CHAPTER XVIII.

JULIO DECLARES FOR WAR.

In this fair city of the Conquistadors, where Ponce de Leon laid a foundation for the future Spanish colony, there may have been men who for various causes felt the heat of anger surging through their souls on this August night in the year of our Lord 1898; but it is exceedingly problematical whether one among them experienced such a terrible volcano raging in their heart as did Roderic Owen when the first suspicion burst upon him that Julio's companion was the beautiful girl who had after estrangement again promised to be his honored wife.

The shock almost took his breath away, it was so keen, so cruel, and found him so unprepared.

Then came a revulsion of feeling--it could not be so--Georgia was true, she was loving and faithful--this was only a wretched coincidence--surely there were women in San Juan who possessed figures on the same order as hers, and who even made those familiar little gestures--women were pretty much alike with regard to such things, just as a dozen cats may all make the same graceful leaps, together with the peculiar little motions so characteristic the world over.

Still he followed Julio--for the life of him he could not help that, no matter how thoroughly convinced he might be that it was no affair of his--there was a terrible fascination in the game, as though he were playing with dynamite.

And so the pendulum swung again, his eyes being still glued upon the girl, once more he found himself the prey to suspicions.

In vain he endeavored to throttle them, as his better nature arose in arms--like Banquo's ghost they would not down--every movement the girl made that reminded him of Georgia was like a wicked stab in the region of his heart, and when he saw the daring Julio pick up her kerchief which had fallen from her hand, and press it to his lips very cavalierly ere returning it, Roderic had a great desire to rush upon the _bolero_ dancer and knock him down--indeed, just at that minute he thought he had good cause for hammering him in lusty Anglo Saxon style.

But Roderic was not jealous--oh! no, he had cast that monster out of his heart for good, and meant to have no more of him--only he had a very queer sensation seize upon him, and felt as though it was only just and right, both to Georgia and himself, that he should settle this matter then and there.

This could only be done in one way, by looking upon the girl's face.

He was firmly resolved to do this, come what might--Julio would doubtless resent the impertinence, for Julio was a fighter, having once been a _toreador_ in the bull ring--what of that, if only he could discover the truth one way or the other?

A fellow in his frame of mind thinks little of danger, the careless snap of his fingers perhaps.

What fools Cupid does make of men--even those who would appear to be the best balanced go quite off the handle when the little god finds lodgment in their bosoms.

At any rate Owen had now thrown away all other fancies and was studiously following this couple as might an Indian his intended prey.

Given a little time and he recovered, at least in a fair measure, the coolness that usually characterized his actions.

He even lighted a cheroot, realizing that a Spaniard such as he represented would appear singular without a weed of some sort dangling from his lip.

Apparently Julio had lost all interest in the military strains that throbbed and pulsated upon the night air--when lovely women entered the game the _bolero_ dancer threw other thoughts to the four winds--he might be a lover of music but above all else he was a beau.

The couple evidently intended quitting the plaza, and plunging down into one of the streets that would lead them to that other section of town, where fashion never troubled, and where the poorer element had their quarters--a section that would especially appeal to the eye of the artist and the newspaperman seeking quaint scenes for the portrayal of Spanish characteristics.

Roderic was quite ready to follow--indeed, in his present frame of mind it would not matter whither he went so long as that lithesome figure tantalized him like a will-o'-the-wisp.

All he wanted was an opportunity to see her face, to satisfy himself one way or the other, to quell this devilish spirit raging in his breast, or failing that to let the fury find an outlet.

One way or the other, however fortune might decide it, he felt that a result must be reached.

Having taken the reins in his hands again and curbed the unruly team that would have carried him headlong to a speedy rupture of the peace, Roderic became outwardly cool.

He aroused his old professional instincts to action, and endeavored to forget that the case was more to him than the usual run.

Thus he noticed that while Julio could never be anything but a gallant and a beau, he did not attempt any familiarities with his companion--that there seemed to be a certain amount of respect on his part such as he seldom showed toward those who had succumbed to the charm of his fascinating presence.

Score one point in favor of Julio.

It might be of advantage when the curtain was rung up for the final act, for should this desperate, jealousy-racked lover who followed at his heels be given an opportunity to get at that long throat of his, the Maccarena dancer would have ample need of every prayer his guardian angel could bring forth.

When the plaza with its gay crowds and its dashing music had been left behind, Roderic knew his task had assumed new risks.

The Spaniard is a suspicious mortal at his best, and Julio had been embroiled in so many affairs with lovers, perhaps husbands also, that he had to be constantly on the _qui vive_ lest one of these jealous minded gentry lie in wait around a lonely corner, or creep up from behind, dagger in hand.

When one plays such a game as that of this fascinating beau, one must accept the consequences, no matter what they entail--it is the price of popularity among the fair sex.

Hence, it might be expected that after they had been traversing these narrow thoroughfares for some little time, Julio from frequent glances thrown over his shoulder, would begin to notice how the shadow kept upon his trail.

This would arouse suspicion, and he might either vanish suddenly from sight or else employ his popularity among a certain class of men to bring Roderic into hot water.

So far as this latter contingency was concerned, Roderic cared little whether he were thrown up against a dozen of the unwashed of San Juan, if he could only previously have the blessed knowledge that his fears regarding Julio's veiled companion were groundless.

In other words, such an assurance was of so great a value in his eyes that he stood ready to accept the gravest of danger with a smile on his face if only Georgia were true.

