Part 29 (2/2)

”'Fraid of dem Haiti n.i.g.g.e.rs? No, Sah. I'm a Jamaican!”

This pride of race among certain negroes--not always rightly valued among the whites--had struck Stuart before. Indeed, he had done a special article on the subject during the voyage on the steamer.

Reaching the wharf, Stuart sprang ash.o.r.e. The Jamaican at once sought to follow him, but the two Cacos tribesmen stepped forward with uplifted machetes. The odds were too great and Stuart's ally fell back.

”It is very kind of you to come and pay us a visit!” mocked Manuel, as Stuart stepped upon the wharf. ”We prefer, however, to have you alone.

We do not know your guests.”

”You know me, then?”

”I knew the ragged horse-boy to be Stuart Garfield, all the way on the road to Millot and the Citadel,” the Cuban purred. ”I cannot congratulate you on your cleverness. The disguise was very poor.”

Stuart thrust forward his chin aggressively, but no retort came to mind.

”I missed you, on the return journey,” Manuel continued.

”Yes,” the boy answered. ”I came down another way.”

”Perhaps you borrowed a pair of wings from the Englishman?”

Stuart made no reply.

But this ironic fencing was not to Leborge's taste. He broke in, abruptly,

”You spy on us once, Yes! You spy on us again, Yes! You spy no more, No!”

He made a rough gesture, at which one of the Cacos dashed upon the boy, pinned his arms to his sides and harshly, but deftly, tied him securely with a rope. This done, the Haitian took the boy's small revolver from his pocket and cast it contemptuously on the ground.

”The white carries a pistol, Yes! But he does not even know how to shoot it!”

The phrase irritated Stuart, but he had sense enough to keep still. As a matter of fact, he was a fairly good shot, but, with four to one against him, any attempt at violence would be useless. Besides, Stuart had not lost heart. He had landed, in the very teeth of his foes, confident that Fergus would never have directed him to go to the Mole St. Nicholas, unless the editor had cause. The boy's only cue was to await developments.

At this juncture, the Jamaican preacher, with a good deal of courage, as well as dignity, rose in the boat. He thrust aside, as unimportant, the machete of the Caco who threatened him, and the a.s.sumption of authority took the guerilla aback. Quietly, and with perfect coolness, he walked up to the Haitian general. A little to Stuart's surprise, he spoke the Haitian dialect perfectly.

”You're goin' to untie de ropes 'round dat boy, Yes!” he declared, ”an'

if you're wise, you do it quick. De Good Book say--'Dose who slay by de sword, shall be slain by de sword, demselbes,' Yes! I tell you, dose dat ties oders up, is goin' to be tied up demselbes, Yes!”

”What are you doin' here?” demanded Leborge, with an oath.

”I's a minister ob de gospel,” said the preacher, standing his ground without a quaver, in face of the threatening aspect of the giant Haitian, ”an' I tell you”--he pointed a finger accusingly--”dat, for ebery oath you make hyar in de face ob de sun, you is goin' to pay, an'

pay heabily, before dat sun go down!

”You's a big n.i.g.g.e.r,” the preacher went on, his voice taking the high drone of prophetic utterance, ”an' you's all cobered wit' gol' lace. De Good Book say--'Hab no respec' for dem dat wears fine apparel.' No!

'Deir garments shall be mof-eaten, deir gol' an' silver shall be cankered, an' de worm'--hear, you n.i.g.g.e.r!--'de worm, shall hab 'em'!”

<script>