehead and ornamental scroll-work, freshly varnished boats, and scintillating brasswork, steamed into Guantanamo harbour and let go her anchor off the little town—or village, for it is scarcely more—of Caimamera. The visit of the yacht to this out-of-the-way spot was ostensibly for the purpose of enabling that erratic and irresponsible young Englishman, her owner, to enjoy a day or two’s fishing, Guantanamo harbour being noted for the variety of fish with which its waters teem, and the excellent sport which they afford; but Jack’s first act was to go ashore and pay an early visit to the telegraph office, from which he dispatched a cipher wire to Don Ramon Bergera, briefly acquainting that gentleman with the bare facts of the rescue and Doña Isolda’s death. Then he allowed the crew to take a couple of boats and go fishing, while he devoted himself to the arduous task of comforting and consoling his friends as best he could; indeed, that had been his chief occupation from the moment when the Montijos had first come on board the yacht from the convict ship. Nor were his efforts altogether unavailing, although it was exceedingly difficult to find words of comfort for those whose hearts were still bleeding from the tragic loss of the being who was dearest to them all. With the Señora Montijo Jack was much more successful than with her husband and son, for the poor soul’s reason was entirely gone, and to such an extent, indeed, that she seemed to have completely forgotten every circumstance connected with their recent misfortunes, appearing to merely remember Jack as someone with whom certain pleasant memories, vaguely recalled, were connected, and in whose society she therefore took pleasure. She very rarely spoke, never rationally, but was content to walk fore and aft the deck by the hour, with her hand on Jack’s supporting arm and her eyes gazing dreamily at the deck planks. She took even more pleasure in Jack’s society than she did in that of her husband and son, both of whom were at this time gloomy, saturnine, silent brooders upon revenge.
On the second day after their arrival in Guantanamo harbour there came a letter from Don Ramon, briefly congratulating Jack upon his success and the Montijos upon their deliverance, and requesting them to remain where they were for the present, as he had been unable to gather any definite news, but was busily conducting a number of enquiries. Then, after the lapse of a full week, there came another letter from the same source, informing them that the writer had received a communication from Señor Calderon, Don Hermoso’s manager, stating that Señor Alvaros—now promoted to the rank of major—had appeared at the hacienda with the intelligence that Don Hermoso and his family, having been found guilty of the crime of conspiracy against the Spanish Government, had been shipped off to Fernando Po for life; and the estates, having been sequestrated, had been given to him as a reward for meritorious service: furthermore, that, Señor Calderon having had long experience in the management of the estate, Major Alvaros was disposed to allow him to retain the post of manager, at least for the present, upon condition that he was found to serve his new master faithfully: and that, finally, Señor Calderon was henceforward to account to Major Alvaros for all income and expenditure connected with the estate. Don Ramon then went on to state that, upon receipt of this communication, he had taken it upon himself to pay a flying visit to Señor Calderon, upon which occasion he, Don Ramon, had informed the Señor of the escape of Don Hermoso from the convict ship, and had instructed him to hold the property, at all hazards, until Don Hermoso’s return. And the letter wound up by strongly urging Don Hermoso to return to his property forthwith and hold it against all comers, arming his peons and dependents, if necessary; although the writer was of opinion that the Government generally, and Alvaros in particular, would soon be much too busy to find time to dispute Don Hermoso’s right to the possession of his property.
Thereupon a council of war was held on the yacht’s quarter-deck—the members consisting of Don Hermoso, Carlos, Jack, and Milsom—at which it was ultimately decided that the Thetis should weigh anchor forthwith and run over to Calonna, there to land Don Hermoso, the Señora, Carlos, and Jack, who would then proceed to the hacienda with all speed; while the yacht, under Milsom’s command, was to proceed to the Laguna de Cortes, and there remain concealed until it should be seen in what way she could best be employed, after which Milsom was to return by boat to Calonna, and from thence make his way to the hacienda, in order that he might be on the spot to receive such verbal instructions as might be necessary. This arrangement was duly carried out, and the evening of the following day witnessed the return of the little party to the home which they had so joyously left some months before, little dreaming of the sad circumstances under which they would next gaze upon the familiar surroundings.
