Chapter IV: Part 4

But a wrench at the gyves took the fight out of him, for he felt that the bones in his wrists must surely be crushed. One side of his head was strangely big and numb; a warm stream trickled down his cheek; but he had no time to think of his condition, for his assailants fell upon him with fresh fury, and he reeled about, striving to shield himself. Every movement, however, was construed as resistance, and his punishment continued, until at last he must have fainted from pain or had his wits scattered by a blow on the head; for when he recovered consciousness he found himself in a filthy, ill-lighted room, flung upon a wooden platform that ran along the wall, evidently serving as a bed. Near him Allan was huddled, his black face distorted with pain and ashen with apprehension.

VIII

EL COMANDANTE TAKES A HAND

"Where are we?" queried Anthony, as he took in the surroundings.

"This is the prison, sar."

"Gee! I'm sick." Kirk lay back upon the platform and closed his eyes. "Did they hurt you much?"

"Oh yes. Very considerably."

"Sorry I got you into it, Allan, I never thought they'd be so cranky." Again he groaned. "I want a drink."

"Let me get it. Those Spiggoties will not give it to you."

Allan went to the door and called to the guard. An instant later he returned with a tin cup.

"I guess they knocked me out," Kirk said, dazedly. "I never was hit like that before--and jailed! Say! We must get out of her. Call the chief or the man in charge, will you? I can't speak the language."

"Please, sar, if you h'anger them they will beat us again."

"Beat! Not here?"

"Oh yes. They might kill us."

"They wouldn't do that!"

"A white man they killed lahst h'autumn, and several of my people have passed away in this prison. Nobody can 'ear nothing. Nobody knows what 'appens 'ere."

"Oh, well, they wouldn't dare touch us--I'm an American citizen. I'll notify the consul."

Roused at the mere suggestion. Kirk staggered to the door and shouted lustily. When no one answered, he shook the iron grating, whereupon a guard leisurely approached, and, after listening stolidly to his request, went back to his post at the other end of the hall. This time the American sent forth such an uproar that a man evidently corresponding in authority to a sergeant appeared with the command to be quiet.

"Let me out of here!" loudly demanded the prisoner. "I want the chief, or the alcalde, or somebody in charge. I want to know what I'm booked for, I want to telephone--TELEPHONE, don't you understand?--and arrange bail. Quick, now!"

But the officer merely frowned at him, obviously threatening a resort to force if this outburst did not cease at once.

"I tell you I want to get out," insisted Kirk. "I want to know what I'm charged with and have my friends get bail."

The man nodded his understanding and went away, but an hour passed and he did not return. Then another hour followed, and Anthony, who had now begun to feel the effect of his drubbing more keenly, renewed his clamor, with the result that a half-dozen policemen appeared, causing Allan to retreat to a corner and mumble prayers. From their demeanor it looked as though they were really bent upon mischief, but Kirk soon saw that an official had come in answer to his call. He felt less reassured when he perceived that the person in uniform who now stepped forward was the same upon whom he had turned the hose earlier in the evening.

This was a black-haired, black-eyed young fellow of, perhaps, thirty. While his skin was swarthy, even in this poor light it could be seen that he was of the real Castilian type and of a much better class than the others. He was slender and straight, his mouth small and decorated by a carefully pencilled little mustache, which was groomed to a needle sharpness. His hands and feet were as dainty as those of a woman. He was undeniably striking in appearance, and might have passed for handsome had it not been for the scowl that distorted his features.

"Eh! 'ere you are," he began, angrily.

"Yes; I want to get out, too. What does this treatment mean?"

The new-comer stepped toward the other occupant of the cell, at which Allan broke out in terror: "Don't you touch me. I'm a British object."

But it was evidently not the man's intention to offer any further indignity to his prisoners at that time. After scanning the Jamaican carefully, he issued an order to one of his men, who left the room.

"And I'm an American," Anthony declared. "You'll have to answer for this."

"Per'aps you don' know who I am. I am Ramon Alfarez, Comandante of Police, an' you dare' to t'row the water of the 'ose-wagon upon my person. Your gover'ment will settle for those insolt." His white teeth showed in a furious snarl.

"I don't give a damn who you are. I'll get bail or do whatever your law requires, but I want to get out and I want to get out now."

The commandant's eyes flashed as he asked, shortly. "W'at is your name?"

"Anthony. Your men tried to kill that boy, and when I wouldn't stand for it they beat me up."

"You strock me wit' the water of the 'ose-carriage," repeated the other. "You 'ave assault the dignity of my country."

"I didn't know who you were. I was helping to stop that fire when you butted in. Now, are you going to let me out, or do you want my people to pull this jail down around your ears?"

At this threat Senor Alfarez restrained his rage with an obvious effort. "You will reply to those outrage, senor."

"Sure, I'll reply. But in the mean time I want to telephone to the American consul. Look at this!" The young man held out his shaking, swollen wrists, upon which the blood was scarcely dry. "Look at it! Those runts of yours got handcuffs on me and then beat me up. I'm sick. So's that boy. We need a doctor."

Alfarez shook his head. "You resis' the police. Even in your country one mus' not do that. 'Ave I been there, I would keel you both, but I am 'aving a cheel at the moment from those stream of col' water."

"Will you take me to a telephone?"

"It is not permit."

"Will you notify Mr. Weeks?"

Receiving no reply to this request, Kirk broke out: "Well, then, what ARE you going to do? Let us stay here all night?"

"W'at is your bizness?"

"I haven't any."

