A few days after Rupert's visit to the schooner, a quantity of cargo arrived. The goods were not valuable, but the owners were satisfied with the payment Wyndham told his agent to offer and Marston was surprised they had got a load at all.

"It's strange," said Wyndham thoughtfully when they lounged under the awning while the negroes unloaded the canoes. "Of course, the Bat may have allowed the stuff to come down, for reasons that are not very plain. On the other hand, it's possible some of the half-breeds don't yet own his rule. Since this might be important, I'd rather like to know, but don't see much chance of our finding out."

Marston noted that Harry called Rupert the Bat, but he agreed. Rupert was no longer a white man. All the same he was Harry's relation.

"I imagine our chance of finding out anything useful here is very small," he rejoined.

"Then suppose we take the cargo across for transshipment and see if we can pick up a clew at the other end?" Wyndham suggested. "If we knew something about Larrinaga's plans, it might help."

Although the schooner was not half-loaded, Marston agreed. Any excuse was good that took him away from the lagoon, and at noon next day Columbine went to sea. The voyage to the white town was short and on the evening of their arrival Marston lounged contentedly on the arcade in front of his hotel. A full moon shone above the flat roofs, the hotel was lighted, and the glow from the windows touched the pavement beyond the pillars. Citizens, enjoying the cool of the evening, crowded the streets, and sometimes stopped at the small tables to drink a glass of wine. On the opposite side of the street, the straight-fronted houses threw a dark shadow. The band of the cazadores regiment played on the plaza.

Wyndham was talking to a gentleman from whom his agent bought goods. Don Luis came to town to gamble at the casino, and Marston had met him before.

"You must come and see my finca," he said. "There are ducks on the marsh and you English are fond of sport."

Marston said he would be pleased to go if they stopped long enough; and then letting Wyndham carry on the talk, watched the passers-by. After a few minutes, a big muscular negro entered the belt of light, and Marston glanced at him with some surprise.

"There's Pepe!" he exclaimed.

He doubted if the negro heard him through the clink of glasses and hum of talk, but it looked as if he saw his quick movement, for he turned his head and went behind a group at a table.

"Somebody like him," said Wyndham carelessly, and when Marston looked back across the street the negro had vanished.

People moved about and Marston imagined he had retired into the gloom, where one could not distinguish him from the others. Pepe was the pilot at the lagoon, a good-humored fellow whom they had generally given a small present besides his pay. As a rule, he did not wear much clothes on board, but he was now rather neatly dressed in white cotton and his hat was good. On the Caribbean coast, men spend large sums on their hats. It looked as if Pepe was getting rich, but Marston could not imagine why he did not want to be seen. He was going to talk about this when he caught Wyndham's eye and he lighted a cigarette.

"My partner is a good shot," Wyndham said to their companion. "We will be occupied for two or three days, but perhaps after that——"

Don Luis fixed a day for their visit, and when he went off Marston turned to Wyndham.

"It was Pepe," he declared.

"Yes; I saw him. I think he was with the officer of the port-guard."

"But what is he doing here? And why did he step back when I turned to you?"

"I don't know," said Wyndham. "The thing's interesting."

Marston agreed, but he could suggest no explanation and they talked about Don Luis. In the morning, when the narrow streets got hot, they went to the marina where the sea breeze blew among the pepper-trees and palms. After lounging for a time on a shady bench, Wyndham indicated some carpenters at work behind the mole.

"It's too early to meet our agent. Let's see what those fellows are doing," he proposed.

They crossed a belt of shingle and found the carpenters mending a big open boat. Two or three other boats were drawn up close by and planks lay about. When Marston stopped, a man who had been sitting in the shade got up and turned to him with a careless smile. It was Pepe, the negro pilot.

"Hallo!" said Marston. "Have you given up your job?"

"Not for long. One likes a change," the other replied.

