Dusk was falling and Kit urged his tired mule up the winding road. His skin was grimed with dust, for he had ridden hard in scorching heat, and was anxious and impatient to get on. The Rio Negro was in the lagoon and some cargo had been landed, but Kit stopped the work when nobody came to take the goods. It looked as if the message he had sent through a secret channel had not reached the president, and this was ominous.

He had heard rumors of fighting when he was in Cuba and the United States, but the newspapers gave him little information and he had driven the Rio Negro across at full speed in order to finish the contract before the revolution spread, which was all he wanted. Adam's staunch loyalty had cost him his life, but the president had no claim on Kit. Besides, his stopping in the country had kept him away from Ashness when he was needed there. He smiled as he admitted that he was hardly logical, since he was stubbornly pushing on when almost exhausted in order that Alvarez might get the goods he required; but after all, this was for Adam's sake.

As he rode up the hill the sky got brighter and a flickering illumination was reflected on the clouds that hung about the mountains. It looked as if the town were lighted up and Kit wondered whether this was to celebrate a victory. He struck the mule, but the tired animal came near throwing him when it stumbled and he let it choose its pace. The jolt had shaken him and he was very tired.

For a time he skirted a belt of trees, and when he came out on the open hillside the illumination was ominously bright. Now he was getting nearer, the clouds looked different from the mist that rolled down the mountains in the evening; they were dark and trailed away from the range. Still, he could go no faster and he waited with growing anxiety until he reached a narrow tableland. It commanded a wider view and he raised himself in the stirrups as he saw that the light was the reflection of a large fire.

He sank back and pulling up the mule let the bridle fall on its drooping neck. It looked as if a number of houses were burning in the town, which indicated that there had been a fight. The trouble was he did not know who had won and this was important. If the president were badly beaten, he would not need the supplies at the lagoon, although they might be useful to the rebels. Kit imagined it would be prudent to turn back, but he must find out what had happened and sent the mule forward.

Half an hour afterwards he rode into the town. The small square houses were dark and there was nobody in the narrow street, but he heard a confused uproar farther on. Although the glare in the sky was fainter, it leaped up now and then and a cloud of smoke floated across the roofs. A red glow shone down the next street and he saw the pavement was torn up. Broken furniture lay among piles of stones, the walls were chipped, and when Kit got down he had some trouble to lead the mule across the ruined barricade. Although he saw nobody yet, the shouts that came from the neighborhood of the presidio were ominous.

Kit remounted and rode slowly up to the edge of the sandy square where the palms grew along the rails. The square was occupied by an excited crowd, but the presidio had gone. A great pile of smoking rubbish and a wall, broken by wide cracks, marked where it had stood. Flames played about the ruin and Kit turned his mule. He thought the crowd was waiting to search for plunder, and did not expect to find anybody calm enough to answer his questions. Besides, he needed food and drink and might learn what had happened at the cafÉ.

The small tables stretched across the street and were all occupied, but when Kit had tied the mule to the alameda railings opposite he found a chair and ordered an omelette and wine. The waiter looked at him with some surprise and Kit wondered whether it was prudent for him to stay.

"You have been burning the presidio," he remarked.

"We have got rid of a tyrant," the waiter replied.

"You may get another worse," said Kit, as coolly as he could. "What happened to the president?"

Somebody shouted "Mozo" and when the waiter went away Kit rested his arms on the table. He was very tired, and it was obvious that he had come too late. Since the president was overthrown, he had lost a large sum of money and wasted the efforts he had made to carry out Adam's engagements. He must get back to the lagoon as soon as possible, but he needed food and wanted to find out if Alvarez had escaped. There was, however, some risk in asking questions, because the cafÉ seemed to be occupied by triumphant rebels.

Presently the men at the next table got up and their place was taken by another group, among which Kit noted Francisca Sarmiento and her relations. He thought they looked surprised, but they saluted him politely, and soon afterwards the girl, who was nearest, looked round.

"You have courage, seÑor," she remarked in a meaning tone.

"I do not know if courage is needed," Kit replied, forcing a smile. "It looks as if I could no longer meddle with politics."

"Then, since you could not help Alvarez, why did you come?"

"I imagined I could help him, until I saw the presidio was burnt," Kit replied. "In fact, I haven't found out what has happened yet."

The girl studied him with some curiosity, but Kit felt that he had nothing to fear from her.

"If one did not know that you were incorruptible, one could understand your rashness," she said, in a mocking tone. "I suppose your steamer is in the lagoon?"

Kit looked round. The cafÉ was crowded, but the people were talking excitedly, and nobody seemed to notice him and the girl. The noise would prevent their talk being heard.

