But the prospect of hard fare and worse accommodations did not trouble him at all. He had nearly ten thousand dollars in his pockets. If the note sent through Lopez to the American Consul was acted on promptly, a further sum of fifteen thousand dollars lying to his credit in a local bank was now in safe keeping.
Really, considering that he had been so near death that morning, he had a good deal to be thankful for if he never saw Cartagena or the Los Andes ranch again.
As for the marriage, what of it? A knot so easily tied could be untied with equal readiness. He hadn’t the least doubt but that an American court of law would declare the ceremony illegal.
At any rate, he could jump that fence when he reached it. At present, in sporting phrase, he was going strong with a lot in hand.
He kept well out of sight when a government launch came off, and a port official boarded the vessel.
He never knew what a narrow escape he had when the chief steward who acted as purser, was asked if any new addition had been made to the passenger list. The ship’s officer was not a good Spanish scholar. He thought the question applied to the cargo, and answered “no.”
Then, after a wait that seemed interminable, the snorting and growling of a steam winch and the unwilling rasp of the anchor chain chanted a symphonic chorus in Maseden’s ears. Those harsh sounds sang of freedom and life, of golden years on a most excellent earth instead of an eternity in the grave. He came on deck to watch the Castle of San Juan dwindle and vanish in the deep, blue glamour of a perfect tropical night.
He was standing on the open part of the main deck, close to the fore hold, when he heard English voices from the promenade deck high above his head.
A man’s somewhat querulous accents reached him first.
“Well, at this time two days ago, I little thought I’d be on a steamer going south to-night,” said the speaker.