THE CAFE SANTOS, SAGUA LA GRANDE, HONDURAS
We sighted land at seven in the morning, and as the ship made in towardthe shore I ran to the bow and stood alone peering over the rail. Beforeme lay the scene set for my coming adventures, and as the ship threadedthe coral reefs, my excitement ran so high that my throat choked, andmy eyes suddenly dimmed with tears. It seemed too good to be real. Itseemed impossible that it could be true; that at last I should be aboutto act the life I had so long only rehearsed and pretended. But thepretence had changed to something living and actual. In front of me,under a flashing sun, I saw the palm-fringed harbor of my dreams, awhite village of thatched mud houses, a row of ugly huts above whichdrooped limply the flags of foreign consuls, and, far beyond, a deepblue range of mountains, forbidding and mysterious, rising out of asteaming swamp into a burning sky, and on the harbor's only pier,in blue drill uniforms and gay red caps, a group of dark-skinned,swaggering soldiers. This hot, volcano-looking land was the one I hadcome to free from its fetters. These swarthy barefooted brigands werethe men with whom I was to fight.
My trunk had been packed and strapped since sunrise, and before theship reached the pier, I had said "good-by" to everyone on board and waswaiting impatiently at the gang-way. I was the only passenger to leave,and no cargo was unloaded nor taken on. She was waiting only for theagent of the company to confer with Captain Leeds, and while these menwere conversing on the bridge, and the hawser was being drawn on board,the custom-house officers, much to my disquiet, began to search mytrunk. I had nothing with me which was dutiable, but my grandfather'spresentation sword was hidden in the trunk and its presence there andprospective use would be difficult to explain. It was accordingly witha feeling of satisfaction that I noticed on a building on the end of thepier the sign of our consulate and the American flag, and that a youngman, evidently an American, was hurrying from it toward the ship. Butas it turned out I had no need of his services, for I had concealed thesword so cleverly by burying each end of it in one of my long cavalryboots, that the official failed to find it.
I had locked my trunk again and was waving final farewells to those onthe Panama, when the young man from the consulate began suddenly to racedown the pier, shouting as he came.
The gang-way had been drawn up, and the steamer was under way, churningthe water as she swung slowly seaward, but she was still within easyspeaking distance of the pierhead.
The young man rushed through the crowd, jostling the native Indians andnegro soldiers, and shrieked at the departing vessel.
"Stop!" he screamed, "stop! stop her!"
He recognized Captain Leeds on the bridge, and, running along thepierhead until he was just below it, waved wildly at him.
"Where's my freight?" he cried. "My freight! You haven't put off myfreight."
Captain Leeds folded his arms comfortably upon the rail, and regardedthe young man calmly and with an expression of amusement.
"Where are my sewing-machines?" the young man demanded. "Where are thesewing-machines invoiced me by this steamer?"
"Sewing-machines, Mr. Aiken?" the Captain answered. "I left yoursewing-machines in New Orleans."
"You what?" shrieked the young man. "You left them?"
"I left them sitting on the company's levee," the Captain continued,calmly. "The revenue officers have 'em by now, Mr. Aiken. Some partiessaid they weren't sewing-machines at all. They said you were acting forLaguerre."
The ship was slowly drawing away. The young man stretched out one arm asthough to detain her, and danced frantically along the stringhead.
"How dare you!" he cried. "I'm a commission merchant. I deal in whateverI please--and I'm the American Consul!"
The Captain laughed, and with a wave of his hand in farewell backed awayfrom the rail.
"That may be," he shouted, "but this line isn't carrying freight forGeneral Laguerre, nor for you, neither." He returned and made a speakingtrumpet of his hands. "Tell him from me," he shouted, mockingly, "thatif he wants his sewing-machines he'd better go North and steal 'em. Sameas he stole our Nancy Miller."
The young man shook both his fists in helpless anger.
"You damned banana trader," he shrieked, "you'll lose your license forthis. I'll fix you for this. I'll dirty your card for you, you pirate!"
The Captain flung himself far over the rail. He did not need a speakingtrumpet now--his voice would have carried above the tumult of ahurricane.
"You'll what?" he roared. "You'll dirty my card, you thievingfilibuster? Do you know what I'll do to you? I'll have your tinsign taken away from you, before I touch this port again. You'llsee--you--you--" he ended impotently for lack of epithets, but continuedin eloquent pantomime to wave his arms.
With an oath the young man recognized defeat, and shrugged hisshoulders.
