Chapter XIV: His Father's House

Tim was not remarkable for patience. The morning and afternoon of the next day passed too slowly for him. In the cave there was nothing to do; outside, his activity was circumscribed. He gave himself a bath in the pool below the waterfall, then returned to the cave for his breakfast. The empty meat tin tempted him to set it up at one end of the cave as a target, and practise revolver-shooting. But recollecting that the shape of this hiding-place might set up tell-tale reverberations, he abandoned the idea, kicked the tin away, and by way of doing something went for another bathe.

While he was still disporting in the water he heard footsteps in the direction of the path, and scampered back lightly to the shelter of the leafy screen. Peering out somewhat anxiously, he saw an old Indian woman filling a pitcher from the brook. She carried it across the track among the brushwood on the other side, and disappeared. Tim guessed that she was one of the workers on Senor Durand's estate, which extended for several miles between the two paths from San Rosario. Some hours later a Cholo youth walked up the track, carrying a fishing-net and basket; he, no doubt, was going to the river to catch the family dinner. Except for these two, Tim saw no human being during the day. A number of waterfowl settled on the stream when the sun was high, and he caught glimpses of gaudy parrots occasionally; these were all the signs of life.

He had promised Romana not to start too soon, and meant to keep his promise. It was twelve miles to the spot where they had arranged to meet, a walk of less than three or more than four hours according to the pace. Tim reasoned that by taking the longer period he would have more opportunities for scouting, and could make up for any time lost if he should have to conceal himself from passers-by. Accordingly he started, a full hour before he need have done. When once upon the path he forgot his intention to go slowly. He kept up a good swinging pace, though neglecting no precaution. In the plantations on his left hand he saw the distant forms of several of Senor Durand's workers, but he met nobody on the path, and nobody overtook him.

When he arrived at the place agreed upon, it wanted still nearly two hours of sunset. Romana could not reach him for at least three hours, perhaps four or five if he brought petrol. Tim began to wish that he had not been in such a hurry. The spot was a cross-road--the junction of the path by which he had come with the track running northwards to Senor Durand's estate, with that running eastwards to his own home, and with another going southwards and emerging into the main road from San Rosario to San Juan. There were trees all around, and Tim decided to climb into one that gave him a partial view of all the tracks.

He had not been long settled in his perch when he heard on his left the sound of a horse trotting. Peering out through the foliage he presently caught sight of young Felipe Durand, riding alone towards the town. Tim, as we know, was impulsive; he often acted hastily, and sometimes repented afterwards, though not so frequently as might have been expected. When his friend was within a few yards of him, he hailed him cautiously. Durand reined up with a start, and looked wonderingly about him.

"Where are you?" he said, in a tone little above a whisper.

"Here, up a tree," replied Tim.

"You _are_ up a tree!" said Durand.

"Don't be an ass. Ride in and tie your horse up. I'm coming down to talk to you. There's no one in sight."

Durand dismounted and led his horse some distance into the copse. There Tim joined him.

"You are pretty mad," said Durand, "to come so close to the town. What on earth are you up to?"

"Romana has gone into the town to get some grub. We're very short up yonder."

"You'll be shot if you're caught. The Prefect is raging at your father's escape. He led the raid on Mollendo's camp, thinking to catch you and your father there."

"He'd better go on raging," said Tim, with a grin. "What is happening, Durand?"

"He has sacked the gobernador, fined him L1000 and put him under arrest. He has promised L500 to the man who captures you or your father."

"My price has doubled, then! Where is he now?"

"He has gone back to San Juan. It's rumoured that as soon as he has made things secure there he's going to lead an expedition into the hills. He has sworn to smash the Mollendists, and he'll have no mercy on Mollendo or your father when he catches them."

"He should say 'if.' 'Ifs and ans are pots and pans; 'there's a big difference between 'if' and 'when'--and 'now' and 'never.' What do they say in the town?"

"A good many people sympathise with you, but the Prefect has a strong party, as you know; otherwise he wouldn't have left only a hundred men behind. There's a big crowd in Mollendo's old camp."

"I know, and a very poor lot they are. What is happening at home?"

"Pardo is playing the tyrant. It's rather fun. He cleared out all your old servants, except the Irishwoman. Old Biddy flatly refused to go, and I suppose he's afraid of being a laughing-stock in the town if he sends the gendarmes in with her."

"He has got gendarmes, then?"

"A dozen or so. He needs them. He has cut down wages all round, forbidden any of the workpeople to go into the town, and generally played the fool. There was a row this morning. The Japs refused to go to work except on the old terms. The foreman went to see Pardo at the house, Pardo was insulting, and the Jap flew at his throat. Of course he had no chance with the gendarmes there. They collared him and marched him into the town, and he'll have a bad time when the Prefect comes back. Pardo's a fool. The Japs will bolt in a body if he isn't careful. They'll easily get work elsewhere, and he'll find it hard to run the plantations without them. But what are you doing here?"

"I'm waiting for Romana. He's coming out after dark."

"Well, take my advice and don't run any risks. By the way, how is your mother? My mater was talking about her this morning."

"She's all right--out of harm's way. Old Mollendo is a funny old chap. He has made Father a general, and me a lieutenant."

"You don't mean to say that you have really joined his party?"

"Indeed we have."

"That's a mistake. The Prefect has got a real handle against you now. He'd be justified in shooting you."

"He must catch us first. You'll see something startling one of these days."

"I'm afraid I shall. Well, good-bye. I shan't say I've seen you, of course. I'm going to dine with Dr. Pereira."

"You can tell him. He's a good sort. Good-bye; glad I met you."

