CHAPTER XXVIII.

"I LIVE TO KILL HIM."

Still she went on, unhalting and resolute, feeling neither fatigue nor heat, or, if she felt them, ignoring them. She was resolved to reach Belize, or to fall dead upon the road or in the forests while attempting to do so.

And thus she came at last to All Pines, seeing the white inn gleaming in the first rays of the sun, it being now past six o'clock; while although her thirst was great, she determined that she would not go near it. She was known too well there as the girl, Zara, from Desolada, and also as she who acted as croupier for all the dissipated young planters who assembled at the inn to gamble, she doing so especially for Sebastian when he held the bank. She would be recognized at once and her presence commented on.

Yet she must pass near it, go through the village street to get forward on her way to Belize; she could only pray in her half-savage way that there might be none about who would see her, while, even as she did so, she knew that her chances of escaping observation were of the smallest. In such broiling lands as those of which Honduras formed one, the earliest and the latest hours of the day are the hours which are the most utilized because of their comparative coolness and consequently few are asleep after sunrise.

Yet, she told herself, perhaps after all it was not of extreme importance whether she was recognised or not. By to-night, if all went well, and if the pale-faced English girl and her father had any spirit in them, they would have taken some steps to prevent that which was meditated at Desolada on this very night. And, if they had not that spirit, then she herself would utter some warning, would herself see the "old judge man," and tell him her story. Perhaps he would listen to it and believe her even though she was but half-breed trash, as those of her race were termed contemptuously as often as not.

But, now, as she drew nearer to the village street, and to where the inn stood, she started in dismay at what she saw outside the door. An animal that she recognised distinctly, not only by itself but by the saddle on its back and the long Mexican stirrups, and also by its colour and flowing mane.

She recognised the favourite horse of Sebastian, the one he always rode, standing at the inn door.

At first a sickening suspicion came to her mind; a fear which she gave utterance to in the muttered words:

"He has followed me. He knows that I have set out for Belize." Then she dismissed the suspicion as impossible. For she remembered that Sebastian had been absent from Desolada all the previous day, and had not returned by the time when the others had gone to rest; she thought now (and felt sure that she had guessed aright) that he had slept at the inn all night, and was about to return to Desolada in the cool of the morning.

Determined, however, to learn what the master of that horse--and of her--was about to do, and above all, which direction he went off in when he came outside, she crept on and on down the street until at last she was nearly in front of the inn door. Then, lithe and agile as a cat, she stole behind a great barn which stood facing the _plaza_, and so was enabled to watch the opposite house without any possibility of being herself seen from it.

That something of an exciting nature had been taking place within the house (even as Zara had sought the shelter behind which she was now ensconced) she had been made aware by the loud voices and cries she heard--voices, too, that were familiar to her, as she thought. And about one of those voices she had no doubt--could have no doubt--since it was that of the man she loved, Sebastian.

Then, presently, even as she watched the inn through a crack in the old and sun-baked barn-door, the turmoil increased; she heard a scuffling in the passage, more cries and shouts, Sebastian's objurgations rising above all, and, a moment later, the girl saw the latter dragging Paz out into the open space in front of the inn. And he was shaking him as a mastiff might shake a rat that had had the misfortune to find itself in his jaws.

"You hound!" he cried, even as he did so; "you will lurk about Desolada, will you, at light; prying and peering everywhere, as though there were something to find out. And because you are reproved, you endeavour to run away to Belize. What for, you treacherous dog? What for? Answer me, I say," and again he shook the half-caste with one hand, while with the other he rained down blows upon his almost grey head.

But, since the man was extremely lithe, in spite of his age, many of the blows missed their mark; while taking advantage of the twists and turns which he, eel-like, was making in his master's hands, he managed during one of them to wrench himself free from Sebastian. And then, then--Zara had to force her hands over her mouth to prevent herself from screaming out in terror. And she had to exercise supreme control over herself also so that she should not rush forth from her hiding-place and spring at Paz. For, freed from his tyrant's clutches, he had darted back from him, and a second later, with a swift movement of his hand to his back, had drawn forth a long knife that glistened in the morning sun.

What he said, what his wild words were, cannot be written down, since most of them were uttered in the Maya dialect; yet amid them were some that were well understood by Zara and Sebastian; perhaps also by the landlord of the inn and the two or three half-caste servants huddled near him, all of them giving signs of the most intense excitement and fear. And Zara, hearing those words, threw up her hands and covered her face, while Sebastian, his own face white as that of a corpse's in its shroud, staggered back trembling and shuddering.

"You know," the latter whispered, "you know that! You know?" And his hand stole into his open shirt. Yet he drew nothing forth; he did not produce that which Zara dreaded each instant to see. In truth the man was paralyzed, partly by Paz's words--yet, doubtless, even more so by the look upon his face--and by his actions.

For now Paz was creeping toward the other, even as the panther creeps through the jungle toward the victim it is about to spring upon; the knife clutched in his hand, upon his face a gleam of hate so hideous, a look in his topaz eyes so horrible, that Sebastian stood rooted to the ground. While from his white and foam-flecked lips, the man hissed:

"Shoot. Shoot, curse you! but shoot straight. Into either my heart or head--for if you miss me!--if you miss me--" and he sprang full on the other, the knife raised aloft. Sprang at him as the wild cat springs at the hunter who has tracked it to the tree it has taken refuge in, and when it recognises that for it there is no further shelter--his face a very hell of savage rage and spite; his scintillating, sparkling eyes the eyes of an infuriated devil.