"There is no use in denying it, because Galdar's spies have, no doubt, seen her. I would be glad if you can tell me what has become of the president."

Francisca gave him a keen glance. "You do not know Alvarez is dead?"

"Ah!" said Kit. "I did not know. Was he killed?"

"He died soon after the fighting began. The doctors say it was apoplexy; he had been hurrying about in the burning sun."

"I wonder—He was a strong man and used to the sun."

Francisca smiled. "One does not ask questions at a time like this. It is prudent to believe what one is told. When the soldiers lost their leader they ran away."

Kit was silent for a few minutes. He had had a faint hope that the president might rally his supporters and begin the fight again, but the hope was gone. He knew all he wanted, and must leave the town as soon as he had had some food.

"Alvarez was a friend of mine, and the news you have given me is something of a shock," he said. "I think the country will feel its loss, but that is not my business, and since there is nothing to keep me here, I shall be glad to get away."

"It would be prudent to go soon," Francisca remarked in a low voice.

"I do not see why. I am no longer important enough for your friends to meddle with me."

"You are very modest, seÑor, if you are not rather dull. You have goods that would be useful to the new president, who has a rival he did not expect. Don Felix MuÑez has turned traitor, and there are people who support him in the coast province."

"Another president!" Kit exclaimed with a soft laugh, and then bowed to the girl. "I think you mean well. You have given me a useful hint and you have my thanks. I will be rash and tell you that Galdar shall not have the goods I brought."

Franciscans eyes got soft and a touch of color crept into her olive skin.

"One does not often meet a man who puts honor before money. Adios, seÑor! I wish you well."

Then she turned to her companions, who presently left the table and soon afterwards Kit's omelette was brought. While he ate, Olsen came in and sitting down opposite, lighted a cigarette.

"You'll allow that the Buccaneer backed the wrong man," he said. "I warned you and reckon your obstinacy has cost you something."

"That is so," Kit agreed. "One must run risks in a business like this, but I don't expect you to sympathize."

Olsen smiled. "I don't pretend I'm not satisfied, but I can show you how to get some of your money back. I've learned much about you and Askew since we had our last talk, and am willing to buy part of the Rio Negro's cargo."

"You seem to know she has arrived?"

"Oh, yes; I knew some hours since. I've been looking out for you."

"To whom do you mean to sell the goods?" Kit asked.

"Does that matter?"

"Yes; it's rather important."

"The important thing is you'll get paid," Olsen rejoined.

Kit frowned. He imagined he could demand a high price, and now Alvarez was dead, there was perhaps no reason for refusing to bargain; but he did not mean to let Galdar have the goods. He thought Adam would not have done so, and he held the new president, to some extent, accountable for Adam's last illness.

"The cargo is not for sale," he said.

"Oh, shucks!" Olsen exclaimed. "I reckon you want to put up the price."

"No," said Kit, rather grimly, "I don't want to sell."

"Don't be a fool. The man you backed is dead. You carried out your contract, and it doesn't matter to him now who gets the truck."

"That's true," Kit replied. "But I won't help his rival."

Olsen looked hard at him and saw he was resolute. "Oh, well! If you're determined, there's no use in arguing! You're something of a curiosity; I haven't met a man like you before."

He went away and Kit ordered more wine, for he was thirsty after his long ride and had borne some strain. He had to wait for the wine, but had expected this since the cafÉ was crowded, and in the meantime he got up and looked across the street. Nobody had meddled with the mule, which stood quietly by the railings with drooping head. Kit wondered where he could get it some food and if he could hire a fresh animal.

Then a waiter brought the wine and when he had drunk some and lighted a cigarette Kit, listening to the talk of the men at the next table, got a hint that threw some light on Olsen's offer. Alvarez had used the vaults under the presidio for a munition store, and when he was dead the mayor-domo had blown up the building as the rebels forced their way in. Now there was a new president in the field, it was obvious why Galdar wanted fresh supplies. This, however, was not important, and Kit drained his glass and then tried to rouse himself. He must look after the mule and if it was not fit for the journey get another animal.

He felt strangely reluctant to move; the fatigue he had for a time shaken off returned with puzzling suddenness and threatened to overpower him. His head was very heavy, he could hardly hear the people talk, and every now and then his eyes shut. He could not keep them open, but after a few minutes he straightened his bent shoulders with a resolute jerk and clenched his fist. It was not fatigue that was mastering him; the wine was drugged. He had not noted a suspicious taste, but he was thirsty and the omelette was strongly flavored with garlic and red pepper.

Holding himself stiffly upright, he tried to think. Olsen had, no doubt, ordered the wine to be drugged, and his object was plain. He meant to prevent Kit reaching the lagoon until he had removed the cargo on the beach and tried to persuade Mayne to land the rest. Well, the plot would fail, and with an effort Kit got up and crossed the street. He suspected that he was watched, but nobody tried to stop him and he mounted the mule.