"Oh, you go to the devil," he shouted, and turned away. He saw meobserving him, and as I was the only person present who looked as thoughhe understood English, he grinned at me sheepishly, and nodded.
"I don't care for him," he said. "He can't frighten me."
I considered this as equivalent to an introduction.
"You are the United States Consul?" I asked. The young man noddedbriskly.
"Yes; I am. Where do you come from?"
"Dobbs Ferry, near New York," I answered. "I'd---I'd like to have a talkwith you, when you are not busy."
"That's all right," he said. "I'm not busy now. That bumboat piratequeered the only business I had. Where are you going to stop? There isonly one place," he explained; "that's Pulido's. He'll knife you ifhe thinks you have five dollars in your belt, and the bar-room is halfunder water anyway. Or you can take a cot in my shack, if you like, andI'll board and lodge you for two pesos a day--that's one dollar in ourmoney. And if you are going up country," he went on, "I can fit you outwith mules and mozos and everything you want, from canned meats toan escort of soldiers. You're sure to be robbed anyway," he urged,pleasantly, "and you might as well give the job to a fellow-countryman.I'd hate to have one of these greasers get it."
"You're welcome to try," I said, laughing.
In spite of his manner, which was much too familiar and patronizing, theyoung man amused me, and I must confess moreover that at that moment Ifelt very far from home and was glad to meet an American, and one not somuch older than myself. The fact that he was our consul struck me as amost fortunate circumstance.
He clapped his hands and directed one of the negroes to carry my trunkto the consulate, and I walked with him up the pier, the native soldierssaluting him awkwardly as he passed. He returned their salute with aflourish, and more to impress me I guessed than from any regard forthem.
"That's because I'm Consul," he said, with satisfaction. "There's onlyeight white men in Porto Cortez," he explained, "and we're all consularagents. The Italian consular agent is a Frenchman, and an Italian,Guessippi--the Banana King, they call him--is consular agent for bothGermany and England, and the only German here is consular agent forFrance and Holland. You see, each of 'em has to represent some othercountry than his own, because his country knows why he left it." Hethrew back his head and laughed at this with great delight. Apparentlyhe had already forgotten the rebuff from Captain Leeds. But it had madea deep impression upon me. I had heard Leeds virtually accuse the consulof being an agent of General Laguerre, and I suspected that the articleshe had refused to deliver were more likely to be machine guns thansewing-machines. If this were true, Mr. Aiken was a person in whom Icould confide with safety.
The consulate was a one-story building of corrugated iron, hot,unpainted, and unlovely. It was set on wooden logs to lift it from thereach of "sand jiggers" and the surf, which at high tide ran up thebeach, under and beyond it. Inside it was rude and bare, and the heatand the smell of the harbor, and of the swamp on which the town wasbuilt, passed freely through the open doors.
Aiken proceeded to play the host in a most cordial manner. He placed mytrunk in the room I was to occupy, and set out some very strong Hondurancigars an
d a bottle of Jamaica rum. While he did this he began togrumble over the loss of his sewing-machines, and to swear picturesquelyat Captain Leeds, bragging of the awful things he meant to do to him.But when he had tasted his drink and lighted a cigar, his good-humorreturned, and he gave his attention to me.
"Now then, young one," he asked, in a tone of the utmost familiarity,"what's your trouble?"
I explained that I could not help but hear what the Captain shoutedat him from the Panama, and I asked if it was contrary to the law ofHonduras for one to communicate with the officer Captain Leeds hadmentioned--General Laguerre.
"The old man, hey?" Aiken exclaimed and stared at me apparently withincreased interest. "Well, there are some people who might prevent yourgetting to him," he answered, diplomatically. For a moment he sipped hisrum and water, while he examined me from over the top of the cup. Thenhe winked and smiled.
"Come now," he said, encouragingly. "Speak up. What's the game? You cantrust me. You're an agent for Collins, or the Winchester Arms people,aren't you?"
"On the contrary," I said, with some haughtiness, "I am serving no one'sinterest but my own. I read in the papers of General Laguerre and hisforeign legion, and I came here to join him and to fight with him.That's all. I am a soldier of fortune, I said." I repeated this withsome emphasis, for I liked the sound of it. "I am a soldier of fortune,and my name is Macklin. I hope in time to make it better known."
"A soldier of fortune, hey?" exclaimed Aiken, observing me with a grin."What soldiering have you done?"
I replied, with a little embarrassment, that as yet I had seen no activeservice, but that for three years I had been trained for it at WestPoint.
