CHAPTER XL.

THE APPEARANCE OF THE SERPENT.

Half a dozen hours from the time that Jack Ashley mounts his newly acquired Rozinante and rides forth from Santiago on his journey into the west, a visitor arrives at Le Quinta de Quesada.

The Don and his daughter are seated on the veranda, the former dreaming of the day when Cuba shall be free, the latter of the blue-eyed young man who at the moment is many miles on his journey toward Havana and is expressing his opinion of Cuban roads in comical apostrophes, rivaling the natural extravagance of Spanish conversation.

“A visitor,” remarks Quesada, as the crunching of carriage wheels sounds in the driveway, and Juanita’s day dreams are abruptly terminated by the appearance of a vehicle, not a Cuban every-day volante, but a four-wheeled affair, the best that Santiago can provide.

The carriage draws up before the quinta, the driver opens the door with a profound obeisance, and out steps a lady whose radiant beauty rather dazzles the Cuban gentleman, who advances with easy grace to meet her. For Don Quesada, though well past the meridian of life, is not without susceptibility to feminine charms.

“I have the pleasure of addressing Don Manuel de Quesada, I believe?” says the fair visitor in English.

“The pleasure is mine, madam.”

“I am under the embarrassment of introducing myself,” with a smile and a glance from a pair of liquid black eyes that instantly win for her the good-will of the master of the quinta. She tenders a bit of cardboard, and as the Don receives it with a bow, she explains: “When I left New York I had a letter of introduction from a gentleman who has the honor of your acquaintance”—she glances at the coachman standing near, and lowers her voice—“Don Rafael Manada.”

“Ah!” murmurs Quesada, regarding his visitor with new interest.

“But I must have left it among my effects at Santiago. I certainly have not lost it, as I was too thoroughly instructed as to the importance of keeping its contents a secret,” the lady finishes, with a meaning smile.

Quesada extends his hand and presses slightly the dainty palm laid therein. “Any of Don Manada’s friends are welcome here,” he says. “I am happy to place the quinta at your disposition, and its occupants are yours to command, madam.”

Quesada leads the way into the house, whither Juanita has retired to add a few touches to her toilet.

“You are an American, Mrs. Harding,” ventures the Don, as they pass through the long, wide corridor to the gallery at the rear of the quinta and the lady is provided with the easiest of chairs.

“My accent told you that immediately,” is the smiling response. “Yes; I am the widow of an American ship-owner, who left to me, among other possessions, a sugar plantation somewhere in this fair isle. I had the pleasure of Don Manada’s acquaintance in New York, and when he heard that I purposed visiting Cuba to view my possessions, he desired that I seek you, giving me at the same time the letter of introduction which, as I have said, I have unfortunately left at my hotel in Santiago. But perhaps the password which he whispered to me, ‘Cuba Libre,’ will do as well. For the cause of Cuban liberty has no warmer sympathizer than myself, Don Quesada,” she adds, earnestly, and the Don’s countenance lights with pleasure.

“Don Manada could have conferred no greater pleasure,” he replies, “and I trust that you will honor my daughter and myself by becoming our guest, for a few days at least.”

Isabel’s dark orbs snap with triumph not easily repressed, but she answers hesitatingly: “Thank you, but I do not see how I can trespass upon your kindness. I have not the pleasure of an acquaintance with the senorita, and—”

“Permit me to remove that objection at once,” interposes Quesada, as Juanita at the moment stands in the doorway. “Juanita, mi querida, this is Mrs. Isabel Harding, an American lady and a friend of Don Manada, whom you met in New York. I have invited her to remain with us for a few days, or as long as our hospitality may prove attractive. Will you not add your request to mine?”

The more mature and voluptuous beauty of the older woman attracts the impulsive Cuban girl, and she seconds her father’s invitation with a sincerity that would have won even a lady who had not come to the quinta with the deliberate purpose of securing such a proffer of hospitality.

And so the carriage is sent back to Santiago and Isabel Harding is installed at the quinta, the surroundings of which she finds much to her liking. Juanita is much charmed with her American friend, who fascinates the impressionable Cuban girl with her brilliant beauty, her wit and her knowledge of the great world amid whose pleasures and palaces Juanita lived for two years, and which she hopes some day to see again. The two women quickly become inseparable and naturally Juanita tells Mrs. Harding of her other recent New York friend, Jack Ashley. But Isabel, although she enjoys, or otherwise, an acquaintance with that industrious young man, does not know his name, and the adventuress has not even the fear of his reappearance to disturb her present serenity.

