  Jack and War were more annoyed at themselves than alarmed by their situation. Common sense told them that although the plantation was an extensive one, they eventually would reach a loading shed where directions could be obtained. The worst they would suffer would be inconvenience and delay. However, they realized that by this time their friends would have missed them. Their failure to be on hand would prevent the others from returning to the hotel for lunch. “I’m starving too,” War announced with chagrin. “Let’s get out of this steam bath!” “Now just sit still and think for a change!” Jack scolded him. “I’m not blaming you, because I was equally at fault. But if we’d used our heads, instead of chasing off in pursuit of a voice, we wouldn’t be here now.” “What’ll we do? Sit and wait for someone to find us?” “We could, but it would waste a lot of time. The bananas in this particular row are only half developed. So I imagine a cutter won’t be coming this way for days or weeks.” “Meanwhile, we survive on raw lizards and green bananas—” “Try to be serious, War. We’re bound to cause Hap and the gang a lot of trouble if we don’t find the group fast.” “What can we do except start walking?” “The point is, we’ve got to figure out a sensible route—just moving from row to row at random won’t get us to the cart road unless we’re lucky.” “Can’t we retrace our way? We can follow our own prints, I reckon. But it will take an age.” “In the end it probably will save time,” Jack declared, getting up from the mat of banana leaves. “If we miss our own trail, we still have the sun to guide us. It was at our back when we started this way.” Determinedly, the Scouts returned the route they had come. Memory of small, almost unnoticed things, now aided them. Jack recalled a pile of dried banana plant leaves they had passed just after changing rows. War remembered seeing the rusty, broken blade of a discarded machete. Nevertheless, a full half hour elapsed before the two Explorers finally emerged at the narrow cart road. No one was in sight. “We’re still lost—off course, I mean,” War said in discouragement. “What do we do now that we’re back where we started?” “Try to find a loading shed,” Jack decided. “No use chasing through the banana rows searching for our party. By this time, Hap and the fellows probably have gone back to the entrance gate.” Uncertain which direction to go, the Scouts stood a moment in the blazing sun. Just then an empty oxen cart rattled down the road. “Here comes our private limousine!” War chuckled. “Let’s hitch a ride.” As the cart jogged by, the Scouts hailed the driver. He understood no English, but Jack in halting Spanish succeeded in conveying the idea that they wanted to ride to the loading shed. The workman motioned for them to climb in. The floor of the cart was padded with the thick fiber of old banana stalks. Jack and War sat in the back, swinging their legs over the edge. The vehicle bounced along, stopping at intervals to pick up bananas. “You reckon he understood your Spanish, Jack?” War asked as the trip dragged on. “Maybe we’ll spend the afternoon bouncing along over this road.” “Maybe,” the other agreed philosophically. “Isn’t it better than walking?” “Sure. Only I’d like to get out of here fast.” “Take it easy, War,” Jack grinned. “We’ll roll in after our driver picks up a few more bananas. Patience, my lad!” As they jounced along, the Scouts kept an alert watch for their missing friends. But in the long plant rows, they saw only occasional workmen. Presently, the little cart, now two-quarters filled with banana bunches, bounced over a log bridge which spanned a ditch. Seeing the big loading shed and a railroad siding beyond, the Scouts leaped off their perch. “Thanks for the ride,” Jack called to the cart driver. “Gracias, Senor.” The workman responded with a friendly wave of his hand. Wilted by the noonday heat, Jack and War walked toward the shed adjoining the railroad tracks. Through the open door they could see rows of green banana bunches stacked ready for shipment to the boat dock. “I’m thirsty,” War announced, wetting his lips. “Let’s see if we can find some drinking water. I could go for a nice iced cocoanut!” “You won’t find it here,” Jack rejoined. “Or an ice cream soda either.” At the doorway of the banana shed, he abruptly halted, his attention fixing upon two persons who were inside. “See who’s here!” he whispered to War. Mrs. McClellan Rhodes stood inside, her back to the door. She was talking earnestly to a man whom the Scouts instantly recognized as Ferd Baronni. “How did he get here?” War muttered. Jack shook his head, as he tried to catch a few words of the conversation. Baronni was speaking hurriedly and with emphasis. “After you left, I got nervous,” he told the woman. “This man Livingston and his boys may make trouble if they go on to the mine. It was a mistake to let them come this far.” “I’m beginning to think so myself,” Mrs. Rhodes replied. “No good can result from their going on. They must be discouraged.” “I’ll leave it to you,” the mining company agent went on. “I’m pulling out—going back to Cartagena within the hour. Good luck.” “I’ll handle everything,” Mrs. Rhodes promised. “Leave it to me.” They shook hands and Baronni started toward the door. Jack and War barely