"You don' work on the Canal?"

"No. I'm a tourist. My father is a big railroad man in the States. I'm telling you this so you'll know how to act."

"W'ere do you leeve--w'at 'otel?"

"I've been stopping with Mr. Weeks."

Senor Alfarez's attitude became somewhat less overbearing.

"In due time he will be notify of your outrage to my person," he announced.

The fellow who had left the room a moment before now reappeared, carrying a bucket of water and some towels, with which he directed Allan to remove the blood from his face and hands. When it came Kirk's turn, however, he objected.

"I think I'll wait until Weeks sees me," he said.

But Alfarez retorted, sharply: "It is not permit"; and, seeing that resistance would be useless, Kirk acquiesced as gracefully as he could, remarking as he did so:

"You'll have hard work washing off this, and this." He indicated the traces of the handcuffs and the gash in his scalp.

The commandant turned to his men and addressed them at some length, calling them to task, as Allan later informed his companion, for using their clubs in a manner to mark their prisoners so conspicuously. Then he followed them into the corridor, closing the grating behind him.

The hours passed, and daylight came with no word from the American consul. By this time the two prisoners were really in need of medical attention. Their contusions pained them severely. Kirk felt as if one or more of his ribs were broken, and his suffering, combined with hunger, prevented sleep. He became feverish and fretful, but his demands for communication with the outside world were calmly ignored, although he felt certain that his wishes were fully understood. When the morning had passed without his being arraigned for a hearing he grew alarmed. Evidently he had been flung into confinement and forgotten.

Eventually Kirk and Allan were given food, but still no one came to their relief. Apparently no message had been delivered. This treatment was so atrocious, so at variance with Anthony's ideas of his own importance, that he felt he must be suffering from nightmare. How dared they treat an American so, no matter what the charge? Why didn't they try him or give him a hearing? These insolent, overbearing Panamaniacs had no regard for law or humanity, and this was no longer a question of petty injustice; it was a grave infraction of civilized equity.

But the afternoon wore on without an encouraging sign, till Kirk began to think that Weeks had refused to intercede for him and intended to leave him to the mercies of his enemies. With difficulty he managed to convey to a guard his desire to notify some of the other Americans in the city, but as usual no heed was paid to his request.

It was considerably after dark when a visitor was at last admitted. He proved to be the English consul, whom Anthony had never met.

"What are you doing here?" the new-comer inquired. Then, when the facts had been laid before him, he exclaimed: "Why, I heard that a Jamaican negro had been arrested, but I heard nothing about mistreatment of a white man."

"Doesn't anybody know I'm here?"

"I'm sure no one does. Those heathens lied to you--they never communicated with Weeks or anybody. They're afraid. This is an old trick of theirs--man-handling a prisoner, then keeping him hidden until he recovers. If he doesn't recover they get out of it on some excuse or other, as best they can. Why, they killed a white sailor not long ago--just plain clubbed him to death without excuse, then asserted that he resisted arrest. They did the same to one of our negroes. He died in the jail before I got wind of it, and when I started an investigation they showed his signed statement declaring that he had not been abused at all, and had been given the kindest treatment. The matter isn't settled yet. It's infamous! Why, I had hard work to get in at all just now. But I'll have Allan here out in two hours or I'll know the reason. England protects her subjects, Mr. Anthony, and these people know it. If they don't come to time I'll have a gunboat in the harbor in twenty-four hours. Color doesn't amount to a damn with us, sir; it's the flag."

"I guess Uncle Sam is strong enough to command respect," said Anthony.

"Well, I know the circumstances now, and I'll go straight to Weeks. He can arrange your release without trouble. If you were an Englishman, I'd have you out in no time, and you'd collect handsome damages, too. This boy will."

True to the consul's prediction, a little later the Jamaican was led out of the cell, and from the fact that he was not brought back Kirk judged that the British intervention had been effectual. But it was not until the next morning, the second of his imprisonment, that the cell door opened once more, this time to admit the portly figure of John Weeks and the spruce person of Senor Ramon Alfarez.

"What's all this trouble about?" inquired the former in none too amiable a tone.

Kirk told his story as briefly and convincingly as he could. But when he had finished, the consul shook his head.

"I don't see what I can do for you," he said. "According to your own declaration you resisted a police officer. You'll have to take your medicine."

Alfarez nodded agreement. "Quite right!" said he. "He did terrible 'avoc with my men, t'ree of which is now on the 'ospital."

"But why don't they try me or let me get bail? I want to get out."

"You'll be tried as soon as they get around to it."

"Look here!" Kirk showed the marks his assailants had left upon him. "Will you stand for that? I've been here two nights now without medical attention." "How about that, Alfarez?"

The commandant shrugged his shoulders. "If he require a doctor, one shall be secure', but he is not severely injure.' I 'ave explain the frightful indignity to the honor of my person, yes? As for me, pooh! It is forget." He waved his hand gracefully and smiled sweetly upon his fat visitor. "It does not exist. But the brave soldiers of mine! Ah! Senor Wick, they lofe me, they cannot forget the honor of el comandante. So! When the prisoner is decide to insurrect, who can say those gallant soldier don' be too strong? Who can blame for making roff-'ouse?"

"I guess you ain't hurt much," said Weeks, eying his countryman coldly. "You didn't get any more than was coming to you."

"I won't stand for this," cried the prisoner, hotly. "The English consul got that nigger boy out, and I want you to do the same for me."