"At West Point, the deuce you have!" said Aiken. His tone was now oneof respect, and he regarded me with marked interest. He was not agentleman, but he was sharp-witted enough to recognize one in me, andmy words and bearing had impressed him. Still his next remark wasdisconcerting.
"But if you're a West Point soldier," he asked, "why the devil do youwant to mix up in a shooting-match like this?"
I was annoyed, but I answered, civilly: "It's in a good cause," I said."As I understand the situation, this President Alvarez is a tyrant. He'sopposed to all progress. It's a fight for liberty."
Aiken interrupted me with a laugh, and placed his feet on the table.
"Oh, come," he said, in a most offensive tone. "Play fair, play fair."
"Play fair? What do you mean?" I demanded.
"You don't expect me to believe," he said, jeeringly, "that you came allthe way down here, just to fight for the sacred cause of liberty."
I may occasionally exaggerate a bit in representing myself to be a moreimportant person than I really am, but if I were taught nothing else atthe Point, I was taught to tell the truth, and when Aiken questioned myword I felt the honor of the whole army rising within me and stiffeningmy back-bone.
"You had better believe what I tell you, sir," I answered him, sharply."You may not know it, but you are impertinent!"
I have seldom seen a man so surprised as was Aiken when I made thisspeech. His mouth opened and remained open while he slowly removedhis feet from the table and allowed the legs of his chair to touch thefloor.
"Great Scott," he said at last, "but you have got a nasty temper. I'dforgotten that folks are so particular."
"Particular--because I object to having my word doubted," I asked. "Imust request you to send my trunk to Pulido's. I fancy you and I won'thit it off together." I rose and started to leave the room, but he heldout his hands to prevent me, and exclaimed, in consternation:
"Oh, that's no way to treat me," he protested. "I didn't say anythingfor you to get on your ear about. If I did, I'm sorry." He steppedforward, offering to shake my hand, and as I took his doubtfully, hepushed me back into my chair.
"You mustn't mind me," he went on. "It's been so long since I've seen aman from God's country that I've forgotten how to do the polite. Here,have another drink and start even." He was so eager and so suddenlyhumble that I felt ashamed of my display of offended honor, and we beganagain with a better understanding.
I told him once more why I had come, and this time he accepted my storyas though he considered my wishing to join Laguerre the most naturalthing in the world, nodding his head and muttering approvingly. When Ihad finished he said, "You may not think so now, but I guess you've cometo the only person who can help you. If you'd gone to anyone else you'dprobably have landed in jail." He glanced over his shoulder at the opendoor, and then, after a mysterious wink at me, tiptoed out upon theveranda, and ran rapidly around and through the house. This precautionon his part gave me a thrill of satisfaction. I felt that at last Iwas a real conspirator that I was concerned in something dangerous andweighty. I sipped at my glass with an air of indifference, but as amatter of fact I was rather nervous.
"You can't be too careful," Aiken said as he reseated himself. "Ofcourse, the whole thing is a comic opera, but if they suspect youare working against them, they're just as likely as not to make it atragedy, with you in the star part. Now I'll explain how I got intothis, and I can assure you it wasn't through any love of liberty withme. The consular agent here is a man named Quay, and he and I havebeen in the commission business together. About three months ago, whenLaguerre was organizing his command at Bluefields, Garcia, who is theleader of the revolutionary party, sent word down here to Quay to goNorth for him and buy two machine guns and invoice 'em to me at theconsulate. Quay left on the next steamer and appointed me acting consul,but except for his saying so I've no more real authority to act asconsul than you have. The plan was that when Laguerre captured this porthe would pick up the guns and carry them on to Garcia. Laguerre was atBluefields, but couldn't get into the game for lack of a boat. So whenthe Nancy Miller touched there he and his crowd boarded her just like alot of old-fashioned pirates and turned the passengers out on the wharf.Then they put a gun at the head of the engineer and ordered him to takethem back to Porto Cortez. But when they reached here the guns hadn'tarrived from New Orleans. And so, after a bit of a fight on landing,Laguerre pushed on without them to join Garcia. He left instructionswith me to bring him word when they arrived. He's in hiding up there inthe mountains, waiting to hear from me now. They ought to have come thissteamer day on the Panama along with you, but, as you know, they didn't.I never thought they would. I knew the Isthmian Line people wouldn'tcarry 'em. They've got to beat Garcia, and until this row is over theywon't even carry a mail-bag for fear he might capture it."
"Is that because General Laguerre seized one of their steamers?" Iasked.