had time to duck back behind the building before he emerged and walked rapidly away. Making no comment upon the alarming conversation they had overheard, the Scouts waited five minutes. Then, casually they sauntered into the banana shed. Seeing them, Mrs. Rhodes looked startled. “Have you been here long?” she inquired with a show of friendliness. “Not long,” Jack answered. “We lost our party and have been wandering around through the rows,” War added. “Have you seen Mr. Livingston?” “No, I haven’t. Not since early this morning.” “Didn’t we see someone leave the shed a few minutes ago?” Jack inquired. Mrs. Rhodes shot a quick look at him as if to read any hidden meaning behind his words. The Scout’s expression of innocence reassured her. “Only one of the workmen,” she replied indifferently. “I’m waiting for the banana train.” The woman’s deliberate lie made Jack and War more than ever suspicious. Wisely, however, they did not show their true feelings. War picked up a discarded banana and began to strip the peelings. “Have one?” he invited, offering another to Mrs. Rhodes. She drew back with a gesture of distaste. “I can’t bear bananas!” “I suppose one would get tired of them,” commented Jack politely. “Still you find this plantation interesting enough to visit?” The woman shrugged. “Why not?” she returned. “A friend of my husband’s is a foreman here.” Jack was quite certain that Mrs. Rhodes again was lying. He believed that she had come to the plantation either to keep the Scout party under surveillance or to meet Ferd Baronni. It seemed reasonable to believe, however, that the latter had journeyed to Santa Marta on sudden impulse, and had sought the woman after learning that she was absent from her hotel. Their close association deeply worried him. Why were the pair so determined to prevent the Scout party from reaching the Last Chance mine? As if reading his thoughts, Mrs. Rhodes questioned abruptly: “You’re still planning on your trip to the emerald mine?” “That’s our intention, unless we hear from Appleby Corning.” “You’ll find the trip most uncomfortable,” Mrs. Rhodes said, fanning herself with a green banana leaf. “There is no road. Only a trail. The temperature extremes—intense heat in the valleys, and freezing cold in the mountains, is most trying.” “We don’t mind hardships,” Jack replied, amused by the woman’s attempt to discourage them. “We’re used to them.” “I’m sure you are,” the woman returned. “Well, if I can’t persuade you to give up the trip, let me advise you to leave your valuables behind.” “Bandits?” Jack asked. “One in particular. Carlos has been terrorizing the mountainside, robbing the pack trains and making travel most precarious.” “You are not afraid to make the journey, Ma’am?” Mrs. Rhodes returned Jack’s steady gaze. “No, I have no fear,” she responded briefly. “I have lived many years in Colombia.” “What takes you to the mine?” War asked rather abruptly. “Your husband isn’t there any more, is he?” The question plainly annoyed Mrs. Rhodes. She dropped the banana leaf and moved quickly to the shed door. “The train is coming now,” she announced. “After the bananas are loaded, we can ride to the main gate. I should imagine that you will find the rest of your party waiting there.” Jack and War made no further attempt to question the woman. During the loading of the car, she moved some distance away, coldly ignoring them. “I thought she’d make more effort to try to convince us we shouldn’t go on to the mine,” War remarked as they watched the last of the loading. “I guess she realizes it’s useless.” “Don’t be too sure of that,” Jack said grimly. “Mrs. Rhodes is a clever woman. She’ll try again.” “Why do you figure she and that company agent are so bent on keeping us away from the mine?” “I wish I knew,” Jack returned thoughtfully. “Something is stirring there, that’s certain. Appleby Corning said he was in trouble when he wrote Mr. Livingston. It may be he’s mixed up in some mess the Rhodes’ have been cooking. I’ll be relieved when we manage to get in touch with him.” A toot of the engine informed the Scouts that the banana car was about to move out. They swung aboard and rode to the main gate. There, as Mrs. Rhodes had predicted, Mr. Livingston and the other Scouts anxiously awaited them. Enroute back to the hotel, Jack and War related the conversation they had overheard in the banana shed. Mr. Livingston was gravely concerned, and unable to understand why Ferd Baronni had trailed the party to Santa Marta. “I distrusted that company agent at the start,” he admitted. “Now I’m more than ever convinced that he’s no friend of Appleby’s. If only Mr. Corning would get in touch with us, some of this fog might clear.” The Scouts reached the hotel and headed for the dining room for a late lunch. As they crossed the lobby, the clerk signalled Mr. Livingston. “A wire for you,” he said, thrusting an envelope into the Scout leader’s hand. Quickly, Mr. Livingston read the enclosed message. His face became a puzzle. “Anything wrong?” Ken inquired anxiously. “Plenty,” Mr. Livingston replied, offering the message for the others to read. “This is from Appleby. He says an unusual situation has developed at the mine. We’re instructed to return to Cartagena.” |
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