"You don't understand. I've got business interests in this country, and I can't dash about creating international issues every time an American gets locked up for disorderly conduct. How long do you think I'd last with these people if I did that?"

"Are you really afraid to do anything?" Kirk inquired, slowly. "Or is it because of our row?"

"Oh, there's nothing personal about it! I can't afford personal feelings in my position. Really, I don't see where you're so much abused. You assaulted a government officer and resisted arrest. If you got hurt it's your own fault. Of course I'll see that you have a fair trial."

The commandant spoke up with ingratiating politeness: "The prisoner say he is reech man's son. Now, of course, it is too bad he is injure' wit' the clob of the policeman; but those officer is ver' polite, senor, and if he is explain biffore--"

Weeks snorted indignantly. "He gave you that fairy tale, eh? He said his name was Anthony and his father was a railroad president, didn't he? Well, he imposed on me, too, but his name is Locke, and, as near as I can learn, he practically stowed away on the SANTA CRUZ."

"Ah-h!" The officer's eyes widened as he turned them upon his prisoner. "He is then a w'at you call tramp."

"All I know is, he stuck me for a lot of bills. I'll have to see that he gets fair treatment, I suppose, because he's an American, but that ends my duty."

"Is this the best you'll do for me?" Kirk inquired, as Weeks made ready to go.

"Yes."

"Will you tell some of the men at the Wayfarers that I'm here?"

"Oh, that won't do any good. You're in for it, Locke, so don't holler. I'll be on hand at your hearing."

"Will you cable my father?"

"At twenty-five cents a word? Hardly!" The speaker mopped his face, exclaiming: "There's no use of talking, I've got to get out in the air; it's too hot in here for me." Then he waddled out ahead of Senor Alfarez, who slammed the door behind him as he followed to escort his caller to the street.

But a half-hour later the commandant returned to the cell, and this time he brought with him a number of his little policemen, each armed with a club. Feeling some menace in their coming, Kirk, who had seated himself dejectedly, arose to ask: "What's coming off?"

Alfarez merely issued some directions in Spanish, and chain handcuffs were once more snapped upon the prisoner's wrists.

"So! you're going to hold my trial, eh?" cried Kirk.

But the other snarled: "Senor Locke, you 'ave force' the water of the 'ose-wagon upon my body for making the people laugh. Bueno! Now I shall laugh." He seated himself, then nodded at his men to begin.

IX

SPANISH LAW

Mrs. Cortlandt answered her telephone for the second time, repeating with some impatience: "Tell the man I can't see him."

"But he refuses to leave--says he must see you at once; it's important," came the voice of the clerk.

"Oh, very well. I'll come down." She hung up the receiver with a snap.

"Why don't they send him up?" queried her husband from the sitting-room.

"It's a negro, and the clerk says he'd rather not allow him up-stairs. Another sick family, I suppose."

"They're beginning to impose on you. It's usually that way with charities," said Cortlandt.

With unfeminine neglect of the chance for petty discussion, his wife left the room without replying, and descended to the hotel lobby. Here she was directed toward a very ragged, very woe-begone young black on the rear porch, who, at sight of her, began to fumble his hat and run his words together so excitedly that she was forced to calm him.

"Now, now! I can't understand a word. Who are you?"

"H'Allan, mistress."

"You say some one is ill?"

"Oh yes, he is very h'ill h'indeed, mistress--h'all covered with blood and his poor 'ands h'all cut."

"Who--?"

"And his 'ead--oh, Lard! His 'ead is cut, too, and he suffers a fever."

"WHO IS IT?"

"Mr. h'Auntony--"

"Anthony!" Mrs. Cortlandt started. "What has happened? Quick!"

Seeing that at last he had found a friend, the Jamaican began to sob with relief, wailing extravagant praises to God and apparently endeavoring to kiss Mrs. Cortlandt's hand, whereat she seized him by the shoulders and shook him, crying:

"Stop that! Behave yourself and tell me what is the trouble, quickly now, from the beginning."

Without drying his tears, Allan launched himself into the full violence of his recital, stumbling recklessly over his figures of speech, lapsing into idioms that it taxed his hearer to follow. Had she been less acquainted with the Caribbean dialects she would have missed much of the story, but, as it was, she followed him closely, urging him on with sharp expressions of amazement and nods of understanding. Rapidly she gathered the facts of the case, while her cheeks whitened and her eyes grew dark with indignation. The sight renewed Allan's emotion. His voice broke, his black hands shook, he began to sob once more, and great tears stole down his ebony cheeks. But he managed to answer her terse, shocked questions with some degree of intelligence, calling upon his vivid imagination for such details as his memory had lost.

"I wait an' wait for him to h'emerge, but he does not come. Perhaps they 'ave killed the poor mon once more."

"How did you get here?"

"With my feet, mistress. Sometimes rode I on the train, but the train people are very common; they h'addressed me rudely and threw me by the wayside."

"Couldn't you telephone?"

"I do not h'understand 'ow."

"Why didn't he notify me at once? If I had only known--"

"Those 'eartless Spiggoties would not h'allow it. Oh, you will h'assist the poor mon! Say it. Praise be to God, he is bleeding in the prison--"

"Yes, yes, certainly."

Allan reached clumsily this time to kiss the hem of her skirt, but she stepped aside quickly, fumbling meanwhile in her purse for a bank-note, while he exclaimed:

"God bless you, good mistress. He told me to find you and present his recital."

"Here, take this money and go back to Colon by the first train. We may need you. Now go! I'll be there ahead of you."