In the meantime, Wyndham examined the boats. He knew the type, which was used for taking off cargo to vessels that did not come into the harbor. For their length, they carried a big load and were generally propelled by four men who pulled the heavy oars double-banked. Their flat bottom adapted them for use in shallow water.

"Are you going to buy the candrays?" Wyndham asked.

Pepe grinned. "One does not get rich by fishing and piloting. It is cool here in the shade and I have not much to do."

"Oh, well," said Wyndham, "No doubt you have seen the schooner. I expect we'll sail in about a week and we can give you a passage, if you are going back."

Pepe said he did not mean to return yet, and Marston and Wyndham went away.

"I wonder what he is doing about the boats, although I don't know if it matters," Marston remarked.

"He was rather obviously loafing."

"I'd have expected to find him loafing about a second-class wine shop."

"With a hat like his and new yellow boots?" said Wyndham dryly.

"They may have cost him all he's got. These fellows are vain. All the same, there's something strange about his being here and trying to pass without our seeing him last night. He's frank enough this morning."

"He may have been making the best of it because he could not steal off before we came up."

"It's possible, although I don't see why he should want to dodge us," Marston replied, and added thoughtfully: "Since he's allowed to pilot vessels at the lagoon, I expect he's the Bat's man."

"Looks like that," said Wyndham. "I imagine he has been in Africa. Although his Castilian is not remarkably bad, the English he uses on board has the true West-coast twang. You might hear the words at Kingston, but the accent's good Sar Leone. However, if he's a friend of the Bat's, why was he going about with one of the President's port-guard?"

"Perhaps he met him at a wine-shop; they're both sailors," Marston suggested. "I thought you rather went out of your way to tell him we would sail in a week."

"An example of instinctive caution. It's possible we may sail before. In the meantime, we won't bother about the thing."

They went to the agent's office, and after transshipping their cargo set out one morning for Don Luis' finca. The road was bad, their horses were poor, and when they reached the big whitewashed, mud house their host persuaded them to stop the night. Dinner was served at four o'clock and soon afterwards Don Luis gave them fresh horses and they started for the marsh. It got dark while they floundered through the mud and reeds, but they shot some ducks as the light was going and stayed until the mosquitoes drove them off.Going back, they took a road that crossed a steep hillside. Trees in dark masses rolled down the slope and thin hot mist drifted about the trunks. The moon, however, was full, and where there was an opening in the wet leaves bright beams pierced the gloom and made pools of silver light on the ground. A cloud of mosquitoes followed them and Marston's horse was fresh. He was not used to the big stirrups and wide Spanish saddle, and now and then found it hard to hold the animal. By and by, a regular throbbing noise came up the hill and he turned to Don Luis.

"It sounds like soldiers marching," he said.

Don Luis pulled up. "It is soldiers. A battalion of cazadores occupies the old mission. If we could go another way, it would be better, but there is no road up the hill."

The road was bad and narrow. There would not be much room for the soldiers to pass, and Marston imagined this accounted for Don Luis' wanting to turn off.

"They keep the troops a long way from the town," he said.

"The old mission makes a good barracks," Don Luis replied. "Besides, this is the President's own battalion. They are very loyal while their pay is regular, and made disturbances in the town, wrecking the wine shops where there was revolutionary talk."

They rode on and when the tramp of feet got louder, Marston asked: "Do the cazadores often drill in the dark?"

"Once they scarcely drilled at all," said Don Luis, laughing. "However, since Ramon Larrinaga became the President's friend they drill them much, with German officers in command. Recently the drilling has got harder and one wonders why this is and whether it means something. All the same, I am a supporter of the President's and if he is satisfied—"

The measured tramp was now very close, and the creak of leather and rattle of straps and slings came out of the gloom. Marston thought he could hear the labored breath of men toiling up hill. Then a hoarse challenge rang out and his horse plunged across the road.

"Hold him!" said Wyndham sharply, and two or three men with glittering bayonets came into the moonlight that shone between the trees.

