"Who knows!" said Maccario, with a little expressive movement of his shoulders, and sat thoughtfully silent looking down towards Santa Marta across the cane.

Appleby, who asked no more questions, lay still in his chair vacantly watching the strip of road that was growing dimmer now. He had toiled with fierce activity under the burning sun since early morning, and a pleasant la.s.situde was creeping over him, while the faint coolness and deepening shadow was curiously refreshing after the scorching heat and glare. The sun had dipped behind a hill shoulder far away, the peaks grew sharp in outline against a gleam of saffron, and the long waves of cane were fading to a soft and dusky green. Still though night comes swiftly in that region, the road still showed faintly white where it wound in sinuous curves across the darkening plain, and held his gaze.

What he was watching for he did not know, but he was sensible of a vague expectancy. At last, when the road had faded, and the soft darkness closed down, Maccario raised his head suddenly, for a drumming sound rose from the cane.

"Somebody is coming this way, riding hard," he said.

The sound grew a trifle plainer, sank, and rose again, and the two men strained their ears to listen. The darkness was growing denser, but Appleby glanced at his companion.

"The sound commenced suddenly just beyond the spot where our outer picket is," he said.

Maccario nodded. "Morales will certainly watch the road. It is a friend who has ridden by one of the paths through the cane with news for us,"

he said.

In another few minutes the beat of hoofs was unmistakable, and when it rang loudly down the unseen road the two descended to the big living- room where Pancho had lighted the lamps. Maccario laughed as he sat down, and lighted a cigarette.

"When one a.s.sumes the tranquillity it not infrequently comes to him, and if the news is bad we shall hear it soon enough," he said.

Appleby said nothing, for there were times when he found his comrade's sage reflections a trifle exasperating, and he was glad when there was a trampling of hoofs in the patio, and he heard Harper greeting somebody.

Then he sprang to his feet as a man came in.

"Harding!" he said.

Maccario laughed softly. "Now I think you have a little explanation to make, Don Bernardino, and it is conceivable that the Senor Harding may not be grateful to you," he said.

Harding evidently understood him, for he stood still just inside the doorway, dressed in white duck, looking at Appleby with a little grim smile in his eyes. The dust was grimed upon his face, which was almost haggard, and his pose suggested weariness.

"Since I find my hacienda in the possession of the Sin Verguenza I fancy Don Maccario is right, but I can wait a little for the explanation," he said dryly in Castilian. "I have ridden a long way, and as it is twenty- four hours since I had anything worth mentioning to eat, I wonder whether it would be permissable to ask for a little comida?"

Maccario, whose eyes twinkled, summoned Pancho, and sent him for food and wine. Harding ate with an avidity which told its own story, and then turned to Appleby.

"It was not until I reached Havana that I heard about the 'Maine,' and then as I had a good deal of business to put through in this country it seemed advisable to get myself up as a Cuban," he said. "I had evidence that the Administration were watching me, and I would never have got here at all if it hadn't been for the help of a few friends among the Liberationists. Now, I fancy you and Don Maccario have something to tell me."

Appleby sat still a moment looking at him gravely, while Harper, who came in, leaned upon a chair. Then he said slowly: "As you may wish for Don Maccario's corroboration I think I had better tell the story, which is a little involved, in Castilian. You will find patience necessary."

He commenced with his interview with Morales on the night of the Alcaldes' ball, and while Harding watched him with expressionless eyes recounted briefly the two attempts upon the papers made by the spies.

Then as he came to Morales' proposition the American's face grew grim.

"That is a clever man," he said. "Go on!"

Appleby proceeded quietly, and while his low voice broke monotonously through the silence of the room Harding's face lost its grimness, and became intent and eager, while a sparkle crept into his eyes.

"So you staked all I had in Cuba on the chance of war and committed me to backing the Sin Verguenza!" he said.

"Yes," said Appleby. "It was a heavy responsibility, but I could think of no other means of overcoming the difficulty. That I should agree to Morales' terms was out of the question."

"Of course!" said Harding simply. "That is, to a man like you."