She picked up her white skirts and ran up the hotel stairs as if pursued, bursting in upon her husband so impetuously that he rose in surprise, inquiring:

"What is it?"

"Young Anthony is in jail in Colon," she panted. "He's been locked up for three days, and they won't let him out."

"The devil! You said he'd gone back to New York. What is it about?"

"I thought he had. They arrested him for some silly thing, and he's hurt." She hurriedly recounted Allan's story, adding, in conclusion, "That black boy came all the way across the Isthmus to tell us!"

"I'll get the American consul by 'phone--"

But Mrs. Cortlandt interrupted. "Weeks is a fool! He wouldn't do anything. Wait!" She stepped to the instrument and rang violently. "Give me Colonel Jolson's office, quickly. If he is not there, find him. I don't care where he is, find him; it is important. This is Mrs. Cortlandt speaking.'

"What do you mean to do?" said Cortlandt.

"Go to Colon at once. This is young Alfarez's doing--the whipper-snapper--you must lay him out for this. How dare he!"

"Better go carefully. Remember, General Alfarez is his father."

"I understand. But we are bound to come to a breach sooner or later."

"I hardly think so. I believe we can bring him around all right--anyhow, I haven't lost hope." Then, as his wife made an impatient gesture: "Well, if we precipitate a quarrel now, that will end it." He paced the room feverishly. "Good heavens, Edith! Anthony chose the worst possible time for this escapade. I suppose it will mean diplomatic difficulties and all that, and once we lose old Alfarez--"

"We will lose him anyhow," snapped the woman. "I've seen it coming, although you could not. I'll break Ramon for this."

"Then you'll break us." Cortlandt stared gloomily at his wife, who met his gaze squarely. "Do you think Anthony is worth it?"

"My dear Stephen, they nearly killed that poor boy, and I sha'n't allow it. Don Anibal Alfarez is not the only presidential timber in the republic. If he breaks with us it will cost him dearly. You think he is friendly, but I know that deep down in his crafty old heart he despises all us Americans and is only waiting a chance to gratify his spleen. The moment he dares, he'll turn against us."

Cortlandt's frosty countenance showed signs of unusual agitation as he answered: "You're mad! You threaten to ruin everything. You understand perfectly--there's no use of my explaining. Let me call on him this afternoon. He will instruct his son."

"No! He would procrastinate, as usual. There would be the customary delays and excuses, and meanwhile Anthony would be in jail at Colon. They would have a defence all prepared. Besides, if it's to be a fight we must have all the weapons possible--and this affair may prove a good one. Anyhow, you mustn't ask a favor of him at this time; he must ask, not you."

The telephone rang, and the speaker snatched the receiver from its hook.

"Hello! Colonel Jolson, I'm very glad I caught you. This is Mrs. Cortlandt. Colonel Jolson, young Ramon Alfarez has arrested Kirk Anthony, of whom I spoke to you. They have maltreated him, as usual, and have hidden him for three days. Yes, yes! I discovered it quite by accident while Mr. Cortlandt was down-town. Oh, this is serious, and I'm furious. ... That will do no good; I have reasons for preferring to handle it myself. ... Thank you for the compliment. We must go to Colon at once, and I thought you might give us a special." There was a slight pause, then: "Good! That will do quite as well. In fifteen minutes. Thank you. Good-bye."

Turning to her husband, she explained, swiftly: "The Colonel's automobile will be waiting at the station in fifteen minutes. Are you ready?"

"I think you are going about this in the wrong way," he said, coldly. "When will you learn--?" She checked her crisp words at the flush that leaped to his cheeks. "I beg your pardon, Stephen. Please do as Colonel Jolson has done and trust me to manage this affair."

He bowed and left her, saying, "I will have a coach waiting at the door."

Fifteen minutes later a gasoline railroad motor-car with two passengers in addition to its driver and flagman rolled out of the yards at Panama City and took the main line, running under orders like a special train. As it clanked over the switches with ever-increasing speed, Mrs. Cortlandt leaned forward and spoke to the driver.

"We will have a clear track, and you may go as fast as you like."

The next moment the machine was reeling drunkenly around curves and a fifty-mile gale was roaring past.

Senor Ramen Alfarez was considerably nonplussed when his two distinguished visitors made known the nature of their errand. Cortlandt did most of the talking, his cold hauteur serving a good purpose and contrasting strongly with the suppressed excitement of his wife.

"Pardon me, there is no necessity for delay," he said, as the commandant endeavored to formulate an excuse. "I trust I need not insist upon seeing the prisoner?" He raised his brows with a stare of inquiry that caused the other to reply, hastily:

"Of a certainty not, senor."

"Then take us to him."

"I will spare your lady the painful sight of the prison-house. The prisoner shall be fetch' with all despatch."

"We will see him alone."

Again the commandant hesitated, while his bright eyes searched their faces with a sudden uneasy curiosity. "I am fear soch t'ing is not permit'."

"Nonsense!" exclaimed Mrs. Cortlandt, unable longer to restrain herself. "We know the law quite as well or perhaps better than you, Senor Alfarez. If you wish, Mr. Cortlandt will get permission from the President. You have a telephone?"

"Oh, soch is farthes' remove' from my thoughts," quickly interposed the commandant, with his most graceful bow. "If it is in my power to oblige, w'at matter the law? Pouf! W'at I mean is this: Our prisoner is not what you call seeck, nor is he ver' well. He is resis' the officer by force an' he is injure'--oh, but only a leetle--it is not'ing. One is truly foolish for resis' the policemans, yes?" He shook his dark head sadly. "I am desolate to 'ear of soch t'ing; it is so useless to stroggle wit' the officer in disbursement of duty; but you Americans are so brave! I am force' to admire this prisoner; he is soch a strong fellow."

