The Fugitive (3 page)

The ocean heaved before him, but he went through it. Something flashed with a white twinkle beneath him—the sun gleaming on the flannels of the wretched mate, filmed over with the shadows of the brine. Stephen closed a hand in the hair of the man and started upward; clinging arms and blind, desperate legs were flung around him, so Stephen, feeling himself sink, turned and considered what to do. Striking through water, one's fist is a powerless tool. But there was still might in a sharp elbow. He drove it home against the side of the mate's head, and then swam to the surface, bearing a leaden burden.

By the time he had gasped out the dead air from his lungs and breathed in a fresh supply, he saw the life buoy, not a dozen strokes away. To it he clung, keeping the head of his man above the tossing of the waves while a boat was lowered to fetch them in.

The wits of the frightened mate returned, sobriety, also, before they climbed up the side of the vessel. He was stammering out some sort of thanks to Stephen, but the latter laughed him away.

On the deck of the steamer a pinch-faced missionary reached for his hand. “What a noble thing, Señor Guadalvo!”

“Piffle,” said the hero, and went to his cabin to change.

He waited in his room until the excitement should have died down a little. Then he came up and found Constancia Alvarez. “I have come to thank you for that life buoy,” he said.

Even the duenna considered that this was introduction enough.

They sat on the deck, that evening, watching the rail dip down to the steel-gray waters and then pitch up and cross the face of the moon with bars. The duenna was discreetly asleep in her chair.

“I bless the mate,” said Constancia.

“And why?” asked Stephen.

“Because I was dying of weariness.”

“There was no need to. I watched twenty men try to comfort you.”

“How could I talk to them, and be reported to my father by the señora?”

“Is he a dragon?”

“He is
two
dragons.”

“I thank the rum,” said Stephen, “and the roll of the ship that knocked him against the rail, and the lowness of the rail there, and the pitching of the waves, because they give me a chance to tell you what I have been thinking about.”

She settled back in her chair. The shadow of her hat did not shelter her face quite as completely as she thought, and he could see her smile. Even the white moonshine could not make that smile cold.

“The first thing that I discovered after I came on board the ship . . . shall I start at the beginning?”

“Of course,” she said.

“The first thing was the fragrance of jasmine.”

“Oh, that was what you were studying, when you looked at the sky with such faraway eyes?”

“Of course you are surprised,” said Stephen.

“Tremendously,” said Constancia.

They turned their heads at the same instant and, of one accord, they smiled. Her glance flickered toward the duenna, but all was well. That good lady slept, or seemed to sleep, and there was such a good understanding between Constancia and her, that either of the two amounted to the same thing.

“The next thing that I noticed was the way the hair curls at the nape of your neck.”

“I am old-fashioned and do my hair high.”

“I saw nothing else for a considerable time, until one day you stopped and I saw your hand against the rail. However, I saw at a glance that was a subject I could never learn at a distance.”

Her hand appeared from beneath the steamer rug.

“You are a scientist, then?” said the girl.

“I read the future by the hand,” he said, “which is a common art, isn't it?”

“I suppose so,” she said.

“And would you like to know what will happen to you?”

“I feel rather foolish. But I suppose that I would.” And she gave him her hand.

He held it where the moonshine turned it to a transparent whiteness; he held it with the lightest and most gentle of reverent touches. All the while her curious, thoughtful eyes were studying his face.

“Begin, then,” she said. “But I never heard of a person who could read the
back
of a hand.”

“The palm,” said Stephen, “is only important in a soft, gentle, and yielding person.”

“And I am none of those?”

“We'll see what the hand says for itself about the future. At the very first glance, I see trouble.”

“Of what sort?”

“Oh, many kinds. Young trouble and old trouble. Tall trouble and short. Trouble with black and gray heads.”

“But what will come of it?”

“Much talk.”

“That is always a terrible bore,” she admitted.