They were welcomed back by the employés of the estate with every sign of the utmost satisfaction, tempered with deep and sincere sorrow at the tragic fate of the young and beautiful daughter of the house, who had contrived during her short life to render herself idolised by every individual in her father’s service, from Señor Calderon downward. In the presence of the master and mistress the negroes, with that innate sense of delicacy which governs their conduct toward those whom they love, were careful that the signs of their grief at the loss of their beloved young mistress should be confined to a few respectful expressions of sympathy; but when Mamá Faquita, Señorita Isolda’s old nurse, having extracted from Carlos a tolerably full and detailed account of the circumstances that had culminated in her beloved young mistress’s death, went the round of the negro huts that night, she kindled in the breasts of her fellows a flame of fury and vengeful longing that was destined to consume Señor Alvaros.
It is not to be wondered at that, after what Don Hermoso had suffered, personally and through his family, from Spanish misrule, his interest in the management of his vast estates should occupy only a secondary position in his mind; and that he should relegate that management almost entirely to the capable hands and conscientious mind of Señor Calderon, giving the first and most important place to the advancement, by every means in his power, of the aims of the revolutionaries. With this object, therefore, he shut himself up in his own private room for the three weeks following his return home, and plunged strenuously into a voluminous correspondence with Marti, Jesus Rabi, Antonio Maceo, Maximo Gomez, and other more or less prominent insurgent leaders, making exhaustive enquiry into the condition and prospects of the party, and offering advice and assistance in its several projects: while Jack and Carlos made long excursions in various directions for the purpose of personally ascertaining the feeling of the inhabitants and adding fuel to the smouldering flame of insurrection by every means in their power; for it may be said at once that the shocking tyranny, the cruel injustice, and the callous indifference on the part of the island authorities which had rendered possible such a disaster as that which had befallen his friends had kindled in Jack Singleton’s breast such fiery indignation, and such a loathing abhorrence, that—quixotic as the resolve may seem to some—he had at once determined to throw in his lot with that of the Montijos, and assist by every means in his power to free Cuba from Spanish misrule.
In this fashion nearly two months went by, during which, by Don Hermoso’s instructions, the armament of the Thetis had been dismounted, remounted upon field carriages constructed by the carpenter and engineers of the vessel, landed, with their ammunition, at various points on the coast, and delivered over to the armed bands of the revolutionaries, who were by this time springing up like mushrooms all over the island; and the yacht, under Milsom’s command, had been dispatched to New York for further supplies. And during the whole of this time, thanks to the fact that the secret had been kept from everybody but sympathisers whose discretion might be relied on, the rescue and return of the Montijo family remained unsuspected by the Spanish authorities.
Then, one morning, a message reached Señor Calderon from Major Alvaros, to the effect that the latter would arrive at the hacienda that night, on a business visit, and that all necessary preparations were to be made for his reception. This message Calderon at once handed to Don Hermoso, with a request for instructions as to how the matter should be dealt with; whereupon Jack and Carlos, who happened to be at hand that day, at once undertook the duty of receiving the Spaniard suitably.
It was nearly five o’clock in the evening when Alvaros, hot, tired, and dusty from his long ride from Pinar del Rio and his previous journey by train, drew rein and dismounted before the broad flight of steps leading up to the gallery which ran round the house, and, handing over his horse to an obsequious negro who was in waiting, proceeded to ascend the steps, his brow wrinkled into a frown of displeasure at Calderon’s failure to be present to give him a suitably respectful greeting upon his arrival. He reached the top of the steps, paused for a moment to glance around him at the wide prospect visible from the commanding elevation of the gallery, and then strode forward to enter the house, the wide folding doors of which stood, as usual, invitingly open. But as he did so, and ere his foot reached the threshold, he was confronted by Carlos, who, emerging suddenly from the obscurity of the entrance hall, levelled a revolver straight at the Spaniard’s right eye, so that before that individual could recover from his astonishment, he found himself gazing into the grooved barrel.
“Hands up, you villain and murderer!” exclaimed the young Cuban, glaring savagely along the sights of the levelled weapon into Señor Alvaros’ eye: “hands up; or I will blow your worthless brains out with as little compunction as that with which I would crush a venomous snake beneath my heel! Quick! Don’t hesitate, or I fire!”
Alvaros did not hesitate; there was that in the expression of Carlos’ eye, and in the yearning curl of his finger round the trigger, which told the Spaniard that the least sign of hesitation would be fatal; and, with the fear of death upon him, he instantly halted and flung up his hands. Had he only known to what that was the prelude he would probably have kept them down and marched on to his death!
