Appleby brought out two bags of silver from the chest in his office, for golden coin was almost as scarce in Cuba then as it usually is in Spain, and the two talked of different subjects with a frankness that concealed their thoughts, until there was a rattle of wheels as Harper passed below with several men pushing a little truck along the cane tramway. By and by he came in and sat down.
“The cases are marked as he told us, and I’ve left them on the line,” he said. “I guess nobody would think of looking for rifles there. When are your friends coming for them, Maccario?”
“I think that is better not mentioned,” said Maccario. “Those cases will, however, not be there to-morrow.”
“And your men?” said Appleby. “I cannot have them here.”
“You will listen to reason, my friend. I know you are one who keeps his word, and we will send no more rifles here. Still, those men work well, and the Señor Harding is not a Loyalist. He is here to make the dollars, and because the Spaniards are masters of Cuba he will not offend them. By and by, however, there is a change, and when it is we who hold the reins it may count much for him that he was also a friend of ours.”
“You know he is not a Loyalist?” said Appleby.
Maccario laughed a little. “Can you doubt it—while the hacienda of San Cristoval stands? There are many burnt sugar mills in Cuba, my friend.”
“Now,” said Harper dryly, “it seems to me he’s talking the plainest kind of sense. Make him promise he’ll give you warning, and take his men out quietly when he wants them for anything.”
Maccario gave his promise, and they sat talking for awhile until there was a knocking at the door below, and Pancho, who came up the stairway in haste, stopped where the light showed the apprehension in his olive face.
“Comes the Colonel Morales, and there are cazadores in the cane,” he said.