“Exactly. Most of this talk will be about love. All of these troubles will tell you that they love you and ask you to marry them.” He leaned his head a little closer to the hand. “In fact, I see that there has been a great deal of this sort of thing already.”

“Oh, nothing at all worth mentioning. But what is to come of the future?”

“The worst of it all is,” he explained, “that none of these troubles, not even the old, gray-headed ones, will really know what they are talking about.”

“What in the world do you mean by that?”

“Why, they will think that you are like the palm of this hand, soft and yielding and gentle. As a matter of fact, you are not.”

She sat up a little straighter. “You are an odd person,” she observed, “and I think that . . . well, go on. Tell me what I am.”

“Here are knuckles all even, firm, strong, and straight. They tell me that your strength is even, regular, and steady, and that it will never leave you. These thin, strong fingers tell me that, when you make up your mind, you generally can take what you want. The roundness of this wrist says that there is much endurance in you. Then, there is no trembling in the fingers. But they are quick and sure and restless. See, they are always moving just a little. And they mean that you are restless, impatient, stern, cruel, gay and . . .”

She took back her hand and stared at him.

He continued: “And fierce, determined, cunning, and apt to be desperate if you are crossed.”

“Señor Guadalvo!”

“Yes, señorita.”

“Perhaps I should be insulted, by such talk.”

“No. Other girls would be. But you are only interested because I am telling you the truth.”

“You are a very self-satisfied fellow. But it is the truth, and yet . . . how in the world could you ever know me? Who is our mutual friend? And . . .”

“I'll tell you how it is. I know a lady who is exactly like you.”

“Ah. Do you really?” There was a cold, little rising inflection in her voice.

“Exactly like you,” he said. “She is beautiful, as you are. Yes, even when I look at you now, when a bit of anger makes your eyes larger than usual . . . even as you are now, I think that she is more beautiful.”

“I don't think that we have been talking about beauty,” said the girl sternly.

“I don't think that we have, but this is a good time to begin, if you don't mind. I should like to talk about it a long time. The lady of mine has a head as proud and as highly poised as yours. She has a great, bright, wild eye, like yours. Her feet can step as light as the wind. And her body is one of exquisite perfection.”

“I think that we have talked enough about beauty,” said the girl in haste.

“At the first glance,” said Stephen, “I fell in love with her.”

“Ah.”

“Yes. Hopelessly in love.”

“Just because she was pretty, then?”

“It was not only because of her enchanting beauty, but because she had, like you, wonderful virtues mixed with her faults.”

“Indeed?”

“Oh, yes. With her stubbornness there was mixed a fine patience, like yours. She was rash and headlong, like you, but, like you, she has a magnificent courage. There is no fear in her. And when I saw that brave, bright eye of hers, I loved her, and I knew that I should have to have her or die.”

“You are still alive, however.”

“But I have her, señorita.”

“You have her, really?”

“Yes, indeed. Shall I tell you how I won her?”

“Yes, if you care to,” said Constancia a little more coldly than before.

 

He sat forward, where he could look more fairly at her. “This is in the manner of a confession,” he said. “Does it bore you?”

“I am wonderfully interested, of course, if you care to talk about this thing.”

“I would not ordinarily,” he admitted. “But she is so perfectly like you that you will understand why I can confide in you. Besides, you are to learn a great lesson out of this.”

“Of what sort, if you please?”

“You will know that until some man woos you exactly as I wooed my own dear, you will not have met the right person to marry. I tell you as a prophet.”

“I hear you . . . as a prophet.” The girl chuckled.

“Very well. In the first place, I went on her trail.”

“She was not a stationary beauty, then?”

“No, she was a great lover. I followed on her trail for a long time, and, when I caught up with her, I took her suddenly in such a way that she could not resist me. She had to place herself in my hands.”

“Good heavens!” exclaimed the girl.

“She was desperate. She struggled against me with all her might. But I subdued her with a stern hand. I even went so far as to give her scarcely any food, and no water, until her spirit left her and she was so weak. . . .”