Then, from behind Carlos, Jack appeared, with a whistle in his hand, which he raised to his lips, and upon which he blew a shrill blast. At the sound a number of negroes appeared, one of them bearing a long coil of raw-hide rope, with a noose at one end of it, in his hand. This rope Jack took from the hands of the negro and, dropping the noose over Alvaros’ head, drew it fairly tight, and then handed the rest of the rope back to the black.
“Señor,” exclaimed the quaking Spaniard, with quivering lips, “are you about to murder me?”
“Not just yet,” answered Jack cheerfully. “What we may eventually do I will not pretend to say, because, you see, such vermin as you are not fit to live; but at present we are only going to give you the second instalment—I gave you the first, you will remember”—pointing to the officer’s still stiff elbow—“of the punishment due to you for your infamous treatment of Don Hermoso and his family.”
The fellow was by this time white as a corpse, and his lips were tremulous with terror, yet he strove to carry things off with a high hand.
“I presume, Señor,” he said, “that it is due to your instrumentality that that young ruffian is here at this moment, instead of on his way to Fernando Po; and as he is here, I take it for granted that the remaining members of the family are not far off. But rest assured that a terrible retribution awaits you, not only for this outrage upon me, but also for your rescue of prisoners sentenced by the Spanish Government to transportation!”
“Yes,” said Jack; “no doubt; I am quite willing to take your word for that. But,” altering his tone from one of banter to that of concentrated anger, “let me tell you, Señor Alvaros, that Señorita Isolda Montijo is dead—owing to your cruelty—and for that and your other crimes retribution is about to fall on you. And this is the first part of it!”
Saying which, he unbuckled Alvaros’ sword, drew the weapon from its sheath, and snapped the blade across his knee.
“There!” he exclaimed, flinging the pieces from him; “you will never again disgrace that weapon
by wearing it. Lead him away, Pedro; and if he attempts any nonsense, just choke him with that lariat.”
“This way, Señor,” exclaimed Pedro, roughly jerking the lariat in the direction of the steps, as a hint to the prisoner that he was to descend them; and in this ignominious fashion the once arrogant but now cowering and cringing Spaniard was led away under Jack’s supervision, while Carlos, selecting a heavy riding-whip from the rack, followed the procession. The prisoner was conducted to the negro quarters, which were situated about half a mile from the house, with a belt of timber between it and them; and there he was stripped to his trousers, and firmly lashed to a post which had been hastily erected for the purpose. Then, the whole of the negroes employed upon the plantation having been assembled, Carlos related to the blacks the several sufferings and indignities which Alvaros had caused to be inflicted upon the members of the Montijo family, and how to him was due the death of the Señorita, his sister, whom they had all loved so well: and when he had finished his story he flogged Alvaros until the miserable wretch screamed and howled for mercy, offering the most abject excuses and apologies for his conduct, and vowing by all the saints that if Carlos would but release him he would leave Cuba, never to return; that he would surrender the Montijo estates to their rightful owner; that he would never breathe to a single living soul a syllable as to what had passed; and that he would also do a number of other unlikely, not to say impossible, things. Then, when his arm was tired, and he could flog no longer, Carlos desisted, and ordered Alvaros to be cast loose from the stake and securely confined in an empty tobacco shed, with a negro on guard at the door of the building to see that he did not escape. When at length the shrinking, cringing creature was hustled into his prison and securely bound, Carlos turned to him and said:
“You have now received the second instalment of punishment for your atrocious crime. You will be kept here until it is convenient to remove you, being fed meanwhile upon bread and water. And when a convenient time arrives you will be placed on board a ship and marooned, which will be the final instalment of the punishment which your evil deeds have called down upon your head. The best thing I can wish you is that what you have suffered to-day, and will suffer in the future, will bring home to you the evil of your ways, and lead to your sincere repentance for them.” And therewith he passed from Señor Alvaros’ sight—to be seen by him no more.