And Sebastian, cowed--struck dumb with apprehension of such a foe--a thing half-human and half a savage beast--forgot to draw his revolver from his breast and seemed mad with dismay and terror. Yet he must do something, he knew, or that long glittering blade would be through and through him, with probably his throat cut from ear to ear the moment he was down. He must do something to defend, to save himself.

Recognising this even in his mortal terror, he struck out blindly--whirling, too, his arms around in a manner that would have caused an English boxer to roar with derision, had he not also been paralyzed with the horror of Paz's face and actions. He struck out blindly, therefore, not knowing what he was doing, and dreading every instant that he would feel the hot bite of the steel in his flesh, and--so--saved himself.

For in one of those wild, uncalculated blows, his right fist alighted on Paz's jaw, and, because of his strength, which received accession from his maddened fury and fear, felled the half-caste to the earth, where he lay stunned and moaning; the deadly knife beneath him in the dust.

For an instant Sebastian paused, his trembling and bleeding hand again seeking his breast, and his fury prompting him to pistol the man as he lay there before him. But he paused only for a moment, while as he did so, he reflected that if he slew the man who was at his mercy now it would be murder--and that murder done before witnesses--then turned away to where his horse stood, and, flinging himself into the saddle, rode off swiftly to Desolada.

As he disappeared, Zara came forth from behind the door where she had been lurking, an observer of all that had taken place, and forgetting, or perhaps heedless, of whether she was now seen or not, ran toward Paz and lifted his head up in her arms.

"Paz, Paz," she whispered in their own jargon. "Paz, has he killed you? Answer."

From beneath her the man looked up bewildered still, and half-stunned by the blow; then, after a moment or so, he muttered, "No, no! I live--to--to kill him yet." And Zara hearing those words shuddered, for since they were both of the same half wild and savage blood, she knew that unless she could persuade him to forego his revenge, he would do just as he had said, even though he waited twenty years for its accomplishment.

"No," she said, "no. You must not. Not yet, at least, Paz, promise me you will not. I--I--you know--I love him. For my sake--mine, Paz, promise."

"I do worse," said Paz, "I ruin him--drive him away. Zara, I know his secret--now."

"What secret?"

"Who he is. Ah!--" for Zara had clapped her little brown hand over his mouth, as though she feared he was going to shout out that secret before the landlord of the inn and his servants, all of whom were still hovering near. "Ah, I not tell it now. But to the other--the cousin--I tell it. Because I--know it, Zara."

"So," she whispered, "do I. But not now. Do not tell it now. Paz, I go to Belize to fetch succour. He will kill _him_ if it comes not soon."

"He will kill him to-night, perhaps. I, too, was going to Belize."

"Where is he now?" the girl asked; "where is the handsome cousin? Where have they put him?"

"In the room at end of corridor, with the steps outside to garden. Easy bring him down them."

"Will he die?"

"Not of wound," the man said, his eyes sparkling again, but this time with intelligence, with suggestion. "Not of wound--but--of--what--they--do--to-night."

"I must go," Zara cried, springing to her feet. "I must go. Every minute is gold, and--it is many miles."

"Take the mule," Paz said. "It is there. There," and he glanced towards the stables. "Take him. He go fast."

"I will take him," she replied, "but--but--promise me, Paz, that you will do nothing until I return. Nothing--no harm to him. Else I will not go."

"I will promise," the man said, rising now to his feet, and staggering a little from his giddiness. "I will promise--you. Yet, I look after him--I take care he do very little more harm now."

"Keep him but from evil till to-night--till to-morrow, let him not hurt Mr. Ritherdon, then all will be well." And accompanied by Paz, she went toward the stable where his mule was.

It took but little time for the girl to spring to its back, to ride it out at a sharp trot from the open plaza, and, having again extorted a promise from Paz, to be once more on her road toward Belize--she not heeding now the fierceness of the rays of the sun, which was by this time mounting high in the heavens.

And so at last she drew near to "Floresta," which she knew well enough was Mr. Spranger's abode; near to where the other girl was causing preparations to be made for reaching her father and telling him what she had learned through the arrival of the negro--she never dreaming of the further revelations that were so soon to be made to her. Revelations by the side of which the lying letter and the lying action of Sebastian in sending forward Julian's luggage would sink into insignificance.

She sat on in her garden, waiting now for the groom to come and tell her that the buggy was ready--sat on amid all the drowsy noontide heat, and then, when once more the parrots rustled their feathers, and the monkey opened its mournful eyes, she heard behind her a footstep on the grass; a footstep coming not from the house but behind her, from an entrance far down at the end of the tropical garden. And, looking around, she saw close to her the girl Zara, her face almost white now, and her clothes covered with dust.

"What is it?" Beatrix cried, springing to her feet. "What brings you here? I know you, you are Zara; you come from Desolada."

"Yes," the other answered, "I come from Desolada. From Desolada, where to-night murder will be done--if it is not prevented."