“Can you sit here, in this century, and tell me such a thing?”

“Of course. Take notice of every point. It will be useful for you, later on. First, I knew that I had gained a point when her hatred of me turned into fear and when she cringed at my coming.”

“Oh, dreadful.”

“When she cringed at my coming, I knew that I was on the way to victory. I was more stern than ever. Suddenly, one day, she submitted out of weakness and pain. Her fierceness and wildness had left her. She gave herself into my hands. The battle was ended. And after she had submitted, I had only to give her a little liberty, and she began to love me.”

“I won't believe it.”

“Oh, yes, but she did. She loved me tremendously. So much so, that when you see her, you will find the love shining in her eyes. She does not care one bit if the whole world should know.”

“I am to see her, then?”

“Yes, indeed. She is on this boat, you know.”

“On this boat?”

“Yes.”

“But . . . where is she?”

“She is confined to her cabin.”

“Is she ill, poor thing . . . and in these dark little cabins in such weather?”

“As a matter of fact, I don't care to have her mix with the people on the deck. And when men see her, you must understand that they lose their minds completely. They would lay down their souls to have her. So I have to watch her with the greatest of care.”

“But does your wife . . . ?”

“Oh, she is not my wife. No. We decided that we loved each other so perfectly that marriage was an unnecessary ceremony. I knew, when she began to come at the mere crooking of my finger, that it was unnecessary for me to go through the formality of a marriage. So we have been living together as happily as two lovers in the Garden of Eden.”

“Thank you for the . . . confession,” said Constancia.

“You must take it carefully to heart,” he said, “because, unless some man comes to you with a high hand, you'll never find a husband worthy of you, Señorita Alvarez.”

“I am a little sleepy,” she said. And at that instant, the duenna wakened.

Stephen rose. “I shall introduce you to her as you leave the ship,” he said. “When we land tomorrow, you shall see her. Then you will confess that she is the most lovely thing in the world.”

There was no answer from Constancia, and therefore he bowed to her and went down the deck singing softly to himself. He was very pleased, because he knew that she would never forget. He also did not intend to let this thing slip from his mind.

But he did not dare to come near her during the rest of that evening, or the next morning, as the shore came toward them, blue, and then turning to green, and then glossy and glistening under the hot sun. Back beyond these too rich, feverish lowlands, where the rain fell every day, and the steam was drawn up by the sun, stood the mountains, beyond which were the fine, high tablelands that were the wealth of Venduras—where the city of Venduras stood, surrounded by its ring of dependent towns, in which rebellion was constantly raising its head. In the mountains themselves were the mines, and any one of the wealthy owners could turn the political world of that little country topsy-turvy at a moment's notice. For all was ever at a fine balance, ready to waver at the first hostile breath.

Not for the mines or the rich farmlands, or the cattle ranges where cowpunchers could find work—not for any of these things had Stephen Macdona come to Venduras, but because of those same political upheavals, those wars that commenced at a card game in the evening and continued in street fighting and massacres the next day. In such a world there was sure to be a place for him, as soon as he could make himself known to the powers that were. He thought of these things as he watched the ship being brought to dock and the cover taken from the main hatch, and the derrick with its long sling lowered into the depths.

He hurried down to take charge. For, of course, Christy would treat them as a tiger treats dogs if they started to fit the sling around her without her master's presence. He arrived at the critical moment. They had her placed on a little platform, and Stephen lashed her to the sides. Then, standing beside her, he was swung ashore.

It was the old story. The instant the mare was freed from the ropes of the sling, men began to gather. Ragged fellows in tattered clothes that had once been white came peering and grinning and nodding their heads until the great brims of their straw hats were flopping up and down. In the meantime, Stephen groomed her, gave her a mouthful of oats, and fitted the saddle on her back. Then he let her walk about in a narrow circle, getting her land legs under her once more, and breathing the land air, with her eye brightening each instant.