CHAPTER V.

THE ADVENTURERS DISPENSE WITH MR. NUNEZ

Hemming and O'Rourke, and O'Rourke's low-caste Cuban, landed in Belize. The _Laura_ continued on her way to Truxillo, and more southern ports, for which she had a mixed freight of cheap articles of American manufacture. She would start north again from Costa Rica, should she be able to find a cargo, so O'Rourke and Hemming had both given manuscripts and letters to the Nova Scotia skipper, for mailing at the first likely opportunity, with word that they would wire an address later. This done, the adventurers purchased three undersized mules. O'Rourke picked up what he could in the way of an outfit, having left everything but his pipe and poncho in the Cuban bush. They loaded one of the mules with their belongings, and put it in charge of John Nunez, and, mounting the others, started south, skirting the coast. The trip was uneventful, but Hemming wrote a number of stories descriptive of the country and the people, the mules and his companions, under the general title of "Along New Trails with Old Mules." O'Rourke regarded his friend's display of energy with kindly disdain.

"There is bigger game to seaward," he said, and seemed ever on the lookout for rumours of war from the northeast. After three weeks' easy travelling, they awoke one morning to find that John Nunez had taken his departure during the night, and, along with his departure, one of their mules, a bag of hardtack and a slab of bacon.

O'Rourke looked relieved. "I've often wondered how I could ever get rid of him, you know. I once saved his life," he said.

"It's a good thing we happened to be using the rest of the provisions for pillows, or, by gad, your precious servant would have left us to starve," replied Hemming, in injured tones.

"Cheer up, old man," laughed O'Rourke. "We're not three miles from the coast, and I'll bet we are within ten of a village of some sort," he explained.

He was right, for by noon they were sitting at their ease before black coffee and a Spanish omelette, in a shabby eating-house. The town was one of some importance--in its own eyes. Also it interested Hemming. But O'Rourke sniffed.

"Gay colours and bad smells--I've experienced the whole thing before," said he.

"Then why the devil did you leave the _Laura_?" asked Hemming, pouring himself another glass of doubtful claret.

"To look after you," retorted O'Rourke.

"But, seriously," urged the Englishman.

"Oh, if you will be serious," confessed the freelance, "I'll admit that it's in my blood. I might have gone to New York and waited till further developments in Cuba; but I could no more see you go ashore, to waste your time and money, without wanting to follow suit, than you could see me buy that high-priced claret without wanting to drink it all yourself."

Hemming turned his monocle upon his friend in mild and curious regard.

"I doubt if there is another chap alive," he said, "who can write such wisdom and talk such rot as you."

"Oh, go easy," expostulated O'Rourke, "you've only read one article of mine--the twenty-page result of five weeks' sugar-cane and observation."

"It was remarkable stuff," mused Hemming.

The younger man had the grace to bow. "You don't look like the kind of chap who is lavish with his praise," he said.

Lighting a potent local cigar, he leaned back in his rickety chair, and shouted something in Spanish. The owner of the place appeared, rubbing his hands together and bowing. He was a fat, brown man, smelling of native cookery and native tobacco. O'Rourke talked, at some length, in Spanish, only a few words of which could Hemming understand. The proprietor waved his cigarette and gabbled back. Again O'Rourke took up the conversation, and this time his flow of mongrel Spanish was pricked out with bluff English oaths.

Hemming asked what it was all about. O'Rourke gave himself up to laughter.

"I have been trying to sell our mules," he said, at last, "but find that the market is already glutted."

Hemming shook his head disconsolately. "I fail to see the joke," he said.

"Mine host here informs me that a Cuban gentleman arrived shortly after daylight this morning," continued O'Rourke, "and sold a mule to the American consul."

"Our mule," gasped the enlightened Englishman--then, leaping from his chair with a violence that caused the fat proprietor to take refuge behind a table, he cried that there was still a chance of overtaking the rascal. O'Rourke begged him to finish his claret in peace. "And don't do anything rash," he said, "for I warn you that if you catch him you'll have to keep him. I tremble even now, lest he should enter the door and reclaim me as his master." He blew a thin wisp of smoke toward the ceiling, and laughed comfortably. Then his glance lowered to his friend, who had reseated himself at the other side of the table. He saw amazement and consternation written large in Hemming's face. The landlord also looked thunderstruck, standing with his mouth open, his eyes fixed upon the door, and a dirty napkin idle in his hand. O'Rourke turned and followed their enraptured gaze--and behold, clothed in new trousers and gaudy poncho, John Nunez bowing on the threshold.

For long seconds a painful silence held the inmates of the eating-house in thrall. The delinquent broke it with a stream of talk. He pointed heavenward; he touched his breast with his fingers; he spread his arms wide, and all the while he gabbled in Spanish. Tears ran down his dusky cheeks. O'Rourke regained his easy attitude, and heard the story to the end. He kept his gaze upon the Cuban's face, and not once did the Cuban meet it. At last the fellow stopped talking, and stood before his master with his sullen, tear-stained face half-hidden in a fold of his gay blanket.

"Well?" inquired Hemming.

"He says that he meant no harm," replied O'Rourke, "but that the desire to steal was like fever in his blood. He swears this by more saints than I know the name of. He says that he will give me the money that he got for the mule, and will toil for me until the day of his death, without a dollar of wages. But he has sworn all these things before, and every fit of repentance seems to make him more of a rogue. As for wages--why, his grub costs more than he is worth."

"Just let me take him in hand," said Hemming.

"You may try," assented O'Rourke.

By this time, and knowing his master's easy nature, Nunez was feeling more at home. The attitude of the penitent was not natural to him. He freed one arm from the folds of his poncho and calmly extracted a cigarette from his sash. This he was about to light when Hemming's voice arrested him in the act.

"Throw away that cigarette," came the order.

The Cuban feigned ignorance of the English language. He raised his eyebrows, paused a second to smile insolently, and lit the frail roll of black tobacco with a flourish. He inhaled the first puff with very evident pleasure, and let it escape by way of his nostrils. But he did not draw the second, for Hemming's hand landed unexpectedly upon the side of his head. The cigarette flew at a tangent, unrolling as it hit the earthen floor. The Cuban span completely around, reeled for a second, and then sprang at the Englishman with drawn knife. O'Rourke and the half-breed Mexican cried a warning. They might have saved their breath for their next long walk, for Hemming, quick as a terrier in his movements, stepped to one side and delivered a remarkable blow with his fist. The Cuban--a flash of gay clothing and harmless knife-blade--went, backward, through the narrow doorway.

"And now," said Hemming to O'Rourke, "what are we to do next?"

"Do next?" repeated O'Rourke, sadly, "why, just sit and whistle for the fifty Mexican dollars, which the American consul paid John for our mule."

Hemming hurried to the door and looked up and down the glaring street. Nunez was nowhere to be seen.

"He's not lying around anywhere, shamming dead, is he?" inquired O'Rourke.

"Don't see him," replied Hemming.

"Then now is our chance to shake him for good," said the other, "and the only way I can think of is to put out to sea."

As if he had made the most reasonable suggestion in the world, he paid their score and stepped into the street. Hemming followed to the water-front, too deep in wonder to offer objections, or demand explanations.