"I think we understand the circumstances."

Instead of ringing for an orderly the commandant excused himself, then, after a seemingly interminable delay returned with Anthony and several policemen.

At sight of his friends the young man made for them eagerly, crying: "Jove, I'm glad you came! I'd about given you up."

"Allan only found us to-day," Mrs. Cortlandt replied.

"Did he tell the truth? Have you been abused?"

The young man turned a pair of smouldering eyes upon his enemies. He looked ill and haggard, although, except for the wound half concealed beneath his hair, he showed no marks. Then he held out his hands with a grim smile, and the woman uttered a low cry at what she saw. "They gave me another good beating yesterday," he said.

"While you were in jail?" Cortlandt queried, incredulously. "God!"

"That's the fellow yonder." Kirk pointed to Alfarez, whose smile had disappeared.

"Oh, the man is mistake'," the latter hastened to aver. "He is crazee."

"I gave you a wetting in public, and--"

"Si, si! That is correc', Senor Cortlan'. He insolt my person an' fight my soldiers. He is ver' toff person."

"Did you know he had been maltreated in prison?" Cortlandt demanded.

"Oh, senor!" Alfarez raised his hands in horrified disclaimer of the very thought, but his victim said, quietly:

"He's a liar. He ordered it, then sat there and enjoyed it."

The Panamanian's face was yellow as he managed to enunciate:

"Eempossible! It is terrible to conceive!"

Kirk made a threatening movement in the Spaniard's direction, despite the half-dozen soldiers, but Edith Cortlandt checked him.

"Wait, please," she said. Then to the commandant: "This is a serious matter, and if what he says is true, your government will find itself in trouble."

"But we 'ave no idea he is frien' of yours. If he should only spik your 'osban's name, all would be different. For my part, I can prove he is treat' with the 'ighes' courtesy an' kindness in my presence. Every man in the prison will testify to those fac'. If soch indignity 'ave be' shown, there shall be investigations." The unhappy officer's excitement was increasing, and he turned upon his men as if to make good his word, when Cortlandt interposed:

"Why did you keep him locked up so long? Why didn't you try him?"

"Ah! For that I shall inquire also. I shall conduct investigations in that respect as well. I am inform', 'owever, that the w'at you call jodge is seeck."

"We'll look into that later. We're here now to arrange for Mr. Anthony's release."

"The alcalde will be please' to accommodate at the earlies'. I myself shall see to it. To-morrow--"

"There will be no to-morrow about it," Mrs. Cortlandt exclaimed, positively. "If you cannot arrange the bail yourself, my husband will take up the matter with the Zone Government, and Colonel Jolson will call upon the President of the republic within an hour. He is waiting word from us now."

Senor Ramon Alfarez became suddenly galvanized. He broke into effusive apologies for even so small a delay as had already occurred. He had not understood the matter to be so urgent, it seemed; but the wishes of his distinguished guests were his law, and perhaps he might hasten the wheels of progress if he tried. While, to be sure, no power was vested in him, and his willing hands were most miserably tied, nevertheless he would so far exceed his authority as to promise instant freedom to the prisoner. There were, of course, certain details to be observed, the necessity of which filled him with unspeakable regret; but if he might be excused--He hastened forth to set in motion the proper machinery, and while he was absent Kirk told his story. It left the woman white-lipped and incoherent, and roused even the icy Cortlandt to genuine wrath.

"Of course," the latter said, "Alfarez will prove by his men that it's all imagination on your part, and that your injuries were sustained at the time of your arrest. He'll assume a righteous indignation and start a Spiggoty investigation. You see, his father is the Governor of Panama Province and one of the strongest men in the republic, so Ramon will probably make good his position. Even so, you may recover damages."

"I don't want damages," Kirk replied. "I want to get that Dago out alone some time."

"For Heaven's sake, don't think of it!" Mrs. Cortlandt exclaimed. "All the American influence on the Isthmus wouldn't help you then. Fifty men would perjure themselves to convict you, and if you succeeded in getting our government to interfere in time, Ramen has fifty other men who would lie to any extent to injure an American."

"No. That method doesn't work here," her husband agreed. "You're lucky to escape so easily. He will arrange bail, never fear, and you will probably not come to trial. I doubt if you will ever hear anything more of the matter, provided you keep from further trouble. He'll never forgive you, of course, but that won't matter to you."

The first part of Mr. Cortlandt's prediction was soon proved true, for the sick alcalde recovered sufficiently to appear on the scene within half an hour. Then, after much signing of official documents and certain other formalities, Kirk Anthony walked out of the Colon jail in company with his friends.

Allan was waiting at a safe distance from the municipal building, and on seeing his late companion at large he broke into the wildest rejoicing. He conjured a flow of tears, he fondled Kirk's hand in his own, he laughed, he sobbed, he sang.

"Praise be to God!" he cried, loudly. "Free mon you, Master h'Auntony. Glory, glory! My soul was in 'ell, sar. On my knees I h'implored that fa-ast wretch to release you."

His emotion appeared so genuine, his service had been so great, that the object of his adoration felt himself choke up. Of all the people Kirk had met since leaving home, this one had most occasion to blame him; yet the boy was in perfect transports of delight at his delivery.

"Don't carry on so," Kirk laughed, awkwardly.