The animal moved off at a better pace than he had hoped and he tried to brace himself. His head ached and his brain was very dull, but somehow he stuck to the saddle, and although he could hardly guide the mule the animal avoided the people in its way. After a time, the street became empty, the noise behind was fainter, and the houses were dark. Nobody seemed to follow him and Kit began to hope he might be able to leave the town. He did not know what he would do then, and hardly imagined he could keep up the effort much longer. Perhaps, when he got away from the houses he could tie up the mule in a quiet place and rest.

When he rode down a rough track into open country he rocked in the saddle and would have fallen but for the high peak and big stirrups. The hillside was blurred; distorted objects that he thought were rocks and cactus lurched about in the elusive moonlight, and the sweat ran down his face as he fought against the drug. He knew it would conquer him, but he was going on as long as possible.

At length the mule stepped into a hole, Kit's foot came out of the stirrup and he fell. For a moment or two, the mule dragged him along; then he got his other foot loose and for a time knew nothing more.

The moonlight was fading when he opened his eyes and saw that he was lying beside a clump of cactus. Indistinct objects moved along the road not far off and he heard the click of hoofs on stones. A mule train was passing and was, no doubt, going to the lagoon. He could not get up and was glad he was in dark shadow. The muleteers had probably been told to look out for him and a blow from a heavy stone would prevent his interfering with the rebels' plans. The indistinct figures, however, went on and Kit relapsed into unconsciousness.

It was daylight when he wakened and saw a man bending over him. Kit was cold and wet with dew; his head ached horribly and he did not try to get up. His pistol was underneath him and if the fellow meant to kill him he could not resist.

"What do you want?" he asked.

The man said he had seen him lying there and imagined he was ill. Then he held out his hand and asked if Kit could get up. Kit was surprised when he found himself on his feet, although he swayed as he tried to keep his balance.

"I suppose you are a liberator?" he said dully.

The other clenched his dark fist. "No, seÑor! Those dogs, the Galdareros, are no friends of mine! But you were for the president; it was known in the town."

Kit admitted it. The fellow's scornful denial was comforting and after some talk, walking with a painful effort, he went with him down the hill to a small mud house. A few minutes after he got there he went to sleep, but in the meantime the man had promised to help him to reach the lagoon.

He kept his promise, and before it was light next morning Kit dismounted on the sandy beach. There was no moon and mist drifted about the trees, but the water shone faintly and the tide was nearly full. The steamer loomed in the gloom and when Kit shouted there was a rattle of pulley blocks and a splash of oars. Ten minutes afterwards Mayne met him at the gangway and gave him his hand.

"It's some relief to see you back," he said. "Finlay has his fires banked and can get steam to take us out in an hour or two."

Kit went with him to his room and sat down limply. He was covered with dust and wet with dew; his face was haggard and his eyes were dull.

"I'll tell you about my adventures later," he said. "What about the cargo?"

"Some dagos came along with a mule train and loaded up part of the truck on the beach. They had an order that looked as if it had been signed by you, and as they were a pretty tough crowd and had their knives loose, I let them take the goods. When I studied the order I wasn't sure about the hand and brought off all they had left. By and by another gang came along, but I refused to send a boat until I'd seen you."

"You were prudent," Kit remarked. "The order was forged. Let me see the mate's cargo-lists."

He studied the book Mayne gave him and then pondered. Olsen had, no doubt, forged the order and Kit imagined he would have some trouble to get payment for the goods. The manufacturers might be persuaded to take back the rest of the cargo at something less than its proper price, but Kit thought the value of the munitions supplied to Alvarez would be lost. The new president would certainly try to disown the debt. Kit, however, had known that Adam's staunchness might cost him much, and something might, perhaps, be saved. He had had enough of the country, and as soon as he could straighten out the tangle in which the revolution had involved Adam's business he was going back to Ashness.

"Heave your anchor when you're ready," he said to Mayne. "We'll call at
Havana and then steam for New Orleans."

At high-water he stood on the bridge, watching the mangroves fade into the mist. Ahead, the sun was rising out of a smooth sea, the air was fresh, and Kit's heart was lighter. He had done with plots and intrigue and was going back to Ashness and the quiet hills. At the same time, he felt a tender melancholy as he thought about the little church at Salinas and the marble cross in the sandy yard. Then he lifted his head and the melancholy vanished as he looked across the sparkling water. The clang of engines rose and fell with a measured beat and there was a noisy splashing at the bows. Bright streaks of foam eddied about the Rio Negro's side, and a long smoke cloud trailed astern as she steamed to the North.