Volume 3 Chapter 19 - The Maroon by Mayne Reid
Two Speculative Travellers
The sun was sinking out of sight into the bosom of the blue Caribbean, and the twilight, long since extended over the valley below, was now spreading its purple robe around the summit of the hill, on which stood the hut. The shadows cast by the huge forest trees were being exchanged for the more sombre shadows of the coming night; and the outlines of the hovel—now a house of death—were gradually becoming obliterated in the crepusculous obscurity.
Inside that deserted dwelling, tenanted only by the dead, reigned stillness, solemn and profound—the silence of death itself.
Outside, were sounds such as suited the solemnity of the scene: the mournful loo-who-ah of the eared owl, who had already commenced quartering the aisles of the forest; while from the heaven above came the wild wail of the potoo, as the bird went across the fast-darkening sky, in search of its insect prey.
To these lugubrious utterances there was one solitary exception. More cheerful was the champing of the steel bit—proceeding from the horse that had been left tied to the tree—and the quick, impatient stroke of his hoof, as the animal fretted under the stings of the musquitoes, becoming more bitter as the darkness descended.
The body of Loftus Vaughan lay upon the bamboo bedstead, just as Chakra had left it. No hand had been there to smooth that rude pillow—no friendly finger to close those eyes that were open, and saw not—those orbs glassed and coldly glaring from their sunken sockets!
As yet the attendant had not returned with that succour which would come too late.
Nor was it possible for him to get back in much less than an hour. Content, though in actual distance scarcely a mile from the hut, was full five in point of time. The slope of the mountain road was at an angle with the horizon of at least fifty degrees. There could be no rapid riding on that road—neither up nor down, upon the most urgent errand; and the black groom was not going to risk life by a broken neck, even to save the life of a Custos.
It would be a full hour, then, before the man would return. As yet only twenty minutes had passed, and forty more were to come.
But it was not fated that even for those forty minutes the body of the Custos Vaughan should be permitted to rest in peace.
Twenty minutes had scarcely elapsed after Chakra had stolen away from the side of the corpse, when there came others to disturb it, and with a rude violence almost sufficient to arouse it from the slumber of death!
Had Chakra, on leaving the hut, only taken the main road back to Montego Bay—and that was the direction in which he intended going—he would have met two strange men. Not so strange but that they were known to him; but strange enough to arrest the attention of an ordinary traveller.
But among the proclivities of the myal-man, that of travelling along main roads was one in which he did not indulge, except under the most unavoidable circumstances.
Following his usual practice, as soon as he had cleared the precincts of the negro cabin, he struck off into a by-path leading through the bushes; and by so doing lost the opportunity of an encounter with two individuals, who, although of a different nationality, were as great villains as himself.
The brace of worthies thus described are already known. They were the man-hunters of Jacob Jessuron, Manuel and Andres—caçadores de cimmarones from the Island of Cuba.
With the object for which they were journeying along the Savanna road the reader is equally au fait. Jessuron’s talk with them, on starting them off, has plainly proclaimed the vile intent of his two truculent tools.
All day long had these human bloodhounds been following upon the track of the Custos—now nearer to him—now further off—according to the halts which the traveller had made, and the relative speed of horseman and pedestrian.
More than once had they sighted their intended victim afar off on the white dusty road. But the presence of the stout negro attendant, as well as the broad open daylight, had deterred them from proceeding in their nefarious purpose; and they had postponed its execution till that time which gives opportunity to the assassin—the going down of the sun.
This hour had at length arrived; and just as the real murderer was hastening away from the hut, the intending assassins were hurrying towards it, with all the speed in their power!
“Carrambo!” exclaimed he who was the older, and in consequence the leader of the two, “I shouldn’t be surprised, Andres, if the ingeniero was to slip out of our clutches to-night! Not far beyond lies Content, and the owner of that ingenio is a friend of his. You remember Señor Jacob said he would be like to put up there for the night?”
“Yes,” replied Andres, “the old Judio was particular about that.”
“Well, if he gets there before we can overhaul him, there’ll be nothing done to-night. We must take our chance on the road between that and Savanna.”
“Carajo!” responded Andres, with somewhat spiteful emphasis; “if it wasn’t for them ugly pistols he carries, and that big buck nigger by his side, we might have stopped his breath before this. Supposing he gets to Savanna before we can have a talk with him? what then, compadre?”
“Then,” answered he thus godfatherly addressed, “then our lines won’t lie in pleasant places. Savanna’s a big city; and it isn’t so easy to murder a man in the street of a town as among these trees. People prowling about have tongues, where the trees haven’t; and fifty pounds, Jamaica money, a’nt much for killing a man—more especially a Custos, as they call him. Carajo! we must take care, or we may get our necks twisted for this simple trick! These Custoses are like our alcaldes—kill one, and a dozen others will spring up to prosecute you.”
“But what,” inquired Andres, who, although the younger of the two, appeared to be gifted with a greater degree of prudence than his companion—“what if we don’t find a chance—even in Savanna?”
“Then,” replied the other, “we stand a good chance of losing our fifty pounds—shabby currency as it is.”
“How that, Manuel?”
“How that? Why, because the ingeniero, once in Savanna, will take ship and travel by sea. The dueno said so. If he do that, we may bid adieu to him; for I wouldn’t make another sea-voyage for five times fifty pounds. That we had from Batabano was enough to last me for my life. Carajo! I thought it was the vomito prieto that had seized upon me. But for the fear of another such puking spell I’d have gone home with the rest, instead of staying in this nest of Jews and nigger-drivers; and how I’m ever to get back to Batabano, let alone making a voyage for the purpose of—”
The Cubano refrained from finishing his speech—not from any delicacy he had about declaring the purpose, but because he knew that the declaration would be supererogatory to an associate who already comprehended it.
“In that case,” counselled the more sagacious Andres, “we must finish our business before Savanna comes in sight. Perhaps, compadre, by pushing on rapidly now, we may overtake the party before they get anchored in Content?”
“You’re right, hombre; you’re right about that. Let us, as you say, push on; and, if it suits you as it does me, let our motto be, ‘Noche o nunca’ (this night or never)!”
“Vamos!” rejoined Andres; and the assassins increased their speed, as if stimulated by the fear of losing their prey.