"A picket, or advance guard!" Wyndham resumed. "Get down, Bob. You mustn't let the brute go!"

Marston's horse reared and tried to turn from the shining steel, but he got his foot out of the awkward stirrup and swung himself from the saddle. The others dismounted and the soldiers led them off the road and then stood on guard.

"I do not know if we are arrested," Don Luis remarked with a shrug. "One must use patience; but I am not without some influence and expect apologies when the officers arrive."

When he had quieted his horse Marston lighted a cigarette and leaned against a tree. For a few yards the moonlight shone upon the road and when the first fours of the leading platoon crossed the illuminated belt he was surprised. The cazadores were short, dark-skinned men. Their sloped rifles wavered at different angles, and their march was slouching, but they carried complete field equipment; pouches, mess-tins, tools and bandoliers. It was the first time he had seen the republican soldiers in regular marching order.

"Your government has been extravagant," he said to Don Luis.

Don Luis spread out his hands. "It is these Germans! Somebody will have to pay and the country is poor. Perhaps it is well to pay the soldiers, but one need not spend money on equipment until there is risk of war."

"Then there is no risk of war just now?" Wyndham interposed.

"I know of none. I cannot see why we should quarrel with our neighbors and although the negroes are turbulent in the back country, one leaves them alone. The Germans have led us into extravagance, seÑor. All must be efficient and worked on a plan! They do not understand us. We are not machines like them!"

He stopped, for one of the guards roughly ordered the party farther back into the wood. From their new position they could not see much. Sloped rifles tossed and wavered across the opening in the trees; steel bands and swivels shone in the moon, and one distinguished shadowy figures going by. After a time the measured tramp got fainter and rolled up the hill, and the beat of horses' feet came out of the gloom. The soldier who had driven the party back went to the road and his voice reached the others. Then he ordered them to advance and they saw two or three mounted officers in the moonlight. One sat stiff and motionless and asked a few sharp questions in uncouth Castilian, after which he turned to a companion.

"They say they are sportsmen and the fellow in the cloak claims to be well known. The others look like foreigners. I will leave you to talk to them, Don Maccario."

"Ah," said Don Luis, "now the thing resolves itself!"

The other officer pushed his horse forward, and then laughed. "It is you, my friend! Well, perhaps we ought to make our apologies, but we are being trained on the German model and you are not as discreet as usual."

"Is one forbidden to look at the soldiers for whom, one must pay?" Don Luis asked.

"One is not encouraged, when they marched at night," the other rejoined dryly.

"I and my friends come back from shooting and there is no other road. What must we do? It is well known that I am a staunch supporter of the President's and a friend of Don Ramon's. However, you can see the ducks and our guns."

"It is not necessary. Do you know Don Ramon is at the mission? I think he means to breakfast with you to-morrow. But who are your friends?"

Don Luis presented Wyndham and Marston, and after greeting them politely the officer let the party go. They rode on down the hill and Don Luis grumbled.

"I am staunchly for the Government; the thing was ridiculous. I do not see why they hide our soldiers. It is some German plan. We will talk about it to Don Ramon if he comes in the morning."

When they reached the finca and Wyndham and Marston were alone for a few minutes the former said, "Perhaps it's lucky we came here, because I think I have found a clew. I expect you noted they tried to keep the drilling and equipping of the President's battalion a secret."

"It looks like that," said Marston. "Still I don't see what it implies."

"For one thing, it implies they want a small, highly-efficient, striking force. The force is obviously to be used. These fellows don't study efficiency for its own sake."

"But why don't they want people to know?"

"I think that's rather plain. There's an advantage in striking before your antagonist is ready, and the citizens of this country have some talent for political intrigue; plot and counter plot are always going on. I don't imagine the President altogether trusts his friends."

"Ah," said Marston, "I begin to see——"

He stopped, and when Don Luis came up talked about the shooting.