"No, it's an old fight," said Aiken, "and Laguerre's stealing the NancyMiller was only a part of it. The fight began between Garcia and theIsthmian Line when Garcia became president. He tried to collect somemoney from the Isthmian Line, and old man Fiske threw him out of thepalace and made Alvarez president."
I was beginning to find the politics of the revolution into which I hadprecipitated myself somewhat involved, and I suppose I looked puzzled,for Aiken laughed.
"You can laugh," I said, "but it is rather confusing. Who is Fiske? Ishe another revolutionist?"
"Fiske!" exclaimed Aiken. "Don't tell me you don't know who Fiske is?I mean old man Fiske, the Wall Street banker--Joseph Fiske, the one whoowns the steam yacht and all the railroads."
I had of course heard of that Joseph Fiske, but his name to me was onlya word meaning money. I had never thought of Joseph Fiske as a humanbeing. At school and at the Point when we wanted to give the idea ofwealth that could not be counted we used to say, "As rich as Joe Fiske."But I answered, in a tone that suggested that I knew him intimately:
"Oh, that Fiske," I said. "But what has he to do with Honduras?"
"He owns it," Aiken answered. "It's like this," he began. "You mustunderstand that almost every republic in Central America is underthe thumb of a big trading firm or a banking house or a railroad. Forinstance, all these revolutions you read about in the papers--it'sseldom they start with the p
eople. The _puebleo_ don't often electa president or turn one out. That's generally the work of a New Yorkbusiness firm that wants a concession. If the president in office won'tgive it a concession the company starts out to find one who will. Ithunts up a rival politician or a general of the army who wants to bepresident, and all of them do, and makes a deal with him. It promiseshim if he'll start a revolution it will back him with the money and theguns. Of course, the understanding is that if the leader of the fakerevolution gets in he'll give his New York backers whatever they'reafter. Sometimes they want a concession for a railroad, and sometimesit's a nitrate bed or a rubber forest, but you can take my word forit that there's very few revolutions down here that haven't got amoney-making scheme at the bottom of them.
"Now this present revolution was started by the Isthmian Steamship Line,of which Joe Fiske is president. It runs its steamers from New Orleansto the Isthmus of Panama. In its original charter this republic gave itthe monopoly of the fruit-carrying trade from all Hondurian ports. Inreturn for this the company agreed to pay the government $10,000 a yearand ten per cent, on its annual receipts, if the receipts ever exceededa certain amount. Well, curiously enough, although the line has beenable to build seven new steamers, its receipts have never exceeded thatfixed amount. And if you know these people the reason for that is verysimple. The company has always given each succeeding president a lumpsum for himself, on the condition that he won't ask any impertinentquestions about the company's earnings. Its people tell him that it isrunning at a loss, and he always takes their word for it. But Garcia,when he came in, either was too honest, or they didn't pay him enough tokeep quiet. I don't know which it was, but, anyway, he sent an agentto New Orleans to examine the company's books. The agent discovered theearnings have been so enormous that by rights the Isthmian Line owed thegovernment of Honduras $500,000. This was a great chance for Garcia, andhe told them to put up the back pay or lose their charter. They refusedand he got back at them by preventing their ships from taking on anycargo in Honduras, and by seizing their plant here and at Truxillo.Well, the company didn't dare to go to law about it, nor appeal to theState Department, so it started a revolution. It picked out a thiefnamed Alvarez as a figure-head and helped him to bribe the army andcapture the capital. Then he bought a decision from the local courts infavor of the company. After that there was no more talk about collectingback pay. Garcia was an exile in Nicaragua. There he met Laguerre, whois a professional soldier of fortune, and together they cooked up thispresent revolution. They hope to put Garcia back into power again. Howhe'll act if he gets in I don't know. The common people believe he's apatriot, that he'll keep all the promises he makes them--and he makes agood many--and some white people believe in him, too. Laguerre believesin him, for instance. Laguerre told me that Garcia was a second Bolivarand Washington. But he might be both of them, and he couldn't beat theIsthmian Line. You see, while he has prevented the Isthmian Line fromcarrying bananas, he's cut off his own nose by shutting off his onlysource of supply. For these big corporations hang together at times,and on the Pacific side the Pacific Mail Company has got the word fromFiske, and they won't carry supplies, either. That's what I meant bysaying that Joe Fiske owns Honduras. He's cut it off from the world, andonly _his_ arms and _his_ friends can get into it. And the joke of it ishe can't get out."
"Can't get out?" I exclaimed. "What do you mean?"