"Oh, boss, I feared they would h'assassinate you again."

Anthony nodded grimly. "They did."

"Oh, oh!" Allan gave himself over to a shrill frenzy and shook his clenched fists at the jail in a splendidly tragic attitude. "Wretches! Murderers! 'Ell-ca-ats!"

"Sh-h! Don't make a scene on the street," Mrs. Cortlandt cautioned. But the Jamaican would not allow the fine effect of his rage to be lost. He clashed his white teeth, he rolled his eyes fearfully, and twisted his black features into the wildest expressions of ferocity, crying:

"H'Allan will best them for that! Let 'im tear h'out their 'earts by his fingers. So!" He made an eloquent gesture. "Blood! Blood!"

"Not so loud. A little pianissimo on the blood," smiled Kirk.

"H'Allan would die and kill himself for you," the excited negro ran on in an excess of loyalty. "Master h'Auntony fought those wretches for I; I shall fight them for he."

When he had finally been prevailed upon to exchange his martial threats for a fresh paean of rejoicing, he fell in behind, declaring firmly that he intended to follow his new-found hero wherever he might go, though the course laid were straight for those infernal regions that played so large a part in his fancy.

In the midst of Kirk's expressions of gratitude for the timely intercession of Cortlandt and his wife, the former surprised him by saying, in a genuinely hearty tone:

"My wife has told me all about you, Anthony, and I want you to come over to Panama as my guest until you hear from your father."

When Kirk informed him of the cablegram that had cast him adrift in Panama, leading indirectly to his entanglement with the dignity of Ramon Alfarez and the Spanish law, Cortlandt replied, reassuringly:

"Oh, well, your father doesn't understand the facts in the case, that's all. You sit down like a sensible person and write him fully. It will be a great pleasure for us to have you at the Tivoli in the mean time."

Seeing a warm second to this invitation in Mrs. Cortlandt's eyes, Kirk accepted gracefully, explaining: "You know this is the first time I was ever up against hard luck, and I don't know just how to act."

"We've missed the four-thirty-five, so we will have to return the way we came," said Cortlandt. "I'd like to stop at Gatun on a business matter of some importance, and if you don't mind a half-hour's delay, we'll do so."

Kirk expressed entire acquiescence in any plans that suited the convenience of his rescuers, and the three pursued their way to the station. But here an unexpected embarrassment arose. As they made ready to board Colonel Jolson's motor-car, they were annoyed to find that Allan insisted on going, too. He insisted, moreover, in such extravagant fashion that Mrs. Cortlandt at last was moved to say: "For Heaven's sake, let the poor thing come along." And thereafter the Jamaican boy sat on the step of the machine, his hat in hand, his eyes rolled worshipfully upon the person of his hero, his shining face ever ready to break into a grin at a glance from Kirk.

Once more the little automobile took on the dignity of a regular train and sped out of the network of tracks behind Colon. As it gained speed Mrs. Cortlandt, to divert her guest's mind from his recent ordeal, began to explain the points of interest as they passed. She showed him the old French workings where a nation's hopes lay buried, the mechanical ruins that had cost a king's ransom, the Mount Hope Cemetery, whither daily trains had borne the sacrifice before science had robbed the fever of its terrors. She told him, also, something of the railroad's history, how it had been built to bridge the gap in the route to the Golden West, the manifold difficulties overcome in its construction, and the stupendous profits it had made. Having the blood of a railroad-builder in his veins, Anthony could not but feel the interest of all this, though it failed to take his attention wholly from the wonders of the landscape that slipped by on either side. It was his first glimpse of tropic vegetation, and he used his eyes to good advantage, while he listened politely to his informant.

The matted thickets, interlaced with vine and creeper, were all ablaze with blossoms, for this was the wet season, in which nature runs riot. Great trees of strange character rose out of the tangle, their branches looped with giant cables and burdened with flowering orchids or half hidden beneath other parasites. On every hand a vegetable warfare was in progress--a struggle for existence in which the strong overbore the weak--and every trunk was distorted by the scars of the battle. Birds of bright plumage flashed in the glades, giant five-foot lizards scuttled away into the marshes or stared down from the overhanging branches. A vivid odor of growing, blooming herbage reached the nostrils.

Just as Kirk had made up his mind that he could sit and watch this brilliant panorama forever, the jungle suddenly fell away, and the car sped up through low, grass-clad hills into a scattered city flung against the side of a wide valley. There was no sign here of Latin America; this was Yankeeland through and through. The houses, hundreds upon hundreds of them, were of the typical Canal Zone architecture, double-galleried and screened from foundation to eaves, and they rambled over the undulating pasture land in a magnificent disregard of distance. Smooth macadam roads wound back and forth, over which government wagons rolled, drawn by sleek army mules; flower gardens blazed forth in gorgeous colors; women and children, all clean and white and American, were sitting upon the porches or playing in the yards. Everywhere was a military neatness; the town was like the officers' quarters of a fort, the whole place spick and span and neatly groomed.

Colon had been surprisingly clean, but it was an unnatural cleanliness, as if the municipality had been scrubbed against its will. Gatun was to the manner born.

"Yonder are the locks." Cortlandt pointed to the west, and Kirk saw below him an impressive array of pyramidal steel towers, from the pinnacles of which stretched a spider's web of cables. Beneath this, he had a glimpse of some great activity, but his view was quickly cut off as the motor-car rumbled into a modern railway station.

"I'd like to have a. look at what's going on over yonder," he said.

