"There is no such family. Who has been teaching you Spanish?"

"Really, isn't there?"

"'Chiquita' means 'very small,' 'little one,' 'little girl,' or something like that. It's not a family name, it's a term of endearment, usually."

Kirk remembered now how the girl's eyes had danced when she asked him if he spoke her language. It was just like her to tease him, and yet what a pretty way to conceal her ident.i.ty!

"What made you take it for a proper name?"

"A-a little girl told me."

"Oh, naturally. All children are 'Chiquitas' or 'Chiquitos'-- everything, in fact, that is a pet."

Kirk felt somewhat uncomfortable under the older man's gaze of quiet amus.e.m.e.nt.

"But these other families," he went on in some confusion--"I mean the ones like those you just mentioned--they sometimes intermarry with Americans, don't they?"

"No, not the better cla.s.s. There have been a few instances, I believe, but for the most part they keep to themselves."

"How would a fellow set about meeting the nice people."

"He wouldn't. He would probably live here indefinitely and never see the inside of a Panamanian house."

"But there must be some way," the young man exclaimed in desperation. "There must be dances, parties--"

"Of course, but Americans are not invited. The men are easy to get acquainted with, charming, courteous, gentlemanly, but I dare say you will leave Panama without so much as meeting their wives or sisters. But why this consuming curiosity? Has some senorita struck your fancy?"

In spite of his effort to appear unconcerned, Kirk felt that he looked abominably self-conscious. Without waiting for a reply, Cortlandt continued to give him information as if he enjoyed it.

"I suppose one reason why so few Americans marry Panamanians is that our men like at least to get acquainted with their brides before marriage, and that is impossible in this country. A man never sees a girl alone, you know. When he calls to court her he wooes the whole family, who vote on him, so to speak. That doesn't appeal to us who originated the mother-in-law joke. There aren't many Northern chaps who would consent to select a wife by pointing her out like a bolt of calico on a top shelf."

Kirk suddenly realized to the full how egregious his request to call must have appeared to the Spanish girl. What a fool he had been, to be sure! For a moment he lost himself in a contemplation of the difficulties so unexpectedly presented. He was brought to himself by the words:

"--to-morrow you will go to work."

"What's that?" he broke forth in a panic. "I can't go to work to- morrow; I'm going hunting."

Cortlandt eyed him curiously.

"I didn't say to-morrow. I said Runnells 'phoned that he would be ready for you day after to-morrow. What is the matter with you?

Have you lost your head over shooting, or don't you care to work?"

"Oh, neither," he said, hastily. "I merely misunderstood you. Of course, the sooner the better."

"Yes, as you say, the sooner the better," said Cortlandt, with a shade of meaning. "Well, good-night, and good-luck to you in your shooting!"

It was with much less self-a.s.surance that Kirk set out again on the next morning, for this was his last day of grace, and he realized that unless he accomplished something definite it might be a considerable time before he could continue his quest. In view of what the girl had said regarding her engagement, delays seemed particularly dangerous.

He haunted the vicinity of the meeting-place all the morning, but no one came, and a heavy shower at midday drove him into the palm- thatched hut for shelter. When it had pa.s.sed he put an end to his indecision and boldly took the other path. At least he would find out where she lived and who she was. But once again he was disappointed. The trail led out through the grove to the rain- drenched pasture, where it disappeared, and, instead of one house, he saw three, half hidden in foliage and all facing in the opposite direction. They stood upon the crest of a hill fronting the road, and he realized that the pool might be the bathing-place for the inmates of one or all of them.

Up past the grazing stock he went and around to the front of the nearest residence, which proved to be a low, rambling, bungalow affair with many outhouses smothered in a profusion of vines and fruit-trees. Evidently it was unoccupied, for heavy wooden shutters barricaded the windows, and no one answered his knock, although some pigeons perched upon the tile roof cooed at him in a friendly manner. He struck across lots to the next house, but met with no better success, and he approached the third dwelling with a certain hesitation, for it was his last chance. It was more pretentious than the rest, and stood proudly upon the highest point of the ridge, up which ran a private road guarded by twin rows of stately royal palms, whose perfectly rounded trunks seemed to have been turned upon some giant lathe. The house itself was large, square, and double-galleried. It was shaded by lofty hard- wood trees and overlooked a sort of formal garden, now badly in need of care. The road was of sh.e.l.l, and where it entered the grounds pa.s.sed through a huge iron gate suspended upon concrete pillars. The whole place had an air of wealth and exclusiveness.

Here, too, the windows stared at him blindly, and he saw no evidence of occupation; yet he advanced and pounded vigorously on the door. Failing to rouse any one, he paused to take a general view of the surroundings. Scattered upon every side were other winter homes, some bleaching nakedly in the open, others peeping out from luxuriant groves, some mean and poor, others really beautiful and impressive. He knew that he was in the heart of Panama's exclusive winter colony, where her wealthy residents came to avoid the heat.