He employed his usual tactics to prevent the other from suspecting him, and being an adept at the business was able to be out of sight on nearly every occasion when Julio twisted that long neck of his for a glance toward the rear.

This was all very well, but so far he had not advanced a single step toward the elucidation of the mystery.

Well, patience--everything comes to him who waits.

Under ordinary conditions he could have applied this time-worn but nevertheless true axiom to his own case, just as he had done on many a previous occasion; but it was a different matter when his eyes were eagerly watching each movement of the girl, and in his heart he prayed that the bitter cup might pass from him.

But something must be done.

At any moment Julio and his modest companion might pass into one of the houses in this quarter, and the door of which would consequently be shut and barred in his face.

It would serve of little avail then for him to suddenly be electrified into action--he could pound upon the panels of the sturdy door and demand admittance in the most lusty of tones, but the only answer he might expect would be in a shower of dirty water from the upper windows, a favorite method in vogue among the lower classes of Spain when the tax gatherers or some other unwelcome visitor is knocking for admission.

Desperation often hurries a man to action--the need of results one way or another spurs even a laggard in the chase.

Having now determined to assume all the risks with the expectation of placing them upon a single die, Roderic changed his tactics.

It was his desire to overtake the dancer and by a bold movement snatch the veil from the head of his companion.

Of course this would be the signal for war, since Julio always had a chip upon his shoulder; but Roderic was willing to accept the consequences, so long as the terrible suspense was ended.

He began to slip up on the Spaniard, and with all his faculties aroused Roderic was able to carry this part of his programme out to perfection.

The streets were far from deserted--in places even crowds could be seen, doubtless eagerly discussing the great events overhanging San Juan, with an American army landed on Porto Rico soil--for by this time the dreadful news had come of Santiago's fall and the total destruction of Cervera's fleet, so that Spanish respect for Yankee valor was rising fast--first Dewey, then Sampson and last of all Shafter, to be followed by Miles.

Owen was now but three paces behind the couple, and could almost hear what they said, though their voices were exceedingly low.

His former diagnosis of the case was strengthened by a closer survey--in height, and figure Julio's companion was exactly a counterpart of Georgia--add to this the peculiar little individualities such as usually mark a woman's personality and the fact that this man had once before come between them, what fault could be found with Roderic for suspecting?

Well, the time had come for action.

That miserable gauze had baffled him long enough, and he was determined to know the worst, Julio to the contrary.

Before the Spaniard could guess what was in the wind Roderic had darted to the side of the girl, while his eager hand reached out and seized upon her veil in a ruthless grasp.

He heard her give a little scream as though terrorized at his boorish act.

For this Owen, being chivalrous by nature of the blood that had descended from Irish kings, hated himself most earnestly--nevertheless this feeling did not prevent him from following out the design that actuated his movements, even as it had become a very part of his existence.

Though the fate of nations hung in the balance, yes, even should his own life pay the penalty for his rashness--and this is by all odds the highest stake a man can play--he was resolved to settle this question once for all.

So he snatched away the veil.

He no longer breathed--in that dread moment when his hopes of a whole future hung in the balance he seemed actually to have been changed into stone.

So Lot's wife must have been petrified as she turned to look back at the burning city.

When Roderic's eyes fell upon the face that had been concealed by the veil they discovered rare beauty that was now stamped with alarm, although some show of spirit flashed from the great midnight eyes as indignation struggled with maidenly fear.

But, praise be to Heaven, the girl though so beautiful as to vie with his Georgia, was a stranger!

His demon was laid!

For that at least, thanks.

And now the consequences of his daring act must be boldly met.

Apologies, however profuse, do not count for much with hot blooded Spaniards, with whom an insult demands a blow.

Knowing this Roderic fully counted on prompt action on the part of the ex _toreador_.

Julio had met the rush of many a maddened bull in the arena, and could himself do a little of that same when the occasion arose.

He was naturally a trifle confused by the unexpected move on Roderic's part, and this delay, short though it was, gave the other a chance to pull himself together, to put the girl out of his mind altogether and face Julio.

The latter was trembling with fury, and thus far weakened his cause just when he needed all coolness and a clear vision.

He rattled out a shower of expletives, each one of which was as hot as a live coal; but even this did not appear to annihilate his enemy.

Julio had not been entirely idle while thus giving vent to his spleen--the glint of steel in his hand told Owen that he had snatched out a ready dagger, possibly concealed in his voluminous scarlet sash, and was ready to sheathe it in the bosom of the unknown who had thrown down the gauntlet.

Roderic saw the point, and had already gone him one better, since he held a blade more than a match for Julio's dagger, and moreover, knew how to handle it like a juggler of India.

"Senor, it was a mistake--I am ready to make ample apologies or fight--just as you decide," he said in Spanish.

The wolf would not be appeased by this sop.

He demanded blood.

It had been too grievous an insult to be forgiven, and besides, what business has any self-respecting Spaniard to forgive anyhow?

So Julio set out for war.

When any man on earth seeks a disturbance, and selects an American citizen for the object of his assault, he usually gets all he desires, and very frequently good measure, pressed down and running over.

So Julio, the pet dancer and one time idol of the San Juan bull ring, brushing his female companion aside almost rudely, flung himself upon the stranger with the ferocity of a panther, doubtless resolved to make him pay for his audacity with his life.