  When Haredia understood that Mr. Livingston and the Scouts were determined to question the native, his attitude abruptly changed. He spoke again to the man in the dugout, who nodded and gestured in the direction Jack had suggested that they take. “This Indian will guide us,” Haredia informed the passengers. “He says we are to follow him. With your permission, senor, I will do so.” In an insolent manner, the boat operator bowed to Mr. Livingston. “It seems we were right about the passageway,” the Scout leader replied. “How far is the nearest village?” “There is a plantation on about a quarter of a mile,” Haredia returned. “Then we will go there.” Aided by the racking motor, the sled boat moved by spurts through the hyacinths. The Indian, naked to his waist, paddled ahead, indicating every turn in the maze. Gradually, the mat of entangling hyacinths thinned out and they saw the main channel ahead. “This looks more like it,” Jack sighed, putting away the poles. The disabled motor presently brought them to the wharf of a large plantation. While Haredia and Mr. Livingston attended to getting repairs, the Scouts sat in the shade and sipped cool drinks. “I can’t figure Haredia,” Willie remarked, swatting an insect. “Was he trying to pull a fast one on us, or not?” “It’s easy enough to lose one’s way in a field of hyacinths,” War returned. “We can’t blame him for that, although one would think he’d know the route.” “He was stubborn about wanting to take that other inlet,” Willie went on reflectively. “If we’d followed his advice, we’d be poling yet!” “I wouldn’t have thought too much about it, except that he clearly didn’t want that native to guide us here,” contributed Ken. “I’m glad Happy insisted upon staying at the dock while repairs are being made.” “Hap won’t let him pull anything,” Jack declared confidently. Draining his glass of limeade he arose and stretched his legs. “Guess I’ll amble down to the wharf to see how the work’s going. Maybe I can help.” Bored by inactivity, Ken decided to accompany him. Leaving Willie and War to finish their drinks, the two sauntered down to the wharf where the sea sled had been raised out of water. “Wonder what became of our female passenger?” Jack remarked. “Oh, she went to the plantation house,” Ken answered indifferently. “I hope she stays there too. She’s a cool number.” “Learn her name?” “Not yet, but I aim to,” Ken announced. “Maybe this is my chance now.” Haredia was coming up the path, eating a sandwich of sardines. He would have avoided the pair had not Ken stopped him. “How’s the work coming along?” “All right,” the boatman told him briefly. “The clutch is fixed.” “Then we’ll be starting soon?” “The rudder is bent.” “Oh, that’s bad,” Ken commented. “How long will we be held here?” Haredia shrugged. “Who knows?” he asked. “Maybe an hour. Maybe three.” “It’s a bit hard on the lady,” Ken commented, seeing an opening. “By the way, what’s her name?” “I would not know,” Haredia returned stiffly. “You and she seemed well acquainted.” “The Senora has traveled on my sled boat once before.” “But you don’t know her name?” “I do not ask as many questions as the American Scouts,” the boatman retorted with an unpleasant smile. “You will pardon me now? I have an errand.” He passed them and went on up the path to the thatched roof plantation house. “That was telling us, I guess,” Jack laughed shortly. “We were being rather inquisitive.” “It’s unfriendly not to give one’s name. Anyway, you can bet little Haredia knows who she is, but he’s keeping it dark.” “Why would he do that, Ken?” “I dunno, Jack. Maybe she’s the wife of a big shot.” “Even so, would that be any reason for keeping her name a secret? She knows Haredia well. What’s more, she supported him when he deliberately chose the wrong route.” “That may have been a natural mistake. He’s supposed to know his business, while we’re unfamiliar with the waterways.” “Sure,” Jack acknowledged, “but I didn’t like the way they kept looking at each other, as if they were pulling some trick. Haredia can’t be trusted.” “If he ever gets us to the Magdalena, we’ll be free of him.” “I hope so.” Jack frowned thoughtfully. “For the life of me, I can’t see why he’d try to delay us. But that’s what he seems to have done.” “We may have misjudged him.” “Don’t forget Ken, Ferd Baronni made the arrangements for our trip.” “You’re saying Baronni may have messed up our journey on purpose?” “It hits me that way, Ken. I’ll admit though, I can’t figure out any logical reason he’d have for not wanting us to go on to find Appleby Corning.” The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Mr. Livingston. He reported that repairs on the sled boat should be completed in another hour or two. The delay, however, would put them a day behind in their schedule. The Scout leader was inclined to brush aside Jack’s theory that Haredia and Ferd Baronni might have conspired together. “I doubt it,” he replied. “Haredia is an irresponsible fellow with an ugly disposition. He took a dislike to our party and is being most uncooperative. I question though, that he and the company agent have any close connection.” “Haredia tried to delay us by choosing the wrong passageway,” Jack pointed out. “His attitude, I think, resulted from inefficiency. He was unwilling to admit a mistake.” No more was said, for just then the boatman sauntered back from the plantation house. Mr. Livingston joined him and they returned together to the wharf. Jack and Ken watched the repair work for awhile, but there was nothing they could do to help. The intense heat presently drove them to shade. As they