Durand rode on, and Tim went back to his tree. But he had not sat there more than a few minutes before a sudden impulse seized him to go himself to the house. It was only three miles away; he would have plenty of time to go there and back before Romana arrived. He might get some petrol himself. Romana had the key of the outhouse; but Tim knew of a couple of loose boards at the back which he could easily remove and so gain entrance. He threw a glance along each of the paths; nobody was in sight. Then he slipped down and hastened into the broken country that lay between him and the cultivated ground. The hour was drawing near for the cessation of work on the plantations. He might reach the neighbourhood of the house without meeting any of the labourers. Even if he did meet them, what Durand had said assured him that he need have no fear of betrayal.

He made all possible haste. No fence separated the waste land from the coffee plantations. In this region the coffee plants grew to an unusual height, and he could safely make his way through them without having to go farther northward to the equally tall sugar-canes.

He met no one. In less than an hour he came to the rear of the private grounds. A thick shrubbery enclosed the field on which he was accustomed to play cricket and lawn-tennis. To the left was the petrol shed. Between the field and the house were the kitchen garden and an orchard.

Tim made his way to the back of the shed. It was an easy matter to pull out the loose boards. He entered, took a can, and returning with it to the shrubbery, hid it among the dense foliage near the spot where he had emerged from the plantation. In the course of half an hour he had four cans ready for removal. By this time dusk had fallen. He heard the clatter of crockery from the house. It was dinner time. An uncontrollable desire seized him to look in upon Pardo at the meal. Carefully replacing the boards taken from the wall of the shed, he slipped quietly round by the shrubbery towards the end of the house remote from the servants' quarters. There was now a light in the dining-room. He stole through the intervening orchard, crept to the wall of the house; then, going down on hands and knees, peeped over the window-sill.

The table was laid profusely; evidently, he thought, Pardo was "doing himself well." The ex-bookkeeper had the head of the table; there were two guests, one of them the Captain Pierola who was to have superintended the execution of Mr. O'Hagan, the other Senor Fagasta's secretary. The men were on good terms with their fare and each other. They were chatting in high good temper, and Tim felt a flush of anger as he saw how free they were making with his father's Burgundy. It was a good wine, used but sparingly by its owner; these Peruvians had already emptied one bottle, and two more stood at Pardo's elbow.

Tim watched them for some minutes, conscious of a mad longing to rush in and break the bottles on their heads. But the night was deepening; it was time to get back; and he pictured Romana's surprise when he met him, as he expected to do, coming through the plantation. Retracing his steps as stealthily as he had approached, he returned to the shrubbery, took up one of the cans, and set off with it towards the rendezvous.

He had taken only a few steps, however, when he heard a sudden commotion from the front of the house. Men's voices were raised in angry cries. He halted, wondering what was happening. After a moment's hesitation, he ran back, dropped the can in the shrubbery, and again hastened noiselessly to the house. Looking into the dining-room, he saw that it was now empty; but the door leading into the patio was open, and through it he caught sight of a group of gendarmes. At the same moment he heard the crack of a whip, then a cry of pain, followed by howls of rage and the crash of breaking glass.

The patio was brightly lit, but Tim's view of what was proceeding there was intercepted by the backs of the gendarmes. Throbbing with excitement, he ran to the side of the one-storeyed house, scrambled up the wall by means of holes which he had once made when climbing for a lost ball, and got upon the roof. A few steps more brought him to the edge of the open patio. Peeping over, he took in at a rapid glance a dramatic situation. In the centre of the floor lay a Japanese workman, held down by two gendarmes, while Pardo belaboured him with a raw-hide whip. In the veranda and on the lawn beyond there was a swarm of the Japanese labourers, howling with rage, brandishing bill-hooks, and pressing forward to the patio, the glass door of which had just been shattered by the men nearest it. Within stood more gendarmes with fixed bayonets, and just as Tim arrived, Captain Pierola stepped forward and fired his revolver into the midst of the crowd. A man fell back among his comrades, shot to the heart. The cries were stilled; the throng drew away out of the light; and Pardo went on with his thrashing.

Tim's first feeling was utter shame and indignant wrath. Then he had a sudden inspiration. Rushing back to the wall, he shinned down with the speed of a squirrel, ran round to the front, and dashing among the crowd of Japanese, who were standing in the darkness, enraged but irresolute, he called on them to follow him. They recognised him, hailed him with a shout of delight, and next moment the whole eighty were following him in a yelling horde back to the house.

He kept out of the light from the patio, until, as he expected, the gendarmes fired a scattered volley. Then springing on to the veranda, he discharged his revolver point-blank at Captain Pierola, and brought him to the ground. The fall of their officer took the gendarmes aback. Before they could recover themselves, the Japanese burst into the patio with a shout of triumph. The Peruvians did not await the cold steel of their flashing bill-hooks. Pardo had already dropped his whip and fled. The gendarmes flocked after him, across the patio, through the corridor and out at the main door towards the road to San Rosario. Not all escaped. The rearmost were swooped upon by the exultant Japanese, who took an ample vengeance for the death of their comrade and the brutal treatment of their foreman.

"Glory be!" said a voice from the rear of the patio, and Biddy Flanagan came hastily to greet Tim. "Is the master after coming back?"

"He is not, Biddy, but he and Mother are quite safe."

He turned to ask explanations of the recent scene. It appeared that the acting foreman had come to Pardo with an ultimatum from the whole body of Japanese, that unless he procured the instant release of the man imprisoned in the town they would at once quit the hacienda. Pardo, having drunk more than was good for him, forgot that he was not dealing with the timid, spiritless Indians of the Peruvian Amazon. He ordered in the gendarmes, and proceeded to flog the man, in full view of the crowd watching through the door of the patio. No doubt the Japanese would have had the courage to storm the house even without Tim; but his opportune arrival had quickened them with enthusiasm; they had the confidence of men fighting in a cause doubly just.