That same night, when the white people had all retired to rest in the great casa, Mamá Faquita stole away down to the negro quarters and, going from hut to hut, roused their occupants and summoned them to a great palaver in the open space which the huts surrounded, and in which the children were wont to play. The scene was a weirdly picturesque one, for, prior to rousing the negroes, Mamá had kindled a great fire in the centre of the open space; and in front of this, in a great semicircle, the negroes congregated, squatting on their heels and rolling their eyeballs in the flickering light of the flames, while Mamá addressed them. They were all free, but had all been slaves not so very many years before: many of them were born Africans, with their savage instincts still practically as strong within them as they had ever been; while in the case of the rest, although their association with white men from their birth had rendered them more amenable in some respects than were the more recent importations, the tenacity with which they had adhered to their fetish-worship, with all its secret and horribly revolting customs, tended to keep them still utterly savage at heart, and only too ready to lend a willing ear to any suggestion which offered them an excuse to indulge their inherent lust for cruelty. Moreover, the African black who has been a slave is a singular combination of good and evil: on the one hand, he is capable of affection and devotion, to an extraordinary degree, toward those who have treated him well; while, on the other, he is equally capable of the most ferocious and implacable hatred of those who have injured him or those he loves; also, he is extraordinarily impressionable. Mamá Faquita, being herself a full-blooded negress, was of course perfectly well aware of these peculiarities in the nature of her audience; and she played upon them as a skilled musician does upon a sensitively responsive instrument. She dwelt eloquently and at length upon the invariable kindness with which they had one and all been treated by the amo and his family, and especially by the young Señorita, whom some of them at least were able to remember as a little, toddling baby, and whom they all had loved as passionately as though she had been their own; and as she spoke thus the tears of grief streamed down her cheeks, and she wrung her hands in anguish evoking a ready and sympathetic response from her hearers. Then she went on to recall to their memory the sad homecoming of two months ago, and the dreadful tale that they had been told when they asked why the Señorita had not also returned: and finally she reminded them—as though any reminder were by this time necessary—that the author of the family’s woe now lay, ay, at that very moment, imprisoned in the tobacco shed, within a stone’s-throw of the spot where they were then assembled. She spoke with qualified satisfaction of the punishment which the young master had inflicted upon the picaro in their presence a few hours ago; she admitted that, so far as it went, it was good: but she contended that it did not go nearly far enough, considering the monstrous character of the crime of which the prisoner had been guilty; and she asserted her conviction that white men did not know how to punish, that they were altogether too squeamish in their notions, particularly in the matter of dealing mercifully with those who had injured them; and that it was only the negro who thoroughly understood how to devise a punishment to properly fit the crime.
It was enough; there was no need for her to say another word. With consummate skill she had gradually wrought her audience up to a pitch of demoniac fury; she had pictured her—and their—beloved young mistress in the power of the wretch who crouched with smarting, lacerated back yonder in the shed—insulted, ill-treated, and finally driven to madness and death by him: and now, at a word from one of them, the whole body of negroes sprang to their feet and, with low, hissing, muttering execrations and threats, infinitely more terrifying to listen to than the loudest yells of ferocity, ran to the shed and, with a few low-murmured words of explanation to the guard, demanded the surrender of the prisoner. The demand was conceded with scarcely a word of protest, and five minutes later the miserable Alvaros, in a speechless frenzy of fear, was being hurried along a lonely bush path, known only to the negroes, to a spot some three miles distant. What happened to him when he arrived there must be left untold; suffice it to say that Major Alvaros was never more seen of men, and the mystery of his disappearance remains unsolved to this day, although Carlos Montijo and Jack Singleton are under the delusion that they know what became of him. Furthermore, the inhabitants of the hacienda were never troubled by inconvenient enquiries about him, for it afterwards transpired that when he set out upon his fateful journey he had not thought fit to say whither he was going, or how long he intended to be absent; by the time, therefore, that his prolonged absence from duty had provoked enquiry, all trace of him was completely lost.
The male occupants of the house were just finishing early breakfast next morning when Señor Calderon presented himself before them, in a condition of considerable mental discomposure, with the intelligence that the prisoner had apparently contrived to effect his escape; for one of the negroes had just come up to the house with the report that, upon his opening the door of the tobacco shed to give the captive his breakfast, Alvaros was found to have disappeared, and no trace of him had thus far been discovered. This was distinctly alarming news, for it was instantly recognised that if Alvaros had really contrived to get clear away, he would undoubtedly make the best of his way back to Havana and there report to the authorities the violence to which he had been subjected; and also, possibly, the rescue of the Montijos from the convict ship, though mention of the latter would probably depend upon whether their conviction had been the result of representations to the Capitan-General, or whether, as Don Ramon Bergera had surmised, it had been the work of Alvaros alone. In either case, the consequences were likely to be quite serious to the Montijos; and Carlos, accompanied by Jack and Calderon, at once hurried away to investigate the circumstances of the alleged escape.