flicked mosquitoes, Mr. Ferendez, the genial plantation owner, came up with Warwick and Willie. The three struck up a friendly conversation. “Mr. Ferendez has been telling us about Santa Marta,” Willie asserted, munching a banana. “He says it’s situated on a good harbor, and has weekly steamers to New York and New Orleans.” “It’s a big banana center, isn’t it?” Ken remarked to make conversation. “Exports have increased enormously,” Mr. Ferendez told him. “You should have an interesting visit there.” “Oh, we’re not on a pleasure trip,” War disclosed. “The fact is, we’re on our way to the Last Chance mine, and are going by way of Santa Marta.” “The Last Chance mine! You’re heading into the mountains?” Jack and Ken were flashing War warning signals, considering it unwise to reveal their plans, even to a friendly stranger. The younger Scout, however, failed to take the hint. “To Emerald Valley,” he went on. “Appleby Corning, the engineer at the mine, sent for us. He was supposed to meet us at Cartagena, but didn’t. So we’re going on to the mine.” “But why go by way of Santa Marta?” the plantation owner asked with a puzzled frown. “Bogota is considered the gateway.” “We thought we might run into Mr. Corning at Santa Marta. He’s supposed to have friends there.” The plantation owner made no comment. His very silence, however, troubled the Scouts. “Do you know Mr. Corning?” Jack finally inquired. “I’ve heard of him, but he seldom travels this way. I understand he’s been kept very busy at the mine.” “Trouble there?” questioned Willie. The planter smiled. “So long as I can remember, there’s been trouble at the Last Chance. Wherever you find emeralds, you’ll find intrigue and grief. If you’re going there, I advise you to be careful.” “Careful?” echoed Jack. “The mule trail to the mine is dangerous. That section of country, you know, is overrun with bandits. Carlos in particular, has a reputation for holding up mule trains.” “We’re hoping Mr. Corning will meet us at Santa Marta,” War said. “Or at least send word.” “By the way, what became of the former engineer at the Last Chance?” Ken inquired thoughtfully. “Did he return to the States?” The planter revealed his astonishment. “The engineer’s wife could answer that question better than I,” he replied. “His wife?” Ken repeated. “Where would we meet her?” “You already have,” the planter answered in amusement. “You don’t mean that woman passenger on the sea sled!” Jack exclaimed incredulously. “The one who didn’t tell us her name!” “She is Mrs. McClellan Rhodes, wife of the engineer. Her first name is Rosie.” “Ye fishes!” Willie yipped in sudden apprehension. “You don’t suppose she’s going to the mine too!” “I wouldn’t know,” replied the planter. “Rosie didn’t say. But if she is heading for Emerald Valley and the mountains, her husband must now be at the mine. And in that event, your friend, Mr. Corning, had better be alert!” Disturbed by the planter’s remarks, Jack and his friends tried to learn more. Mr. Ferendez could tell them very little. He related that he had met McClellan Rhodes and his wife only once before, at Bogota. At that time they were mingling in society, living high. “Rhodes didn’t attend to his duties at the mine, I was told,” Mr. Ferendez reported. “According to rumor, he was replaced because of inefficiency. Under Appleby Corning, the mine has improved. But apparently, there’s dissatisfaction among the emerald miners.” “You think Rhodes may have something to do with it?” inquired Willie. “Oh, he’d like to get his old job back,” the planter returned. “No question about that. He and his wife made a good thing of it.” “Where is Rhodes now?” asked Ken. “You’ll have to ask his wife,” the planter responded, inclining his head toward the path. “She’s coming now.” The Scouts had no intention of questioning Mrs. Rhodes. It annoyed them though, that they had not learned her identity earlier. “What stupes we’ve been,” Willie remarked after the woman had passed them on her way to the wharf. “We talked about the mine and our plans in front of her! She just kept her lips buttoned and listened!” “She didn’t learn much from us,” Jack replied. “She knows who we are, and where we’re going.” “There’s no mystery about that, Willie. Now that we’ve learned she’s Mrs. Rhodes, we can be careful.” Just then, Mr. Livingston called the Scouts, beckoning them to the water’s edge. “We’re ready to shove off,” he announced. “With luck, we may reach Calamar tonight.” Once more the Scouts took their places in the boat. The halt seemingly had improved Haredia’s disposition for he appeared almost cheerful as the craft again sped through the waterway. Mrs. Rhodes paid no attention to the Scouts. Even when War, in an attempt to be friendly, pointed out an unusual bird, she merely nodded. Night came on. Banana groves and mango trees lost detail, merging into an indistinct shoreline. No longer could the Explorers see the thatched-roof huts as their craft raced along. Everyone was relieved when at last the boat reached the wide Magdalena river, and ultimately Calamar. “We’ll stay here tonight,” Mr. Livingston announced. “Tomorrow we’ll proceed by boat.” As their craft made dock, the Scouts stiffly arose and gathered their luggage. Willie tried to help Mrs. Rhodes, but she ignored his hand as she stepped ashore. “Goodbye ma’am,” he mumbled politely. “Goodbye?” she repeated, with the faintest trace of a smile. “Oh, I rather think we shall meet again.” “At Santa Marta?” “There or elsewhere.” With a hard, mirthless laugh, Mrs. Rhodes turned and walked away. |
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