"You will have time," Cortlandt answered. "Edith will show you about while I run in on Colonel Bland."

Out through the station-shed Kirk's hostess led him, then across a level sward, pausing at length upon the brink of a mighty chasm. It took him a moment to grasp the sheer magnitude of the thing; then he broke into his first real expression of wonder:

"Why, I had no idea--Really, this is tremendous."

At his feet the earth opened in a giant, man-made canon, running from the valley above, through the low ridge and out below. Within it an army was at work. Along the margins of the excavation ran steel tracks, upon which were mounted the movable towers he had seen from a distance. These tapering structures bore aloft long, tautly drawn wire cables, spanning the gorge and supporting great buckets which soared at regular intervals back and forth, bearing concrete for the work below. Up and out of the depths tremendous walls were growing like the massive ramparts of a mediaeval city; tremendous steel forms, braced and trussed and reinforced to withstand the weight of the countless tons, stood in regular patterns. In the floor of the chasm were mysterious pits, black tunnel mouths, in and out of which men crept like ants. Far across on the opposite lip of the hill, little electric trains sped to and fro, apparently without the aid of human hands. Everywhere was a steady, feverish activity.

From the commanding eminence where the sightseers stood the spectacle was awe-inspiring; for though the whole vast work lay spread out beneath them in what looked like a hopeless confusion, yet as their eyes followed it a great and magic system became manifest. The whole organism seemed animate with some slow, intricate intelligence. The metal skips careening across those dizzy heights regulated their courses to a hand's-breadth, deposited their burdens carefully, then hurried back for more; the shuttle trains that dodged about so feverishly, untended and unguided, performed each some vital function. The great conglomerate body was dead, yet it pulsated with a life of its own. Its effect of being governed by a single indwelling mind of superhuman capacity was overpowering.

Kirk heard Mrs. Cortlandt explaining: "The ships will steam up from the sea through the dredged channel you see over yonder, then they will be raised to the level of the lake."

"What lake?"

"That valley"--she indicated the tropical plain between the hills, wherein floating dredges were at work--"will be an inland sea. Those forests will be under water."

"Where is the Gatun dam I've heard so much about?"

She pointed out a low, broad ridge or hog-back linking the hills together.

"That is it. It doesn't look much like a dam, does it? But it is all hand-made. Those are rock trains out there, from Culebra."

"Oh, now I understand. Gee whiz, but this job is a whopper! Say, this is great!" Mrs. Cortlandt smiled. "It does wake up your patriotism, doesn't it? I'm glad to have a hand in building it."

"Are you helping to dig this canal?" Anthony regarded the woman curiously. She seemed very cool and well-dressed and independent for one engaged in actual work.

"Of course! Even though I don't happen to run a steam-shovel."

"Will they really finish it? Won't something happen?"

"It is already dug. The rest is merely a matter of excavation and concrete. The engineering difficulties have all been solved, and the big human machine has been built up. What is more important, the country is livable at last. Over at Ancon Hospital there is a quiet, hard-working medical man who has made this thing possible. When the two oceans are joined together, and the job is finished, his will be the name most highly honored."

"It must be nice to do something worth while," Anthony mused, vaguely.

"To do anything," his companion observed, with a shade of meaning; then: "It is amusing to look back on the old Spanish statement that it would be impious to unite two oceans which the Creator of the world had separated."

Noting that the sun was setting beyond the distant jungles and the canon at his feet was filling with shadows, Kirk remarked, "It must be nearly time they quit work."

"This work doesn't stop. When it grows dark the whole place is lit by electricity, and the concrete continues to pour in just the same. It is wonderful then--like the mouth of a volcano. Batteries of search-lights play upon the men; the whole sky is like a furnace. You can see it for miles. Now I think we had better go back to the car."

In spite of his bodily misery, that night ride impressed itself strongly upon Anthony's mind. The black mystery of the jungles, the half-suggested glimpses of river and hill, the towns that flashed past in an incandescent blaze and were buried again in the velvet blackness, the strange odors of a new land riotous in its time of growth, all combined to excite his curiosity and desire for closer knowledge. And then the crowning luxury of a bath, clean clothes, and a good meal on white linen and china! As he dropped asleep that night he reflected contentedly that, after all, things have a way of coming right in this world for those who accept them cheerfully as they come.

X

A CHANGE OF PLAN

On the following morning Kirk despatched a long letter to his father, explaining, as well as he could, how he came to be in Panama, and giving a detailed account of the events that had befallen him since his arrival. He would have preferred to cable this message collect, but Mrs. Cortlandt convinced him that he owed a fuller explanation than could well be sent over the wires. Although he took this means of relieving his father's anxiety, he was far from resigning himself to a further delay of his return. On the contrary, he at once began an inquiry as to sailing dates, discovering, to his intense disgust, that no ship was scheduled to leave for New York within several days. He planned to borrow the passage money from his friends, when the time came, and accompany his letter northward. Meanwhile he devoted his time to sight-seeing with his hostess.

The city was old, there were many places of historic interest, and, although Kirk cared little for such things, he found it easy to assume the virtue he did not possess. Moreover, there was something contagious in his companion's enthusiasm. Almost against his will he felt his appreciation growing, as he listened to her casual comments on the scenes they visited. Her husband, who seemed busily engaged in work that barely allowed him time for his meals, seldom accompanied them on their excursions, and the two were thrown much into each other's society.