"Why, he's up there at Tegucigalpa himself," said Aiken. "Didn't youknow that? He's up at the capital, visiting Alvarez. He came in throughthis port about two weeks ago."
"Joseph Fiske is fighting in a Hondurian revolution?" I exclaimed.
"Certainly not!" cried Aiken. "He's here on a pleasure trip; partlypleasure, partly business. He came here on his yacht. You can see herfrom the window, lying to the left of the buoy. Fiske has nothing to dowith this row. I don't suppose he knows there's a revolution going on."
I resented this pretended lack of interest on the part of the WallStreet banker. I condemned it as a piece of absurd affectation.
"Don't you believe it!" I said. "No matter how many millions a man has,he doesn't stand to lose $500,000 without taking an interest in it."
"Oh, but he doesn't know about _that_," said Aiken. "He doesn't knowthe ins and outs of the story--what I've been telling you. That's on theinside--that's cafe scandal. That side of it would never reach him. Isuppose Joe Fiske is president of a _dozen_ steamship lines, and all hedoes is to lend his name to this one, and preside at board meetings. Thecompany's lawyers tell him whatever they think he ought to know. Theyprobably say they're having trouble down here owing to one of the localrevolutions, and that Garcia is trying to blackmail them."
"Then you don't think Fiske came down here about this?" I asked.
"About this?" repeated Aiken, in a tone of such contempt that I dislikedhim intensely. For the last half hour Aiken had been jumping unfeelinglyon all my ideals and illusions.
"No," he went on. "He came here on his yacht on a pleasure trip aroundthe West India Islands, and he rode in from here to look over the CopanSilver Mines. Alvarez is terribly keen to get rid of him. He's afraidthe revolutionists will catch him and hold him for ransom. He'd bring agood price," Aiken added, reflectively. "It's enough to make a man turnbrigand. And his daughter, too. She'd bring a good price."
"His daughter!" I exclaimed.
Aiken squeezed the tips of his fingers together, and kissed them,tossing the imaginary kiss up toward the roof. Then he drank what wasleft of his rum and water at a gulp and lifted the empty glass high inthe air. "To the daughter," he said.
It was no concern of mine, but I resented his actions exceedingly. Ithink I was annoyed that he should have seen the young lady while I hadnot. I also resented his toasting her before a stranger. I knew he couldnot have met her, and his pretence of enthusiasm made him appear quiteridiculous. He looked at me mournfully, shaking his head as though itwere impossible for him to give me an idea of her.
"Why they say," he exclaimed, "that when she rides along the trail, thenative women kneel beside it.
"She's the best looking girl I ever saw," he declared, "and she's athoroughbred too!" he added, "or she wouldn't have stuck it out in thiscountry when she had a clean yacht to fall back on. She's been ridingaround on a mule, so they tell me, along with her father and theengineering experts, and just as though she enjoyed it. The men up atthe mines say she tired them all out."
I had no desire to discuss the young lady with Aiken, so I pretended notto be interested, and he ceased speaking, and we smoked in silence. Butmy mind was nevertheless wide awake to what he had told me. I could nothelp but see the dramatic values which had been given to the situationby the presence of this young lady. The possibilities were tremendous.Here was I, fighting against her father, and here was she, beautiful andan heiress to many millions. In the short space of a few seconds I hadpictured myself rescuing her from brigands, denouncing her fatherfor not paying his honest debt to Honduras, had been shot down by hisescort, Miss Fiske had bandaged my wounds, and I was returning North asher prospective husband on my prospective father-in-law's yacht.Aiken aroused me from this by rising to his feet. "Now then," he said,briskly, "if you want to go to Laguerre you can come with me. I've gotto see him to explain why his guns haven't arrived, and I'll take youwith me." He made a wry face and laughed. "A nice welcome he'll giveme," he said. I jumped to my feet. "There's my trunk," I said; "it'sready, and so am I. When do we start?"
"As soon as it is moonlight," Aiken answered.
The remainder of the day was spent in preparing for our journey. I wasfirst taken to the commandante and presented to him as a commercialtraveller. Aiken asked him for a passport permitting me to proceed tothe capital "for purposes of trade." As consular agent Aiken needed nopassport for himself, but to avoid suspicion he informed the commandantethat his object in visiting Tegucigalpa was to persuade Joseph Fiske,as president of the Isthmian Line, to place buoys in the harbor of PortoCortez and give the commission for their purcha
se to the commandante.Aiken then and always was the most graceful liar I have ever met. Hisfictions were never for his own advantage, at least not obviously so.Instead, they always held out some pleasing hope for the person to whomthey were addressed. His plans and promises as to what he would do wereso alluring that even when I knew he was lying I liked to pretend thathe was not. This particular fiction so interested the commandante thathe even offered us an escort of soldiers, which honor we naturallydeclined.
