with wet moss, and stepped on fragments of wood that crumbled under their feet. And all the time they kept the girl between them, lifting her clear of the noisome water as much as possible.
The shouting of the mutineers, however, urged them on, and from the sound of the voices there was no doubt that Hovey and his men were combing the marsh for the fugitives. Torches had been made by the sailors, and behind them, now and then, they caught a glimpse of a winking eye of light. This drove them on, and just when the shouts of the mutineers began to die away, the marsh ended as abruptly as it had begun, and they started to climb a slope where the thicket changed to an almost open wood. The rise was not long, for after some hours of weary trudging, they reached a road.
Down this they straggled with stumbling feet. They had not spoken for nearly two hours, as though they wished to save even the breath of speech for some trial which might still await them. Kate was half unconscious with fatigue, and McTee on her left and Harrigan on her right carried most of her weight.
In this manner they came in sight of a light which developed into a low-roofed, broad house with a hospitable veranda stretching about it. They made directly for it, traversing a level field until they came to the door. McTee supported Kate while Harrigan knocked. There was silence within the house, and then a whisper, a stir, the padding of a slippered foot, and the door was jerked open. A tall man with a narrow, pointed beard appeared. He held a lantern in one hand and a pistol in the other; for those were troubled times in that republic. The light fell full on the haggard face of Kate, and the man started back.
“Enter, my children,” he said in Spanish, and tossing his weapon onto a little hall table, he held out his hand to them.
With a great voice he brought his family and servants about them in a few seconds. To a wide-eyed girl with a frightened voice, he gave the care of Kate, and the two went off together. The master of the house himself attended to the needs of Harrigan and McTee.
There were few questions asked. This was a question of dire need, and the Spanish-American loves to show his hospitality. Talking was for the morning. In the meantime his guests would require what? Perhaps sleep? Perhaps a bath first? They answered him with one voice, for they both spoke a little Spanish, picked up in their wanderings. Sleep!
The next day they woke about noon to find clothes laid out for them, the immaculate white clothes which the tropics require. They were led to a high-ceilinged bathroom cool with glazed, white bricks which lined it, where the two servants poured over them bucket after bucket of cold water, and the grime of the voyage and the labors in the fireroom and the mighty weariness of their muscles disappeared little by little in slow degrees. Then a shave, then the white clothes, and they were ready for presentation to Senor Jose, Barrydos y Maria y Leon and his family.
And here was a time of many words indeed. It was McTee who told the story of the wreck, and even with his broken Spanish the tale was so vivid that Senor Jose was forced to rise and walk up and down the room, calling out upon a hundred various saints. In the end it was clear in his eyes that he had to deal with two heroes. As such they could have lived with him as honored guests forever.
Then Kate came into the room with the daughter of the house. She wore a green dress of some light material which fluttered into folds at every move. The Spaniard straightened up from his chair. The two big men followed suit, staring wide-eyed upon her. It seemed as if some miracle had been worked in her, for they looked in vain for any traces of her helpless weariness of the night before.
There was a color in her cheeks and her eyes were bright and quiet. To Senor Jose Barrydos y Maria y Leon she gave both her hands, and he bowed over them and kissed them both. His courtliness made Harrigan and McTee exchange a glance, perhaps of envy and perhaps of disquiet, for she accepted this profound courtesy with an ease as if she had been accustomed to nothing else all her life.
But what a smile there was for each of them afterward! It left them speechless, so that they glowered upon each other and were glad of the soft flow of Senor Jose’s words as he led them in to the breakfast table.
And when the meal had progressed a little and some of the edge of the novelty of the situation and story had worn away, the Spaniard said: “But is it not true? Strange news floats in the air this week.”
“What news?” asked Harrigan. “Our wireless was out of commission for days.”
“True! Then you must learn from me?”
He drew a breath and stiffened in his chair, then with a gesture of apology and a smile he added: “Why should I hunt for pompous words? I can tell you in one phrase: the world is at war, gentlemen!”
They merely gaped upon him.
“German troops have entered Belgium; France, England, and Russia are at war with Germany and Austria!”
He waited for the astonishment to die away in their eyes.
Kate was shaking her head. “It is impossible,” she said. “There may be a disturbance, but the world is past the time of great wars. Men are now too civilized, and—”
Here she stopped, for her eyes fell on the faces of Harrigan and McTee. Civilized? No; she had seen enough to know that civilization strikes no deeper in human nature than clothes go to change the man.
“Civilized?” Don Jose had taken her up. “Ah, madam, already wild tales reach us of the Germans in Belgium.”
“But there was a treaty,” she cried, “and the greatest nations in the world have guaranteed the neutrality of Belgium. Germany herself—”
“True!” said Jose; “but it is because of the violation of Belgian neutrality, among other things, that England has entered the war, it is said.”
“Ah-h!” said Harrigan, lapsing suddenly from Spanish into his Irish brogue. “Thrue for ye, man! John Bull will take the Kaiser by the throat. In time of peace, why, to hell with England, say I, like all good Irishmen; but in time av war-r, it’s shoulder to shoulder, John Bull an’ Paddy, say I, an’ we’ll lick the wor-r-rld!”
And McTee broke in savagely. “You forget the Scotch. Without the Scotch, England and Ireland—what could they do? Nothing!”
“Could they not?” said Harrigan, with rising temper. “I tell ye, ye black Highlander, that wan Irishman—”
“Hush,” said Kate earnestly; for the Spaniard was staring at them in amaze. “It is a world war, and no time for jealousy. England—Scotland —Ireland—and America, too, in time—we will all be fighting for one purpose. And when the last test comes, the United States—”
She stopped with a gesture of pride, and Harrigan said with deep feeling: “Aye, they’re a hard lot, the Yankees. But as for the Scotch,” he went on in a murmur which only McTee could hear—“as for the Scotch, I wouldn’t be wipin’ my feet on ’em, when it comes to the fightin’. D’ye hear me, McTee?”
“And understand,” said McTee, smiling broadly, so that none of the rest might understand; “our time is close at hand, Harrigan. We’re on dry land.”
“We are—thank God,” answered Harrigan, “but play the game, McTee, till the girl is cared for.”
In the meantime Senor Jose had explained to Kate the nearness of the city—El Ciudad Grande—for she had been asking many urgent questions. The upshot of their conversation was that their host offered to take them immediately into the town, where they could find accommodation at the one hotel—if they refused his further hospitality. So in half an hour Senor Jose’s carriage of state was harnessed and the four journeyed into El Ciudad Grande.
Senor Jose went with them to explain to the hotel owner that these were his guests—his dear friends—his friends of many years’ standing—in fact, his relatives in close blood. In short, he recommended the party to the special care of the hotelkeeper. Business called the hospitable Spaniard away. He refused to accept any consideration for the clothes which he donated to the party, and McTee jingled a handful of Henshaw’s gold in vain. Senor Jose must depart, but he would return the next day.