Appleby flushed a little. "I had no opportunity of warning you, while it seemed to me that it would go very hard with you if you were seized by Morales. That appeared almost inevitable unless you had friends behind you. The only ones that could be of service in this instance are the Sin Verguenza."

"And so you took your chances of Morales shooting you?"

"I think," said Appleby quietly, "there was, under the circ.u.mstances, very little else that one could do."

Harding looked at him steadily, and then, nodding gravely, turned to Maccario.

"The Senor Appleby has thrown me on the patriots' hands," he said. "I have already done them several small services, as you perhaps know. They will remember that?"

Maccario's eyes twinkled. "I believe they will. The Senor Harding's generosity is well known," he said. "In this country friends who are liberal with their money are scarce, and one is willing to do a little now and then to retain their good will. That, I think, is comprehensible. One has usually a motive."

"Yet, when two men who had not a dollar between them were in peril, a merchant of tobacco ventured into the cuartel at Santa Marta!" said Appleby quietly.

Maccario lifted one shoulder expressively. "One is not always discreet, my friend. There is, however, an important question. The Senor Harding who knows his own countrymen believes there will be war?"

"I believe it is inevitable," said Harding dryly.

A trace of darker color crept into the Cuban's olive face, while Harper, who slowly straightened himself, tapped him on the back with a big hand.

"Then you'll get your liberty! You're not going to find a Spaniard in Cuba when we're through," he said.

There was a brief silence, but the intentness in the men's eyes and the hardening of their lips were significant. Then Harding, reaching across the table, grasped Appleby's hand. "I am in your debt, and it's not going to hurt me to remember it," he said. "There are not many men who could have taken up my hand, and played it out for me as you have done, but I'm not astonished. I had my notions about you when I left you in charge at San Cristoval. Well, that leads up to something. My affairs in this country are 'most getting too big for me, and I'm open to take a partner and deal with him liberally. It's not money I want, but daring conception, and the nerve to hold on and worry through a risky plan. I guess you know the man who would suit me, Mr. Appleby."

A little gleam crept into Appleby's eyes, but it faded again as he glanced at Maccario.

"It is a tempting offer, but I belong to the Sin Verguenza yet," he said. "Can you leave it open, Mr. Harding?"

"For how long?"

"Until Santa Marta has fallen, and the Sin Verguenza are undisputed masters of this region."

He spoke in Castilian, feeling that Maccario's dark eyes were upon him, and Harding smiled.

"Well," he said a trifle dryly, "I guess you couldn't help it, and I can't afford to let any of the other men who will follow my lead when we're through with the war get hold of you. When you have taken Santa Marta come straight along to me, and if we can't fix up something that will suit both parties it will astonish me. Now, I'm feeling sleepy, and I've a good deal of figuring to go through with you to-morrow."

Appleby rose and went with him to the room Pancho had made ready, while when they reached it Harding sat down wearily.

"I have another thing to tell you, Appleby," he said. "My daughter Nettie seems to think a good deal of you."

"Miss Harding was kind enough to permit me to call upon her once or twice at the banker's house," said Appleby quietly.

Harding's eyes twinkled. "If you had gone there every day it wouldn't have worried me. Your head is tolerably level, and Nettie has rather more sense than most young women, but that is not the point, anyway.

When she was leaving England she wrote to me, and told me I might let you know there were people over there, and one, I believe in particular, who had heard the truth about you."

Appleby stood still a moment, with a flush on his forehead and a curious glow in his eyes.

"Miss Harding told you nothing more, sir?" he said.

"No," said Harding reflectively. "It wasn't very explicit but she seemed to fancy it would be sufficient. Now, I don't think you need worry about the thing, Appleby. Nettie has a good deal of discretion, and if she decided to take up your hand it's no more than you did with mine."

Appleby made no answer, but went out, and leaned upon the veranda bal.u.s.trade looking up into the soft blueness of the night, while once more an alluring vision seemed to materialize before his eyes. He had a curious faith in Nettie Harding's capabilities, and remembered the promise she had made him that what he longed for should be his.