That night when the moon had risen we started inland, each mounted on astout little mule, and followed by a third, on which was swung my trunk,balanced on the other side by Aiken's saddle bags. A Carib Indian whomAiken had selected because of his sympathies for the revolution walkedbeside the third mule and directed its progress by the most startlingshrieks and howls. To me it was a most memorable and marvellous night,and although for the greater part of it Aiken dozed in his saddle andwoke only to abuse his mule, I was never more wakeful nor more happy. Atthe very setting forth I was pleasantly stirred when at the limit of thetown a squad of soldiers halted us and demanded our passports. This wasmy first encounter with the government troops. They were barefootedand most slovenly looking soldiers, mere boys in age and armed withold-fashioned Remingtons. But their officer, the captain of the guard,was more smartly dressed, and I was delighted to find that my knowledgeof Spanish, in which my grandfather had so persistently drilled me,enabled me to understand all that passed between him and Aiken. Thecaptain warned us that the revolutionists were camped along thetrail, and that if challenged we had best answer quickly that we wereAmericanos. He also told us that General Laguerre and his legion of"gringoes" were in hiding in the highlands some two days' ride from thecoast. Aiken expressed the greatest concern at this, and was for atonce turning back. His agitation was so convincing, he was apparentlyso frightened, that, until he threw a quick wink at me, I confess I wascompletely taken in. For some time he refused to be calmed, and itwas only when the captain assured him that his official position wouldprotect him from any personal danger that he consented to ride on.Before we crossed the town limits he had made it quite evident thatthe officer himself was solely responsible for his continuing onhis journey, and he denounced Laguerre and all his works with apicturesqueness of language and a sincerity that filled me withconfusion. I even began to doubt if after all Aiken was not playing agame for both sides, and might not end my career by leading me intoa trap. After we rode on I considered the possibility of this quiteseriously, and I was not reassured until I heard the _mozo_, with manychuckles and shrugs of the shoulder, congratulate Aiken on the way hehad made a fool of the captain.
"That's called diplomacy, Jose," Aiken told him. "That's my statecraft.It's because I have so much statecraft that I am a consul. You keepyour eye on this American consul, Jose, and you'll learn a lot ofstatecraft."
Jose showed his teeth and grinned, and after he had dropped into a linebehind us we could hear him still chuckling.
"You would be a great success in secret service work, Aiken," I said,"or on the stage."
We were riding in single file, and in order to see my face in themoonlight he had to turn in his saddle.
"And yet I didn't," he laughed.
"What do you mean," I asked, "were you ever a spy or an actor?"
"I was both," he said. "I was a failure at both, too. I got put in jailfor being a spy, and I ought to have been hung for my acting." I kickedmy mule forward in order to hear better.
"Tell me about it," I asked, eagerly. "About when you were a spy."
But Aiken only laughed, and rode on without turning his head.
"You wouldn't understand," he said after a pause. Then he looked at meover his shoulder. "It needs a big black background of experience andhard luck to get the perspective on that story," he explained. "Itwouldn't appeal to you; you're too young. They're some things they don'tteach at West Point."
"They teach us," I answered, hotly, "that if we're detailed to secretservice work we are to carry out our orders. It's not dishonorable toobey orders. I'm not so young as you think. Go on, tell me, in what warwere you a spy?"
"It wasn't in any war," Aiken said, again turning away from me. "It wasin Haskell's Private Detective Agency."
I could not prevent an exclamation, but the instant it had escaped meI could have kicked myself for having made it. "I beg your pardon," Imurmured, awkwardly.
"I said you wouldn't understand," Aiken answered. Then, to show he didnot wish to speak with me further, he spurred his mule into a trot andkept a distance between us.
Our trail ran over soft, spongy ground and was shut in on either handby a wet jungle of tangled vines and creepers. They interlaced like thestrands of a hammock, choking and strangling and clinging to each otherin a great web. From the jungle we came to ill-smelling pools of mud andwater, over which hung a white mist which rose as high as our heads.It was so heavy with moisture that our clothing dripped with it, andwe were chilled until our teeth chattered. But by five o'clock in themorning we had escaped the coast swamps, and reached higher ground andthe village of Sagua la Grande, and the sun was drying our clothes andtaking the stiffness out of our bones.