TTENDED by the “engineer officer,” Kelly took his deliberate way to the port, meanwhile sizing up men and affairs. To Veinte Cuatro, surprized by his prompt appearance, he had carelessly remarked that he desired a mouthful of air, and that, since the solving of the difficulty with the engine would take but a moment, it might as well be attended to now;, a suggestion to which the raider had cordially assented. With the nimbleness which seemed characteristic of him, Gordo had already put his mind to other things; and now, feeding himself with one hand—his appetite evidently unimpaired by the recent execution—he was using the other to check up a list of commandeered funds and supplies. The table was loaded with canvas bags bulging with silver specie; reluctant but inevitable contributions by the townsmen to “liberty and justice”; and men were toiling to lift the lid of a locked iron chest which undoubtedly formed the federal strongbox. Thus pleasingly engaged, the conqueror gave only a moment to the matter of the boat.
Outside it was breakfast time. Campfires burned in the plaza, and from every house came the varying scents of cookery and the impatient tones of hungry men. The search for the hated jefe civil evidently was suspended, if not entirely given up; and to all appearance, the spectacular shooting of a few minutes ago was already forgotten. Yet the observer knew that it was stamped deep on every mind, and that these men would be exceedingly slow to fire on any one unless ordered to do so by an officer. With this thought in mind he covertly studied the officer walking beside him.
This gentleman, a head shorter than he, was a slick looking rascal who obviously thought very well of himself, and whose attitude betokened decided unfriendliness toward the foreigner who had just belittled his knowledge. He walked with stiff back, unpleasant sidelong glances, and an occasional caress of the revolver and knife on his broad waist-belt. The bigger man felt an impulse to slap his face and kick him; but he restrained it. Unspeaking, they walked on to the bowldery waterfront.
There Kelly looked about with some surprise. He had expected to find the port choked with floating craft. Instead, it held only a few canoes and the launch. Near at hand slouched a couple of heavy-eyed sentries, posted to watch the river, but giving it scant attention.
“Teniente, when do we get relief?” growled one of these. “Do we never rest or eat?”
The slick lieutenant seemed to swell. Here was a chance to show authority.
“What! You were not relieved at daybreak? Go, you, at once—at once, understand me!—to the sargento of the guard! Tell him that I, yo, Teniente Mendez, command him to post new men here immediately! Vaya!”
“I go,” grinned the other.
And he briskly departed. The second sentinel brightened up, took a few languid steps, stopped and slouched again.
Kelly, turning his back on the loitering picket, let his gaze rove along the bank below. He saw no other watchers. A glint came into his eye and was gone. Yawning, he said:
“You came here by land, I see. There are no boats.”
“Plenty of boats,” disputed the other, his tone superior. “They are above here. You did not suppose we made a blind landing at so open a spot as this?”
“I did think so. But I understand now.”
The officer gave a supercilious smirk, plainly intimating that the American knew little of military strategy. Kelly bit back a grin and looked as stupid as he could. They straddled into the launch, which rode snugly at the edge of the mud bank. Kelly took a look at the fore deck and saw that it was daubed with muddy tracks around the fuel ; sniffed, and caught the reek of gasoline. The tank had been filled to overflowing by the men whose footmarks disfigured the drab paint. Inside, at the bow, stood several unopened five-gallon cans.
“You say the tank has been filled?” he asked, as if too dense to deduce the meaning of the litter forward.
“Sí.”
“Bien. Then the only trouble is that the engine is cold. One must pour a little gasoline in this cup—see?—and open this cock—so—and push this heavy wheel over—so—to suck it in; then bring it back hard—see? Then comes the explosion. Oh, yes, there is another thing. One must first turn on the electricity from the battery over here, and—Cra!”
He stared as if astounded; took a couple of long steps, lifted the cover of the battery compartment, looked outside again at the wiring; turned an angry face on the Venezuelan.
“What have you done to the switch?”
“Qué? What? What have I— Ajo! What do you mean?”