Edith Cortlandt was a woman very sure of herself in most things. A situation that might have proved embarrassing to one less tactful she accepted quite as a matter of course, rather enjoying the exercise of her influence, and never doubting her power to keep the friendship on any footing she chose. Kirk's frank, boyish gratitude for the favors he had received made it easy for her to encourage the growth of an intimacy that she acknowledged charming, while she sincerely believed that he would be helped by it. Finding him responsive, she deliberately set herself to please him. She studied him covertly and set her moods to match his--not a difficult task, since he was merely a normal, healthy young man. Always faultless in her attire, she took even more than ordinary pains with her appearance, and it was not long before Kirk was naively surprised to find that she no longer seemed older than he--that she was, in fact, an exceedingly handsome woman. This gradual metamorphosis depended more than anything else, perhaps, upon the girlish humor that now possessed her. She was no longer brilliant and chilly, but gay, smiling, and unaffected.

Daytimes, they rambled about the crooked streets, bargain-hunting in the Chinese shops, or drove beneath the stately royal palms of Ancon; evenings, they loitered about the cool verandas of the Tivoli or strolled down into the town to watch the crowds in the plazas. Once in a while Cortlandt went with them, but he was usually uncommunicative, and they scarcely felt his presence. On the few occasions when he gave himself rein, Kirk was compelled to feel for him a surprised and half-grudging respect. Unlike most silent men, when he did talk he talked easily and well.

Several days passed thus, during which Anthony fully recovered from his experience at Colon. Then a ship arrived from New York, but before he had summoned courage to ask his friends for a loan he received, a letter forwarded from Colon by the American consul, a perusal of which not only dumfounded him, but entirely altered his plans.

It was typewritten, on plain stationery; there was neither heading nor signature, yet he knew quite well from whom it came. It read as follows:

Don't cable again, or the stupidity of the police may fail to
protect you. The others got away safely and you would be mad
to return alone. I can't and won't help you now. This time
you went too far. You have made your bed, now lie in it. I
don't believe in miracles, but if you can straighten up and
make a man of yourself, I'll help you face this trouble;
otherwise don't call on me for anything. I'm through.

Kirk reread this amazing epistle several times before its full significance struck him; then, when he realized what it meant, he felt himself break into a sweat of apprehension. That plain-clothes man had died! The police were looking for him. There could be no other explanation, else why had Higgins and the rest fled the country? Why had his father been so cautious in communicating with him? If it came to a trial, undoubtedly a jury would find him equally guilty with Higgins, for he had held the poor fellow's hands; it was he who had engineered the whole episode. Perhaps he was already indicted. Kirk saw himself accused of manslaughter, arrested, and tried. What could he do if his father refused to help? With money, almost anything could be achieved; without it, and particularly without his father's influence, what would happen? Evidently the Governor believed him guilty. In that case the young man knew that explanations would be futile. Even the letter he had sent would do no good. When Darwin K. Anthony said he was through, he was through.

Finding a secluded corner of the veranda, he sat down to think this matter out; but the more he reflected on it the more serious it appeared. Of one thing he became quickly convinced: New York at present was no place for him. A moment ago it seemed far away and extremely desirable, now it was altogether too close at hand and most undesirable. His father's reference to the stupidity of the police persuaded him finally that his whereabouts were unknown, but how long they would remain so was of course a question. It was useless to attempt further concealment. In the first place, he lacked means of moving, nor could he conceal his identity under an assumed name while he remained in Panama, for he had already advertised himself too well for that. Besides, the idea of hiding did not appeal to him. He decided to face it out, therefore, hoping sometime to get to the bottom of the affair. If he were arrested meanwhile, he would have to locate Ringold or Higgins, or some of the others, and prove that he had not run away from punishment. It would be difficult to verify the extravagant story of his kidnapping, of course, but--there was nothing else to do. He rose quickly and entered the hotel, where he bought all the latest New York papers. It was not long before he found the thing he was seeking. There it was, a story headed:

SALOON-KEEPER TO LOSE LICENSE

OWNER OF NOTORIOUS AUSTRIAN VILLAGE IN TROUBLE

There followed an account of Mr. Padden's efforts to disprove his connection with an assault upon the person of a detective named Williams, who had come from St. Louis; but nowhere was there a word about the present condition of the plain-clothes man, nor the slightest hint toward explaining the conduct of the mysterious Jefferson Locke for whom he had been searching. Who the devil was Locke, anyhow? The article did not even state the charge upon which he was to be arrested. In another paper Kirk found something that relieved his mind a bit: evidently Williams had not died prior to the time of going to press, although he was reported in a critical condition. Kirk was interested to read that the police had a clew to the identity of the criminals and were confident of soon rounding them up. What mystified him most was the lack of detail. Evidently much had been printed previously, but he had no means of ascertaining what it was.

He spent an hour in serious thought, perhaps the first full hour he had ever passed so profitably. At the end of that time he had arrived at little save a vague feeling of offence toward the father who had been so ready to condemn him. In one way he did not blame the old gentleman for refusing aid. This episode was the culmination of a long series of reckless exploits. Mr. Anthony had argued, threatened, even implored with tears in his eyes, all to no purpose. Just the same, it hurt to have one's father so willing to believe the worst. The two had never understood each other; they did not understand each other now. And they might have been such good pals! Darwin K. did not believe in miracles--Well, perhaps Kirk was hopelessly bad. The young man did not care much, one way or the other; but he shut his teeth grimly and wagered he could make good if he really chose to try. He half decided to make the experiment just to show what he could do, but he was at a loss where to begin. Anybody could be successful who really wanted to--every book said that; the hard part was to get started.