The Key to Yesterday

by Charles Neville Buck

Men rarely find the most eloquent or convincing words when they stand at sudden crises, but usually men’s voices and manners at such times can have a force of convincing veracity that means more. Possibly, it may have been the hypnotic quality of Saxon’s eyes, but, whatever it was, Rodman found it impossible to disbelieve him when he spoke in this fashion. In the plaza, he had suddenly turned the scales and held power of life and death over Rodman, and his only emotion had been that of heart-broken misery. Carter had been, like Rodman himself, the intriguer, but he had always been trustworthy with his friends. He had been violent, bitter, avenging, but never mean in small ways. That had been one of the reasons why Rodman, once convinced that the danger of vengeance was ended, had remained almost passionately anxious to prove to the other that he himself had not been a traitor. Carter had been the Napoleonic adventurer, and Rodman only the pettier type. For Carter, he held a sort of hero-worship. Rodman’s methods were those of chicane, but rightly or wrongly he believed that he could read the human document.

If this other man were telling the truth, and if love of a woman were his real motive, he could be stung into fury with a slur. If that were only a pretext, the other would not allow his resentment to imperil his plans—he would repress it, or simulate it awkwardly.

“So,” he commented satirically, “it’s the good-looking young female that’s got you buffaloed, is it? The warrior has been taken into camp by the squaw.” The tone held deliberate intent to insult.

Saxon’s lips compressed themselves into a dangerously straight line, and his face whitened to the temples. As he took a step forward, the slighter man stepped quickly back, and raised a hand with a gesture of explanation. Saxon had evidently told the truth. The revolutionist had satisfied himself, and his somewhat erratic method of judging results had been to his own mind convincing. And, at the same moment, Saxon halted. He realized that he stood in a position where questions of life and death, not his own, were involved. His anger was driving him dangerously close to action that would send crashing to ruin the one chance of winning an effective ally. He half-turned with something like a groan.

He was called out of his stupor of anxiety by the voice of the other. Rodman had been thinking fast. He would take a chance, though not such a great chance as it would seem. Indeed, in effect, he would be taking the other prisoner. He would in part yield to the request, but in the method that occurred to him he would have an ample opportunity of studying the other man under conditions which the other man would not suspect. He would have Saxon at all times in his power and under his observation while he set traps for him. If his surmise of sincerity proved false, he could act at once as he chose, before Saxon would have the opportunity to make a dangerous move. He would seem to do a tremendously hazardous thing in the name of friendship, but all the while he would have the cards stacked. If at the proper moment he still believed in the other, he would permit the man, under supervision, to save these friends. If not, Rodman would still be master of the situation. Besides, he had been seriously disappointed in not meeting Miraflores. He had felt that there might yet be advantages in coming closer to the theater of the drama than this vessel going north, though he must still remain under the protection of a foreign flag.

“So, you are willing to admit that your proper name is Mr. Carter?” he demanded, coolly.

“I am willing to admit anything, if I can get to Puerto Frio and through the lines,” responded Saxon, readily.

“If I take you back, you will go unarmed, under constant supervision,” stipulated Rodman. “You will have to obey my orders, and devise some pretext for enticing your friends away, without telling them the true reason. I shall be running my neck into a noose perhaps. I have no right to run that of Vegas y Libertad into a noose as well. Are those terms satisfactory?”

“Absolutely!” Saxon let more eagerness burst from his lips than he had intended.

“Then, come with me to the captain.” Suddenly, Rodman wheeled, and looked at the other man with a strange expression. “Do you know why I’m doing this? It’s a fool reason, but I want to prove to you that I’m not the sort that would be apt to turn an ally over to his executioners. That’s why.”