But if the Don and his daughter are charmed by their guest, not so Don Carlos, and it is with difficulty that that gentle youth conceals his dislike. An instinctive distrust of the beautiful American takes possession of him, and to avoid exhibiting this distrust, which he admits to himself is unfounded, he spends most of his time in solitary walks about the vast pueblo or in long rides upon the back of his favorite pony.

Late in the afternoon of the 7th of April, two days after the arrival of Mrs. Harding at the quinta, that lady, her elderly host and his daughter are seated on the veranda, enjoying the light breeze from the gulf which renders life in Cuba endurable and even attractive for a few hours.

An interruption to the conversation comes in the person of a courier, who rides up to the quinta, delivers to Quesada a small packet of papers, and, after a glass of wine, departs as hastily as he came.

The Don excuses himself and retires to his study. A few moments later he reappears and calls to Carlos, who is coming up the lawn. Young Navarro bows to Mrs. Harding and follows the Don into the study.

“I have just received important news,” says the latter. “Capt. Guerra sends word that a big supply train was dispatched by the captain-general from Havana for Santiago this morning or last night. Is it not to-day or to-morrow that Navarro was to be at or near Jibana?”

Carlos nods. “He should certainly be there now.”

Quesada paces the room, his brow knitted in thought. “If word could be got to him at once,” he says, “Dios! The train might be captured. But how to send him word—there is the obstacle.”

“How far is Jibana from Santiago?” asks Carlos, into whose mind has come a sudden thought that causes his cheeks to alternately flush and pale.

“A full day’s journey by rail. No; I fear word could not be sent him in time.”

“But if a courier were to leave on the early morning train, could he not reach Jibana in season to find Emilio?”

“Perhaps. It will take several days for the supply train to make the trip, but it will also take us too long to find a trustworthy messenger.”

“Do you not consider me trustworthy?”

“You!” cries Quesada, looking at the slender youth in astonishment.

“Yes, Don Manuel; I will be the courier.”

“No, no; I cannot permit it. What would Emilio say?”

“He will be too overjoyed to see me to think of scolding you. There is no danger. Simply the discomfort of the journey. I will start in the morning.”

Against his better judgment, Quesada consents, and as Carlos throws open the study door the vision of Mrs. Harding flits by.

Over the teacups half an hour later Isabel tells Don Quesada that, if there is a conveyance to be easily procured at Santos, she believes she will run into Santiago for a day’s shopping. And Quesada informs her smilingly that if she cares to arise with the sun she may find a conveyance in waiting, as Carlos is going to the city on business and will undoubtedly be charmed with her society on the short journey.

* * * * *

At Havana on the morning of the 8th of April.

With contracted brows and frowning face, the captain-general of Cuba scans a mass of official documents that lie upon his desk. Gen. Truenos is plainly displeased with the condition of affairs on the island. When he sailed from Cadiz it was to “put down the rebellion in three months,” as the Spanish press boastfully asserted, but Truenos realizes that it is not now a matter of weeks or months, but of years, ere the red and yellow of Spain will wave again unchallenged over the gem of the Antilles.

In the meantime, Gen. Truenos gathers from the papers before him that some of the matured plans of the Spanish have been checkmated through treachery in some quarter, and he is not enchanted with the glimpses he has obtained of the manner in which his subordinates conduct a campaign.

An officer enters the room with a dispatch and the captain-general reaches impatiently for the missive.

“Caspita!” he growls, as he glances over the contents. “Murillo at least is alive to what is transpiring under the very noses of my generals. I wish that I had more like him.” Then to the officer: “Send Gen. Velasquez to me at once.”

As the latter answers the summons, Truenos hands him the dispatch, with the query: “Has the supply train left for Santiago?”

“It left last night, your excellency.”

“It must be stopped. As you will see by Murillo’s dispatch, the rebels have learned of the train’s departure and a courier is now en route from Santiago to notify that infernal El Terredo. If that courier is not intercepted, the supply train must be recalled or held. The dispatch contains a description of the rebel messenger. Now, then, to action.”

Truenos unfolds a large map of the island, and as he runs his finger along the line which indicates the railroad, another dispatch is handed in. The captain-general tears it open and reads:

“Reported that El Terredo is encamped near Jibana, with a large force of insurgents.

Alvarez.”

“Ah,” remarks Truenos. “This is dated Cadoza. And Cadoza,” he consults the map, “is less than a dozen miles from Jibana. Bueno! For once matters are dovetailing to my wishes. The courier cannot reach Jibana before nightfall, and when he does Alvarez shall arrest him. Let the supply train proceed, Velasquez, and immediately wire Alvarez to arrest the rebel messenger at or below Jibana. Send the description of the young man given in Murillo’s dispatch and have Alvarez wire back that he understands. Quick! There is no time to be wasted.”

It is to be an exciting night at Jibana.