Upon their arrival at the tobacco shed they found the door of the building still locked and the negro guard still posted before it, the door having been re-fastened, as Calderon explained, immediately upon the discovery of the prisoner’s disappearance. Entering the shed, they at once satisfied themselves as to the truth of the statement that its late occupant was no longer in it, for the building was absolutely empty, and, being a perfectly plain structure, with simply four stone walls, a cement floor, and an unceiled roof, there was no nook or cranny in which even a rat, much less a man, could conceal himself. Moreover, the rope by which he had been, as it was thought, securely bound before being left on the previous evening, was lying upon the floor, immediately beneath one of the large, shuttered openings in the walls which were used for the admission of light and air into the shed as required. The position of the rope naturally led to an examination of the opening beneath which it lay; and it was then found that the massive bolts securing the shutter had been drawn, and that therefore there was nothing to prevent the prisoner from escaping through the opening—provided that he could free himself from the rope and reach it. But how he had contrived to accomplish these two things was the mystery: for Carlos and Jack had both been present during the lashing-up of Alvaros, and they both felt that they would have been fully prepared to declare that for the prisoner to release himself would be a simple impossibility, so securely had he been bound; while the sill of the opening was quite nine feet from the floor, and for a man to reach it without the help of a ladder, or some similar aid, seemed equally impossible,—and there was no such aid in the building. It occurred to Jack that the prisoner, after freeing himself from his bonds, might have succeeded in throwing the loop of the rope over one of the shutter bolts, and so have drawn himself up; but to accomplish such a feat in absolute darkness again seemed an absolute impossibility. Altogether, the circumstances seemed to be enveloped in impenetrable mystery; there was only one indisputable fact, which was that the prisoner was gone. Then the negro guard was severely questioned, but he seemed quite unable to throw any light upon the matter; his statement was that he had exercised the utmost vigilance all through the night, that he had heard no sound of movement on the part of the prisoner, had noticed nothing to suggest an attempt at escape, and was utterly confounded when, upon unlocking the door to take in the prisoner’s breakfast, he found that the bird had flown. This was his story, and no amount of cross-examination caused him to deviate in the slightest degree from it; for when a negro lays himself out to deceive, the fact that he is lying through thick and thin causes him no qualms of conscience.
The investigation thus conclusively pointed to the fact that the prisoner had somehow contrived to escape; and, that having been established, the obviously proper thing to do was to endeavour to recapture him. Horses were therefore ordered to be saddled and taken up to the house; a Fantee negro, who had been re-named Juan, and who had the reputation of being a marvellously expert tracker, was ordered to examine the ground about the tobacco shed for tracks, and to hold himself ready to accompany the hunters; and Jack and Carlos then returned to the house to equip themselves. In something less than half an hour the party, consisting of Jack and Carlos, mounted, and each armed with a rifle, and half a dozen negroes, including Juan, set out.
The hunt began at the tobacco shed, beneath the unbolted shutter of which Juan declared that, despite the hardness of the ground, he had succeeded in detecting the footprints of the fugitive; and thence it took its course northward, strange to say, in the direction of the mountains, instead of toward Pinar del Rio, as the two young white men had naturally expected. This was so surprising that, as soon as the direction became apparent, Carlos called a halt and openly expressed his conviction that the Fantee was making a mistake; but Juan confidently declared that he was doing nothing of the sort, and, in support of his statement, pointed to certain barely perceptible marks here and there on the ground, which he asserted were the tracks of the fugitive—this assertion being corroborated by the other negroes. To the eyes of the white men the marks in question were so very slight and vague as to convey absolutely no meaning at all; indeed, they could not in some cases convince themselves that there really were any marks; but then the ground was so dry and hard that even their horses left scarcely a trace of their passage: they were therefore obliged to take Juan’s word for it that they were on the right track, and follow where he led.
They were of opinion that, considering Alvaros’ condition after the terrific punishment which Carlos had inflicted upon him only a few hours previously, and the circumstance that he seemed to have been travelling for several hours in darkness, over country that must have been absolutely strange to him, he could not have made very rapid progress, or gone very far; and after the first hour they were in momentary expectation of coming upon him: but mile after mile was traversed, and still Juan asserted that the fugitive was yet some distance ahead, and that they did not appear to be gaining on him very rapidly—due, as the negro pointed out, to the extreme difficulty of tracking over such hard and, for the most part stony, ground. The fact was that Juan and his fellow-negroes, having arranged among themselves a course of action during the short period while Carlos and Jack were preparing for the expedition, were enacting a very cleverly carried out piece of comedy, so cleverly performed, indeed, that neither of the young men had the slightest suspicion that they were being deceived.