Unwilling to acknowledge himself beaten, he plodded from one place to another, calling at all the nearest houses, finding most of them locked, and begging a gla.s.s of water where he chanced to be more fortunate. Nowhere did he see the girl or the Barbadian woman, nowhere did he receive an intelligible answer to his questions. The caretakers looked upon him with suspicion, and made it known that he was unwelcome, while their women retreated at sight of him. Even the children were unfriendly. Once, indeed, he heard the name that had been ringing so steadily in his ears, and it gave him a wild thrill until he discovered that it was only a negress calling to her child. Afterward it seemed that he heard it everywhere. On his disconsolate journey home it was spoken twenty times, being applied indifferently to dogs, cats, parrots, and naked youngsters, each mention causing him to start and listen.

Whether the girl had been playing with him, or whether she had been prevented from keeping her word, was of little moment now. He loved her and he intended to have her! He shut his teeth grimly and made a vow to find her if he had to invade every home in Las Savannas, or pull apart the walls of Panama.

XV

ALIAS JEFFERSON LOCKE

It was fortunate for Kirk, on the whole, that his last expedition had proved a failure, for his methods were none of the most discreet; and it was as well, perhaps, that his work on the railroad intervened to prevent further wild incursions.

He was detailed to ride No. 2, which left Panama at 6.35, returning on No. 7, which arrived at 7.00 P.M. For a few days he made the run in company with the train collector, whose position he was destined to fill; and, as the duties were by no means difficult, he quickly mastered them. He had quarters a.s.signed to him, and regretfully took leave of his luxurious room and bath at the Tivoli. He also donned cap and linen uniform, and became an insignificant, bra.s.s-tagged unit in the army of Ca.n.a.l workers.

Ordinarily he would have resented this loss of individuality, but the novelty of the thing appealed to him, and he brought a great good-nature to his work, deriving sufficient amus.e.m.e.nt from it to prevent it from growing tiresome.

For a time it offended his fastidious taste to be forced to elbow his way through superheated coaches jammed with shrieking, cackling, incoherent negroes. They were all utterly hysterical, and apparently possessed but one stubborn idea--to refuse payments of fares. But in time he grew to enjoy even this.

He was glad of his new-found independence, moreover, for, though it did not cancel his obligation to the Cortlandts, it made him feel it less keenly. As for his quarters, they were quite tolerable--about the same as he had had at boarding-school, he reflected, and the meals were better. They were not quite up to Sherry's or Martin's, it was true, but they cost only thirty cents, and that had advantages. Certainly he could not complain of a lack of incident in his new life. On his first trip to Colon and back he had nine disputes and two fights, and threw one man off--a record achievement, he was told, for a beginner.

A further diversion was furnished by Allan, who appeared early in the morning and all but a.s.saulted the gateman, who refused to let him pa.s.s without a ticket. It took the entire station force to prevent him from starting for Colon as Kirk's guest. He considered it a matter of course that his friend should offer him the courtesies of the road, and he went away at last, wofully disappointed but not discouraged.

On the evening of that eventful day, instead of returning to his new quarters, Kirk proceeded to walk the streets in search of a certain face. He strolled through the plazas; he idled in front of the most pretentious residences; he tramped wearily back and forth through dim-lit, narrow streets, gazing up at windows and balconies, harkening for the tone of a voice or the sound of a girl's laughter. But he was without the slightest success, and it was very late when he finally retired, to dream, as usual, of Chiquita.

Several days pa.s.sed, and he began to feel a little dull. He was making no progress in his quest, and he did feel the lack of congenial society. Then one evening there came a note from Edith Cortlandt briefly requesting him to come and see her.

He was a little surprised, yet he was conscious of a certain relief. He had not felt like intruding upon her with further explanations and apologies; but since she wished him to come-- perhaps they could meet, after all, in a natural way. He wanted to get rid of the wretched misunderstanding that lay between them. If he were to leave the country that night never to return, he would want to feel that he had parted on good terms with the woman who had befriended him.

Promptly at eight o'clock he presented himself.

"I'm a laboring man now," he said, as he stood before her, "and I usually hold my cap in my hand and shuffle my feet when talking to ladies. Pray excuse my embarra.s.sment."

She did not respond to the lightness of his tone. Her glance seemed intended to warn him that she meant to be serious.

"I suppose you are wondering why I sent for you," she remarked, after a perceptible interval, and Kirk felt instantly that their old relations could not at once be resumed. "I have discovered something very important, and I felt that you ought to know."

"Thank you," said Kirk, humbly. "It was very kind."

"You see," she went on, with a certain hesitancy, "you confided your story to me so frankly I felt under a certain obligation."

She made a little dramatic pause. "I've discovered who Jefferson Locke is!"

"No! Who is he?" Kirk was instantly all attention, for the announcement came as something of a shock. He had almost forgotten Locke.

"His real name is Frank Wellar, and he is an absconder. He was a broker's clerk in St. Louis, and he made off with something like eighty thousand dollars in cash."