At length the track, which had led them steadily over rising ground almost from the moment of starting, conducted the party to the entrance of a very wild, romantic, and picturesque-looking gorge which seemed to pierce right into the very heart of the mountains. For some time the going had been growing increasingly difficult, especially for the two horsemen; and now a single glance ahead sufficed to show that it must speedily become impossible for mounted men, for the side of the mountain grew increasingly steep, as one looked forward, until, about a quarter of a mile farther on, it seemed to be practically perpendicular, while the pine trees grew so thickly that in places it appeared as though there would be scarcely room for a man, much less a horse, to pass; moreover, the side of the hill was covered with big outcrops of rock, interspersed with loose boulders, to pass over and among which would require a clear head, a steady eye, and a sure foot. The two young men therefore determined to dismount forthwith and proceed on foot, leaving their horses in charge of one of the negroes.
And it was well that they did so, for the path almost immediately grew so steep and difficult that before they had advanced another hundred yards the party found it necessary to frequently drop on their hands and knees to pass some of the more awkward places without being precipitated into the stream which they heard brawling some hundreds of feet below them at the bottom of the ravine. And now, as they slowly and with difficulty made their way along the steep mountain-side, a low murmur, gradually growing in strength and volume of sound, told them that they were approaching a waterfall or cataract of some sort: and after another half-hour of exhausting and perilous crawling, and slipping, and sliding over the loose and shaley ground, they came in sight of it as it opened out before them from behind an enormous, precipitous crag—a solid column of water about twenty feet in diameter, leaping out of a narrow cleft in the rock some three hundred feet above them, and gradually resolving itself into mist as it plunged down into the dark and gloomy depths of the gorge below. To Carlos—and still more to Jack—it seemed impossible that the fugitive should have chosen to pursue the track which they were now following—for to where did it lead? The place was quite new to Carlos; he had never been there before, and it seemed unlikely in the extreme that a stranger to the neighbourhood as Alvaros was would know more about it than one who had dwelt only a few miles off during practically his whole life: yet Juan was now pressing on, a long way ahead, as though he were following on a hot scent, and presently he disappeared altogether in a thick cluster of fir trees high up the side of the hill. Ten minutes later he emerged on the other side of the clump and went scrambling toward the spot where the stream of water spouted out of the rock. Then Carlos saw him suddenly stop and look steadily down the almost vertical side of the mountain, then at the ground at his feet. It took the two lads nearly a quarter of an hour to reach the spot where Juan stood, now surrounded by the other four negroes, to whom he was talking animatedly; and, as they approached, the Fantee pointed to some scars on the hillside which looked as though they had been quite recently made by the passage of some heavy body.
“Look, Señores,” he cried; “that is where the Spaniard has gone! A loose boulder caught him just here and swept him down into the gorge below. We shall never see him again!”
Carlos and Jack looked. Yes; the marks were precisely such as a falling boulder would make, and they were apparently quite fresh, possibly less than half an hour old. But how did Juan know that Alvaros had gone down the hillside with the boulder? Jack asked the question.
“Because,” answered the black triumphantly, “he came as far as this—as we have seen by his footprints—but went no farther; there are no more footprints to be found. And see, the boulder struck the ground just here”—pointing to a big, raw dint in the soil—“and bounded off, striking again down there where you see that mark. It must have struck here just as the Spaniard reached the spot, and hurled him down to the bottom of the gorge before it. He is doubtless down there at the bottom of the stream, at this moment, pinned down by the boulder that killed him!” And the other negroes emphatically corroborated the statements and suggestions.
To Jack and Carlos the theory enunciated by Juan appeared quite possible. Of course they had to accept Juan’s word for it that the fugitive’s footsteps had been followed thus far, and had utterly disappeared at the precise spot where the boulder—or whatever it was—had struck. But, this much granted, the remainder of the story seemed quite plausible, seemed indeed the only possible explanation; and since it was quite impossible to test its truth or falsehood without descending to the river below—which was also an impossibility—they were disposed to accept it as true.
And thus, very materially assisted by the fortuitous fall of a boulder down a hillside, did the negroes on Señor Montijo’s estate successfully hoodwink their white masters, and effectually and for ever put a stop to any further enquiries as to what had become of Major Alvaros, of His Spanish Majesty’s light infantry, and erstwhile Governor of La Jacoba.